"Why couldn't you come to the Agriche's mansion in the capital for tea? Or I, to the Gastor's? Is it a crime for one member of one of the five ducal houses to meet the other?"
***
"It seems I have offended you, Lord Dion." In any other situation, I should lower my head in apology yet something about the way he's looking at me with calculating eyes that makes me stand in my spot, chin held high and back straight. "What day would be good for you to visit me at the Summerstein?"
In my periphery, Angela flinches, as though physically alarmed by my words. This would be no different than my having declared to the whole empire how foolish I am for not knowing the politics in our families.
That is only if Dion Agriche did end up accepting my offer.
The sound of bell chimes hit the air as the man in front of me chuckles.
"Lady Arabella, you're either brave or foolish."
I should be offended.
There's no forgivable reason for me to be feeling my stomach knotting and my heart racing because of this man's blatant disregard for my dignity when he chooses to complement his praise with his insult.
Perhaps, it's the way my name rolled off Dion's tongue that made me feel like I've been kissed by a thousand black rose petals.
"Pray tell, my lord, which one do you think it is?" I ask.
"I don't dare assume." He throws my words back at me.
"I'll allow it."
A smile involuntarily curls on my lips despite the tangible tension hovering in the air. And for some reason, after three heartbeats, Dion drops his gaze to his black boots, as though admitting defeat whilst a faint smile curls on his lips.
When looks back up, his gaze is a little warmer—guarded, but warmer.
"Would brunch at le Château Doux be up to your standards, my lady?"
I fight the urge to frown at the way he's calling me 'my lady' instead of Arabella. All of a sudden, the jitters in my stomach die down like cold winter.
"That sounds lovely. Tomorrow, then?" I nod, a practiced smile on my face.
"Tomorrow." Dion echoes.
He bends forward, one arm on his back and the other outstretched in my direction. And just like that, the butterflies come back to life in my tummy like a phoenix rising from the ashes and soaring to my throat.
Still, I gracefully place my hand on his, the faintest trace of heat seeping from his leather glove seeping into my pores and burning my cheeks. Though it's when his soft lips gently brush my knuckles instead of the back of my hand like other men usually do it—is when I find myself inhaling sharply, as though this is the last breath of air I'd take before I get suffocated by the scent of his spearmint cologne, the warmth of his hand and the eyes that capture me like invisible chains when he tilts his head ever so slightly before he pulls away.
All of a sudden, my hand feels utterly cold without his underneath. Still I force the smile to stay on my face despite my flusteredness of just having my hand kissed by Dion Agriche.
It's just etiquette.
Any other man has, would have and will do the same in his shoes.
Yet none of them is Dion Agriche.
"Have a good day, Lady Arabella." And with that, he twirls on his heels whilst I watch his back grow smaller with each step he takes.
***
"Young miss, are you really going?" The question hits the air as soon as we stepped into the confines of my room.
Angela had kept quiet throughout our trip to the Louvre, the cake shop and back.
I pull on my gloves and toss them on the nightstand beside the bed whilst I fall backwards on the mattress, staring at the paintings in the ceiling that my father, Duke Gastor, claimed to have painted on the day of my birth.
"There's no plausible reason why I shouldn't reciprocate the gentlemen's kind gesture." Is all I offer.
"If you need a reason, then you do have one. You're attending Lady Zurlou's tea party tomorrow." Angela stands, rigid and wary in front of me but I cast my gaze to the angel overhead, pretending like it was the angel that's talking to me.
Ah, yes. I did promise Vassia and the others to attend the tea party at her mansion.
"That's at noon."
"Yes, but you wouldn't make it on time if you were to meet Lord Agriche."
At that, I shoot up. If one squints, they could probably see the faint shadow cast over me from the light bulb that went off on top of my head.
"That's right!"
Angela blinks and breathes out a sigh of relief a moment later.
But it's short-lived, crushed by my next words that, to be fair, are prompted by her own doing.
"Bring me a paper and a pen, darling Angela. I shall write to Vassia that I might be late or not attend at all if my prior engagement drags on. You're such a genius!"
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to tame a beast
Fantasy♔ 𝓓𝓲𝓸𝓷 𝔁 𝓞𝓒'𝓼 ♔ Arabella is the daughter of the Gastor household. A lady of noble birth and grandeur through and through. All her life, sitting still and being pretty is the epitome of what she is. Yet it's become quite feat to continue l...
