aamon paxley X o.c. • the duke and the runaway

06.

Aamon leaned casually against the back of his cushioned chair after signing the third batch of papers. He inserted the feather quill into the slot of the ink bottle and breathed deeply. It was tiresome to take care of office duty especially when there were tons of scrolls or papers or books to sign.

He glanced at the grandfather clock and discovered that it was time for a little break.

The ash grey-haired male stood up from his seat and walked towards the large glass windows to view the scenery outside.

He watched the gardeners tending the lawns and shrubs. Flowers of all kinds were growing beautifully such as chrysanthemums, lilies, roses, sunflowers, moonflowers and stargazers to which the bees would go to in order to gather pollen for honey and to pollinate. The spectacle of nature eased his stress a bit.

Knocks reverberated from the door and he ordered without looking back, "Come in."

He heard the door opened and closed with a click then followed by soft footsteps. Afterwards, a voice shattered the silent barrier between them, "Here's your tea, Duke Paxley."

That familiar drumming of his heart returned when he heard her. Her voice was laced with an attractive, effemenate tone that sounded soothing to his ears yet there was an aura of blazing passion underneath it that enticed him like moths to a flame.

The usually reserved Paxley suddenly felt nervous, unsure if this was the same brunette he had met before in the village.

And so, he slowly turned to glimpse at the maid behind him.

Those fair green eyes.

He definitely recognized those.

Aamon realized that she was looking back at him with the same recognition he had for her. It caused him to feel sparks biting at his skin like electricity that he rarely experienced.

The male stared at her; the red vest, white shirt, brown-leathered pants and boots were gone. It was replaced by a maid uniform that every female servant wore in the palace. Strangely, it made her look adorable.

Even though she appeared different, he was, in fact, charmed by her simple yet enthralling appeal.

"Set it on my table," he spoke to her and she nodded in response as she placed the cup of tea on the smooth surface of the furniture. He didn't know what to say to her other than that, he wracked his brain, trying to formulate a sentence for him to converse with her.

The woman before him briefly fiddled with the hem of her white apron, looking down at her feet as she questioned the duke, "Do you need anything else, Duke Paxley?"

His chest felt fuzzy with warmth when she called him. It brought him to the thought of how it would feel if she referred him to his first name.

Oh, right.

"What's your name?" Aamon asked her while his attention focused on her. She diverted her gaze from her shoes and settled it on his mystifying presence. The female pressed her lips together in slight hesitation before answering the ash grey-haired man in front of her.

"Seraphima," she enunciated, "Seraphima Crisiant."

The woman who he thought he would never ever met had finally told him her name. Aamon subtly bobbed his head, putting on his reserved façade even though the internal flaming core within him remained. He brought the cup to his lips and sipped the tea, its warm fluid running down his throat, easing his tension for a little bit.

"Duke?"

"Yes?"

"For the help yesterday, I know that I've already thank you but still... I really appreciate your help that time," she told him, "I hope you like the treat I've gave you but if it's not to your liking, I will try my best to serve you here."