After a quiet breakfast, attended by only herself, Victor, and Cassian, Raiva excused Frederick to go join his wife and daughter.

Barely had she finished her sentence before he nodded with a wide grin on his face, dropped what was in his hands and nearly leaped out the door with the words,

“I’ll be back in time for preparing dinner!”

Raiva smiled to herself with a shake of the head and busied herself with tidying up after breakfast.

It had been a while wince she had been ‘allowed’ to do chores herself by Shelly, and she had to admit than her speed had greatly decreased since her days as a lady’s maid.

I seem to be severely out of practice.

She sighed as it took her over an hour to clean and put away what could be saved for later.

At last finished with this endeavor, keenly aware of the silence permeating the usually busy house. Not even Cassian, the man who rarely stepped foot outside of his room, even for meals, was currently there.

Her footsteps seemed loud, the air cool, the wood of the house creaking lightly all around her. Despite the time of day nearing noon, the light was gray and dull. A look outside the window told her that the skies were dark and heavy, threatening rain for the afternoon.

Best to deal with the letters now and send them off before the weather takes a turn.

She entered the study, closing the door behind her habitually. It was a cozy room, especially now that she was so used to it. A few light blankets had made their way into the room over the weeks, several books tucked under the sitting chairs, away from Shelly’s prying eyes. Raiva knew that her trusty housekeeper had seen them of course, but was happy that they had so far escaped her, at times, overly neat tendencies.

That’s… Altogether too many letters.

The sight of her desk made her halt a moment.

“What on earth,” she trailed off, mumbling to herself as she took a seat and flipped through at least three dozen of the carefully ordered, by Shelly of course, correspondence.

Only half a dozen were business letters. Invoices.

Three letters from Jürgen. Three?

One from Cassian. Peculiar.

A, frankly, absurd amount of letters and invites from high society members; nobility, merchants, socialites, even two by renowned patrons of elite social clubs. I-

One from her accountant.

And finally, two from a ‘Marquis Ashton Isling’.

Raiva dropped the letters as though they had burned her.

Her blood ran cold, her breath rushed. With a wide eyed stare she sat back and glared at the letters, as though they were an illusion she could break, if she tried hard enough.

I’m not.

I have to.

I can’t.

I should.

I won’t.

Her mind, and heart, were racing as she stared at the expensive looking, imprinted paper. Expensive, exclusive.

Marquis. I see he really did it.

There’s no need.

I must.

Not now.

Not ever.

She felt like time had stopped. Like this, thinking only panicked, half-thoughts, she sat. And sat. And sat.

At last, the spell was broken by the sound of thunder.

Raiva jumped, gasping loudly in surprise. Once she caught herself, she began snickering, which would turn into a full blown, somewhat unhinged-sounding laughter.

“Fine, Marquis Ashton.”

Rain began falling, hard. It hit the window with an intense sound, enough to make her ears ring.

She stood, and left the office, only to return a minute later with a glass, containing a clear, yet decidedly alcoholic liquid.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Grimacing, she stood in the doorway, glancing at the letters.

“To your title, your lordship,” she said flatly, and took a big sip.

The vodka was almost flavorless, but left a harsh burning in her throat.

Perfect.

She sat down, pushed the other letters aside and took a deep breath.

After confirming the stamped dates on the covers, she grabbed the ‘first’ one.

Deciding he wasn’t worth her decorum, she snapped the wax seal in half rather than carefully pry it off and began reading.

‘Dear Raiva,

I hope this letter finds you well. Despite my previous efforts at reaching you, I have yet to receive news of your response. I shall blame the latest storm and lazy postal workers, rather than you of course, since I know you to be better than ignoring an old friend.

First and foremost, I wish to express my condolences, regarding your late “husband” and his untimely demise. I know you were fond of him, as a friend and confidante. Unfortunately, I had not heard of this until last month. You see, despite its peacefulness and resources, my marquisate is quite slow to receive news of Prievo’s high society. I believe you would quite enjoy it here, with the lack of gossipy rumor mills and excess formalities of the City.

In fact, this is why I write to you; to invite you to stay at my estate, and recover from what I’m sure must have been quite horrible.

I too, have lost my wife, although she is still among the living, lords bless her. Despite our marital bliss, she decided to elope with a man, of much lower station and means, leaving all work to me, including mending her poor parents’ broken hearts. We have not heard from her in a year now, which as you may not know, pronounces her deceased, and leaves the responsibilities including title and estate to me.

As such, you need not feel uncomfortable during your stay, and can take as much time as is needed to recover from what I’m sure must have been a terrible shock.

I know how much you hate to be alone.

Yours now and ever,

Marquis Ashton Isling’

She sat, staring the the paper unmoving for a full minute after finishing her reading of it. The folded it together and put it back on the desk, with a restrained facial expression and a clenched jaw.

It took her three sips of her liquor, and several more minutes, before she could make herself open the other one. This one was less polished in handwriting, with several lines and words scratched out beyond recognition.

‘My dear Raiva,

Not a day goes by where I don’t fret, awaiting your response to my letters. I have contacted several of our former acquaintances, who also have not heard from, or even about, you in quite some time. It fills me with grief and worry.

As such, I have taken it upon me to travel to the City-‘

She dropped the piece of paper, incredulous at the words before her. Angrily, she down the, significant, remainder of her glass and paced for what felt like an hour. As the heat of the vodka hit her face and spurred on her impulsiveness, she raced to pick the letter back up and finish its contents.

‘-to the City, where I am determined to ensure your safety and wellbeing.

I will take care of you, like I promised.

If you receive this, please send me word at my apartment, the one with the stained-glass windows. You remember where, I’m sure.

I can’t wait to see you.

Yours in torment and devotion,

Ashton’

Raiva reacted before she could think.

She screamed, briefly and wordlessly, at the inanimate paper, then flung open the office door. Never had she built a fire so fast as this day, setting it alight easily despite the humidity in the air. Watching it roar with heat and licking flames, she walked slowly, purposefully back to grab the letters from Ashton.

They burned, of course, though she did feel somewhat unfulfilled by how easily the papers, which caused her such anguish, became engulfed and swallowed by the flames.

She sat down, staring into the flames, in a daze.

If only it were that easy to be rid of him.

The heat was comforting, the scent familiar.

As her mind eased and relaxed, she felt sleepy, and laid down on the sofa.

The rain hit the windows with a steady, drumming, sound.

Lightning lit up the dark sky, with thunder soon behind, threatening proximity. It was unlikely anyone would return until the weather calmed down.

The alcohol was wearing off.

Leaning her head back, she took a deep breath.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she enjoyed the relaxing sounds of the wood crackling, the rain hitting the glass, the rumbles in the sky. Her mind drifted.

‘-va!’

Raiva sprang up.

“Dammit,” she spat out, remembering the vaguely familiar looking man from the café, calling out to her.

Ashton.

Her heart was racing, again.

“He won’t find me,” she muttered to herself. “And even if he does, there’s nothing he can do.”

He doesn’t matter. Didn’t this morning, doesn’t now.

She was surprised by the sound of the front door opening, hastily stood up and spun around, wide eyed.

A tall, looming figure appeared, stepping into the house unceremoniously.

“Griffin,” Raiva smiled with relief. “It’s raining.”

He stopped in his tracks for a moment. Then he smiled.

“Yes.”

“I have a fire going.”

“I see.”

He cocked his head to the side with a strange look on his face.

“May I join you?”

“Yes.”

Seemingly listening for something, he stared off in the direction of the kitchen.

“The staff?”

“Gone, until the weather improves at least, I suspect.”

For a moment, he seemed to be grinning at this.

Without hesitation, Griffin threw off his clothes, carelessly throwing them to the ground.

She looked over his sculpted, muscular body in the strange light of half blue-gray and half orange.

If I get to keep looking at this, I hope the weather stays horrible all day.

“They’ll never dry like that.”

“They don’t need to.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t need them.”

“I see.”

They were both unmoving for a while, looking at each other.

Griffin moved towards her.

“The fire smells like wax.”

“It does?”

“Yes.”

He arrived before her. His hands caressed her face.

“You don’t look too well.”

“Are you worried?”

“Yes. And you smell of liquor.”

She grimaced, looking to the side.

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe later.”

“Hm.”

His hand ran down her neck, which he proceeded to carefully support from the back. In seemingly slow-motion, his towering figure leaned down and kissed her, gently, warmly.

All thoughts melted away, as she reciprocated, matching his slowly increasing intensity.

“Hold on,” Griffin murmured in his low, rumbling voice.

Raiva barely managed to throw her arms around his neck before he picked her up and carried her a few long strides into her office, slamming the door behind him.