DISCLAIMER: As Gundam Seed was created by Mitsuo Fukada, and Twelfth Night was created by William Shakespeare, so is this fic created by me (Ruru Kitsuneko)…

AUTHOR'S NOTES 4.1: Finally got around to finishing chapter 4. Sorry for the delay! This chapter gave me a lot of trouble because I didn't quite know how to get Cagalli to come across as someone who fell in love at first sight with anyone—even if he is as hunky as Athrun. So, I decided that 'first attraction' would do just as well. No new characters here, by the way…

CHAPTER 4: FIRST IMPRESSIONS, FIRST ATTRACTIONS

At one o'clock the next day, Caleb Atha promptly presented himself at Illyria Hall.

The butler led him to the duke's study to await his grace's arrival. After the butler had shut the door behind him, Caleb's lavender eyes swept around the room with interest. He had never been inside a study before; at least not one that belonged to a duke, and it seemed to be as much a library as it was an office.

Unable to contain his curiosity, Caleb marched towards one of the bookshelves at the right side of the desk and ran his fingers over the spines of some of the thick volumes. There were different varieties, ranging from intellectual discourse, academic treatises, business journals, and even poetry, plays, and—if his eyes weren't deceiving him—romance novels. Without thinking, Caleb pulled the book whose spine proclaimed its title to be: "Debauched by the Dashing Duke."

"You're interested?" a voice drawled inquiringly by the door, startling him into dropping the book on the floor.

Swiveling around, Caleb turned his head in the direction of the sound and found himself looking at the handsomest man he had ever laid eyes on leaning casually at the doorframe gazing at him with piercing eyes the color of summer grass.

Cagalli's heart fluttered in her breast, and the oddest feeling seemed to be creeping up on her out of nowhere.

Flustered, Caleb blinked rapidly and shook his head slightly as if to clear it, and asked politely, "Your Grace?"

"Graciously yours," the duke replied with dry humor as he made his way to his desk. Before he reached it however, he stopped directly in front of Caleb and in a quick glance that missed almost nothing, noted his appearance: the chestnut hair, the bright lavender eyes, the flushed cheeks, and the smartly dressed lean body, and the book that was lying face down by his feet with the title turned upward.

A wicked grin appeared on the duke's lips as he nodded to the book and offered a very brief review of the said reading material. "Disgustingly debauched."

Caleb's embarrassed flush, turned up several shades redder than before. His eyes followed the young duke's progress across the room, while the duke observed the other man from the corner of his eye. When the duke had sat behind his desk, Caleb walked the few steps toward it to stand directly in front of him.

For a few moments, they did nothing but silently look at one another, taking each other's measure by instinct and intuition. And in those moments, Caleb began to seriously rethink his decision to take this job: he had a sinking feeling that he would come to regret it very much. It was the duke who broke the silence.

"You're certainly not what I expected," the duke said baldly.

Caleb was so confused with the mixture of emotions bombarding him from unknown contexts and embarrassing situations, that he blurted out the first thing that came to mind, "So are you."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Caleb could have kicked himself. 'This was not the way to talk to a duke,' he thought utterly mortified.

The duke blinked for a moment; seeing the look of horror in his face, he couldn't help it: his lips started twitching, and then he started chuckling, his green eyes sparkling with humor. "You're quite amusing," he remarked.

Caleb's already churning emotions had another new one to add to the pot: anger. Which was probably why, he didn't think (again!) when he retorted, "I'm glad you're so entertained."

The duke looked at him again; but this time burst into hearty laughter. Wiping a tear from the corner of his eye, he gasped, "My God! You won't bore me, that's for certain."

Caleb stared mulishly at his grace, waiting for him to regain his composure.

After a while, he recovered enough to commence with their intended business. "Athrun Zala, Duke of Illyria," was the duke's crisp introduction, his regal manner restored; and with barely a pause continued with, "Are you a romantic?"

"I beg your pardon," Caleb asked startled.

"Do you consider yourself a romantic person?" the duke qualified.

"I— I don't know," he answered a bit befuddled by the odd question. "I probably am," he added with a slight shrug.

Athrun leaned forward towards him. "Do you have any knowledge of poetry?"

Caleb gazed at the duke as if he had lost his mind. "A reasonable understanding, yes," he answered.

"How well can you articulate a conversation with a member of the fairer sex?" he asked his gaze intent.

"Flawlessly," Caleb answered, praying he'd kept any hint of sarcasm out of his tone. He must have succeeded because the Duke of Illyria gave a sharp nod and said, "You're hired."

Caleb's head was reeling. It was too much. Everything that happened ever since he'd stepped inside the duke's study seemed to be something out of some comedic farce, and it seemed he had no clue what his role was supposed to be. "At the risk of sounding completely ignorant," Caleb asked still eyeing the duke as if he'd grown two heads with a pair of horns on each. "What for?"

Athrun gave him a wide smile and said without preamble, "Courting Lady Lacus, Countess Clyne."

"What!" Caleb sputtered incoherently. "You cannot be serious, Your Grace."

Athrun gave his clearly agitated new employee a long look. "There's nothing to worry about," he reassured dismissively. "You're only to court her, not marry her."

Caleb was looking at the duke as if he'd never seen anybody quite like him before. "With all due respect, Your Grace," he asked. "Why aren't you doing the wooing?"

Athrun carelessly waved his hand, his brow slightly wrinkled in irritation. "Been there, done that, seven years gone. It's time I did something different."

"Seven years?" Caleb said in a strangled whisper. "What possible objection could she have to your suit?"

"I have no idea," Athrun answered baldly. "She has never stated any particular reason or aversion to my person or lack thereof. She simply refuses me."

"Couldn't you just let it go at that?" Caleb asked a touch desperately.

Athrun looked at him oddly. "I'm sure it won't be that hard."

Caleb barely managed to suppress a snort. 'Indeed,' he thought in sarcastic irritation. He had a bad feeling about this.

Later, that evening at dinner, Caleb was relating the afternoon's events to Ledonil and Erica, who both kept glancing surreptitiously at each other (who were still praying for Cagalli to return to her senses—they didn't believe she was sane at the moment, though Erica was of the irrational opinion that it was all the hair dye's fault).

"I just don't understand why someone would persist on a courtship for seven years," Caleb finished a little desperately. "How could he do that to himself? And what about the countess? Is she so vain she wants to milk this for all it's worth?"

Erica blinked at Caleb's irritated tirade, her brow furrowing in concern. "I don't suppose it's any of your business Cag—Caleb. It is their choices after all. I don't see why it should bother you so much."

Caleb slammed his fist on the table. "Because it's ridiculous, that's why! He comes off like some desperate fool who's too persistent for his own good."

Ledonil and Erica glance briefly at each other: they'd noticed the same thing.

"Caleb," Erica began tentatively. "Any woman would find the duke very appealing."

Caleb snorted. "Obviously the countess doesn't," he said, his voice heavily dosed with sarcasm. She looked up to find both Ledonil and Erica gazing at her intently.

"What's wrong?" he asked looking at them in worried confusion.

"Any woman," Erica repeated stressing out the last word—leaving Caleb in doubt as to what she meaning she had been alluding to.

"And just what are you implying?" he snapped at her.

"Why do you care so much?" Erica asked cocking her head slightly to the side.

Caleb flushed with emotion. "Excuse me," he said tightly, standing up. "I believe I'm no longer hungry." Throwing his napkin on the dining table, he stomped out of the room.

"Wonderful," Ledonil said dryly, taking a sip of his coffee. "Absolutely wonderful."

Caleb was utterly furious; he paced for hours in his room like a caged animal, all the while muttering to himself about overactive imaginations.

"What the hell are they thinking?"

After a while, deciding that he'd stewed over everything enough, he decided to get some sleep. He settled into a position on the bed, just thinking of everything and nothing in particular, when his eyes caught sight of the romance novel on his bedside table. He stared at it for a moment, and flipped it open catching a few passages here and there. 'I should return it to His Grace,' he thought absently, as he relaxed for a bit, leaning back against his pillows. He was so comfortable he started to drift off almost immediately.

'The bed's almost as warm as the duke is,' he thought absently, remembering when he'd brushed against his grace when he'd escorted him out his study.

Cagalli bolted upright in bed, her lavender eyes showing her shock.

"No," she whispered, clutching the sheets with pale fingers and shaking her chestnut head in dazed denial. "It can't happen. It's not possible."

She finally fell into a restless sleep, dreaming fitful dreams—the few passages she had managed to read were invading her subconscious. She was the heroine in her dreams, with a shadowed face that whispered and enticed from every direction. She had to see him; she knew him. It was him…

When she woke up at dawn, sweat all over her body and her lavender eyes glazed, she knew that it couldn't happen—because it already did: she was wildly attracted to the duke.

It couldn't be borne. Nothing could possibly be done about it. She was 'Caleb' now. That was it.

A sudden thought made her groan and bury herself underneath the blankets.

Ledonil and Erica would have a fine time.

They've been dying to say, "I told you so."

A/N 4.2: I seem to have run out of alliterations for the chapter titles. (I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.) Thanks to Ryo Kazunine for loyally reviewing every chapter that I have so far posted. Thanks to Mrs. Nozomu Sohma for the insightful review, and to Finding Destiny for the most short, sweet, and sincere reviews I ever read. -grins- It was a rare accolade indeed. I hope I managed to convey the proper feelings here. Hope nobody's disappointed. Next up is Lacus—or possibly, just her entourage… Ja!