Do It Right: Prologue

It stung.

He recalled the time when he tormented a hornet he captured; in its last, vain struggle against him, stabbing its stinger into his finger. It burned, swelled, and even bled, turning a brilliant red; like her lips.

He was practically a man at fourteen years and this little girl had stung him.

She had invaded his home for the week and even the sight of her doll-like features made him dispose her. Perhaps it was disgust, or maybe horror, but Chuck left, skipping dinner in the nursery that night. Torn between man and boy, he took his cue from his father to turn into ice, rather than the temptation to drag her across the nursery by her tightly wound curls.

Even in their earliest years, women could be real bitches.

~Run~

It is five years later. Chuck is trapped in the countryside with his mates, who are in full courtship mode. He did not care for this unnecessary societal dance. All of his needs were sated with the use of his ever growing bank account. And that included women.

At least there was fresh air in the country. Many days he would take long, rambling walks to escape the house full of debutants and the game of love—or at least marriage. In the woods, he had discovered a stream that pooled into a luscious pond. His feet carried him there without thought, his mind unfocused, floating from one notion to another. His abstract thoughts were disrupted by a peculiar splash as he approached his pond. Carefully, secretly, he spied what he imagined must be Eden.

"Dorota, did you remember my thrice milled French soap?"

A stern, stout looking maid proffered the block of soap before returning to her perch guarding the maiden's clothing and awaiting her novel.

Well cloaked in foliage, Chuck stared, enraptured as his blood pulsing hard, engorging his arousal.

Naked, palest white skin—ivory? No, a creamy, milky white. Her riot of caramel, chestnut, and deep brown hair was pulled up haphazardly with ribbon, some rebellious tendrils falling loose, teasing at her neck. She splashed waves of water onto her body, as she stood not quite waist deep in the pond.

He could see her sweet derrière and as she wetted her skin, she turned, showing him the round orbs of her breasts; the cold water turning her soft, pink nipples to tight rosy buds. It make his hands hot and his fingers twitch. Full, pert, red lips pursed as she worked the soap against her skin. The deep yellow soap made only the tiniest of off-white foam that clung to her skin. It was all Chuck could do not to moan aloud as gravity dragged the foamy liquid down to run and drip off of her.

Upon completing the bathing of her skin, his temptress reached up with her long fingers and released her hair from its binding. Lowering herself further into the water, she closed her eyes and dipped her head back, the arc of her neck and the slight part of her tumid lips made Chuck lick his lips with desire when she lifted her head. Her hair was blackened by the water dripping from it. She left the water to retrieve an intricate silver and ivory comb from her maid. Perched on a rock to dry in the sun, his Diana set to work combing through the mass of dark hair. Exhibiting a patience no one—not even Chuck knew he had, he watched her until she was once again dressed and disappeared into the woods.

Circling the pool of water, he discovered the ornate comb had been abandoned. He quickly ferreted the item away as a keepsake.

Chuck knew nothing of who she was. He saw her not at any of their country gatherings nor again in the forest. Sometimes he saw her in the darkness of night as he lay awake in bed. Other times he imagined his woman of the moment was her, if he squinted his eyes enough. He had found and lost the woman of his dreams on that hazy summer afternoon.

~Devil~

Four years passed. Blair sat bathed in sunlight, sweetly stirring her tea. Georgina sat to her right, wailing as politely as one could during calling hours. Georgina's parents had discovered her inappropriate attentions from one of the servant boys, and were promptly sending her to a convent in the countryside. What the poor girl did not know, was that it was Blair who set it all in motion. Was it because she could? Was it out of annoyance? Boredom? Blair did not care enough to know, but was satisfied to have one more goal accomplished. She picked up a plate of biscuits, "Madeline?"

The season was just starting and there was so much more work to be done.

~Run~

An elegant man stepped off the train in Victoria Station. He still wore the white linen suit from his travels, topped off with a finely made Panama hat, and an elaborate mahogany cane. After several years abroad, no one who saw him that day at the station need wonder if he were happy to be home. Chuck Bass was back in town.