All the women know why André is there, and yet they continue to flirt.
Oscar endures it and André encourages it and by the end of the night Oscar is just so angry she grabs him by the ascot and drags him away.
She does not know gentle, she does not know relaxed. She batters him against the wall and he makes that sacrifice for her.
"Stop it, André," she snarls, because she is in control, always in control until her anger gets the better of her and he is the only person she can hit.
"I like you like this," he answers under his breath.
She stiffens for a moment and she trembles, strung tight and honed vicious.
"You always play these games." She bares her teeth at him; he toys with her silken sash.
"It makes Antoinette look good in court," André goads.
She presses him back into the wall, cages him with hands on the wall at each side of his head. She bites at his lips, feral, vibrant. The curls across her forelock are somewhat limp with sweat, but the hair is still soft as it brushes his temple.
"Do not begin this."
In any other circumstance, he would have taken her order in a heartbeat, now he follows the line upwards from her hip to her breast.
"Now is as good a time as any," he suggests.
She sniffs airily at him, but then turns her head to the side as if she finds the scent to her liking. She shoves him away and returns to the ballroom.
"Mademoiselle Oscar," they titter, flapping their flightless wings before their painted faces. She dodges several grasping hands and uses Antoinette as a smokescreen.
"You look quite agitated tonight, Captain," Marie boasts, Oscar grimaces. If only the crown princess were to know how adept she is at torture interrogation…
"No, Lady, it has been a splendid party," Oscar soothes, and then drifts away.
She is, however, dutiful and remains at the gathering until Antoinette announces it is appropriate to leave.
André makes his way to Oscar's elbow and smiles politely. He watches the rage tingle up her spine, watches the heat and violence coiling inside of her, her eyes flash steel and daggers.
"We will need to talk tonight," she bites out.
André grins back at her cockily, "I could spend the night in the stables, if you'd prefer."
It is only with great effort that Oscar keeps her place in Antoinette's entourage; her feet dare not miss a beat.
The new expression across her face is murderous. She steadfastly refuses to acknowledge him further and André knows it is time to wait until they are alone. He gives her time to finish her duties with Marie, and to strip down from the constricting formal uniform, before making his way to her quarters.
From outside, he can hear her pacing and the sound of her bare feet on the wood floors is sharp. He smiles to himself and knocks briskly on the door.
"Who is it?" she growls, as if it could be anyone else.
André holds his tongue and waits. She comes as if he had called, flinging open the door. She stares at him for only a moment before grabbing him by his shirtfront and dragging him inside. The door shuts, she slams him back against it.
"André," she challenges.
He is lax in her grip. "Lady Oscar."
The growl vibrates through her clenched teeth and her eyes blaze and André kisses her quite softly.
She allows this for only a moment.
Standard Disclaimers.
