Summary: It was only a moment but she knew she had lost. He had won, he always did. Kenshin and Kaoru. AU.

Rating: T

Pairing: Kenshin and Kaoru

Thank you everyone who reviewed this story. It's a really rough time for me right now and you guys chipping in with the encouragement really made my day. Thank you very much. For those of you, who are lurking around this story, thank you as well. If you managed to finish the first chapter, there must have been something I was doing right.

Hope you all enjoy this! Please comment.

Beloved

"Stop fidgeting Kaoru. Stand still." Kaoru looked down at her feet, wondering why there was never any inflection in her mother's voice. Everything she said was spoken in a steady, dignified, barely-there whisper, as though she were afraid of hearing the sound of her own voice in a room. She was admired for it though. She was the perfect lady, befitting her title and status as Duchess of Varca. The Duchess was always perfect. She knew when to hold her tongue, when to cut loose a barb, she knew which trend was on the ascendant, whose company one absolutely had to have for dinner and who had to be shown the cold shoulder. She knew all this instinctively, so complete was her grasp on the world she inhabited. Kaoru shifted her weight, hoping the slight movement would go unnoticed. It was not.

The Duchess sighed. "You may leave Kaoru. If you cannot stand still for even the space of half an hour to try on your own trousseau, you might as well skip the exercise, and suffer the consequences later." The Duchess turned away. "You should thank the heavens that Lord Yukishiro is so enamoured of you. Girls more skilled and beautiful than you had set their caps on him but he chose you." Kaoru seemed to shrink inside herself, wishing she could disappear. The Duchess looked at her once more. "Go to bed. You look ill. The last thing we need is for you to catch something before the engagement."

Kaoru turned to go but stopped at the door. She hesitated before turning to face her mother. The Duchess raised an eyebrow. "What is it now Kaoru?"

"Mama…" The use of her childhood endearment for her mother stopped all the activity in the room. The Shinomoris were not known for showing emotion. The Duchess glared at her, her eyes drifting meaningfully towards the servants standing in the room and back to her daughter.

"Leave us." She said in clipped tones. The servants quickly left the room, giving the young girl sympathetic glances as they left. The Duchess glared at her daughter. "What is the meaning of this childishness Kaoru?"

"Mama…please don't be angry."

The Duchess sighed. She sat down. "Kaoru." She drew her name out like a difficult word. "Why are you acting so strange?"

"Mama…I can't marry Lord Yukishiro. Please don't make me do this."

The Duchess was silent. Kaoru crossed the room and sat beside her. "Mama, please talk to Father. I can't do this. I thought I could, but I can't. Please…please Mama."

The Duchess stared at her with glassy eyes. "Why would you say something like that?" Descending into a fit of sudden panic, she grasped Kaoru by the shoulders and shook her. "Get a hold of yourself! Do you realize what you are saying? Stop! Stop this silliness at once." She shook her head. "Lord Yukishiro is going to be Regent, don't you understand? Think of what this means for your father, for this house. You should be happy. You have got such a golden opportunity to do something for this house. Don't squander it."

"But Mama…"

"Enough!" She smoothed her fingers over Kaoru's cheeks, gently wiping the tears away. "There, there. Don't worry. Everyone gets nervous before something like this, but you need not worry. Enishi loves you, and he will make you very happy. How many girls can say that?"

Kaoru stared at her hands. Her mother continued to talk about how wonderful Enishi was, how wonderful it was that he had chosen her, how good life would be from now on…she wiped her tears, stood and quietly left the room. The Duchess did not notice.

She stood straight like a statue while her maid loosed the ties of her gown and slipped it off. She was silent as her hair was brushed, slow, delicate strokes that left her hair soft and shiny, like the coat of a favourite lapdog. The maid bid her goodnight and retreated down the hallway. One of by one, all the sounds of the house settled into a funereal silence. She let her eyes wander to her reflection, trying to scrutinise and understand what cruel twist of fate had given her this face, soft and beautiful, that attracted the ardour of a serpent; a serpent that would devour her whole and still want for something. Because she noticed things, much to her parents' chagrin. She understood things, people above all. She liked to listen to other people talking, liked to watch the circus of emotions flit over their faces, liked to understand the greed, hunger, rage, and envy behind the saccharine sweet words people used to mask their true selves.

And it was because she loved to watch people so much that she knew what Lord Yukishiro was and what she meant to him. When he had first seen her, he had stared hungrily, his lips parting in longing; the tip of his tongue traced his lips as they watched hers. He had grasped her fingers too roughly, too soon. His lips lingered at her knuckles a moment longer than was necessary; the promise in his eyes was dark, relentless and poisonous. She did not know how to fight it. She knew nothing of these things; she wished she had been allowed this knowledge, if only superficially, then perhaps she could have described her fear of the man she was promised to. But she had no words in which she could speak her mind. Her skin crawled as his eyes roamed her body, his position and power giving him access that would have beheaded a lesser man. Yet, she could not scream, could not protest except whisper again and again - No, no, please no. Not you. Not for you. Not with you.

The doorbell rang. She started.

She blinked. Kaoru stood and slowly turned to the clock on the wall. It was past one. How long had she been sitting staring off into space? She shook her head. This time the knocker sounded. She stood shakily to her feet.

It was him. She knew it was. She could feel it in every tingle that raced down her spine. It was him. He was back. That dark, dark man with his dark, dark eyes, the soft smirk on his face when he looked at her. As if he knew….knew everything and was merely waiting, waiting for her to realize what his sidelong glances meant, what the quirk of his lips told her as she entered a room, what she should understand when he spent his entire time avoiding her eye, only to follow her perpetually when she turned her back. It was a pretty game that left her breathless, shaken, like a fish out of water. She couldn't eat, couldn't breathe, and hadn't slept a single night since it had happened. Since that night….

It had started with the door. The knocker sounded softly. She had been on her way to bed, the soft flickering light of the candle sweeping the shadows away from her path. She heard the knocker, stopped, stared down the empty length of the hall to the door. Half frozen in sleep, she trudged to the door, and opened it a measly half inch.

His molten eyes glanced up. She gasped. He was bleeding. The blood seeped through his clothes, staining his shirt. He watched her, wondering why she hadn't screamed yet. She pulled the door open and stepped back, giving him space to step in. He jerked away from the wall and took a step forward. His eyes never left her face. One step forward for him, one step back for her. Suddenly his knees gave way and he crashed forward. Her eyes grew wide and she stepped up to him, flinging her arms out to catch his fall. The candle dropped and rolled along the floor, leaving them both in darkness. Her shoulder felt warm, and sticky. She knelt on the floor, her legs supporting his weight, his head cradled against her chest.

She dragged him to an unused bedroom. More blood seeped off his wounds and into her clothes. She dropped him on the bed and watched him grimace as he asked for Aoshi. She ran for Aoshi, dragged him out of bed, ignoring his frenzied questions about the blood on her shift. He kept bellowing about dignity and propriety even as he sat beside the Battousai (as she would find out later). She ignored him and told him to fix the man.

"Fine. Get out of here."

"You might need help, there's a lot of stitching to be done."

Aoshi glared at her, dropping his eyes to her chest (discreetly, he thought) and glaring at her. She rolled her eyes and walked back to her room, her mind filled with amber eyes, crimson hair and a mocking, almost cruel smirk.

She looked in on him again two hours later because she couldn't sleep, because his irregular breathing was disturbing her two corridors and a staircase away. She peeked and found him asleep, his shirt was nowhere to be seen but his chest was covered in bandages, a nice red blotch coloring the space beside his heart. She tiptoed towards him and knelt on the floor beside his bed. She raised a hand to touch his forehead (what if he had a temperature and nobody thought to check?) only to have it caught in his fingers. He pulled her towards him, snatching her away from the safety of two steps away from the bed. His eyes flew open and he frowned as he saw her. He let her go and turned, holding his back to her, telling her to go away. She weakly sat beside him, not knowing what to do because she knew she couldn't go back to her room and sleep. She would only toss and turn. She remained seated. Finally, sleep claimed him once more and he slipped back towards her. She smiled and slipped off the bed, sitting on the floor. She glanced at his hand. He had long tapered fingers with neat, square nails, clipped short. His palms were rough and callused. She slipped her hand inside his, curling her fingers in the cocoon of his palm, revelling in the warmth of his skin, the roughness of his skin felt good. She didn't remember when she fell asleep. Watching over an angel of death, her hand trapped in his, the whole night.

And now, he was back. Her heart raced. She snatched her dressing gown off a chair and raced down the stairs. She had not the courage yet to stand before him in nothing but a flimsy lace shift. His eyes tore away everything anyway. What was left of her that he hadn't already explored with his glittering eyes?

She pulled the door open. He leaned against the wall. The smell of blood hung thickly in the air. It wafted up into her nose and she curbed the urge to retch and gag. She stepped away from him uncertainly. He stepped inside. She urged her heart to stop clamouring. Clamouring was not attractive. His eyes swept the hallway. Empty, as usual.

He had received his summons to this house. To stop her from doing anything stupid. She drank him with her eyes, watching his every move. He noticed, had done so since the moment they met. He knew what he looked like to her, he was a riddle. He had no fear of her father yet still did his bidding. He had a fearsome reputation as a manslayer but she had yet to see him raise his voice, threaten anyone, or even look at her with anything more dangerous than an amused glance. He was an enigma, and she wanted his story. He saw it in her eyes. But tonight, he had no time to play. The game was ending even before it had begun. She was promised…he didn't want to ask if it really mattered. Because if he asked himself that, he would have to drop any pretence too. And if he pulled the wool from his eyes and really looked at her he would know that he had won half the battle already and he had yet to pick a weapon.

She stood, waiting. He stepped past her. "Go to your room."

She whipped her head around to face him. She stepped in front of him, eyes flashing, lips pulled tightly in anger. "Is that all you have to say to me?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Should there be more, my lady?" His laconic response almost broke her heart. She huffed and turned on her heel, ready to storm past him. He dipped his head, and then raised his eyes to hers. "You don't get much sleep, do you?" His voice was soft and dangerous. He watched her falter. She hesitated. Her heart wanted to turn and look at him again and her mind told her to escape. Her shoulders shook. She closed her eyes. She took one step and then another, slow, too slow. He watched her. Smiled. As she finally began to climb the stairs to go to her room, he let a slow, satisfied smile steal across his lips.

My apologies, little bird, I tried so hard to let you go. His eyes followed her till she disappeared. Sometimes, it is good to be selfish.

Author's Note

I'll be frank. I have really no idea where this story is going, it's just writing itself really.

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