It was in Lord Devonshire's drawing room that Lucille had her second encounter with one Mr Negan. He stood by the fire with a man she presumed to be his American acquaintance and when she entered the room he dipped his head, his devilish smiled snaking across his face.

Lucille's cheeks warmed, her footsteps faltering as she took a seat on the edge of the chaise to engage in conversation with Lady Devonshire or any of the other ladies who were so enamoured in conversation about last night's ball. She could hardly concentrate on conversation as trifling as which dresses were wore or which partners were danced with. All Lucille could think about was Negan and the way his gaze seemed to settle on her skin, she touched her neck chancing a glance over her shoulder to confirm the intensity in his eyes. He was watching her and she had felt every moment of it. Negan raised his eyebrows in amusement, still half in conversation with his friend and Lucille turned back hoping that no one noticed the exchange.

When lunch was announced the party moved to the dining room. Lucille found fate has contrived to torture her by seating Mr Negan to her left. He held out her chair, his thumb brushing the back of her neck as he assisted her so eagerly into her place.

"We meet again Miss Pemberley," he crooned, his voice low as he sat next to her suddenly making this encounter in a public room feel illicit. Lucille supposed that Negan was the kind of man to make everything feel illicit.

"It would seem as much."

"Are you for the hunt?"

"I would say not Mr Negan. It would be improper."

"You English and all your damn rules. I'd teach you to ride and shoot, make a frontier woman out of you."

To her right was Miss Edith Falshaw, the youngest of the Falshaw girls and although Lucille found the youngests of the Falshaw girls to be a terrible bore she kept conversation with her for the entirety of dinner in a way that would suggest she was a great mind on all topics of interest.

/

Lucille sat in the garden, she knew not where the others were but she enjoyed the solitude of sitting amongst the flowers in this secret place. The sun was warm on her shoulders and she thought to take shelter but promised herself five more minutes. She turned the page of her book, so engrossed in the words that she was quite taken aback when a presence joined her. She looked up and saw a single white rose, behind it a fiendish smile.

"Mr Negan."

He next to her, his body opposite so they could be face to face. "Miss Pemberley…" he twirled the offering in his fingers, his eyes holding competition with hers.

Lucille reached for the rose but he pulled it away, taking her hand in his other and kissing the back of it before he turned it over and kissed the inside of her wrist. Lucille whimpered, the tingles of his lips igniting longing just like they had done on the balcony.

He grinned, shifting along the bench so he sat even closer, "you are so wonderfully untouched Miss Pemberley."

She blushed, "you mustn't say such things."

"I will say more, I care very little for your rules my dear. I want to be the man to touch you, to have you, to take and taste every part of you."

Her blush deepened and her body froze allowing him opportunity to trace the rose across her cheek, the petal's but a whisper ghosting along her skin before he drew them across her lips. When they had finished their journey she was trembling, the buds of her breasts tightening painfully against her corset, unsure how he could cause such a reaction within her body.

She gazed at Negan, her breathing heavy as he traced the rose along her lips once more before it sank lazily to her neck. Lucille arched her body, her head tipping back to better feel the roses gentle caress. The petals trailed their delicate tingles over her exposed skin until the bud rested between the swell of her breasts. She had never conceived such a wanton moment as this and was abashed by her own crude responses for she was in complete abandon of her body.

The sun burned her eyes behind her closed lids, there was no sound but that of some far off mockingbird as Negan's fingers brushed against her ear, gently tucking her hair away as his husky voice whispered to her,

"And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!"

Lucllies eyes fluttered open to look at him and the dimples creasing in his cheeks "you read Lord Byron?"

"I read you, Miss Pemberley." He removed the book she was holding, casting it across the garden without regard. "And now I will kiss you until you forget any word but yes," she knew no protest as he he cupped her cheeks, drawing her face to his, her lips to his, until they were touching. Soft and wet and dangerously sweet, morning dew on fresh bloomed petals.

Lucille bunched her hands into the skirt of her dress as Negan bewitched her with his lips, opening her up, his tongue sinking fervently into her mouth so that she might taste every flavour of him. Her heart beat even wilder, her body hummed an unknown tune and when their lips finally parted she wanted to cry out 'yes more' but was silent to the way his dark eyes studied her. So close, his nose no more than a hair's breadth from hers.

He growled, his eyes smiling, he would consume her now and she would be glad of it. His lips kissed the racing pulse in her neck, setting her body ablaze. She was sinking into new realms of depravity with Negan, letting him lead the way, forgetting anything but the way her body burned. She whimpered, powerless to stop the feelings he was stirring.

Negan grasped her waist pulling him against her and his lips stopped their most heavenly assault, "say yes to me Lucille, let me make you mine in all ways."

Lucille could not say what made her regain her senses, but the shame of her behaviour began to burn hot enough to erase the pleasurable flames Negan had stoked, "I will not." She pushed herself from his arms, "why would I choose you Mr Negan when you would be so improper to sneak about the garden beseeching unsuspecting women in this most ill manner."

"Because… dare I say you liked it very well Miss Pemberley. And because your precious gentlemen won't kiss you like I've kissed you, nor will they do to you the things that I will do to you."

Negan placed the rose in her hand and she pressed her nose against it, her breathing uneven, her mind uncontrolled as she tried not to look at him.

"You're wondering what I mean?" he gloated.

Yes. "Certainly not."

"Indeed you are my dear Miss Pemberley." Negan tilted her chin to force her gaze to his. "Tonight you will think of all the places that desire my touch and next time we meet you will show me."

He stood before giving a small bow, the smile in his eyes dark and mocking before he disappeared from the garden, the white rose and her breathless blush the token's of their encounter. Lucille found her book, carefully placing the stem of the rose within its pages as she hurried to the main house before she lost all sense to Mr Negan. God help her for meeting such a devilish rogue.

/

Lucille loosened the stays of her corset and relief flooded her body, her head falling back to enjoy the moment of freedom before discarding the thing altogether. A pull of ribbon and her petticoats fell to her feet leaving only her chemise as she took a seat at her dressing table.

She loosened her hair from the plaits her mother had fastidiously fastened and ran her brush along the length of it for less than half the required one hundred strokes. She was far too distracted for such mundane tasks, all her mind could focus on was Negan and every time she looked in the mirror she caught the strange look that was transfixing her face. Her cheeks pink, her eyes dilated. The rose he had given her sat lonely in a tall vase.

Lucille bit her lip, remembering his kiss as she abandoned her brush in favour of the rose. She plucked it from its place on top of the fireplace and pressed the bud to her nose. The scent was perfectly sweet and the petals still as delicate as they had been when Negan had caressed her skin. She brushed the rose against her cheek, had petals always been this delicate? Had the smell of a roses always made her body melt like candle wax against the heat? She could not say, only that from this moment a rose would never just be a rose.

Lucille drifted unconsciously to her bed, the rose bud pressed to her nose as her body fell down to her mattress with a sigh. All thoughts of Negan so utterly consuming that she could not think to escape as if he was in the very room.

One hand held the rose, running it along her skin to a lesser effect than when Negan had done it while her other hand inched along her body. Her fingertips brushing over her nipples as they tightened. Then along her midriff, an uncertain crawl to the place that Lucille was sure no lady should be touching.

Her mouth was dry, she cast a look to her bedroom door, firmly closed. It would not be disturbed until morning but fear of being caught in such a deviant act made her pulse race, yet it was not enough to stop her.

She pressed her palm between her thighs and gasped, sinking even more into the mattress at the intensity. She tried a lighter sweep, a single finger running along the gossamer thin fabric of her chemise, her body tingled, desire met but not sated.

Lucille panted, her body desperate for some unnamed thing, dizzy with feelings like her first taste of champagne. She was drunk, but on something altogether different, the smell of the rose the thought of Negan. She pictured his lips on her neck, the bristles of his whiskers tantalizing her skin as her fingers raked the hem of her chemise. Her own delicate touch, caressing the fabric along her legs to the apex.

Her fingers explored with nothing to stop their approach, gliding against her silken wetness where the heat was pooling, calling. She bit back a moan, her chest heaving in desperate breaths as she imagined the rough touch of Negan's fingers followed by the soft kiss of his lips. Her index finger teased, finding the placed that called for recognition. She bit her lip to keep from crying out, the sensation was too much but she dared not deny it.

Lucille's hips lifted to meet her fingers stroke for stroke, rubbing small circles as her breathing became ragged. Her other hand clutched Negan's rose, so tight the barbs cut into her fingers but she couldn't feel the pain, only pleasure. There was something building, pulsing along her body as she stoked the flames to inferno.

In a moment of uninhibited desire she imagined Negan's face between her thighs, his dark eyes watching her as he kissed her pleasure in the earnest that he had kissed her lips and the very thought was enough to consume her. Lucille's body shuddered. "Oh god," she cried out, crushing the rose in her palm as she came apart, flames licking along her body and consuming her over and over until she was empty, floating and exhausted.

Lucille knew this was not an act for a proper lady to entertain herself with yet she knew she would do it again. And again.


A/N- Thank you for reading.

Poem is 'She Walks in Beauty' by Lord Byron.

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