The night of the hunter

Chapter four

"Tell me, Lizzy," Arthur said quietly. "Why do I still feel guilty?"

Light breath of wind travelled among the gravestones, gently asking leaves of trees to dance in the silence of the graveyard. Wind wasn't strong, but it was cool, and it made the Sunday morning feel chilly despite the shining sun. Arthur put his into the pockets of his jacket, regretting leaving his gloves at home; it was only early autumn, but the coolness of the weather shouldn't be underestimated.

"After all this time... Why can't I just stop regretting your choice?"

The gravestone Arthur was standing in front of was simple; not engraved, and without any little statues that were keeping company to many other gravestones. Few white lilies were laying on the grave – the flowers Elizaveta had always loved so much.

"And why can't I stop blaming myself?"

As usually, no one answered. The Englishman sighed. "Well you are as talkative as usually, Lizzy," he said. "Not quite when you used to be blabbering all the bloody time. Funny, how back then I wished you to shut your mouth for a little moment, but now I'd like to hear you speaking again." Arthur knelt down to clean the dead leaves away from Elizaveta's grave. The leaves were bright yellow and red, with hints of green left on them, and unconsciously the Englishman started to collect a bouquet of them. "You know, the girl who comes to clean my house doesn't talk a word. She just comes and does her job, and then leaves. She is quite creepy, actually. You should see how she polishes all the knives I have." He placed the bouquet of leaves beside the lilies and looked around, seeing only a a couple of old ladies further away from him. "You make me look very stupid, Lizzy, did you know that? To think that I'm talking to myself like this..."

Arthur straightened up and fixed his collar. "Well, I'm going now," he said. "I have a game to play."

xXx

"So, were are you taking me today, mon Anglais?"

Arthur had picked the Frenchman up from the hotel he was staying at and now the two men were sitting in a carriage. This ride was for sure much more comfortable than the previous one with Francis, now that Arthur wasn't dripping water and shaking of cold, now that he felt much more confident about his appearance.

"First, we are going to theatre," he answered the Frenchman, throwing at him a purposely arrogant glance with a small smirk. Yes, Arthur had noticed how much that particular expression annoyed his opponent, and therefore made sure to shake his inner calmness every now and then. It was rather entertaining to see those blue eyes light up with dark electricity of irritation. "No one can visit London without seeing at least one play of Shakespeare performed properly. While we are driving there, please enjoy the beauty of London, Mr. Bonnefoy." Arthur rested his elbow on the frame of the window, leaning his chin on his now gloved fingers and looking at Francis slightly half-facing. With his pose and arrogant expression, the Englishman knew from his earlier experience he looked good – and not only good but very attractive in a daring way. The way people like Francis just couldn't resist.

"I would if I could see any," the Frenchman replied dryly. He looked straight and openly at Arthur, blue eyes examining the Englishman as if eyeing a prey. Arthur sneered at his comment, casually gazing out of the window but inwardly reminding himself to be careful. Francis was a dangerous opponent. Arthur knew that the Frenchman was a natural seducer, it was easy to see; the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he laid his eyes on someone. His whole appearance announced him to be a man who was used to people fainting around him, and Arthur hated that, not only because it would be hard to win the French bastard. He hated that sureness of victory that was radiating from the Frenchman. He couldn't stand it. It would be good for that frog to experience crawling in front of somebody sometimes... Arthur smiled slightly as he gazed at London of the window. Why not? Arthur could add something small to his game. A new desire grew in his mind: breaking that self-conscious, smug French bastard. That shouldn't even be too difficult, since the Englishman remembered perfectly well how Francis had so obviously wanted him back at the masquerade.

Arthur glanced at Francis. The Frenchman was looking out of the window too, now thoughtful expression on his elegant face. Sure, he was attractive, and unfortunately aware of that, but it had been Arthur who had won the first match. Very well, the Englishman thought. Let's see how long that bloody French Casanova can last.

xXx

It appeared that Francis didn't lose any time with starting his game, much to Arthur's displease.

It looked like half of the Londoners had decided to go and see Othello that particular evening, to that particular theatre. As the Englishman was leading the Frenchman to their seats, a young lady walking near to Arthur managed to slightly hit him. She turned around and opened her mouth to apologise, but then her eyes slipped from Arthur to Francis. The Englishman could see her eyes widening and mouth staying opened , and he would have found her obvious shock amusing, if the person she was affected by hadn't been the Frenchman.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she finally managed to say, but for some reason to Francis, who hadn't even noticed her yet.

"It's o-" Arthur began, but was cut off as the Frenchman heard the lady's voice.

"Oh, who is this fascinating lady?" he asked, putting up an innocent charming smile. The Englishman rolled his eyes.

The lady was just about to answer, but before she could say a word, a man near her turned around. "Grace! Don't leave behind." Then the man's dark eyes noticed Francis and Arthur, standing a little too close to the lady called Grace, and he furrowed his black eyebrows and took the lady's arm. "Who are you gentlemen, if I may ask?"

Judging of the man's looks and his protective behaviour over the lady, Arthur figured he was her father. Not wanting to deal with angry parents, he briefly explained what had happened and let the man go ahead with his daughter. The lady threw one last glance at Francis before hurrying after her father. Somewhat irritated, Arthur continued to their own seats, not caring to see whether the Frenchman was following him or not.

"She is done," he heard Francis' content voice from behind of him. "Did you see the way she looked at me? Now she can't stop thinking about me."

Arthur sat down on his seat and pointed the Frenchman the place on his right. Francis sat down, still smiling in an annoying smug way.

"Too bad you didn't get her address, Mr. Bonnefoy, and you know only her first name, which she didn't even reveal herself," the Englishman uttered coldly. "And it is unlikely that we'll meet her again in this crowd, so you'll hardly get a point of this."

"Someone sounds bitter~"

"I am not," Arthur replied matronly. The sound of a bell ringing cut the conversation between the two men, and both of them focused on what happened on the stage. At first.

Arthur had seen all Shakespeare's plays more than once, and slightly bothered by the game and what happened before, he started glancing around from the corners of his eyes. Eventually his eyes stopped on Francis.

The Frenchman didn't notice him looking, blue eyes focused on the stage. The ironic smile that had been on the Frenchman's lips when he had heard the program that Arthur had planned, was now replaced with a small smile of interest. Francis seemed to be completely drawn into the play (Arthur made a mental note to remind him of that later), and the Englishman caught himself of thinking of how nice Francis' face actually looked when that annoying smirk was gone. And how his long hair highlighted his elegant neck when tied back. And... Enough.

Arthur yanked his eyes back to the stage, stopping himself from thinking any further. Sure, the Frenchman was very handsome (he couldn't believe he had thought of that three times during that evening already), but that was all there was to it; his intolerable personality being enough to push any self-respective person away. Besides, Francis was his opponent and also soon his victim of invisible seduction; Arthur should be careful to not lose his leading position to that frog.

The curtain was lowered and the half-time bell rang. Arthur stood up and looked down at the Frenchman. "Let's have something to drink," he suggested.

Not having made the table reservation beforehand, the two men couldn't find a new table for themselves and thus had to settle to standing places at a long table along the wall. Sipping his drink, Arthur was slightly leaning against the table, looking absently at other people around. He couldn't help feeling a little uneasy surrounded by people, who, as far as he could see, were having a good time with their company. But what could Arthur say to his companion, whom he didn't practically know at all and who was his opponent? Hesitating a moment, he cleared his throat. "So..."

"Excuse me... Oh, but you are the gentleman from before!"

Arthur turned around to see the lady -Grace, if he wasn't mistaken- who had accidentally hit him earlier. The lady was very clearly looking only at Francis, and the Englishman tightened his lips together, noting the singular addressing, as if the bloody Frenchman was standing alone.

Francis reacted quickly. "My eyes must have be betraying me! Mademoiselle Grace, am I right?"

She giggled. Arthur rolled his eyes. Please.

"I must apologise, mademoiselle, I haven't introduced myself yet." The Frenchman was obviously in his element; all charming smiles, smooth movements and playing with his tone and sappy words. "My name is Francis Bonnefoy."

"Oh!" the lady exclaimed. "I knew you were French, Mr. Bonnefoy! I said to my father: 'That man must be French.' I have always loved everything French." She made an excited motion with her hands – and her fine, silky scarf fell from her shoulders and fell on the floor. "Oh, how clumsy of me," she said, looking ready to pick up her scarf, but in reality she was waiting to...

"No, please let me do it," Francis said quickly, taking the cloth from the floor and offering it to the lady. She was obviously flattered, even though she had to know what would happen if she dropped something. "Thank you..." She looked at Francis from under her eyelashes.

Remember the rules, Arthur. You can't disturb his game in any way.

"It was an honour, mademoiselle."

But seriously.

"Do you like dancing, Mr. Bonnefoy?"

"But of course. Especially with beautiful ladies like you."

"I- There is a ball arranged at our house next month. Would... you perhaps like to participate?"

Arthur was almost shocked. Seriously, did a British lady bent so easily in front of a French prick?

"I'd love to, milady."

She was totally flushed by now. "Then... What if I give you the address of our house? How about you to come and... and get the invitation? Let's say tomorrow e-evening?"

Arthur turned around with an 'excuse me' and left the two, heading to his seat in the auditorium. He walked with quick steps, gritting his teeth together. He wasn't that upset with the point that Francis had indisputably got. No, more he was dissatisfied with that lady. Was it really possible that proud British women had sunk so low? It couldn't be. The whole idea was too appalling. And yet, there that bloody Frenchman was wrapping one of English women around his little finger with tasteless phrases.

It didn't take long for the bell to ring and the said Frenchman to join the Arthur again. Unfortunately, the Englishman thought. Francis had a disgusting smirk on his lips, and he waved a small piece of paper with the lady's address in a much too self-satisfied way. "I got her~"

Arthur turned to him with a very polite and very clearly faked smile. "Well congratulations."

"She fell so easily. If all Londoners are like her, this is going to be easy."

Anger filling him, the Englishman tried to remain calm. "I can't understand what she sees in you," he snorted.

"Hmm, who knows." The sapphire eyes turned to him. "Perhaps the same what you were watching during the first part of the play, Arthur," Francis suggested innocently. So fucking innocently. Arthur felt his face heating up a little. And that was a little too much. "I... was simply noting how much you seemed to enjoy the play, Mr. Bonnefoy."

The Frenchman's lips twitched slightly. "As a gentleman you only wish to be, I admit that it wasn't as bad as I had thought it would be."

"And I admit the lines you said that lady were absolutely ridiculous."

Francis gave a laughter. "She was the kind that loves those cheap romance novels full of those idiotic lines."

"It seems you've read those novels too, Mr. Bonnefoy," Arthur said dryly. "You must be proud of yourself now."

"Not at all." The Frenchman sighed. "That was very boring." He turned to look at Arthur again, the same kind of look in his eyes as a cat eyeing its prey has. "I prefer to have some... challenge."

A devilish smile crept on the Englishman's lips. "What a coincidence, Mr. Bonnefoy. Me too."

X

AN: Agh, it seems this is going into a cheesy direction, with deaths in the past and all. O_o Try to deal with it. Also, I'm very sorry for the delay, I am very busy with my studies at the moment so I won't be able to update as often as I'd like to. Forgive me and everything like that. :P I can't sacrifice my studies now. (Then maybe I can sacrifice my sleep..?)

Thanks for making it this far!