A/N: Hello all you lovely people. I'm back! Apologies for not updating sooner, I've just started uni, so I've quite literally been on another planet since mid september. A very drunken, hungover planet. But anyway, this chapter has sucked the life out of me, and it's taken a lot of effort to finish, so I hope you love it. I don't love it, because I'm sick of looking at it on my computer screen. I literally had two MASSIVE breaks between writing it due to a loss of interest, and I can really tell where I stop and start.

In fact, at the end I've included a little... excercise that really helped me with my writer's block. I suggest it to any authors out there who lose their muse amidst writing a chapter. It's simply... well, an interview with Suitor's Van Fanel. Yes, I know it's lame and ridiculous, but it really got me back into thinking through his character. And it reminded me that he was a complete bastard. :) I hope it makes you smile.

Anyway, I really really REALLY hope you like the chapter. Unfortunately, I think in the next few days I'll change the rating to M, just incase I get any backlash for being slightly too... free with their feelings. They are passionate creatures, don't you know.

Warning: There's baaaaad language, matuuuuuuuuuure situations and stroooong emotions towards the end. If you don't approve, then simply don't read. Thaaaaanks!

Right. Enjoy!


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"Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth: for thy love is better than wine." – Song of Songs.

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"I-I couldn't possibly…"

Hitomi trailed off weakly as she stared at her full reflection in the mirror. The woman who stared back, dressed in a scandalously well-tailored evening gown of burning scarlet which swirled lovingly around every curve and draped the floor in fine silk, wore an expression of such undiluted terror that the maid who was pinning the garment in place almost burst into laughter.

"Lady Fanel has a beautiful wardrobe." The servant smiled warmly before sobering slightly, "And you would do well not to offend her by refusing to exhibit it."

"But I…"

The governess swallowed, following the line of the two clipped peacock feathers which framed the top edge of the corseted bodice. 'Scandalous' did not begin to describe the amount of skin she was showing, and the silken sleeves which draped loosely off her shoulders and fell midway down her bared arms did nothing to increase the modesty of the outfit. She sighed, inadvertently watching the swell of her meagre bosom. Then she winced.

"I look like…" Her brow puckered as she tried to find an appropriate comparison. The style of the outfit was alike to none she'd ever seen before; certainly not in the last decade. However, the way the silk clung and then bunched was more flattering than she had first envisioned. And the colour was… something else. To her own eyes, she looked like a wanton; like a mysterious traveller, an exotic outlander…

"…like a gypsy." She finished.

The terror in her expression fell into nothingness. Her eyes glazed over.

"Miss?"

She heard the maid's voice at the back of her mind, but was so transfixed upon her own reflection that she barely noticed the impatience lacing its tone. Her eyes widened at the image she saw in the mirrored glass. Her mother regarded her silently through it.

"I can't…" Hitomi swallowed, shaking her head in an attempt to clear it and willing the sting behind her eyes to subside, "I can't wear this." She attempted to reach round to her back and undo the stays, suddenly rather frantic. "I couldn't possibly appear in front of all those people dressed this way, they'll—"

The maid, who had spent the last forty minutes painstakingly fitting the garment to the governess's slender measurements, stilled her frenzied hands.

"My lady," She said softly, yet with an undertone of formidable iron, "you must not insult the Countess in such a way. Are you implying that her clothes are not tailored well enough for your tastes?"

Hitomi shook her head wildly again, almost dislodging her complex coiffure. "Oh, no! No, please don't misunderstand— I-It's beautiful, really, it's just..." She clasped her hands over her chest, "It's only that… that I just… I…" She sighed exasperatedly, all the tension leaving her body in one breath.

"I'm a governess." She muttered quietly after a moment, looking at the floor. "I'm a governess, and governesses do not wear… this." She gestured to herself before her arms fell to her sides, limply.

"I'm mutton dressed as lamb."

The maid's expression lightened somewhat.

"Dear, it's a masquerade ball. Tonight, they're all mutton." Her mouth tilted, cheekily.

Hitomi blinked.

"M-Masquerade?" Relief, anxiety and confusion coursed through her all at once. She'd had no idea, although the design of her dress suddenly made more sense. "But… I don't have a mask."

Here, the maid's smile widened. Wordlessly, she turned, extracted a long velvet box from somewhere behind her, and handed it to the governess, who regarded it warily. After drawing her fingers along the downy casing, she opened it. And gasped.

Inside was the most beautifully crafted mask she had ever seen. Dozens of skilfully-clipped peacock feathers had been intricately interlaced and arranged to cover a simple black domino. They curved into a beautiful flare on the left side which turned upwards, making the top edge practically diagonal. The feathers' eyes glimmered darkly in the candlelight. Hitomi was lost for words. She swallowed.

"Tonight, you are not a governess." The maid said, softly.

Hitomi looked up into the older woman's smiling eyes. Understanding passed between them; the understanding of the unprivileged.

The maid lifted the mask out of the box and carefully pinned it into Hitomi's sophisticated coiffure before they both turned to regard the mirror. The effect of the costume was startling. Alluring.

"Tonight, you are a bird of paradise. Relish it." After smoothing down the skirts of the gown, the servant smiled knowingly.

"Just be sure to watch out for the wolves."

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He was the devil.

Which was ironic, since his behaviour tonight had to be nothing short of angelic. Nevertheless, Van had donned the trappings of Beelzebub for the masquerade ball, albeit of a more sophisticated, refined hellion. Dressed from head to toe in black, he made a rather striking demon, his untamed ebony hair blending so seamlessly with the costume that it was a wonder he hadn't been born for the role. Indeed, he hadn't even bothered with a mask; he was no doubt considered a veritable Prince of Darkness without one.

Chid stood stoically by him, not having dressed-up for the occasion, save for the white demi-mask he donned. Standing side by side, the childhood friends looked almost like a mirror image of the other; one, darkness, the other, light. The former was staring intently at the entrance to the ballroom. The air swam with eccentrically-clad bodies around him.

"Where the hell is she?" Van muttered, impatiently. Nobody noticed the subdued outburst, except for Chid, who sighed and took out his pocket watch. He regarded it with disinterest.

"Procrastinating, if she's wise." He drawled, clicking the time piece closed again as his gaze flickered to the dance-floor. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were nervous, Fanel."

Van shot him a disparaging glance in the negative.

Smiling gently, Chid shook his head, somewhat amused.

"She'll be here." He said, simply, watching the crush breathe and swell around them. "You know she will. And then…" He momentarily took in the Viscount's solemn attire, "…you can bedazzle her until the cows come home."

His gaze still on the door, Van ignored the sarcasm and quirked an ebony brow. "I fear the cows have already arrived."

Chid frowned beneath his mask and followed the line of the Viscount's gaze. Merle Rogers had just entered the room, surrounded by a gaggle of gawping, giggling debutantes. Sighing, the blonde lord fought the urge to roll his eyes.

"And so it begins." He murmured, picking up a flute of champagne from a passing footman and moving hastily in the opposite direction. Van smiled wryly, and was preparing to follow his friend to safer pastures when something – someone – suddenly caught his attention. A straggler in the very group he was attempting to evade.

His eyes widened as she came into view.

A flash of deep scarlet.

A glimpse of delectable, ivory skin.

A frisson of awareness that shook him to his bones.

Before he knew it, he was rooted to the spot.

She was masked, but although the elaborate domino concealed her identity, it could not obscure her reticent confidence, nor the striking elegance with which she moved. He could tell in an instant that she was no mere debutante. Her gown gleamed crimson in the generous candlelight, the skirts not puffed missishly around her, as was the fashion of the season, but instead hugging her hips, her thighs, wrapping her in a delectable cocoon of satin. Greedily, his eyes travelled upwards, to the gown's elaborately embroidered corset, devilishly moulded to her graceful curves. The two long feathers lining its uppermost edge did nothing to hide the perfectly-formed swell of bosom beneath. He swallowed, and realised his mouth had become uncomfortably dry.

Temptress.

She surveyed the enormous room, unhurriedly, as if she had all the time in the world. As if she did not notice the dozens of eyes fixed upon her, watching, waiting for her to move.

Siren.

He had to meet her. Had to speak to her, know her, touch her. She was everything he dreamed of, everything and more.

Without wasting another second, he pushed his way ungracefully through the crush, wondering who she could be, whether he'd met her before. Somehow he doubted it, considering the fact that, if he had met her before, he certainly would have remembered. Which begged the question: where had she come from?

Heaven.

He broke free of the crowd and saw her immediately a few feet away, turned towards the string quartet. The group of debutantes had left her. She was alone. Just how he wanted her.

Willing his thudding heart to slow, he approached her back, stopping as close as he dared. His senses reeled at her heat; her scent. He watched the hairs whisper over her nape, and had to quell the sudden urge to place his lips there; had to stop himself imagining her rapturous shudder of response. Unconsciously, he steadied himself with a deep breath.

She heard it.

And when she turned, her eyes collided with his.

They held him from beneath her mask, unmoving, unashamed.

…Those eyes.

He'd know those eyes anywhere.

Van felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach.

"You…" He breathed, not quite understanding, and yet fleetingly aware that he'd known all along.

Hitomi smiled, mirthlessly.

"Good evening, Lord Fanel."

The Viscount simply stared, entranced, enraptured. She was…

Stunning.

It was almost as if she belonged in such attire. As if the exotic colours were in her blood. In her soul. There was something different not only in the way she looked, but also in way she held herself, in the way she moved. It was as if she had come alive.

Hastily, he cleared his head. Remembered his plan.

"Good evening." He replied, before cursing his inability to come up with anything more suave.

The governess merely regarded him mutely from beneath her mask.

"Did you require something?"

Van blinked at her coldness, then flashed a roguish grin.

"Only your delightful company, Miss Kanzaki."

He could have sworn he heard her stifle a snort, though her face betrayed nothing. Smiling gently, she looked past him, into the crush.

"I fear you must have more pressing engagements, my Lord."

"Not at all."

The only engagement that's pressing me is the one you must consent to. He smiled, tightly.

Her bewitching green eyes fell upon him, calm; cool. She leaned marginally closer, her exotic scent making his pulse race anew.

"If that is the case, Lord Fanel," Hearing his title from her mouth almost made him wince, "then why is every eye in the room fixed upon you so intently?"

Van didn't even turn around.

"They're not looking at me."

He imagined she was frowning.

"You haven't even—"

"They are staring at you, Miss Kanzaki, debating whether you are likely to have a chaperone." His grin turned wicked. "Or a sizeable dowry."

She didn't react, at least outwardly. Van's gaze flickered over her bodice, straying to its sinful décolletage. His body tightened as he caught her eyes once more.

"How lucky for me then, my Lord, that this is a masquerade, and nobody will discover that I have neither."

With that, she raised her chin defiantly and walked straight past him, seamlessly melting into the ever-swaying sea of bodies. He merely turned and stared after her, rendered momentarily speechless at her self-assurance. Then he blinked once, twice, shook his head, and followed, straightening his cravat with a practiced flare of his fingertips.

I need to charm her. Charm her, dammit, not infuriate her.

The thoughts urged him into action. He pushed his way through the crush and spotted her after a few moments, already surrounded by a gaggle of swaggering dandies. Each tried to catch her downcast emerald eyes, pleading readily for a space on the dance card which dangled helplessly from her wrist. He frowned when he recognised many, if not all of them, as some of the most witless, brainless fops of London. To his immense surprise however, the governess wasn't flustered, nor even the slightest bit bothered by their practiced heckling. She merely remained looking towards the floor, sometimes glancing out past their jovial smiles to the ballroom beyond.

"You flatter me, Gentleman." He heard her say huskily, as he neared. "But I must decline your… generous invitations."

Van smiled, finding himself rather amused for reasons he wasn't entirely sure of. He entered the circle of eager gentleman, all eyes turning to him. All eyes, that is, except hers.

"Begging your pardon, my Lady," His voice carried over the others' easily. The governess looked up, expression carefully crafted and held in elegant indifference. Van caught her gaze in his as he bowed gracefully, extending his hand to her as he straightened.

"Would you do me the honour of joining me for the next waltz?"

Behind her mask, she must have frowned. Her eyes seemed to consider his proposition momentarily, the shadowed emeralds fixed resolutely on his claret gaze. The surrounding gentleman seemed to hold their collective breaths as she came to a decision. Without warning, she nodded.

"Very well."

Van smiled as she took his hand, only then realising that he had been holding his breath with the rest of them. Luckily, the dismayed outcries of shunned suitors covered the sigh he expelled it on. He turned to her as they strayed away from the others, and was about to make a witty remark when she cut in before he could do so.

"Do not think for a moment that I do this out of anything other than desperation." She whispered, her voice low, her tone dangerous. "I simply never realised the… trials of eligibility."

The Viscount led them to the dance floor, trying to ignore the heat of her hand on his arm. He fought the urge to take it in his own, peel back the red satin glove, and raise her fingertips to his lips.

Focus, Godammit.

"In that case," he started, catching the direction of his thoughts and positioning the two of them close to the other couples, "It is entirely my pleasure to assist in your escape."

She looked him up and down, raising a brow.

"'Escape' is hardly the word." She muttered, somewhat exasperatedly. "What are you supposed to be anyway? A pallbearer?"

Van's lips twitched, "Not exactly."

When he said nothing more, she smiled slightly.

"And you're not simply going to tell me, I suppose."

Wordlessly, he put his hand on her waist, taking her delicate hand in his own before he raised them, conjoined, into position. He smiled, boyishly.

"Mystery, Miss Kanzaki, is the heart of La Mascarade." And with that, he whirled them into movement as the music began.

It was only after several bars of twirling that he finally slowed to initiate conversation. Unfortunately, the action inadvertently focused his senses on her, making him realise how easy it would be to close the distance between them, stroke her neck, kiss her—

"Are you enjoying the evening, my Lord?"

The Viscount gave himself a mental shake, attempting to clear his head.

"Indeed, how could I not?" He said, his façade of easy charm so practiced it was effortless to assume, "I'm dancing with one of the most beautiful women in the room."

It wasn't until he said it that he realised he actually meant it.

Indeed, she was the most stunning creature he'd ever laid eyes upon, let alone seen in his paltry ballroom. Every time he looked at her, he ached. Ached to touch, to taste. He found himself taken aback at his own passionate reaction to the usually outspoken governess, and yet could not ignore what sang through his veins, what pulled and pulled at the reins of his control.

Hunger.

"You desire something." She said, lightly, catching his attention. "What is it?"

Every muscle in his body tightened, locked, reacting to her damnably innocent words. His head was suddenly overrun with images, noises… positions—

"What I desire would—"

He checked himself when he noticed her arrested expression.

What I desire would make you blush.

He stared briefly at his hands, one clasping hers and the other resting upon the delectable indentation of her waist, and swallowed, curbing his treacherous tongue.

"What I desire," He began again through gritted teeth, schooling his features as he drew her into the next turn, "is to prove to you, somehow, that I am not simply some brainless, witless, skirt-chasing rogue."

The governess still looked away from him, though the hint of a smile tilted her lips, stained pink from the punch she'd been sipping. He only realised he was staring at them when he noticed they were moving.

"I never said you were brainless, my Lord, nor witless." She replied, easily, "But I regret to inform you that I already know you are a 'skirt-chasing rogue', and there is no way in hell you will convince me otherwise."

The lightness of her tone did not wholly cover the steel rippling beneath her words. Van frowned slightly.

"You seem utterly convinced of my wickedness, Miss Kanzaki." He murmured, whirling her masterfully through the other couples.

"I am." Was her simple reply, "Utterly."

She finally met his gaze.

Beneath her feathered mask, her eyes were hard, cold. Not filled with the fire he knew so well. The crease in the Viscount's brow grew more severe.

Silence ensued for the remainder of the waltz, although Van kept his eyes on her every move, her every breath, searching for a clue, a hint as to what she thought of his unprecedented behaviour. Sometimes catching his gaze, often looking away, she followed his lead with grace and undeniable expertise; she was a beautiful dancer, and together they twirled and whirled skilfully, wordlessly, stunningly through the throng. By the time the music began to slow, they had attracted quite a crowd of spectators, some of whom were practically gushing with jealousy over the mysterious woman in the Viscount's arms.

Van slowed their movements as the waltz drew to a close, purposefully leading them towards a less densely populated corner of the dance floor. He felt her try to move away, but before the icy governess could even think of shaking him off with a brusque adieu, he pulled her against him. And regretted it instantly.

"I…" He began, trying to ignore the feel of her body pressed along his so intimately. He attempted to focus on her eyes, which met his with the same coldness he'd started to detest. Her displeased expression spurred him into action.

"You don't know me. Not really." His voice lowered to a gravelly whisper as he eased his hold on her slightly, "You think you do, but… what with last night, I… I'm asking— begging you… to give me a second chance."

He watched her eyes widen at his sincerity. After a moment, she glanced around to make sure nobody was watching them, and sighed.

"A second chance to do what exactly?"

The Viscount smiled subtly, sensing victory.

"To make a first impression."

And with that, he released her, swept an elegant bow and retreated into the crush, leaving her to ponder what, exactly, he had meant.

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A second chance… to make a first impression.

"Yes, well, wordplay is hardly going to manage that." The governess whispered sarcastically, to nobody in particular, watching as the Viscount swept seamlessly back into the milling crowd. He had been acting strangely all night, but this… this was very unexpected. It was almost as if he was trying to be… well, a gentleman. At the same time, his painfully emotional confession of the night before still echoed through her heart and, in all honesty, part of her already felt that her perceptions of him were altering, though she was certainly loathe to admit it. What was more, the memory of his touch was becoming dangerously vivid, and she hated the way her thoughts strayed to him constantly. She had grown to hate catching herself smiling at nothing, or imagining his sinful caresses at utterly inappropriate times.

"My dear, what on earth have you done to yourself?"

Before she could think further on the matter, Hitomi blinked in surprise and turned around to behold a rather large, rather short woman, masked in a jewel encrusted domino that glinted in the immense candlelight, smirking. Hitomi smiled back.

"Good evening, Liddy." She curtseyed.

Liddy, the infamous Widow Damask, eyed her costume with undisguised interest. When she finally caught her gaze, her eyes sparkled with intrigue.

"I knew it."

Hitomi waited for her to continue, and frowned when she didn't.

"Knew what?" She asked, looking around as if her old friend and confidante was discussing somebody standing behind them.

Liddy's smile merely widened at her confused reaction. She leant in a fraction closer.

"That beneath the exterior of that wallflower governess lay the most beautiful creature in London. Now, get drinking."

Hitomi's eyes widened at the compliment, as well as the other… suggestion. Liddy merely fanned herself more vigorously. Then, to the governess' immense surprise, winked at her before gliding over to some other poor, unsuspecting acquaintance. Hitomi could only stare after her, in shock.

A footman carrying a tray of champagne flutes halted before her, as if on cue.

"A drink, madam?"

"Er…"

The governess glanced subtly around the room, noting countless women indulging in the alcoholic treats. Most of them seemed to be surrounded by leering dandies, touching their backs or their arms in fairly scandalous places. Somehow, the sight only strengthened her resolve.

"Well, when in Rome…" She muttered to herself, taking a crystal glass. The footman smiled and inclined his head to her, promptly continuing his circuit of the room. Unfortunately, his circuit must have been remarkably small, because he seemed to return to her fairly often, and by her fourth glass, she was feeling very strange indeed. She made her own circuit of the room at this point, a little unsteady on her feet, ignoring the glances that dozens of men flashed her way, and the gasps of their outraged partners. She tried to tell herself that she wasn't searching for anybody in particular, but could not disregard how she scanned every face for the Viscount's arresting features.

"Can I help you, my Lady?"

A low voice asked, rather near her ear. She turned to regard a very attractive gentleman dressed in fine dark evening attire with brown, chestnut hair. Under his simple black mask flashed the most vividly green eyes she had ever seen. She smiled, lazily.

"I daresay you can." For some reason, talking coherently seemed rather a chore when one was pleasantly warmed by bubbles and bubbles of champagne. The gentleman grinned at her. Then, without warning, took her gloved hand in his own and brought it to his lips.

"Marcus Hemington, at your service, Miss…?"

"Kanzaki." She said, plainly disregarding the fact that she really wasn't supposed to tell anybody her name tonight, just in case they knew of her relationship with Merle. Hemington's eyes widened as he kissed her satin-covered knuckles.

"I see." He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm without asking her permission to do so, his eyes glinting, "And how can I assist you this evening, Miss Kanzaki?" He smiled at her again. She couldn't help thinking it looked slightly strained. Not at all like Van's smile. Oh god, and now she was constantly calling the Viscount by his first name. And imagining his smile! She really should never have drunk anything at all.

"Well, I would quite like to know where the terrace is." She pointed at the ceiling for reasons unbeknownst to her. "You see, I believe I require some fresh air." She whispered, giggling, and leant on him slightly more than was proper. It was a strange thing, losing the ability to control your own thoughts, not to mention your own body. She felt his arm tense beneath her fingers.

"Indeed. Let's find it together, shall we." His voice seemed to change slightly, though Hitomi was too lightheaded to notice the alteration in his countenance. He had begun leading her away from the crush before she really realised what was happening, and found herself at the terrace doors almost immediately. He opened them for her, and drew her out onto the patio. Several couples were out taking the air, speaking in hushed tones, relishing the moments of privacy away from the prying, judgemental eyes of the haut ton. She briefly felt a pang of envy towards them, which was swiftly replaced by confusion when Lord Hemington led her in the opposite direction, down a set of steps that led onto the grass.

"I— er… where are we going?"

The man holding her arm chuckled smoothly.

"Somewhere more secluded, my dear." He answered, and for the first time, she could hear the crooked smile in his voice. She ignored the gathering dread that pooled somewhere low in her stomach.

"I think here is fine." She stopped him as they passed an old oak tree about a dozen metres or so from the balustrade wall. She let go of his arm, moving towards the tree. "Thank you. I should be alright now."

To her annoyance, he followed her anyway.

After a moment of rather uncomfortable silence, Hitomi turned round to see him still there, removing his gloves rather efficiently. He didn't seem quite so dashing in the darkness. The moonlight carved out his features a little too harshly, made his eyes a little too bright to read. She crossed her arms and held herself to fight the chill that had suddenly invaded her bones.

"I'll be alright now." She repeated, slightly more obviously. He clearly hadn't heard her before. Oh, how she wished her head would stop spinning. The stranger looked up at her, seemingly amused. He closed more of the distance between them.

"My dear, you can stop playing coy with me. We are alone now." He reached for her shoulders. Suddenly very aware that she was indeed very alone with a complete stranger, barely dressed and not at all sober, Hitomi practically leapt away from his touch, only to come into solid contact with the tree behind her. He followed in an instant. And then she was trapped.

"Ah, so you want to play, do you?" His hands settled either side of her face as he moved his body up against hers. "I didn't put you down as one of those whorish types."

She flinched, gasping as her heart jumped into a heavy, rapid beat. Panic gripped her. Blind panic.

"N-No, you've misunderstood—"

"Oh, I don't think so."

He all but slammed his lips into hers, taking them roughly, almost painfully. She whimpered and pushed at his chest, to no avail. His hands travelled to her shoulders, gripped them hard enough to bruise. She ripped her mouth away from his long enough to protest a stronger: "No!", but was swiftly silenced as he took her mouth again, savaging her lips. She beat and beat at his chest but he wouldn't move. She screamed against his lips again and again. Without warning, his hands left her shoulders and roughly pulled at her corset, dragging it down. Her immediate reaction was what she should have done in the first place.

She kicked him as hard as she could between the legs.

He stumbled back with an unattractive "OOF", and she bolted. Unfortunately, he was exceptionally fast, and caught her so easily she cried out, only to be shoved back up against the tree. What was worse, now they were at an angle where the tree-trunk concealed them both. Nobody could see them from the house.

"You little bitch!" Hemington sneered, his hair askew, his breathing heavy, his features screwed up in unapologetic rage, "Do you honestly think I'm going to let a lowly governess reject me?!" Her eyes widened as he raised his hand towards her face. For a moment she thought he was going to slap her. Instead, he ripped off her mask roughly, baring her face, her sullied identity to him.

"Oh yes, I know exactly who you are." He spat, "I've had my eye on you this whole weekend." He pressed himself against her, the evidence of his desire making her stomach drop.

"Stop!" She tried to shout, though all that left her throat was a croaky sob as she moved to slap him. He deftly caught her hand, twisting it painfully behind her back.

"Don't do that again, my love," He whispered harshly near her ear, the warm puffs of breath on her neck making her nauseous. "Or I'll make this very unpleasant for you."

It was already so unpleasant for her that the thought of him consciously making it worse frightened her half to death.

She shoved at him as he moved in for another kiss. His body was hard as rock, unmovable. He pushed her back against the tree, her head connecting with it in a way that made her sob.

"You are dirt!" He sneered, and pushed her back again, "Do you understand?! You belong in the gutter, little better than a whore, and with less dignity." He grabbed her chin, forcing her face towards his. "You should feel honoured that I want to fuck you."

He pulled her corset down, damaging the fine feathers that lined the top edge, baring her to the night and making it exceptionally hard to breathe. She whimpered and tried to cover herself, but one hand was still in his confinement, and the other was swiftly pulled away to join it. She saw him grin in the darkness, feral and frightening. Fleetingly, she thought of the times she'd been with the Viscount, the times he had tried to seduce her, had kissed her, touched her. He hadn't smiled like that. When Van had smiled at her, she'd melted. When he'd touched her, her skin had warmed where his fingers trailed. When this beast smiled at her, she wanted to slap him, and when he touched her… she turned to ice.

This was so different. So very different.

Hemington grabbed her violently, raked his dull nails across her skin. At first she fought it, tried to struggle… but then she stilled. What was the point? If she struggled, it would only make it worse.

"Stop…" She whispered once more.

Then she was numb.

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When Chid had told him that Hitomi had been seen leaving the ballroom in the company of Marcus Hemington, Van had actually ground his teeth together so hard that his jaw ached.

"Stupid woman." He growled as he tried to casually sprint towards the terrace doors without attracting attention. He had been looking for her all evening, and of all the men she could have gone off with…

Everytime he had come into contact with that excuse for a man, Hemington, the cad had only talked of forcing himself upon unsuspecting women, both married and unmarried, describing the lewd and undignified debauchery he'd gotten himself into. What was worse was that he had glorified the actions as if they were… impressive.

Van's mind raced as he practically stumbled out onto the terrace, his head whipping this way and that in an attempt to locate the bastard. The couples who were taking the air looked at him briefly, but turned away as if unwilling to involve themselves in whatever trouble he'd landed himself in this time.

He swore heavily under his breath and darted to the balustrade, leaning over the edge in an attempt to see if Hemington had led her down onto the grass. He squinted, seeing nothing but darkness. Nothing abnormal struck his senses. Cursing again, this time out loud, he smacked his fist on the waist-high stone, and was about to turn away when he heard something. It was the smallest of noises, high-pitched and strained, one that most people would dismiss or remember as if having imagined it. But he heard it. And he knew it was her, crying out for help.

Heart beating fast, adrenaline and dread coursing through his blood, he turned and ran down the steps two at a time. When he reached the grass, he stopped, listening for her… and for him.

There was another whimper of distress. His eyes glanced to the oak tree.

There.

White hot rage burst alight inside him. He was upon their silhouettes before he could draw another breath. There was no doubt in his mind as to who they were. He couldn't make out much in the darkness, but hoped to god he wasn't too late.

"What the—" Hemington's irritated voice barked as he caught sight of the Viscount. Before he could say anything further, however, Van grabbed his jacket roughly and violently hauled him away. Hitomi cried out behind him in what could only have been relief, scrambling to cover herself. The sound made the Viscount's blood boil.

"Fanel?!" Came Hemington's shocked realisation, "What the bloody hell are—"

Van grabbed his neck and squeezed. Hemington choked on his words, grabbing at his arm for mercy. The Viscount lowered his voice to a lethal whisper.

"If you so much as lay another finger on Miss Kanzaki again, Hemington, I swear on my brother's dead body I will hunt you down and kill you."

Hemington gurgled something incomprehensible. Van tightened his hold on the cad's throat, his expression almost savage in its utter hatred and disdain.

"Do you understand?" He asked calmly, brutal steel beneath his words.

"Yes, Yes!" Was the strained reply he got from the desperate Hemington, who had begun to turn an impressive shade of purple.

With a snarl, Van released him grudgingly, shoving him away.

"You're scum, Marcus. Pack your things and get out of my house." With that, he turned and left him. Hitomi was still backed up against the oak, now shivering violently in the cold air. The sight of the confident, opinionated governess brought to such shattering depths broke his heart. Without wasting anymore time, he quickly removed his coat, taking her arms gently and bringing her forward enough to drape it around her.

"It's alright, sweetheart, it's over now." He breathed as he rubbed some warmth back into her upper arms. She was cold and still as he held her.

From behind him, a bitter Marcus snorted.

"Ah, so she's your whore, is she?" He sneered, "I thought you had better taste, Fanel."

In under a second, the Viscount had turned and struck him down with one faultless punch to the head. With a heavy thud, Hemington fell to the floor, his nose bleeding. He groaned unattractively and tumbled into unconsciousness. Van turned back to Hitomi, who was staring at the grass, or rather, at nothing. He approached her, slowly, as he would a startled rabbit, as if she would bolt or disappear at any moment.

"Hitomi?"

She didn't even blink at the use of her first name. A very bad sign, indeed. Cautiously, he closed the distance between them and put his arm around her shoulders. She winced.

"What did he…?" At her lack of reaction, he sighed.

"Come on, I'll take you inside." He urged her, gently, into movement, but suddenly felt her hands gripping at his waistcoat, stopping him, clutching onto him for dear life.

"Not back there." She breathed, "Not back in there... please. I can't... I can't--"

He shushed her gently, rubbing circles over her upper back. "I know, it's alright sweet, we're going to my study. I'll take you the back way." He tried to move her again, but she wouldn't budge. Then he tried again, and she whimpered like a frightened child.

"Hitomi." He said, turning her towards him carefully, his voice low and oddly full of emotion. "He's gone. It's over. I'm here now." He held her upper arms again. "I'm here."

And that, apparently, was enough for her. She nodded meekly, silently. He led her around the side of the house, towards a set of double doors which led to his own private library. She wasn't crying, which surprised him, but she was weak. He knew her energy, her very spirit, had been stolen away. He held her to his side, literally holding her up so she wouldn't collapse, shaking, upon the dewy grass. When they finally reached the doors, he opened them, shoving the heavy curtains aside as he brought them both in. Thankfully, the fire had been lit, though it was dying somewhat. He led her to the large sofa before the hearth.

"Come on, sweet, let's sit you down… there we go." She sat without fuss, still silent, still shaking. After regarding her for a moment, almost double-checking she was really there, he turned to tend to the fire.

The adrenaline, the fire in his own blood, was dimming, draining, and now that he could hear his thoughts over the beating of his heart, he realised his mind was a mess. What had just happened? His reaction had been… primitive. Animalistic. He poked weakly at the coals in front of him. The rage he had felt at the thought of her being defiled, being touched by somebody else… it had blinded him. A primal, possessive fury had taken over his body, his very being. He couldn't explain it, couldn't understand it. Couldn't understand why this woman, this impossible, ordinary woman, made him feel this way. Made him… jealous.

He expelled a frustrated sigh and leant his arm on the mantelpiece. After a few long moments, he turned his head back to her. She hadn't moved. His jacket had fallen off her, and her eyes stared blankly into the hearth. The fact that she was there… the fact that he had saved her brought him relief such as he had never felt before. However, he didn't know what Hemington had done to her, said to her prior to his intervention. The pain in her eyes made him dread hearing of it.

"I'm not ruined, if that's what you're wondering." The governess said in a monotone, reading his thoughts as she stared vacantly into the fireplace. Van took in the words without any outward reaction; inside, his lungs finally relaxed enough for him to draw a real breath. Initially, he said nothing, however, after going over to the drinks cabinet, pouring out two glasses of fine whisky and handing one to her, he attempted a casual remark

"All I'm wondering is how efficiently I can murder that good for nothing c—"

"How did you know?" She interrupted him, mid curse, finally catching his gaze. He blinked back at her.

"How did I know what?"

"How did you know that I had… that I was with him?" She asked, cradling the whisky glass in her hands. She had yet to take a sip.

Van took a mouthful from his own tumbler.

"Chid told me he'd seen you leaving with him." The Viscount replied simply, pretending to inspect a nearby bookcase. Hitomi looked down at her hands.

"Why did you bother to come after me?"

Van turned at the question, suddenly rather uncomfortable and very irritated that she was asking at all. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Because Hemington is a cad and I knew he would try to take advantage; would you rather I had simply let you be?" He asked, knowing he was speaking too harshly with her, knowing he was close to shouting at her to think better of him.

"No, I… I didn't mean…" She trailed off, weakly. "I just… I didn't think anybody would notice or care or…"

Van watched as her face crumpled in misery. "It's only that I… He…" She dropped her glass onto the carpet as her hands came up to cover her face. It was almost a relief that she had burst into tears. Feeling something was far better than feeling nothing. Of that he greatly knew. He walked quickly over to her, disregarding the fact that the crystal glass had cracked and the carpet, now stained, had been imported from Turkey.

"What did he do? For God's sake, I'll kill him. I'll kill the bastard; what did he—"

"No, please don't, I…It's not what he did, it's… he said…" Her hands fell from her face, leaving her lips open to the air, trembling, ready to recount the experience to him. "He said that… that…" Exasperatedly, she wrapped her arms around herself, standing up without warning and walking a few paces away from him. She couldn't seem to get the words out. He understood, but his impatience was growing, along with a dormant urge to punch Hemington in the face several times more. He closed the distance between them, approaching her back. His hand reached out to her shoulder but she flinched away. After a moment, he heard her speak, her voice low, spiritless.

"He said I should be… flattered that he wanted to… to…" She cradled her head in her hands once more. Van's expression hardened.

"And it made me realise… perhaps I should be flattered." She continued, whispering into her hands barely audibly, at the end of her wits. "Perhaps that's the best offer I'll ever get. If I'm nothing, then… I deserve nothing. That's all I'm good for. I—"

In a heartbeat he had grabbed her, turning her to face him.

"No." He said emphatically, grabbing her upper arms. When she winced and he noticed there were bruises there, aside from wanted to strangle Hemington all over again, he loosened his grip slightly. "You are not nothing, Hitomi, do you understand?!" He sighed exasperatedly as she shook her head in denial. "Believe me," He followed her desperate movements with his eyes, trying to catch her gaze, "You... you're an intelligent, sophisticated, elegant… beautiful woman, and I… If I wasn't…" Here, he stopped himself; took a breath. His gaze dropped to the necklace hanging at her throat. The ruby glinted, blood red against the swell of her bosom. He swallowed, altering what he'd been about to admit to her, and to himself. "Any man would be lucky to have you." He finished, quietly.

After a moment, he lifted his gaze to catch hers once more. She had stopped shaking her head. He watched as her eyes narrowed momentarily in disbelief. She seemed to decide something in her own mind. Something clicked within her. Or snapped. Vaguely, he felt her arms clutch the fabric at his chest. Then, without warning, she leant into him.

"Kiss me."

His eyes widened. She had breathed the words so quietly upon his lips that he'd barely heard them. But he'd certainly felt them. His chest tightened. He couldn't possibly…

"I… Hitomi, no, you're not—"

Her hands travelled to his shoulders, and had pulled him towards her before he could finish. He stifled a groan as their bodies came into full contact.

"Hitomi—"

"I want to get rid of him." She whispered against his mouth, "Don't you see, I… need you to… to…" Her features creased as she fought tears again, "I need to you to show me…" Her eyes met his, glistening, desperate. Their mouths were achingly close, sharing ever-quickening breaths. "I want to feel something else. Just… please just make me forget. Make me forget everything except this."

She kissed him before he could stop her. And her lips were so torturously soft, so warm and desperately seeking against his that he almost let her carry on. But then he remembered; remembered that he couldn't do this. Not if he wanted her permission to marry Merle Rogers. She was in shock, out of her mind with fear and humiliation. She didn't want this. Not really. As if he were ripping a part of himself away, he urged his lips from hers.

"I can't." Drawing in a ragged breath, he looked to the floor beside them, "You don't know what you're doing, I can't—"

She turned his head towards her, one hand on either side of his face, and took his lips again with a gentleness that slew his ability to refuse her. He couldn't stop himself responding. Christ, he couldn't have stopped himself for anything. His lips moved in sweet answer with hers, his arms coming around her of their own accord… and yet still his mind was screaming 'no'; this wasn't right. She made a maddening sound against him, a desperate plea for more of him as she wound her hands around his neck. He shouldn't… couldn't do this. And if he didn't stop now, he wouldn't be able to stop at all.

"Hitomi." He pushed her away to an arm's length, his breathing fast and light, "You're not… there's…" His grip tightened on her arms, "For the love of God, I'm trying to prove myself to you." He tried to ignore her hooded eyes, her reddening cheeks. She swallowed.

"But you have." She leant in again, and he couldn't stop her. "You saved me." She breathed, her fingers idly tangling in the hairs at the nape of his neck. "Again."

He let loose a frayed breath, his eyelids falling closed from the feelings she was suddenly, effortlessly evoking within him. He hadn't a clue as to what had come over her… but the way she was making his heart beat a relentless staccato within his chest was… overwhelming. For Christ's sake, even the innocent movements of her delicate hands on his skin had him breathing in triple-time.

"I...." His eyes opened, catching the darkness in hers. "I don't want to hurt you… I mean, Christ, you've just been—"

"Shh." She stopped him. He didn't move. Not even when she pressed her lips, motionless and warm, against his.

"Do you want to kiss me?" The pressure of her mouth over his sent his pulse racing.

His breath caught against hers.

"You know the answer to that." He couldn't lie. Not anymore.

He saw her eyes close in what looked like relief.

"Then for God's sake… do it. Do it now."

He did. And never had surrender been so sweet.

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If this was her only chance, then she would take it. If this was it for the rest of her life, if this was the best she could do… she would live for tonight and be grateful. She would cherish this memory, and make it last.

His kiss was better than any mere recollection she'd locked away. She had told herself that his lips made her warm, but now, with the intensity of his feelings, the intensity of hers, his kisses made her feverish, made her burn. His breath was hers, his heart echoed the heavy beat of her own, and his lips… they stole the very soul from her body. It was at this point she realised that she was in dire danger of losing her heart to them as well.

He had called her beautiful, told her that any man would be lucky to have her. She knew such things were not true, but the fact he had said them in comfort convinced her that his character was changing. He was not the same rogue he had been two months ago. Or at least, his heart had warmed. His hands tightened around her waist, not in the way that Hemington's had clawed at her, but in a way that made her feel secure, wanted. She gasped as his mouth ventured down to her neck, finding an excruciatingly sensitive spot. His kisses were devastating. Ruthless. Unbearably irresistible. She was appalled to realise that she wanted more of him, wanted to feel more of him, from him.

His mouth found hers once more, and she responded with a breathy moan of appreciation. There would be no arguments tonight, no insults, no banter. There was only them, and the glorious feeling of reciprocation. She realised, fleetingly, that this was actually the first time she had wanted him to kiss her, the first time she had initiated the action herself. This, combined with his inability to resist the offer, made their meeting all the more thrilling.

He pushed her back until she collided softly with a bookcase, growling as their bodies jolted together. She expected him to move back from her, give her room to breathe, but he did no such thing. Instead, his body remained along hers, fires bursting from wherever they touched. He surrounded her, gave her breath as his lips moved upon hers over and over and over again. Her hands moved of their own accord to undo the stiff cravat at his neck. Their mouths separated briefly. Van laid his forehead against hers, eyes closed and breathing erratic as he watched her focus on unwinding the long length of black fabric under his chin. When she'd removed it, he inhaled deeply.

"That's been bothering me all evening." He breathed, smiling crookedly. The smile dropped when he saw her undoing the buttons of his shirt.

"Wh— hold on a second, sweet, I don't think—"

She put her hand under the fine linen, over his heart. He seemed to lose the ability to talk at this point.

"Wait…" Was all that escaped him in an unsteady whisper as she spread her fingers across his remarkably toned chest.

She ignored the instruction and sought his lips again, but he turned away and she caught his cheek instead.

"Wait." He repeated more firmly, taking hold of her wrist, stilling her tickling fingers on his skin. After a clouded moment, she blinked.

"Why?"

He looked at her with eyes that held fires as dark as the night.

"I told you, I don't want to hurt you." He said, looking down, his voice low and soft, "And if you do that… I…" He trailed off, his hand sliding from her wrist to cradle her fingers, bringing them away from his skin. She swallowed.

"You can't hurt me. Not anymore." She replied simply, catching his gaze as he looked up again. The pain in his expression irritated her. She didn't want his pity. Her fist clenched in his hand as anxiety claimed her features. "I don't understand what you're trying to protect me from."

His eyes narrowed at her heated tone.

"You don't understand?" He repeated, harsh and disbelieving, tightening his hold on her wrist. "You don't understand?" Again, he bit the words out. The flame in eyes burned more intense.

Hitomi regretted the stubborn look she gave him. They were still close, still touching, still breathing heavily, and as a result of this, she could feel the tension take his muscles, sense the frustration smouldering under his skin.

"I could have killed Hemington right in front of you, are you aware of that?" Van started suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper, low and dangerous. Hitomi tried to ignore the images invading her mind, looking away from his burning eyes.

"Do you know what he was going to do to you?" He pulled gently at her arm, trying to force her to look at him, "How easily he could have…" When she insisted on looking away, he dropped her arm completely and moved back with a noise of frustration, leaving her body cold and shaking as he turned away. "I mean… what were you thinking?! You… Men like him are dangerous, Hitomi, and you have to realise that you shouldn't go anywhere near—"

"But he's gone now!" She interrupted him, closing the distance between them again. "You said it yourself, he's gone. So who can you possibly—"

He turned in a heartbeat, tugging at her waist, bringing them together again. "Christ, Hitomi, are you blind!?"

Her breath caught. His eyes were harsh, predatory, more dangerous than she had ever seen them.

"I'm trying to protect you from me! From this!" Disgusted with himself, he grabbed her hips and brought them crudely against his. She bit down on her lip, fighting a gasp as sensation speared through her belly and up her spine. He watched as her expression altered, surrendering under the onslaught of her senses, watched as her eyes closed in shame.

"I don't want to hurt you…" He repeated, the anger ebbing out of him, his hands still on her hips, his body still against hers. "Because I know you… and I know you deserve better than a quick fuck in a library."

The word made her flinch, even though the images it evoked in her mind made her shiver. Flashes of his skin against hers, his hair beneath her fingertips, his gasps in her ear—

"So don't make me want it." He whispered, desperately, his mouth achingly close to hers, "For god's sake, don't make me want you more than I already do, because it… sweetheart, we can never do this."

Hitomi swallowed. Her head swam with confusion. Her body ached for something, and it frightened her that she didn't know what it was. It was wrong, utterly crazy that they had ended up here. They had met two months ago; within that time, they had argued with each other, insulted each other, offended each other… at some points they'd even been friends. And, of course, neither one of them could forget the kisses they had shared. It had been wrong from the start. She was a governess, he was heir to an Earldom, an aristocrat, a damaged beast of a man. So why, why was it that when he told her that nothing could ever happen between them, her heart felt as if it would tear in half? Why was it that now, when she finally wanted him, when she finally knew he cared for her in some way, he refused her? She exhaled shakily.

"I'm not afraid of you." She breathed. He smiled mirthlessly.

"Don't say that." He brought a hand up to her face, tucking some stray hairs behind her ear and resting his hand behind her neck. "You know it's not true."

They looked into each others eyes, sensed the heat, the undying warmth between them. She didn't know who leant in first. All she knew, all she felt, were his lips on hers, and the most achingly sweet, potent kiss she had ever shared with anyone. She knew he was holding himself back, reigning in his demons. Her own body screamed out for his, only to be denied again and again. He was right. They could never… never be together. It would be wrong. They hated each other really, this was just… foolishness.

But for those few short seconds, as their lips found each other in the glow of the dying fire, it felt like the only natural, right thing in the world. His touch, his scent, his taste, the way she could feel his heartbeat… it was all perfect. It was… everything.

They parted, but their eyes remained locked.

"Go." He breathed.

Vaguely, she recalled the last time he'd ordered her to do such a thing. It had been when she had called him a coward. When she'd thought she had worked out his game. It had only happened a mere fortnight ago, and yet it seemed like an eternity had passed since then. The dynamics between them had changed so much, but the heat that she had always regarded as hatred, as utter disdain of the man standing in front of her, had remained. Now, though, she knew it as something very different.

Surreal as the moment was, she obeyed. She nodded, her fingers unclasping the fabric of his shirt, and moved away. He watched her go, as she'd expected he would. However, just before she reached the door leading to the rest of the house, she turned. Their eyes met and locked. Understanding passed between them. They would forget this night. They would forget these feelings. They would forget the passion that beat hard in their blood.

"Van, I…" She started, but realised there was only one thing she could say.

"Thankyou."

He nodded. He knew why she was saying it.

And with that, she left, venturing into the darkness of the unlit corridors.

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It had all happened so quickly. So damned fast. She could barely remember why or how it had started. But she remembered the feeling of his lips on hers. She remembered the way he had held her. She remembered…

And as she rattled down the driveway in the carriage the next morning, with Merle at her side and the sky clearing overhead, she knew:

He would remember too.

-

-

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God, the suspense is killing me. Is it killing you? If I'm honest, that's what I was going for. (Not literally killing you - that would clearly be mass genocide.)

Anyway! Did you hate it??? Please tell me you didn't hate it.

I didn't really put much backstory into this chapter, simply because I needed a break from it, as did you probably, and also I wanted it to be more about the character's emotions, instead of their TERRIBLE SECRET pasts.

Right, if you've read it, review it. Just say "Good." or "Bad" or even "pancakes" if you want. I always want pancakes.

OH YES, here's the little writer's block diddy I crafted. It's stoooopid, but I sort of love it. Enjoy! (By the way, "KH" are my initials, just to avoid confusion.)


I enter the parlour. A raven-haired man with a rather devastating smile looks me up and down before exhaling a cloud of smoke.

"Lord Fanel?"

The gentleman's smile widens.

KH: Well, my Lord, let me firstly say that thus far, the Fanel houseparty really is a treat. Our readers are wonderfully intrigued to know how you manage to co-ordinate such a lavish affair.

VF: (After exhaling another puff of smoke) It's all my mother. I suggest you should ask her.

KH: Er… yes, alright. W-Well, are you enjoying the party, my Lord? The ball tonight should be brilliant. What are you going as?

VF: Enjoyment is something I rarely feel. I've been to so many of these damned soirees that the ennui is beginning to grate. As for my costume… (He smiles again, and I hate to admit that I blush) I couldn't possibly disclose that information to you. Mystery is the only vaguely exciting thing about the evening; I would hate to obliterate it so soon.

KH: (I clear my throat) I-Indeed, my Lord. And have you er… got your eye on any of the ton ladies? There is talk of you and one certain Miss Rogers, I believe.

VF: You believe, do you. (He sits forward in his chair) Well, I wouldn't go around 'believing' everything you hear, Miss…?

KH: (Realising I haven't introduced myself, and can't anyway) Oh, I, er… I am sorry, but I can't exactly tell you. It would be highly improper, you see.

VF: (Scratching his chin, smiling slightly) You know, you remind me of somebody.

KH: Oh? (I smile)

VF: Mm. (His grin widens before disappearing completely, to be replaced with a look I can only describe as pensive) A very odd woman.

KH: Oh. (My smile falls)

VF: (He laughs gently at my expression) No, no. She's odd but she's very… (Again, the thoughtful air claims his features. He seems to be searching for the right words.)… intriguing.

KH: (Slightly confused) Intriguing?

VF: (He shrugs)

KH: I see… (I really don't), and is this… "intriguing" woman a guest here?

VF: Mm. (He looks out of the nearby window)

KH: (I resist the urge to roll my eyes) Well, can you give me her name?

VF: (Looking back at me, smiling lop-sidedly) I'm afraid not.

KH: (I can't help but smile myself, even in my frustration. Charming devil.) But… why not? This is an interview, you do realise.

VF: Oh, I do realise. (He takes a puff of his cigarette and exhales, not adding anything further.)

KH: (Shutting my notebook) I want to get something exciting for the readers, but… my Lord, you are rather unhelpful, you know.

VH: I know. (He says, as if he's resigned himself to the fact, then picks up a book from the table next to him and is seemingly immediately engrossed.)

Rather put out, I sigh, stand up and put my notebook away. As I move to leave the room, I hear a low chuckle behind me, and can't help but smile in spite of myself as I walk out of the door.


Haha. I told you it was stupid. :)

Toodles!