Katniss had never cared much for balls, or for parties, or even anything more than a simple gathering. She had always preferred the company of Prim, and of mother. She had never celebrated a birthday with more than the simplest of cakes, without any fanfare or fancy. Christmas had been the same, a simple dinner and an evening around the fire where they warded off the cold chill of the night. Gifts had been small, and mostly made by their own hand.

So the extravagance of the house – every library, every parlour and the magnificent ballroom – as it was decorated for the Christmas ball was beyond Katniss' wildest imagination. She thought it overindulgent and showy, but even as she curled her lip in distaste, her heart swelled a little at the beauty of it.

They had been preparing for days, frantic in pace, as they readied the house for the event. Hundreds would be in attendance, and if Katniss stopped to think of how much it would cost to host such an event, it made her head spin. So she tried not to, instead focusing on assisting in cleaning the house from top to bottom, so that every piece of marble gleamed and every gilded edge shone. Each night she had gone to bed exhausted, only to wake so few hours later to start again. She had not seen, nor spoken with Peeta in days, and the unfortunate timing of the ball meant she had to forgo her visit with mother and Prim.

In all, Katniss had not had a very positive week.

But now, as the event was finally in full swing and she had been advised in no uncertain terms by the Duchess that her services would not be required for the evening, she had little to do but sit, and keep herself at a distance from the festivities.

She tried to needlepoint, but found she thought it no less boring than she always had. She forced herself to play cards with Cato and Marvel, but after three rounds of inappropriate innuendo, she threw up her hands in defeat and slunk back to her room in frustration. And as both Madge and Johanna were assisting with the ball, she felt herself feeling lonely for the first time since she had arrived at Chatsworth.

Loneliness had not been something that had bothered her before. She had never had many friends, and therefore had not had much need to socialise or fraternise with others. But after months at Chatsworth, she had found herself used to the constant noise of chatter, of Madge and Johanna bickering, of Haymitch mumbling in the kitchen, of Ms Trinket stalking through the halls seeing to their work. She would still escape to the woods when it became too much, but she had found as time went on it was more of a reminder of home, than a necessity for her peace of mind.

Tonight, however, the silence was deafening.

Bundling up in her coat, she stole from the staff quarters, careful to avoid the hallways bustling with maids and butlers, and making her way through the shadows to the where light spilled through polished windows onto the snow covered grounds. She could not see anything from outside, but she could faintly hear the music. It was lovely, reminding her of the music her father would listen to before he passed away.

But she knew it was not the music, nor the decorations, nor the guests that drew her to the ball. It was Peeta, knowing he was inside, acting the part of a gentleman, performing his duties as the future Duke. It was just another reminder of how different they were, why their attraction was fruitless. He, inside in the warmth, with his contemporaries. She, outside in the cold, alone with nothing but thoughts to keep her warm.

A sudden movement on the path up ahead caused her to start, and she quickly stepped to the side, out of the light of the moon. She did not need to be found outside by a lost guest, nor did she need one of the other staff discovering her out here, and questioning her actions.

She breathed a sigh of relief as the person drew near, however, his blonde waves shining in the low light, his perfectly tailored tuxedo fitting like a glove.

Stepping out of the shadows, she folded her arms across her chest. "Peeta, what are you doing out here?" Katniss demanded. He did not look startled, only slightly bemused.

"I am looking for you," he replied simply. "There are far too many people inside speaking of dreadfully boring topics, so I escaped. I saw Madge on my way out and enquired as to your whereabouts; she mentioned she had seen you move outside, around to here."

Katniss narrowed her eyes, frustrated at herself for being seen, even if it was only Madge. "She should not have told you. I do not want you to get in trouble for being out here."

"No one will miss me, Katniss," Peeta said smoothly, shooting the ends of the cuffs of his jacket. He stepped towards her, ignoring her barely supressed half step back, and curled his fingers through hers, pressing their hands palm to palm. "But you were right when we last spoke. We have been so busy this week we have hardly had time to breathe, let alone be with each other. The only person who has been missed, is you."

She bit her lip, hating the curl of need that swirled through her belly at his touch, at his words. It was ridiculous. He was only a man, for goodness sake. One she would only have for a short while.

But my, how she would appreciate that short time while she had it.

Stepping forward, she laid her head against his chest, feeling his arms draw up around her. Even in the winter chill, she felt all the warmer for being with him, although she was certain he was nowhere near dressed properly for such weather.

"You shall catch a cold if you are out here too long, Peeta," she said softly. She felt his breath blow against her hair as he rested his head against her own. His hands shifted in gentle circles against her back, and she felt the tension that had been locked up inside her for days slowly loosen and dissolve.

"It does not matter. A few moments with you would make it worth it." He pulled back slightly, reaching his hand up and resting his fingers under her chin, tipping it up so he could look at her directly. "Do you not agree?" Peeta bent his head, brushing his lips against hers gently, as soft as a feather. She nodded slightly, not willing to pull away, and she felt him smile against her lips, before he trailed his lips over her cheek, across her forehead, ending with a slight press of his mouth against the soft skin just below her ear.

"How I wish you could be in attendance at the ball with me," he said softly, his words skittering along her skin. "I would do nothing but dance with you even when no-one else was dancing. I would monopolise all of your time, not allowing anyone else to share in the glances we could exchange without fear of worry. I would steal kisses from you the moment anyone turned their back and wish we were alone so that I could kiss you the way I want to, every minute of every day." He trailed off, his arms tightening around her, fingers splaying against her back and drawing her close.

Katniss' mouth opened and closed at his words, wanting desperately to reply but unsure what to say. How could she, when words so easily rolled off his tongue like poetry? Especially when, only ten minutes before, she had been reminding herself of how different they were.

"I do not need to be anywhere but here," she finally replied, tucking her head closer to the crook of his neck. Her words may not have been as poetic, not as full of yearning as Peeta's were, but she meant them, and that was far more significant than anything she could say.

The musicians changed their tune, and she listened to the music, soft violins that echoed through the night; she allowed Peeta to pull her into a gentle sway. If she closed her eyes, she almost could imagine she was inside, with the glittering tree full of decorations, the plush feel of the carpet under her feet, the sliding of silk and satin against her skin, the gentle tinkling of glasses as they tapped together in celebration, her body warm from the fire, and from Peeta's against hers.

His lips pressed lightly against hers, and she sighed, her hands clenching against his shoulders. It was a soft kiss, a romantic one, one suited to a night under the stars and fields blanketed in snow that shimmered like diamonds in the moonlight. For once she did not pull away quickly, allowing the moment to linger. They had so few together, so little time to steal away and forget the obstacles in their way, that she could not help the desire to let it continue for as long it could. But it would not last; even through the silvery haze that clouded her mind whenever Peeta's lips were on hers and when his arms banded tightly around her waist, she could hear the soft crunching of heels on gravel, and she pulled away, startled, her eyes flying open.

"Someone is coming," she whispered, frantically looking from side to side in the darkened night. Peeta cocked an ear, and his eyes widened as it registered with him.

"Quickly, you must hide," he blurted, and their gazes caught. Although she knew he was right, and was aware the hurt that welled up inside of her was misplaced, she could not help but feel it. She was the one who had always insisted on ensuring their secret be kept, not Peeta. He was only abiding by her wishes.

With a small nod, she turned, but in her haste tripped over her shoes, tumbling into the bushes behind them. She cursed, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment. A twig tore at her cheek, the branches latching onto her dress as she tried to pull herself free.

"Katniss, are you – Oh! Lady Annabelle, good evening to you." Katniss heard the tone, and level of Peeta's voice change and, in terror at his announcement, pulled herself deeper into the bushes, out of sight. Chinese whispers had carried through the staff after the Viscount and Viscountesses' wedding – no doubt begun by those who had close friendships with the staff at the nearby estate - and it had not escaped Katniss' ears the situation that had occurred between Peeta and the Lady Annabelle. With the exception of the Duchess, the last person they needed to catch them was this bitter, angry young woman who had been spurned by Peeta, and in public no less. And now she could not move, and would have to wait in the freezing night air, and listen to the bile the woman was likely to aim at Peeta.

"Good evening to you." Even through the branches, and with only the low glow of the moon to light them, Katniss could see the pinched cheeks, the pursed lips of the young woman. "I am surprised to find you out here, my lord."

"Just catching a moment of fresh air, as I am fond of a dance when I can, and I do believe I have danced quite a bit this evening," Peeta replied smoothly. "But Lady Annabelle, it is far too cold for you to be out here without a coat to keep you warm. Please, allow me to escort you back into the ballroom, where we can sip on some mulled wine."

"I wanted a moment of your time," Lady Annabelle carried on, as though Peeta had made no offer to her. "I do regret my actions at the Viscount and Viscountess' wedding last weekend, and you have my sincerest apologies. I acted irrationally and without cause. And, I can only assume, you could say the same for your ill-thought words."

"My….Ill-thought words?" Peeta echoed, confusion lacing his tone. Katniss inhaled sharply, for she had known a many a woman such as Lady Annabelle, and they were like a poorly mannered dog with a bone it would not let go.

"Of course. I am well aware that you did not mean to give me the impression you wished not to engage the possibility of courtship."

"Courtship?" The words were choked, and Katniss wondered where Peeta's golden tongue – the one that seemed to open every door he wished to open – had disappeared to.

"I spoke with the Duchess but a few moments ago, and she explained how unwell you were once you returned home from the wedding celebrations, and that you must have had a fever rising to cause you to utter such absurdities." Lady Annabelle's words were light and full of understanding, but she was as aware as both Peeta and Katniss were that what words the Duchess would have uttered would be nought but a bold-faced lie. The only difference was that the Lady Annabelle was going to exploit it as much as she could.

"My mother." The words were hard as realisation set in, and Katniss peered at Peeta through the small gap between leaves. His jaw was set, his eyes glittering madly in the moonlight, his arms tense at his sides.

"Yes, the Duchess," Lady Annabelle reiterated, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. "I told her I would find you for a dance. She is very much looking forward to seeing that." She cocked her arm, waiting for Peeta to do as was proper, and slip his arm through hers, to guide her to the ballroom.

"I am not sure I care for another dance right now," Peeta replied.

"Oh, but Her Grace insisted. She said it would make the night simply perfect for her. And between you and I," her voice lowered comically, as though what she was saying was a surprise to anyone, "The Duchess would be the last person I wish to offend this evening. The last event she held was interrupted horribly by an inept maid, and I would hate for her ball – which is magnificent, and will be talked about for months, I assure you – to be ruined by you not wishing to dance."

Katniss knew Lady Annabelle had him there. For all of Peeta's ruminations on equality, and how unfair it was that those such as Katniss could not attend events such as these, he knew his place, he knew his responsibilities. She knew that causing another scene would be nothing but detrimental to the two of them, and right now they could not afford that. She knew he would abide by what was, in no uncertain terms, a directive from his mother.

So when she saw him sigh softly, and slip his arm through Lady Annabelle's, allowing her hand to rest gently but possessively on his forearm, she was not surprised. It did not stop the pain that lanced through her like a fire, rippling over her skin, and the soft mewl of frustration that fell from her lips.

She heard their voices begin to fade, and she crept out from the garden, impatiently yanking at the leaves that caught on her coat. She glanced after them, watched them continue down the path towards the entrance of the house, towards the ball that awaited them.

Their silhouettes were perfect in the waning light. The slight, delicate woman, her hair elegantly piled on top of her head, her skirts swishing around her ankles. She was the epitome of a lady, Katniss mused, temper notwithstanding. This was a woman whose status in society was her career, and her aim was on the man Katniss loved. Katniss hated her with a fierce and sudden fury that devoured all her hurt.

She then studied him, a handsome broad-shouldered man, with confidence in his every step, his back ramrod straight, his gaze face-forward and not faltering. As was expected, he did not look back at her.

He did not look back at all.

She slammed open the door to her room, the sound of it banging against the wall reverberating down the hall. She did not care if she woke anyone, and as it was, most of them were still assisting with the ball. None of it mattered, not compared to the thousands of emotions that spilled through her.

"What is your problem?" A voice demanded from behind her, and she whirled to see Johanna standing in the open doorway, eyebrow raised, hand resting on her cocked hip. "Lovers tiff?"

"Shut up, Johanna," Katniss snarled. "Leave me be, and close the door behind you." With a firm shake of her head, Johanna stepped inside, but dutifully closed the door. She stared at Katniss, her whiskey coloured eyes boring into her. "What? What are you even doing here? Are you not serving?"

"Done for the night," Johanna replied simply. "Now what is it? It must be Peeta."

"Why does everything come back to Peeta?" Katniss sat on her bed, crossing her arms. "Maybe I am just not in a mood to speak with anyone."

"Not in the mood to speak with anyone? That ain't nothing different. You're stroppy, Katniss, but not normally this bad."

"Stroppy?" Katniss hissed. "What do you expect? I have to sit there, hiding in a bush, being torn and scraped at by sticks and thorns while I watch that snivelling woman flirt and speak of courtship with Peeta."

Johanna snorted. "I suppose you mean Lady Whatsherface, the one with the temper." Katniss rolled her eyes, frustrated at herself for venting her petty thoughts to her friend. "What were you doing?"

"It does not matter what I was doing," she retorted. The she caught Johanna's unamused glare, and sighed. "Fine. I had gone outside, and Peeta found me-"

"Of course he did."

"And we were talking," Katniss continued, as though uninterrupted. "I heard someone coming and in my haste to hide, fell into the bushes. It became evident it was Lady Annabelle, so I stayed in the bushes, and had to listen as she informed Peeta that the Duchess was demanding a dance from the two of them."

Johanna snorted, resting her back lightly against the soft-grained wood of the door. "When Madge was serving earlier, all she heard was that woman tittering about how well she and the Duchess get along, and how "Surely we will be spending so much more time together in the future!"". Johanna's voice rose two octaves, and took on an affected tone that should have sounded posh, but with her rounded accent, just sounded ridiculous. Katniss could not help the smile that tugged on the corner of her mouth, and Johanna smiled in return. "Do not worry. She is as silly as she is overbearing and would not know the difference between courtship and friendship if it hit her over the head. That woman is playing right into the Duchess' hands, but we both know Peeta don't care."

"But he should." Katniss spread her hands out in front of her as Johanna sat beside her on the small twin bed. "It is obvious that the Duchess is now putting all of her time and effort into a match with Lady Annabelle now that Delly is married."

"Delly?" Johanna queried, and Katniss felt a blush creep across her cheeks.

"It is Peeta's name for the Viscountess Delilah, and I am afraid it stuck with me. I should be more careful."

Johanna shrugged. "I like it. Sounds more like her. She is one of the few who don't have a pole stuck up their-"

"Johanna!"

"What? No one is here."

Katniss sighed. "Regardless, I should be careful. If people were to hear me refer to her as that, they would know that Peeta has spoken of her informally to me." She lay back on the bed, still bundled in her coat, and stared at the ceiling, Jo leaning back beside her. They were quiet for a long while, both lost in their own thoughts.

"How long do you think you can maintain this?" Jo finally asked. Katniss felt her heart drop. It was something she did not like to think about, something she did not like to consider. She knew it was an eventuality, but for once in her life she was affording herself to think selfishly. So while she was being cautious about being caught, she stubbornly refused to think about what would happen when it did eventually run the course she expected it to run. Because when she did, the tightness in her chest refused to abate, and the overwhelming sense of loss was hard to bear.

"I do not know," she finally replied simply.

If Johanna had anything more to say on the topic, she did not pursue it. Instead, the silence dragged on, two women more comfortable with not saying anything to each other than saying anything at all.

Her fingers dug into his arm like a vice, and he knew it was fruitless to try and remove it, or lessen her grip. Lady Annabelle was holding fast.

Peeta escorted her back inside, down the hallways and corridors back to the ballroom. Garlands lined their path, holly and ivy intertwined along balustrades, the scent of pine from the trees Thresh had removed from their own woods and set up throughout the house, bedecked in decorations, drifting through the rooms. Lady Annabelle spoke incessantly, about everything and anything, though nought of any importance, and he yearned for the quiet simplicity of Katniss. He already missed the feel of her, the soft scent of her hair, the soft hum that he was certain she had not been aware she had been murmuring as they danced out in snow.

"Oh there is the Duchess, Peeta, let us go and speak with her briefly before we dance," Lady Annabelle announced, practically dragging him across the floor to the wide windows at the edge of the room that the Duchess was standing in front of. The older woman was bedecked in a gown of deep burgundy, the skirt bustled, the neckline demure but flattering to display the diamond and ruby choker that collared her thin neck. The warmth of the gown and the glitter of jewels did nothing to make her look any less homely than she was.

"Your Grace," Lady Annabelle greeted, dipping into a slight curtsey.

"Lady Annabelle," The Duchess replied, with a glint in her eye. "I see you have found my son for that dance I am so looking forward to seeing. Peeta," she turned to him, and the glint turned cold. "We had no idea as to your whereabouts. It was quite disconcerting to myself and the Lady Annabelle."

"My apologies. I had stepped out for some fresh air. I am afraid I danced and drank myself to a slight headache." Peeta matched her glare, and if those around them noticed the frostiness in the air, they elected to ignore it dutifully.

"Well I assume the frigid air has done you some good, and that you are ready for a turn about the floor with Lady Annabelle."

"But of course," Peeta replied smoothly, and took pleasure in the surprise his easy agreeance caused in the Duchess. "Lady Annabelle, if you would do me the honour?" He cocked his elbow, and she took it, tossing a smirk towards a gathering of young women to their left. He led her into the rows of other dancers, and counted the beats until they joined in the dancing. It was all pomp and circumstance, no romance.

Peeta allowed his mind to roam, even while his body went through the motions, while he smiled with no warmth to his dancing partner. He somehow knew that his mother would begin forcing this potential courtship the moment Delly and the Viscount were married. He had been surprised that she had not cornered him earlier, had not lost her temper at him about his conversation with Lady Annabelle at the reception, for surely she would have heard. He had been prepared for it all week, had thought carefully about what he could say to lessen the ire he knew she would have, especially compared to the silent disappointment he had experienced from the Duke on the carriage ride home from the wedding. But perhaps she had simply been waiting for this night, where she could force him into following her wishes, and in public no less. Peeta knew that Lady Annabelle was right about one thing. Tonight was not the night to arrive on the bad side of the Duchess, and so he had elected to abide by her wishes.

He did not have to like them.

He was relieved when the dance was over, and they curtseyed politely to each other before they moved away from the floor.

"You dance very well together," The Duchess greeted as they made their way back to her side. Lady Annabelle flushed, while Peeta fought to keep the distaste from his face. "You made quite the impression on the others whom were dancing."

"I am only as good a dancer as my partner is," Lady Annabelle replied, and Peeta was not sure he had ever heard a voice so laced in saccharine.

"Hush, my dear. You are perfectly fine." She glanced at Peeta, then at the young woman in front of her. "Would you be a dear and collect for me a glass of wine, I wish to have a moment with my son," The Duchess requested. Lady Annabelle nodded eagerly, turning immediately to complete the woman' request. The moment her back was turned, the Duchess whirled on Peeta, her eyes ablaze.

"I have held my tongue this week, Peeta, after I heard of your actions at that horrid wedding. I most certainly do not know what game you are playing at, but you will put a stop to this tomfoolery sooner rather than later. I have made my position on this matter perfectly clear, and thankfully was able to abate Lady Annabelle's anger and frustration towards you."

"Nothing will abate Lady Annabelle's anger and frustration, mother, it is ingrained in her as deep as can be."

The older woman's eyes flashed, and she lowered her voice. "You will not disregard me, nor my requests. Your father may be of a softer heart than I, but I will not let you risk our line by not settling down. We do not need another Bachelor Duke, not after your great-great Uncle. You will wed Lady Annabelle, Peeta, whether you like it or not." Her voice had risen an octave or two, though she was oblivious to the glances that had begun to be sent her way by guests around them.

"Now is not the time to discuss this, mother," Peeta replied smoothly. "You do not wish to make a scene, do you?"

The Duchess blinked, her lips firming into a straight line. "Do not mock me, Peeta," she said, lowering her voice. "This discussion is not over."

He dipped his head, seeing Lady Annabelle making her way back to them. "For now, mother, it is." A flashed a charming smile at her and turned on his heel, looking for Finnick. It was high time he enjoyed the evening with his friend.

A/N

Thanks to salanderjade for holding my hand through this chapter.

I will be posting some photos on tumblr of Chatsworth at Christmas, so you can see what I have in my head when writing. I'm on there at sponsormusings :)

Thanks for reading!