Chapter 11: 'Tis The Season

Summary: The Organa-Solos have relocated back to London for the start of The Season. Kylo finds himself having difficulty adjusting to all the attention which Rey receives.

[excerpt]:
"He told himself that he acted to shelter her from Tyran's lascivious advances, but part of him knew that he needed to drive out her thoughts of any other, to forever mark her so that she could never waltz with any other partner but him alone."

~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~

I vowed at that moment, that a maiden whom I loved, or for whom I felt the slightest attachment, never, never should waltz with any one else but with me

-Goethe, The Sorrows of Young Werther

The new year ushered in the new parliamentary session, and the Organa-Solos found themselves trading in the comforts of country life for February in London, along with many of society's elite. The advent of The Season also heralded six busy months of socializing and politicking, and for those of marriageable age, days filled with gala concerts and court balls in the hopes of finding a suitable match.

Kylo settled himself into a rented a room at the high end Grenier's Hotel. Located on Jermyn Street near the St. James' palace, the fashionable address was the place in London for a nobleman to purchase a bespoke suit and all of the necessary accoutrements. The hotel was also conveniently located near the most exclusive gentlemen's clubs, where like-minded males could indulge in top quality food, gambling, gossip and oftentimes decadent behaviors.

The young Earl's more seeming conduct over the last several months had convinced the Marchess and Marchioness to loosen the reins on his freedom. His new lodgings also placed him in close proximity to Lord Hux, who resided like so many of his fellow officers at the Steven's Hotel. But the truth was that Kylo's elegantly furnished lodgings would allow him not only the privacy and opportunity for mixed company in a manner befitting a man of his age and status, but more importantly, the ability to distance himself from his young and beautiful ward.

He did his best to forget her. Despite his parents' populist leanings, Kylo was able to secure a membership to both the exclusive White's and Brook's clubs, and he was often found in one of the Palladian-styled buildings on St. James Street with Hux in tow, partaking in drink, sport, or a game of hazard and faro. He also paid his former mistresses the occasional call, but his newfound discretion was not the only thing which had changed. Even as his exploits became more private, the frequency of his dalliances diminished, as he found himself less and less inclined to indulge in such pleasures as his dissatisfaction with their outcome grew.

~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~

Kylo sighed as he leaned against the folds of Madame de Montespan's skirt, the silk fabric laying cool against his cheek. He closed his eyes, nearly purring with pleasure as her delicate fingers worked their way through the lengths of his hair.

"Tu n'es pas heureux, my Lord," Isabelle observed.

The two had spent many evenings together like this in the past week: fully dressed, debating the latest artistic offerings or indulging in the most recent political gossip. But Isabelle had noted a distinct change in Kylo's demeanor, the passion and sharpness which had suffused his opinions and lovemaking in the past now replaced by resignation and sadness.

"What happened since I saw you last, my Lord? Is your family not well?"

Kylo's eyes remained closed as he concentrated on the strong, capable fingers which were now gently massaging his temples. One of the reasons he enjoyed Isabelle's company so greatly was because of her perspicacity and wit, although he now felt as if this would be one of those times where he would end up cursing those skills of observation.

"Thankfully, they are all healthy and safe."

"Ahhh," she nodded sagely. "Then perhaps it is a woman? Une affaire de cœur?"

Kylo tilted his head, looking up at her face. Isabelle was watching him closely, her eyes filled with understanding.

He couldn't keep the self-pity from his voice.

"She does not love me back."

Isabelle frowned, looking at Kylo thoughtfully. "Then she is either in love with someone else, or a fool."

"Unfortunately, she is neither," Kylo responded, turning away from her penetrating gaze.

"And you have told her of your feelings?"

Kylo sighed. "It is a complicated situation, Isabelle. She is young and innocent. To make matters worse, she is also my ward, entrusted to my care."

Isabelle's voice softened. "So there must be some feelings, no? I cannot comment on the passion, but if this young woman is under your safekeeping, and if you are the man that I know you to be, then I believe she must already care for you in some way."

"I cannot pursue it, Isabelle. I already have too many—inappropriate thoughts in her presence." A shadow crossed his face as it twisted in anguish. "Not only does she not reciprocate my attachments, but she is now of age, and here in London to be presented for The Season."

Isabelle remained silent, her fingers resting on top his clenched fist as if to absorb his pain.

"I cannot ruin her chances to make a proper match. She has had a difficult life, and despite it all, has emerged stronger and more unsullied than most. She finally has the opportunity to show the rest of London everything she has to offer, and to make a good life for herself. She will not want for an appropriate suitor."

Isabelle spoke gently, her words echoing those which Hux has asked him all those months ago.

"And you do not think that you could qualify? As an appropriate suitor?"

Kylo's next words were filled with bitterness.

"I do not know if I am capable of giving her the love that she deserves. Who would I be if I were to throw her opportunity away? For a man of questionable repute, who is physically and emotionally damaged? It would be better for me to stay away-for her sake, as well as my own."

Isabelle pulled Kylo close, her heart aching as he folded into her arms. She knew all too well of the feelings of unrequited love, of self-doubt and the consequences of what society viewed as a disreputable past.

"L'amour vainc tout, mon cher," she whispered into his ear, willing them both to believe.

~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~

"If you ask me, they are nothing but lowly criminals, destroying factory equipment and the property of others. Hanging was too good for the lot of them."

Rey's pulled her lips into a thin smile as she watched Lord Grievous, the Earl of Kalee, launch into another diatribe regarding the Luddite activities in northwestern England. She most certainly had not asked him his opinion regarding the Luddite response to the atrocious working conditions which they suffered given the state of the current wartime economy, nor did he seem interested in hers. Instead, he prattled on, as if entranced by the sound of his own logic.

Rey bit her tongue and tried to keep her mind entertained with other things, such as how Lord Grievous' corset must be working overtime to keep his expanded waistline from bursting with all his hot air, or whether his obvious calf padding would end up around his ankles by the end of their dance.

She sighed inwardly as she concentrated on her steps. The last several weeks in London had been a stark contrast to the relative beauty and informality of Caserta. Rey missed the open landscape of the countryside and the glorious summer afternoons which were often spent reading, riding and sparring. She missed her lessons with Master Luke, who had constantly pushed her curiosity and challenged her thinking. She even missed Master Forel, who in the end had done a poor job in hiding his affection and pride at her increasingly graceful figures. But perhaps the thing that she missed the most were her daily encounters with Kylo; she longed for the silkiness of his voice, the wry arch of his brow, the wickedness of his banter, and her body's prickly and breathless response to his nearness.

In London, all of Rey's activities had become focused on meeting an appropriate gentleman of 'impeccable breeding and behavior.' The first month was spent on preparations for her presentation in Court. She had suffered through numerous dress fittings, encumbered by the heavy and elaborate brocades of her gown as it was fashioned traditionally over her hoops. She had spent weeks on her deportment, learning to execute the perfect walk, full-court curtsy, and proper exit without tripping over her trains or worse, performing the unforgivable insult of an inappropriately turned back.

She had found herself a willing sponsor in the Countess de Lieven, a family acquaintance and the wife of the Russian ambassador to England. The Countess was a prominent political hostess with an influence nearing that of her husband's, with a reputation for a certain haughtiness and a sharp tongue to match. She was also extremely intelligent woman who had found a kindred spirit in Rey. And since the Countess was also one of the patronesses of Almack's, it was without difficulty that both Rey and Phasma were able to procure an annual voucher for Almack's aptly nicknamed "Marriage Mart" following both of their successful turns at Court.

And so it was that Rey found herself, on the first Wednesday of the third month, traveling with Phasma as part of the procession of carriages which made their way down King Street towards Almack's fabled assembly rooms, en route to meet society's new crop of most eligible bachelors.

Rey had learned that the predetermined goal for men and women of age during The Season was to find and make a suitable alliance. She was astute enough to know that most couples would not be lucky enough to find love, and that the majority hoped for at least some amicability. She was also aware that many would even retain lovers on the side once engaged; it was a frequent enough occurrence, at any rate, to dedicate a period during calling hours for the euphemistically titled "special afternoon tea."

The prospect of a love match was the great hope; a match of both love and passion, the elusive dream.

Rey's thoughts turned unwillingly to Kylo, and she stole a glance to where he stood in the corner of the room. He had not returned to Almack's for many years. It was a scene which he did not relish, forced into a charming facade for the patronesses whose ideas of proper social etiquette were often veneers for their own malicious delight in determining social worth. He had participated in the requisite social niceties in the years following his injury, but he found himself with no desire to wed, and definitely to none of the women who attended such things. So it was no surprise that his sudden appearance after all these years caused quite the stir.

Kylo did little to mask his boredom with the group of young women who had gathered near his side, instead delighting in antagonizing their mothers, who became prone to sudden bouts of apoplectic fits or the vapors as their daughters attempted to capture the attentions of the wayward lord.

Kylo's eyes lifted to hers as if reading her thoughts, his lips curling upwards as he raised his glass in her direction.

Rey hid her smile at his impertinence, returning her attentions to her Lord Grievous, grateful when their interminable dance finally came to an end. She nodded and curtsied, trying not to let her distaste towards his personality or with the patronesses for placing him on her dance card show.

Viscount Thanisson of Corsucant.

She looked down at the name of her next partner. She could not imagine the viscount to be any worse than her last.

"Miss Kenobi? I am Lord Thanisson. May I have this dance?"

Rey looked up, her eyes widening as the young man approached. He was nearly six feet tall, with delicate, almost beautiful features, as if he was hovering permanently between the softness of adolescence and young adulthood. His voice radiated a kindness and humor, and his soft brown eyes hinted at a playfulness which intrigued her.

She suddenly felt shy, her face becomingly flushed as she nodded her acceptance and placed her hand in his.

Thanisson watched her graceful movements appreciatively as they began the quadrille. He leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially.

"Is it painful?" he asked, his eyes flashing with mischief.

Rey looked at him questioningly, confused.

"I beg your pardon, my Lord? Is what painful?"

Thanisson grinned. "Your tongue. It looked to have been permanently lodged between your teeth during your dance with Lord Grievous."

Rey was mortified, until she saw that the young lord was teasing her.

"Yes, at this point, it is a small miracle that I am able to speak with you at all," she replied saucily.

A smile quirked on his lips. "I find myself incredibly grateful then that it escaped relatively unscathed." He leaned forward. "I believe that the Earl of Kalee is much too self-absorbed to have noticed anything amiss. Your secret is safe with me."

Rey laughed, and for the first time that night, she felt an excitement and true enjoyment in her surroundings. She let Lord Thanisson sweep her up in the dance, his steps matching hers perfectly, graceful and confident.

He smiled at her again.

"How are you enjoying London so far, Miss Kenobi?"

I had not, up until now, Rey thought as she answered him carefully.

"It has been a great many years since I have been to London. There are many new experiences which I am eager to try."

"Ah. Well, the Philharmonic Society of London is holding its first concert this week at the Argyll Rooms. Both Muzio Clementi and Nicolas Mori will be among the musicians in attendance. It promises to be quite the event, I believe a Beethoven symphony is among the works to be performed."

Rey's eyes lit up. "Mori is one of my favorite violinists. He plays with such passion and fire, and his bowing so aggressive and assured. I believe he would be the perfect choice for Beethoven."

Thanisson's eyes lit up with genuine interest at her knowledge.

"Well, perhaps I will be lucky enough to see you there, then?"

Rey blushed prettily at his words. "And what of you, my Lord? How have you been enjoying London so far?"

Thanisson performed a petit-menuet followed by a chaîine de fleurs effortlessly before becoming face to face with Rey once more.

"I believe that my stay has suddenly become much more interesting," he murmured softly, watching her intently.

Rey's blush deepened as the music ended much too quickly. Thanisson bowed, reluctantly withdrawing his hand.

"Thank you for the dance, Miss Kenobi," he said, his eyes filled with admiration and interest.

Kylo listened to Rey's gentle laughter as it pulled at him from across the room. He studiously avoided watching her as she smiled at the handsome young nobleman who was leaving her side, focusing his anger at the glass of lemonade currently clenched in his fist.

He looked down at Almack's paltry offerings with distaste. Unfrosted pound cake, tea and lemonade, an absence of alcohol, and a bevy of young women filled with vague ideals and weak conversation.

He couldn't believe he had coughed up ten guineas for such torture. He was in desperate need for something stronger.

He gritted his teeth as he recalled Rey's shy flirtation with the viscount.

Make that something quite a bit stronger.

The melodic strains of a German Waltz started to fill the room. Kylo watched as Baron Von Neumann, chargé d'affaires for Prince Esterhazy, approached Princess Maria Theresa with a gleam in his eye.

Kylo could not help but admire the baron. The Austrian diplomat's fondness for the waltz was well-known, and he was often wont to perform it, even in Almack's storied halls. There were some murmurings of disapproval as the elegant couple began to whirl around the floor, accompanied by several other brave souls while the rest of the audience gazed upon the dancers with a mixture of faint horror and unabashed desire.

Rey smoothed down the folds of her extravagant gown as she watched the moving couples in appreciation. Her silk dress, tailored by the top notch seamstresses at Maison Worth, had cost more than all the monies she had collected for Plutt over her eight years. The bodice was low, and while flattering, revealed much more than that which she was accustomed to. She rearranged herself self-consciously, unaware that another male had approached.

Sir Tyran Lucas was dressed in a well-fitting navy coat, and his breeches showed off his powerful, defined legs. He was nearly as tall as Kylo, but there was a openly lecherous quality to his gaze which made his otherwise handsome face unappealing as his eyes lingered on her figure for a second too long.

Rey shifted uncomfortably, wishing once again that the dress were cut more modestly.

"Miss Kenobi?" Sir Tyran bowed, the heat of his lips lingering on the back of her hand. " I believe I have the pleasure of this next dance." His eyes glittered with a feral quality as he placed his arm familiarly around her waist.

A large hand suddenly clasped itself on Sir Tyran's shoulder, its strong fingers digging in painfully.

"I believe you are mistaken," Kylo nearly growled, a dangerous timbre to his tone. "The next dance is mine."

Kylo didn't wait for the other male's protest as he swept Rey into his arms. He was furious, his eyes boring into hers angrily as he pressed himself against her. His hand lay hot and tight against her shoulder, his face so close she could feel every furious breath.

He had stood by all night as they had preened and presented themselves to her, simpering dandies who didn't deserve to serve at her feet. He watched as their eyes had raked in her body in that scandalous gown, overcome with a possessiveness which he could barely control. But the thought of her dancing so closely with Tyran, a noble whose reputation with women nearly rivaled Kylo's own, left him with such a raging jealousy that he found himself abandoning his prior companions to quickly reach his ward. He told himself that he acted to shelter her from Tyran's lascivious advances, but part of him knew that he needed to drive out her thoughts of any other, to forever mark her so that she could never waltz with any other partner but him alone.

"Rey," his voice was hoarse and low as he stared into her hazel eyes, his eyes darkened with his desire.

She felt him everywhere: the strength of his arms as he held her, the jut of his hip against the roundness of her side, the hardness of his chest grazing her breasts, the thrum of his barely restrained energy as he led her around the floor. She could smell him, that wonderful spicy scent which reminded her of Caserta's winter pines, the sharp freshness of its lake, a scent comfortable and familiar yet thrilling at the same time.

The heated pressure of his hand against the small of her back drew her even closer as the length of his leg pressed against her own. Rey swallowed, stilling at the look of ownership in Kylo's eyes as he dropped his gaze towards the line of her throat, staring at its bounding rhythm, his head bending down towards hers as if to inhale and devour her as his mouth nearly brushed the crook of her neck.

The last notes of the waltz still lingered in the air as Phasma's angry face came up into his view.

"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed angrily as he startled, mortified at his loss of control.

Kylo fingered his cravat. He felt suddenly suffocated, wishing to claw it off.

His initial embarrassment and guilt quickly turned to anger. He needed to leave, to escape the shocked stares and mutterings aimed in his direction, before he made a fool of himself and took Rey down with him in the process, a titillating anecdote in tomorrow's gossip rags. He was in desperate need of a distraction, and while he was determined to get that tomorrow when he collected on his bet with Hux, he needed to find something more immediate to will away his pain.

He stormed out, heading straight to the gaming hell to drink and gamble away his sorrows, with the intention of following it up with a visit to one of his mistresses. Perhaps Isabelle would be open to changing their arrangement and go back to fucking him, for just one night.

Perhaps he could lose himself sufficiently in such activities as to drive away the siren's call which played relentlessly in his head.

Perhaps he can start to believe the lie that he would be better off without her, if he continues to tell himself that it is so.

~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~~O~

Kylo sprawled out against the length of the bed, reveling in the softness of the milky thighs which were currently straddling his own. The room was dimly lit, the white light from the half-moon filtering over the street lamp's muted glow to cast long shadows across the walls.

His eyes were still half-closed, having just been roused from his sleep, although his cock was now rapidly stirring, lengthening and swelling in response to the press of a pair of pillowed breasts against his chest, their hardened nipples tantalizing his skin.

A feminine voice whispered to him from above, causing him to shiver as a pair of soft lips gently brushed against his ear.

"You are so handsome, my Lord."

He moved his hands up, feeling the silky strands of her hair beneath his fingers as he gently removed the pins holding her locks, her glorious mane tumbling across her face he drew her close. He inhaled, the gentle rose fragrance of her soap filling his nostrils, the sweetness of her scent filling his lungs. His lips reached for hers greedily-soft, mouthy kisses, until he grew hungrier still, nipping against her bottom lip until it reddened and swelled and parted to make way for his probing tongue.

He felt her hips roll against his own, the flesh of her buttocks pressing against his thighs as his tongue delved into her mouth, swiping across the edges of her teeth as he tasted her, devouring her and consuming her with his desire. She shifted, her wetness beginning to slick his leg, the smell and sound of her dripping quim causing him to groan as he grabbed her hips, urging her forward.

He was aching, every sensation concentrated on his swollen cock, hard and reddened and jutting upwards, begging for her touch. He hissed as he felt her hand tentatively encircle its base. He rutted slowly as she lowered her body against his own, dragging her soft curves along his muscled planes, her tongue licking along its path, hot and tortured and wet.

She settled in between his thighs, breathing him in as she blew gently across the tip of his cock, tickling the hairs at its base.

"Kylo," she sighed, his name a loving caress on her lips.

She quickly enveloped his hard length within her warm mouth. Her tongue danced wickedly as she hollowed out her cheeks, licking and sucking, drawing out his moans as she took him further towards the back of her throat.

He gasped as she nearly managed to take his entire length, her fist grappling with the remainder of his cock as she alternately sucked and squeezed, breathing around his girth. It was sweet torture: the skill with which she used her mouth, the vibration of her breathing, the sounds of his cock sliding noisily back and forth, and the slick of her saliva along his velvety shaft. She pulled back suddenly, licking his tip vigorously, tonguing the slit and lapping at the pearly collection of fluid before taking him down once again.

He let out a groan; he could come from the pressure of her tongue, her forceful licks begging him to spill into her throat. Yet even as he began to slowly push against those swollen lips, he was overcome with the need to be buried deep inside.

He brought his hands to her head, pulling her away gently as he urged her upwards.

"Please," he whispered, his voice a low and throaty plea.

She pulled away, giving his cock a final lick before releasing him from her bruised mouth. She raised herself up and maneuvered herself over his prick, his tip resting against her entrance.

"Yes," Kylo groaned, thrusting his hips forward in an attempt to capture her, but restrained by the pressure of her hand.

She teased him as he growled, angling herself towards him as she positioned her hips, her breasts a hairsbreadth from his lips. She purred in satisfaction as he pushed forward in response, unable to quiet the sounds of her pleasure as he finally sheathed himself within her slick walls.

He reached around and grabbed her ass, his cock sliding in and out as she moved against him. He felt the pressure building in his groin, the growing tension in his muscles as his buttocks and legs contracted under her steady grind. Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back with her soft brown curls plastered against her cheek, her breathing coming out in uneven huffs as she panted and mewled, little appreciative sounds which hardened him further.

He sat upright, pulling her close, her hands clawing his back as he nipped the base of her throat. He plundered her mouth and her pussy simultaneously as he thrust into her, her body beginning to shudder and clench as he swallowed her cries.

"Look at me, my love," he begged. "Let me watch you come."

Her eyes fluttered open even as her movements became more frantic. He gazed upon her closely, her image imprinting itself on his mind as he took in her wanton and flushed expression, staring into her hazel eyes.

Bloody hell.

Kylo's eyes flew open. The cotton sheets were wrapped around his legs, his cock so hard that it was red and angry and leaking from its tip.

Bloody, bloody hell.

He knew he should have sought relief with another last night. Hours in the betting hall had done nothing to remove her from his thoughts, nor had the copious amounts of alcohol.

He cursed his lack of control. He hadn't felt the need for self-pleasure for so long, always preferring to find a more personal outlet to sate his lust, yet he was now awake and alone in his room, panting and painfully hard.

He brought his hand down to his rigid shaft and pulled back the foreskin, stroking furiously. He groaned at the increasing friction as his hand twisted near the sensitive glans, his thumb spreading the gathering fluid along the tip as he pumped frantically, thinking of her.

He imagined her riding him as she had in his dream, her passion matching his own, her body sensual yet innocent, bold yet pliant. He is subsumed with the thought of her touch as he fucked the circle made by his forefinger and his thumb, his sheets sticky and wet with the sweat of his efforts. He clutched at the fabric in one hand, his other fisting his increasingly sensitive cock as it quickened against the roughness of his palm, his arm stiffening as he worked towards his rapidly approaching release.

"Rey."

Her name spills over his lips as he shudders, his come spurting over his belly in long ropes, painting the sheets.

Kylo lay there in the aftermath of his orgasm under the pale moonlight, breathless and dazed, letting out a half-sob as he continued to grip his softening erection. His thundering heart ached with the realization that despite this temporary respite, the memory of her image and the imaginative yearnings of his lust could never be an adequate replacement for the real thing.