A/N: Finally, holidays! Excuse me please that it again took so long, but during the last week I had no time to write at all. I barely had enough time to prepare for exams. And I also didn't want to cut this one off to early. See it as a xmas present for you: a long and dramatic chap before holidays ^^. So, hope you like it and if you have got some time in between Christmas preperations, please leave a comment.

Wish you all a merry Christmas and (should I not be able to update sooner) a happy New Year!

Chapter 12: Are You Sure?

Deep breaths filled her lungs. She could no longer feel the ground underneath her feet. Her eyes were fixed upon Cinàed's form as he bowed before Lady Margret and turned towards her. It was as if the moment his eyes grazed hers and travelled to the man next to her his body froze into stone. She could practically see the blood drain out of his features and his teeth clinch.

Slowly, then with wide strides he came towards them, his darkened eyes never leaving the stranger standing next to her.

"Alexei. What a surprise to see you here." He bowed his head slightly, his eyes burning with secret flames.

The general bowed his head too, but his lips were grazed by a smile and the look in his ice blue orbs she could not read. "My friend, it is nice to meet you again after such a long time." His appearance was the incarnation of calmness.

"I am not your friend. What do you want?" Cinàed hissed in a low voice. But whether shouting or whispering – the tone in his voice could not have been misunderstood. Georgiana realized soon that he would not show faux civility towards the man. No, there was animosity written all over his face. But why? Who was this General Stravinsky?

The ice blue eyes stole a quick glance towards Georgiana. "She's pretty." The fair man murmured as though he was speaking to himself.

"What do you want?" Cinàed's voice grew now barely louder and he took a step towards the man, shielding Georgiana with his form.

"Very pretty." Stravinsky's eyes lay on her. "I wonder…" he murmured while a frown formed on his forehead.

"Leave the girl alone." Cinàed's voice was now something like a growl, something she had not heard for quite some time, and some people standing nearby began to look at them in wonder. He only let out a sigh, tense and low. "Let us go somewhere more private now, shall we?"

He grabbed Stravinsky by the elbow, turning them both away. The blond man shook himself free and with a smirk upon his lips he led the way outside to the dark veranda. Georgiana, unsure whether her legs would carry her, took a step forth, but the stern tone in Cinàed's voice made her freeze. "You stay here." Then he joined the other man and without a glance back they left through the French doors.

Only then did Georgiana realize she was holding her breath. Only then did she notice the other guests around her. Some where stealing hidden looks in her direction, but most laughed and drank and gossiped and joked. Nobody had actually noticed the scene that had taken place only seconds ago.

A voice inside of her screamed "He lied, Georgiana! You don't even know this man. Don't dare believe in what he says! You know Cinàed, he loves you!" The voice grew louder and louder, more desperate and doubting by the moment. Why was she doubting? He had never given her a reason to doubt. Never, and yet…he had never denied that he was quite experienced in matters of the female sex.

After all he had lived for so long. But she could not believe it…that he should be a married man without telling her a word.

No, he could not, would not hold something like that back, would he? A waiter passed by and she gratefully took a second glass champagne, the cool liquid stroking her senses.

Two minutes past - she crossed her arms and her fingertips drummed upon the sleeves of her gown.

Five minutes – She nipped on her champagne while carefully watching the French doors.

Eight minutes – No, she could not stay there and wait! She wanted to know what was going on, needed to know what was going on.

There were too many people in the room, all distracted in various discussions and dancing. No one would notice her leaving. She made her way through the groups of guests, passing a servant and giving him her empty glass.

Finally she reached the door leading to the veranda. Outside a cool breeze sent shivers down her spine. It was a pitch black night, no moon to light her surroundings. With quick hands she pulled off her mask, not caring if it landed on the ground. Her vision became wider and as her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness she descended the stairs on her left.

But now where to go? She found herself in the estate's garden, without a clue where she had to look for them. And she was not sure whether walking around alone would be a good idea. She waited for a sign, perhaps a piece of conversation, but there was nothing. It was freezing and the thin fabric of her light green gown offered little protection. She waited and waited, looked behind two or three corners, called for Cinàed, but after all of that she was as lonely as she had been before.

She was about to return to the warmth of the ball when suddenly she heard the faint sound of breaking wood, coming from a pavilion on the other side of the estate. The fact that she had been able to hear something like that from such a distance was not very comforting and she hurried to get there. She could barely see the pavilion in the nightly darkness, thankful that she had walked the grounds many times before in daylight, so that she could somehow guess her way.

He closer she came, the better she could recognize the construction and after some more steps she noticed hushed voices, clearly male. With some satisfaction she realized she had found them. Carefully she approached, praying they would not notice her presence - at least not too soon.

She hid behind a bush and began to listen.

"…will be not happy to hear it." Stravinsky's voice, though calm and soft, gave away his annoyance. "She's worried."

"Then let her worry! I'm not obliged to her, nor will I ever be!" Cinàed, contrary to the other man, seemed unable to keep still. He ran his fingers through his dark curls, took long strides to cross the pavilion from one edge to the other. The mask lay solely on the ground.

A deep sigh followed, then words in a tongue she could not understand. It was not Irish for sure. No answer followed. She peeked from behind the bush, her heartbeat sounding as loud as thunder.

Stravinsky's hand touched Cinàed on the upper arm, but he only shook him away. His eyes were hidden from her in the dark light, but she was sure they were spitting fire. "She has no reason to complain."

"But it's your duty…"

"Don't talk nonsense! I've done what was expected from me! And anyway – I'm human now. It would be illegal, should everything remain the same as before."

Another sigh, deep, long. The general sounded almost frustrated. "And what about the girl?"

A long pause. Then Cinàed's response came. A faint whisper, tired, exhausted. "What about her?"

"You can't be serious!"

"Why not?" He resumed his walking, his steps long and angry. Then suddenly he stood still, his face turned towards the night sky. "I pushed her through a lot already. I…many things have changed since you joined the army, Alexei."

"I've guessed as much." She heard a smile in Stravinsky's voice, though it was not a happy one. "So you will not tell her about Natasha? Don't you think she deserves to know?"

"There's no need to make life more complicated than it already is." He sat down on a bench inside the pavilion, his head resting upon his right fist.

Stravisky, as far as she could see, looked at the man in front of him for what felt like ages, then he let out a sigh and turned. "I'm sorry my friend. She already knows."

From one second to the other the scene changed – Cinàed stood up from the bench and before Georgiana could understand what was going on his fingers were wrapped around the blond man's throat. He may have been human, but his reflexes were still remarkably fast.

In that moment she realized that she had held her breath and took in the fresh oxygen, her whole body trembling. She had to do something.

"Stop!" Without thinking she jumped out from behind of the bush and rushed towards the two men, her hands trying to pull them apart. "Please stop!"

Cinàed let go of Stravinsky, only to stare at her with wide eyes. She had to look away, could not bear the questioning and baffled storms of mercury and liquid silver. Her throat tightened and she stumbled a few steps back. Stravinsky's gaze was shifting between the two of them.

Slowly angered was mixed into the expression in Cinàed's features and he clenched his teeth. "You knew she was here. You knew and didn't say a word." His tone was alarmingly low, yet cold as ice. "Leave."

"My friend, please."

"Has the Russian winter stolen your sense of hearing? I said: Leave!" His eyes returned to her.

Stravinsky nodded and with an apologetic into his companion's direction, he bowed before Georgiana, "Good by, Mademoiselle." and left into the darkness of the landscape.

Now Georgiana and Cinàed were left alone. Silence laid itself over them, not a single words was uttered. All the while she could feel his gaze burning into her skin, but she could not look up, instead directed her attention to the bench inside the tiny building, the dark grayish silhouettes of the large trees or the sound of water running through a nearby stream. On everything but him.

She did not know how long they stood like that, silent the atmosphere around them filled with questions neither of them was sure should be asked or not. Her lips felt as if they were glued to one another, her tongue dry and sticky. With great effort she managed to open her mouth, but the first time her voice broke. Shaking she pressed her eyes close, before going for a second attempt. "Is it true?" In her mind she cursed herself, for her voice sounded so weak, so unsteady.

No answer came, not one word and with her eyes now wide open she looked straight into his face. She could see the edge of his jaw trembling – with what a force he must clinch his teeth. "Is it true?" Luckily her voice was stronger now, though the tone was unnervingly desperate.

But the seconds passed, became minutes, and still she stood there without an explanation from him. But did she need anything more? Was not his silence answer enough? She began to feel tears burning in her eyes, threatening to roll down her cheeks. But she would not do that. No, she would not cry in front of him!

With a snort she turned and with long and fast steps left the pavilion. She could not return to the ball. No, she wanted to go home, now! The fact that he followed her silently she tried to ignore when she approached one of the servants on the front courtyard. In a hurried voice she told him to make her carriage ready.

She had hoped he would not have followed her into the carriage, but how silly a though that was! Of course he would come with her, go home. He had stood right behind her all the time after all. The ride was spent in absolute silence…what else? Once she was biting down on her lip, until she could taste blood, or she would fumble with her fingers, all the while feeling his burning stare on her.

And how thankful she was when they arrived at the estate. As soon as the carriage door was opened she stepped out, not carrying if the servants would gossip later. But he obviously did not want to let her go just like that. She just felt something holding her back by the arm, the touch – his touch – like needles piercing her skin. "Don't touch me!"

Surprising her he let go of her arm immediately, but his eyes continued to beg her silently. She did not want to see this. It was as if her legs moved on their own, carrying her to her apartment. She heard him calling her name, but did not look back.

On entering inside her rooms she wanted to smash the door close, but the desired noise did not come. She saw him coming into the room, his one hand holding the door.

She suddenly felt fury burn inside of her. "What do you want? Leave me alone!"

"We must talk."

"There's nothing to talk about! Now leave me alone!"

"Georgiana, please."

"Just tell me one thing – do you care so little for my feelings that you lied to me?" In her mind she shouted, but her voice was quiet and cold. Cold as ice.

He stared at her baffled. "No, of course not…"

"Then why, Cinàed? Why did you lie to me? How could you keep that from me?" She remembered that an hour ago he had not even planned to ever tell her.

His eyes rushed around and his fingers ran through his hair. A sigh, exhausted, frank, escaped his lips. "I don't know. I…well, I hoped that it did not matter."

"Did not matter? But you're a married man! Nothing could matter more!"

"I'm married only on paper."

"But you are married."

"Yes. I am married, but I don't love her. I…it was…I had to marry her." He breathed in deeply. "I can't tell you the reason, but it was certainly not out of love. I love you Georgiana, you and you only."

She wanted to believe his words, wanted to go to him and forget everything, but how could she? Instead the anger she felt grew once more. "You claim to love me! Did you say that to all your women?"

"What?"

"Oh, please. All of England sees me as your mistress, your newest plaything. You own quite the reputation."

"Not this again."

"Why not?" She knew exactly what he meant – they already had a small discussion about those stories back in France. "Why should we not discuss it?"

"Because it is stupid to discuss something that has nothing to do with you!"

"But it does! You say you love me, yet you have been closer with these women than you have with me. Do you even know how many children you have fathered or have you lost count?"

"Georgiana…" His voice rose, the tone in it dangerously dark. She did not care.

"What?" She asked in an innocent voice. "Am I not speaking the truth? Do I not deserve to know the truth?"

"Let me explain…"

"What is there to explain, Cinàed? You are married to somebody else, that's it. I just want to know what I'm here for."

"I wanted to tell you." He cried out, the desperation in his features making her wince. "I wanted to tell you, but…"

"…but you couldn't." She finished for him after he remained silent. "You could not tell me because you don't trust me." How quietly the words left her mouth! How exhausted she suddenly felt!

He looked up and straight into her eyes. "No, it wasn't that. I trust you more than anyone else in the world. It…I just…It didn't matter at the time. It wasn't important."

Suddenly she felt the anger inside her again. "How could his not be important?" She cried, then, biting down on her finger, she turned away from him. "So that's why you would never come close to me?" she whispered after a long pause.

She could see his reflection on the window and he had not moved an inch. "I hoped no one would notice. That they would not realize."

"Not realize? The whole of England thinks I'm either your wife or your mistress!" The snort that followed her words was weak and she stroked with her hand over her forehead. "The funny thing is…that I'm neither. A mistress is closer to her lover than I to you."

"I love you." He whispered, but the words sounded unbearably loud to her.

When he slowly approached her, reaching out with his hand, she felt the impulse to leave, to flee, but before she could reach the door he grabbed her on the upper arm, turned her towards him and pressed his lips onto her own with such a rough force like he had only done once before on the night of their first kiss.

It felt so good to feel him again, the warmth and strength of his body, the sweetness of his lips and breath. She held onto his shirt with both hands, like someone drowning. Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest and her whole body was trembling as one by one the tears rolled down her cheeks. She pressed herself hard against his body, no space was left between them. He cupped her cheek with one hand and placed the other delicately on her lower back. Too soon he broke away.

Her breathing came hard as she looked into his darkened eyes. Too long had she felt alone.

"I love you, Gee. You're my life." His breath too was quickened as he spoke in a low voice. Underneath her palms she could feel his heartbeat.

She had no idea what brought her to say that. How she could ever think it. Maybe the wine in her system helped, but she had no better idea. "Then show me. Show me that you love me. More then these other women."

For moments he just stared back at her, his eyes piercing her own, until all of a sudden a determined look grazed his features and he pressed his hungry lips back onto hers, before pulling her up into his arms. She barely noticed that they were moving and before she knew it she landed on the bed, his lips not having left her body. A sigh escaped her mouth as he gave her little kisses, sweet and short.

Then he looked at her again. His eyes seemed darker, his skin paler than usual. "Are...you sure…you want to do this?"

She replied by engaging his lips once more.

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She had no idea why she had done that or what she had expected from it. Fact was that it was not the way it used to be. There was always something between them, something they never spoke of after that evening, but had not vanished from her mind.

She felt dirty and low and it was worse in his presence. This was not her, this was not the way she had been brought up by Adelaide and Hugo.

He too did not say much, kept mostly to the music room or his study while she stayed in her apartment.

She had never thought this possible. She could never have believed that this would happen to her. And perhaps she was weak, or naïve, or childish, or even egoistic, but after four day she had enough – enough of England, enough of the rain, enough of the silence and tenseness…and enough of him.

When she packed her things with the help of a depressed Isabeau and a confused Stefanie – she had not spoken to them about the events of the last few days – he did not protest. When she informed him of her plans he offered to pay the journey to Marseille. When she stepped into the carriage he did not hold her back.

His obvious disinterest felt like knifes inside her chest, but she did not cry during the whole voyage. What comfort was there in crying after all?