Roxanne regarded him carefully, unable to discern from his blank expression and neutral tone whether he was mocking her or not. "I suppose that depends."

"On what, my lady?"

She met his eyes evenly, ready for the slightest flicker to betray a lie. "On your reasons for asking, of course, Squire Gareth."

"Oh, well, I believe those are simply that I wish to dance, and I also wish to make amends with you. Are those suitable, or would you prefer a longer list?"

She raised an eyebrow. "You're making fun of me, Squire Gareth. It is not appreciated." She idly twirled a loose piece of hair, considering the merits and motives of his reasons. "I suppose I would feel obligated to point out the, ah, overly eager ladies glued to the edge of the room for your first point, and as to your second, it makes me wonder what our conversation thus far has been doing. How many amends do you wish to make?"

"However many my lady deems necessary," Gareth replied promptly, smoothly.

Too smoothly. Roxanne narrowed her eyes at him. Just yesterday, he had been as scathing as ever, and now there was all this talk of leaving the past behind. This wasn't right. "And is dancing a quick way of making amends?"

She could almost hear Cythera wailing in her ears. Here was a young squire, who was very handsome, good conversation and of a ducal house, and he was practically on his knees, begging her to dance with him, and she was trying to get him to retract his offer.

He was smiling, though. "Dancing is a preferable way, Lady Roxanne," he corrected her.

Surely it would be rude to say no, especially when he was looking so desperate. It couldn't really do any harm...

"Then I don't believe I can refuse."

Gareth offered her his arm, his eyes temporarily filled with some emotion she couldn't fit a name to, although it looked suspiciously like - well, like triumph. She eyed him carefully, not liking it, whatever 'it' was.

He was a good dancer - too much practice, probably - and didn't get too offended when she informed him he moved too quickly and had made them out of step with everybody else. Instead, he immediately slowed down to an unbearable pace, and so she 'accidentally' stepped onto his foot - his fault, she told him, for not moving it out of the way fast enough.

All in all, it was a satisfactory dance, and Roxanne was almost sorry to see it end. She had been relishing the jealous looks shot her way by fellow court ladies, and would have suggested another one, only, his foot had slipped and practically crushed hers in the final few steps of the dance, which unfortunately rendered most movement impossible.

"I really am most profusely sorry, my lady," Gareth murmured, taking her arm again. She froze slightly, wanting to tell him it was too familiar, but then decided to allow it, catching Lady Catherine's eyes on her. It was nice to be envied for once, to have something other people wanted for once. "Please, at least let me assist you to the side of the room."

"Yes, I suppose that is the least you could do," she replied, resting her weight on the sore foot. It didn't appear to be broken - probably just bruised.

Somehow, they got safely to the side of the room; she had been leaning on him perhaps a little more than was absolutely necessary. Even then, he showed no signs of leaving - he was obviously still wracked by guilt for crippling her. Maybe she wouldn't tell him it wasn't that bad. She certainly could do with the company.

"Thank you for the dance, though. You're an excellent dancer."

This wasn't exactly scintillating conversation, although she did enjoy being complimented. "I should hope so, my mother paid for the best teachers for me." Then, remembering that young ladies were supposed to be modest, she continued (though not without a hint of reluctance), "My sister's really better." She considered this, then comprimised it by adding, "Only a little bit."

"Oh, you have a sister? What is her name?"

Roxanne could have bitten her tongue. She looked at him warily. "Yes. Cythera. She's young - very young. Immature, you could say. You wouldn't like her. She's terribly quiet and-" She cut herself off, unable to insult her sister, even if it would potentially keep Gareth away from her. She couldn't have the truth about their real relationship coming out, despite how matters in that department appeared to be improving. "She's not like me at all."

There was a long silence. "Still, that's no real reason why I wouldn't get along with her."

Suddenly, he turned towards her, whilst she was trying to work out a suitable reply that would both put him off and enable her to not betray her sister. Did she imagine it, or did his eyes keep dropping to her lips? He seemed uncharacteristically nervous, as though he was going to propose or something. Roxanne prepared herself, just in case.

"You're amazing," he said softly, but with a slight hesitation, as if his feelings were so strong that he couldn't put them into words. "You're beautiful, you're spirited, you're vivacious."

This was it. Roxanne tensed herself, waiting, waiting...

He leaned towards her, and, and - kissed her.

She enjoyed it, for a split second. Then a voice which managed to sound uncomfortably like her mother started claiming he was taking advantages, and how he'd assume she was some sort of a flower girl, and how dare he expect her to just melt into his arms! He should have asked first!

She shoved him away. He got to his feet with something like a shrug.

No apology, mind.

So, really, Roxanne did the only thing possible. She threw a fist to his face. Granted, she had to climb on top of the chair she had been sitting on to do it, and knocked her foot in the process, but there was still a very pleasing crunch as her hand connected with his nose, and the effect wasn't ruined.

"Squire Gareth, how dare you make such assumptions of me?" Roxanne demanded haughtily, allowing her voice to carry to the nearby courtiers. "Leave my presence at once!"

He obeyed, cheeks darkening with anger, and she watched happily as the spectacle unfolded. Ideally, there would have been a jealous admirer looking to fight in order to protect Roxanne's virtue, but she'd settle for the Prime Minister following his son out of the room, anger crackling through his face. Roxanne was confident that any punishment the Duke could think up would be infinitely more fitting than the incoherant ramblings of an enraged lover, if not as satisfying in the short-term. She watched as the Prince ran out after, with his lumberjack friend close behind. The room then filled with the buzz of chatter as people discussed what had just happened. Roxanne sighed, and clambered down gingerly from her vantage point.

"You - you hurt him!" Lady Alayne of Darroch cried somewhere near Roxanne's left ear - although the crying was expected. Lady Alayne possessed the most shrill voice Roxanne had ever encountered, though she had not taken that news well at all. She was also rather obsessed with Squire Gareth. "He - he might bruise! You might even have broken his nose."

"Really?" Roxanne asked coolly, folding her arms across her chest and turning to enjoy the glances thrown her way, particularly from a dark-haired man she remembered seeing with the Prince at one time. "How tragically unanticipated. If only I'd taken a second to think."