Watching for prey
Four years ago…
The elegant sound of violins floated through the mansion, intermingling with the sounds of clinking champagne glasses and peals of laughter.
Candlelight from three-tiered chandeliers lit the main ballroom as the majority of the evenings guests circled around in their finest suits and ball gowns.
Lady Lara Croft stood at the edge of the dance floor trying to hide her dismay.
She wore a classic pastel yellow gown that hugged her curves perfectly and then fanned out in a lovely skirt. Her brown-red hair was piled into an elegant bun and pinned by a diamond clip that matched the necklace that adorned her neck. Lady Croft was easily a belle of the ball – and the attention she was receiving was testimony.
Lara shook her head the hundredth time as a hand shot out to her to invite her to dance. Men, young and old, well-moneyed or well-connected were equally turned down by her. If only people knew that she was there to work, not play.
Her ever alert senses continued to scan the ballroom for the man she was going to meet.
Sir Charles Branson had insisted that she meet him at the party. Branson was a man "of society" and the party's host. The man made it very clear over the phone that he would only speak to Lara about the artifact she currently coveted, if she attended.
Lara sighed.
It was almost a game to some of England's "established" families to get the daughter of Lord Richard Croft to attend their social events. If Lara cared about what England's "nobility" thought about her she might have been annoyed by their efforts. But she didn't. Business was business – she just preferred to be clad in her jungle safari clothes.
"Lady Croft!" an excited voice exclaimed. Lara turned towards the voice just in time to see the flash. The boy smiled then scurried off with his camera to take picture of other guests. Lara cursed - now that was annoying. Her photo would probably appear on the society pages of England's newspapers tomorrow morning. Many an English family would eat their breakfast while staring at her gown and wondering what designer she was wearing. How disturbing.
Lara was utterly uninvolved with fashion, although she was smart enough to know how to dress herself. She straightened her yellow Dior gown and resumed looking for Branson.
From her post, Lara caught the eye of a man who had been staring at her on-and-off throughout the evening. He was across the room, encircled by generic rich-types, but she could feel his eyes on her.
Lara had already returned his gaze several times as she was accustomed to do – in dangerous situations she always let people know that she knew she was being watched. Social situations were no different.
She had hoped that the "uninterested" expression she wore when she looked at him was enough to give him a hint. And since he hadn't approached her once, she thought she was somewhat successful, yet he continued to steal glances at her in between greeting and conversing with other guests.
Although he was across the room, Lara could see from his uniform that he was a high-ranking military officer – and befitting his rank seemed to be approached quite often by politicians, other militaries, and the rest of England's elite. She also noted the female attention he received. That was befitting his presence.
Lara acknowledged that he was very attractive: tall, dark, muscular – ruggedly handsome – with a strong jaw-line and intense blue eyes. And as she was accustomed - almost unconsciously now - she sized up whether she would be able to defeat him in a fight. She surmised that he would be a fun challenge.
Even though he was bigger than her, Lara was a heck of a street fighter. Her eyes wandered over his muscular body wondering where she should strike first…
A smile flashed across the man's face as Lara realized that he had caught her starring at his body.
He gazed knowingly at her and without thinking Lara felt a smirk crossing her face. She looked defiantly at the man with one eyebrow arched. The smile on the officer's face broadened. Lara shook her head in amusement, her smirk turning into a slight smile.
The look must have been the cue he was waiting for – the officer turned to his current company and excused him self and then with a broad smile still plastered on his face, walked in her direction.