Glances, Part Two

He looks up in the direction of the main doors just as she appears. She is bathed in light from the foyer and from the wall sconces to her left and right. It gives her an unearthly glow, a magical warmth that invades his body even from across the room. He licks his lips, which have unexpectedly gone dry. And, suddenly, he finds he cannot look away, cannot tear his gaze from her as she fully enters the room.

She glides with grace and poise across the floor until she reaches the host and hostess of the party. Her smile is infectious as those in her immediate presence suddenly seem livelier, happier than they were only seconds before. He wonders if this is just her nature or if she has said something amusing, something deliciously funny. As the host kisses her cheek fondly, she leans in to him, but there is nothing untoward about the actions, his or hers. It is merely a greeting, a warm welcome to their guest. In the next moment, he is watching as the hostess hugs the beautiful woman before she takes her leave of them.

She procures a glass of white wine from a passing waiter and scans the room. Perhaps she is looking for a familiar face or maybe a quiet corner in which she can retreat. He thinks she might be partial to observing rather than participating fully in these sort of affairs. He has no doubts that she could mingle with any member of society, though she strikes him as someone who is more comfortable in the shadows, not hiding, merely surveying with a discerning eye. He grins as realization dawns upon him. He is doing this very same thing now, watching her from a safe and secluded corner, appreciating her from afar.

As he suspects, she has positioned herself in a less populated area of the room. As she sips her glass of wine, her eyes travel over the other guests. He smiles to himself, wondering if she is making mental notes of the interactions of the others. Does she notice how Mr. Bryant has abandoned his wife and is flirting, rather boisterously, with the pretty brunette in the shocking red dress? Has she seen the way the lady dressed all in pink is making eyes at the butler who is almost twice as tall as she? He finds both of those situations amusing and is curious to hear her thoughts on the situations. He can easily imagine them at a party, together, and making these quaint observations about the other attendees from their little hideaway in an unobserved part of the room. Maybe, on the drive home, they would share a laugh or simply be grateful that they are together, not having to deal with unwanted advances or attentions.

As he studies this lovely woman from across the room, he is stuck by her beauty. Her hair, not quite blonde, not fully brunette, maybe a hint of auburn if the lights aren't playing tricks on his eyes, is luminescent. The lights from above are shining down, casting a glow about her. Even from this distance, he can make out the different shades of color in her hair, and he yearns to discover for himself the softness of it. What would it feel like brushing against his cheek as he hugged her from behind? Would it tickle his nose as he buried his face in her hair in an effort to place a teasing kiss to her ear, or the spot just below? Would she giggle or moan in delight as his lips reached their destination?

That thought spurs others to the forefront of his mind. His eyes are drawn to the softness of her shoulders, her creamy skin exposed just a bit from the dress she is wearing. He wants to run his fingers lightly down her slender throat, along her shoulders, across her collarbones. His touch would be as light as a feather and reverent, only ever wanting to bring her pleasure from his touch. He swallows hard as his mind creates a beautiful image, a wish. He wants to hear her breath hitch in her throat from his touch, to watch as her eyes flutter closed in happiness and contentment, safety and love.

Love. Until now, he has not dared to look at her hands, no doubt dainty and delicate. He is almost afraid to look, afraid of seeing a band of gold, a sparkling diamond meaning she has given her love and her heart to someone. But, if he is to continue to admire her, he must know, for he would never dream of doing to another what Alice and Grigg did to him in his youth.

As if on cue, she raises her hand to brush a lock of hair behind her ear. He thanks every star in the sky that she uses her left hand, though he is almost certain she is right-handed. Even from his safe distance, he can see no ring on her finger, only a delicate bracelet hugging her wrist. Her nails are not polished, either. It is something he finds curious but appreciates. So many of the women in his acquaintance use bright colors, sometimes patterns, on their nails. It is not for him to judge or have an opinion on such matters, but there is an allure for him to a woman with clear nail polish and perhaps a tantalizing color on her toes, a hidden splash of color on he would be privy to seeing. However, if this woman was interested in him, he wouldn't care if she painted her entire body … as long as she loved him and received his love in return.

He is so fascinated by her that he dares to leave his comfort zone and walk closer to her. He wants to know the sound of her voice, to be able to make a mental image of her from head to foot. But, most of all, he wants nothing more than a moment of her time. He would be surprised to learn that she has no suitor waiting for her at home, no lover eager for her return. He will, before the night has ended, learn her name, a little more about her. It would be a pleasure to hear those things from her own sweet lips, but if he must ask the host, then so be it. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, he believes, and it has been such a long time since he has been interested enough to venture into the murky waters of dating, love, and relationships.

From his new position in the room, he is afforded a new glimpse of her. She is slender and clearly takes good care of herself. Her arms are well toned, from what he can tell by looking at the sheer sleeves of her dress. The sequins sparkle in the light, giving her a radiance that she would no doubt possess even if she were wrapped in a plain white sundress on a summer day. It doesn't take long for his eyes to drift down her body, appreciating every feminine curve, every hidden secret held securely beneath this black sequined dress. Once again, his mouth goes dry as he drinks in the sight of this amazing woman. Truly, he has never been this affected by anyone in his life.

And then it happens, and he is left speechless, thoughtless. Her smoldering eyes lift and meet his, holding his gaze for a long moment. His breathing pauses. His heart leaps into his throat, pounding out a rhythm that makes his entire body hum. She appraises him carefully, and he tries his best to remain calm, allow her time make a move towards or away from him. He will respect her decision, whatever that may be. She owes him nothing, but he would gladly give her the world should she ask.

She smiles at him and tilts her head to right ever so slightly. He notices how her eyes look seductive, alluring, tempting. He could easily get lost in those eyes, that spellbinding look. Then, the moment between them is broken, gone like a vapor.

Mary, the daughter of the host and hostess is at his side and talking about her latest love interest. He is only partially listening about some blonde haired lad named Matthew, and he turns, only for a moment, to give her his heartfelt congratulations and to remind her of the importance of moving slowly, cautiously to protect the heart. When he returns his gaze to the mystery woman, she is gone, and his heart sinks. He is fairly confident that she has not left the party, but he suddenly feels at a loss, like a part of himself is now missing. Silly, he admonishes himself. He doesn't even know her name, and yet he is feeling lonelier than before.

He kisses Mary on the cheek and promises to catch up with her soon for a cup of tea, his treat, and then makes his way out to the balcony. He needs to clear his head, take a moment to gather his thoughts and his wits about him. He stands at the edge, lifts his head up to the blanket of stars, and breaths deeply. Once. Twice. Three times … and there is a distinct change in the air.

It is jasmine and heather. He doesn't know how, but he knows that is the scent. It's intoxicating, delicate, feminine. Then, like a spark from an electrical outlet, he feels it. It starts in the center of his back and courses through his body like a bolt of lightning. Her hand is on the center of his back, lightly touching him to gain his attention.

His head whips around and suddenly he is staring into the bluest eyes he's ever seen. They are the same color of the sky on a summer day, a glassy pond, a favorite flower … a baby blue eye. He cannot think of a single thing to say to open a conversation with her, though she has sought him out, followed him to this quiet little haven. He turns so that he is facing her fully, waiting eagerly to hear what she has to say, to hear her sweet voice for the first time.

Without any warning, she reaches down and takes his left hand in hers. She studies it for a brief moment. He watches her intently, the way she strokes his hand with tenderness, her fingertips brushing across his skin and leaving little sparks in their wake. He has yet to think of a single word to say to her, though she obviously has no need for pretty words at this moment either. She gives his hand a squeeze, then looks up into his eyes.

"I'm glad I found you," she says softly, her accent exciting him, giving him another reason to be enamored by her.

"I thought I had lost you," he replies without thinking, knowing in his heart she was never his to lose in the first place.

She laughs, a deep, throaty laugh, a seductive tone filling his hears, causing his pulse to quicken. "I'm Elsie Hughes. Would you care to dance?"

There is no music filtering from the main room, no violins playing in the courtyard, though he can think of nothing more than dancing with this temptress. "I'm Charles Carson, and I thought you'd never ask."

His arms slip around her waist, resting at the small of her back, drawing her as closely as he dares into his embrace. Her arms glide over his chest and wrap around his neck, her fingertips barely brushing the nape of his neck. As they start to sway, she begins to hum a tune. He is almost certain it is Clair de Lune, and that is when he knows she has his heart forever.

He bends down so that his lips brush lightly against her ear, and he smiles as his hair does, indeed, tickle his nose. "Promise me we will dance to this on our honeymoon," he says as they move slowly to her humming.

As she reaches the end of the song, she pulls back and looks deeply into his eyes. "Promise me you will always look at me as you did tonight, like I was the most beautiful woman in the world."

"With you by my side, I have no need to look at anyone else, Elsie Hughes, and, to me, you are the most amazing woman in the world."

She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him sweetly on the lips. "I will always be on your side, Charles Carson. I'm ever so glad I caught your attention this evening."

"One look at you, and I was hopelessly lost … with just one glance."

A/N: Thank you so much for your response to Glances Part One. I hope you enjoyed this one from Charles's point of view. If you feel so inclined, I'd love to hear your thoughts! A picture of what "Elsie" looks like in this prompt can be found on my Tumblr page (Chelsie Carson). xxx