A/N: Oi Oi! Look how good I am at updating!
Thankyou, all of you, for your fantastic reviews (even the ones that make fun of my Englishness :P); they seriously make my day and most certainly spur me on to complete another chapter.
So yea, this one is LOOONG, mainly because I included a little from Van's POV at the beginning, and also because I included a little steamy interlude towards the end. Oh Lordy, I hope you don't hate it.
Anyway, info for this chapter:
No. 1! - Chid and Millerna are siblings here, and are both in the Aston family.
No. 2! - The "ton" refers to the social elite of the Regency era, if you weren't aware of the definition already and have been spending this whooole time wondering what the bloody hell I've been talking about.
No. 3! - Erm...can't remember.
Right - time for me to shut my face. Enjoy!
Edited 18/02/14: Hello hello hello, here I am again, dusting off some cobwebs in these early chapters. I have to say, it's hilarious reading through some of my old descriptions of things. In the last chapter I never realised that I'd used the word "eyes" about 4 times in sentences one after another. "He raised an eyebrow" "His eyes caught hers" "HEY YOU HAVE NICE EYES" (nobody actually said that). BUT, YOU KNOW, REPETITION - IS IT THE WORST THING EVER? Discuss.
Enjoy!
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Van Fanel abhorred parties.
Even now, as he watched, scowling, the final dregs of the upper classes stumbling out of his front door, he couldn't seem to remember why he had let them enter it in the first place.
He had never been fond of forcing idle conversation about the weather, nor enjoyed putting on the endless façade of sincere interest in a woman's opinion; the smile he faked and the greetings he sounded off one after another had become tedious performances, and the bows, the curtseys that answered them, were just pointless and senseless and, frankly, ridiculous to him. The seemingly endless list of his distastes rang through his head most every party he attended, and he had tired of its dreary additions long before this evening; yet he seemed to be especially frustrated this night in particular.
But he hadn't a clue as to why.
All things considered, he was sure the party had gone well enough. His mother, whose idea it had been to throw the damn thing, had all but thrust a gaggle of girls into his vicinity whenever he'd re-entered the ballroom, and he had, of course, proceeded to dance with each one in turn, regardless of their waltzing skill (or lack thereof). Frowning down at the newest scuffs on the tips of his finest leather boots, he sighed, conceding that in letting his feet be trodden on all evening, he had at least pleased her. Perhaps she would be so pleased at his effort to be valiant for once that she would overlook his complete lack of effort to find a suitable bride.
Wishful thinking, he supposed ruefully.
Varie Fanel's yearning for a grandchild would surely not be appeased that easily, not if a thousand clumsy debutantes had mistaken his feet for the floor. Her longing to welcome a child into the family, to secure another heir to the Earldom at the very least, had grown and grown over recent years, and it seemed obvious to her that now was the best time for him to take a wife and start a family of his own.
In response to the affirmation however, Van had gone on to raise several points.
"Father married you when he was five and thirty, if I recall correctly," he had countered that morning over the breakfast table, impassive to her latest conquest.
At this, Varie had frowned, "That may be, but have you failed to notice that you are fast approaching the same age? You are no longer in the first blush of youth, let me tell y—"
"I turned eight and twenty a fortnight ago." He raised a brow, unmoved.
"My point exactly!"
In response, he had merely feigned engrossment in the paper and had dropped the matter entirely. Needless to say, it would undoubtedly be brought up again over breakfast the following morning, and so on and so forth.
Van sighed heavily, running a hand through the tangled obsidian mess of hair he had never shown fondness for.
The night had been long, tiring, but doubtless there would be something similar to attend the next evening. Yawning, he glanced at the grandfather clock nearby. Quarter to four. More likely in that case, that there was something he had to attend the very same day.
Oh, the toils of popularity.
Perhaps the next dinner or soirée or whatever in hell his mother had invited him to would yield more promising results. Or at least some rather more promising women. He began to climb the stairs, pondering the thought, before suddenly halting, his foot suspended over the third carpeted step, his eyes narrowed in contemplation. All too quickly, he happened upon the reason for his sour mood.
That woman, indeed the only woman he had found remotely "promising" that evening, had been the only one averse to his charm. And the only one he could never, ever court. Christ, she was probably the most unsuitable bride he would find if he searched the whole of London.
Rude and unabashedly confident, witty and terribly argumentative; Miss Kanzaki had won him over immediately with her curious magnetism.
If only his mother knew what inappropriate taste he had in women, he mused. He was sure she may have a heart attack if he were to announce that he intended to marry someone without a title, not to mention someone so lowly as a governess.
Indeed, he doubted she would even let him marry her at all.
And that was when his eyes widened.
The solution to the problem at hand raced through his mind in an instant; such a simple idea, but cunning. Perhaps even a little cruel. Of course he would have to assert all of that infamous charm and intelligence to…yes, and then after she…perfect!
A moment later, he continued to ascend the stairs two at a time, the smile on his face wide and brimming with smug anticipation over what would, undoubtedly, ensure the end to his mother's constant heckling.
Seduction was a game after all, wasn't it?
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
"You what?!" Daniel Gaddes choked on his coffee, lurching forward in his armchair.
Van shrugged and repeated himself, "I've found a fiancé."
Chid sighed, but didn't look up from his copy of The Times.
The gentleman's club was empty, save for the three old friends who were currently sharing what seemed like a rather important piece of news. It was rare to have the entire lounge to themselves, though not terribly surprising really, for such an early hour on a Tuesday morning.
Setting his cup down, Gaddes swallowed and moved to the edge of the seat.
"What the devil are you talking about?" He demanded, eyeing the Viscount sceptically.
Leaning back into the cushioned softness of his own chair, Van exhaled loudly.
"I intend to coax a governess into thinking she's going to marry me whilst simultaneously leading my parents to assume that I am, in fact, courting Merle Rogers." He started, watching as his friend's expression turned from one of mild bemusement to one of absolute horror. He continued, amused, "And when my mother finds out how I actually propose to "besmirch" the family name with low-born blood, she will insist on calling off the wedding. I will do so, obviously, but I shall tell her that I fear I will never live up to her expectations and indeed never love again, and thus, her guilt will force her to stop bothering me for two years at the very least."
He finished, checking his pocket watch before looking up to gauge his friends' reactions.
Gaddes was staring at him in disbelief.
Chid had yet to look up from his paper.
"H-Have you gone absolutely mad?" The silence was broken by the former.
Van frowned, "I am utterly serious."
At this point, Chid finally spoke from behind the article he was pretending to read.
"And what will you do after two years, when your mother starts heckling you again?"
Fortunately, the Viscount had already considered the answer.
"I suppose at that point I'll have to take some unsuspecting chit as a wife, won't I." He said plainly, picking up his own cup of coffee.
Gaddes guffawed, "So this detailed ploy is all to give you more time as a bachelor?"
Van made a noise of acknowledgement whilst swallowing the hot beverage.
A few moments of stunned silence followed before Chid sighed again, closed his paper loudly and threw it onto a nearby table.
"Why does it not surprise me," he drawled, standing, "that you would sacrifice your honour, merely to continue skirt-chasing."
The Viscount simply smiled.
"I didn't think I had any honour left to sacrifice."
"You were probably correct in the assertion." Gaddes added under his breath.
Chid ignored him, "Would it not be easier to just leave the country again?"
At this, Van seemed to flinch slightly, his smile fading as he shook his head.
"Running away doesn't solve anything." He said, looking into his coffee cup, pensive, a different tone lacing the façade of nonchalance.
A brief silence fell in the motionless room.
"Indeed."
"Well," Gaddes cut in warily, attempting to steer away from the matter, "I admit that I am intrigued by the whole idea, but surely you must have doubts as to—"
Van turned to him, seemingly broken from his previous moment of abstraction, "None at all." He flashed a tight smile.
"Well then you are a fool." Chid conceded, bored, making his way to the door, "And have absolutely no idea what you're getting yourself into."
At this, the Viscount stood himself, turning to him, his eyes laughing, arrogant.
"Are you implying that I can't handle one little governess, Aston?" He teased, watching his friend halt by the entrance to the lounge.
Chid turned slowly, his face expressionless.
"Are you implying that you can?"
"Pfft, do you not know me at all, man?"
They held each other's gaze for a moment, Van's eyes full of egotistical mirth, Chid's narrowed, and filled with none.
And then he asked something that the Viscount had not considered.
"What if you fall in love with her?"
Van blinked.
Gaddes let out snort of masculine amusement, "Don't be absurd, he barely knows the meaning of the word."
Chid merely gave the now-brooding Viscount a lasting stare as he turned to leave the room.
"My point precisely." He muttered on his way out.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
3 Days later.
"Oh do stop fidgeting, Hitomi! It's only cleavage!"
The governess's head shot up guiltily, her hands falling limply away from the neckline of her dress. She frowned, proceeding to walk up the pathway.
"Do you not think it just… a little too much?"
Merle sighed, "Hitomi, darling, that neckline is positively nunnish compared to some I've seen." she straightened her gloves as they approached the front door, "Why, last week, as I recall, Lady Harris donned a garment which was more akin to a handkerchief than a dress; you certainly have nothing to worry about."
Since nobody will be looking at you anyway. Hitomi heard the words she didn't say as clearly as if she'd shouted them.
"Indeed." She conceded after a moment, giving the debutante's (rather more revealing) apparel a sceptical glance as the door opened.
And it was only after the footman had ushered them in, after he had directed them to the enormous reception room and had urged them toward the crush, that Hitomi realised any ideas she may have had about tonight being different, about tonight being the night people asked her name instead of merely asking for Merle's…were completely and utterly ridiculous.
It seemed so obvious to her already that, even if she had lowered the neckline of her favourite dress, even if she had pinned a flower in her already tousled-looking hair, even if Merle had leant her old perfume and unwanted earbobs…it meant nothing. Because, as she watched the debutante glide gently away from her and into the awaiting clutches of the ton, she knew that someone so plain as herself would always, always be overshadowed by women – girls – with more to offer.
With her lack of confidence, her plain face and lithe frame…she was simply too unattractive, in every way. She had nothing, nothing beautiful; feet that were not dainty, bosoms that were not large, legs that were too long and hair that was far too short. The list she had was expansive; never-ending.
And she had just found another addition, hadn't she.
Because inside her, at that moment, she felt the saddened, heavy beat of her loveless, bitter heart.
"Dear child, I hope you do not intend to stand in a doorway all evening."
Literally jumping out of her moment of self-pity, Hitomi breathed a sigh of relief as she realised they were merely Liddy's words of mock-outrage, as opposed to a stranger's. She turned to see her old friend smiling, eyebrows raised, behind her.
"Good evening, Liddy." She managed, somewhat cheerily.
The widow's eyes widened as they settled upon the cut of her dress, "My, and who are we trying to impress this evening?"
Hitomi sighed as her earlier point was clearly demonstrated by the surprise in her friend's voice.
"It doesn't matter." She said, suddenly wishing she had never touched the damned garment, "Shall we sit by the—"
"I don't believe you for a second, my girl, I— Oh, Charles! Charles dear!"
Rolling her eyes as Liddy waved manically at a fairly startled looking gentleman on the other side of the room, Hitomi chose to leave the vicinity, lest the widow force her into a futile conversation with him or some other poor, unsuspecting victim.
She caught sight of Merle shortly afterwards, laughing politely with the Duke of Ersham, an acquaintance whose recent forays into French cuisine had noticeably enlarged his already generous girth, and whose coat seemed to be perilously close to expelling its tautly fastened buttons in a fit of vicious ire. Seeing the rather uncomfortable smile on the debutante's face, Hitomi thought it only fair to rescue the poor girl from his onslaught of inappropriate jokes. No eighteen year old innocent deserved quite so much vulgarity from one source.
Taking two glasses of lemonade from the nearby drinks table, she approached them, attempting to catch Merle's eye as she made her way through the crush. She reached them as the rapidly reddening duke neared the end of yet another unsuitable innuendo.
"…And then the chit said, 'I'd prefer two!'" Ersham roared with laughter, his belly shaking alarmingly close to Merle, who looked, frankly, terrified.
Hitomi cut in, handing a glass of lemonade to her charge hastily.
"Forgive me for interrupting, my Lord," She bowed to the sobering Duke, who glared directly at her bosom. Turning to the debutante hurriedly, she took her arm.
Merle, whose eyes flashed gratitude towards her gallant chaperone, feigned annoyance at having to leave, "Oh, bother! What is the problem now, Hitomi?"
Hitomi cleared her throat, thinking wildly of a suitable name with which to lie.
"It is only that Lady— no, Lord—er…"
Oh goodness! Any name would do!
"Does Lady James desire to speak with me again?" Merle's arm tightened around hers. Hitomi latched onto the fib.
"Yes! Yes, Lady James told me to fetch you immediately to discuss…erm…"
Merle's eyes rolled, before signalling to the Duke's sceptical expression, urging her to think of a reason.
Any reason!
"To discuss your…h—" Hitomi's hands gestured swiftly up to the debutante's elaborately decorated coiffure, "…head…w-…wear— to discuss your headwear!"
Ersham raised a cynical brow, "And what is wrong with her headwear?"
Merle smiled broadly, "Do you know, that is exactly what I wish to find out. Come on Hitomi, we shan't keep Lady Jones waiting!"
"Lady Jones?"
"Lady James!" Hitomi corrected the questioning duke hastily.
"That's the one!" She shouted back, pulling on her chaperone's arm forcefully, pushing forward until they reached the perimeter of the room.
Merle started giggling as she took a taste of her lemonade, letting go of Hitomi's hand to sit on a nearby chair, "That was close!"
Hitomi sat next to her, sipping from her own ornate glass, "Really, that man's humour is so unclean it could dirty the Thames." She said, frowning.
"Oh, it wasn't so bad. I am merely thankful that you took me away before the Viscount Fanel saw us talking."
At this, the debutante stood up and looked around hastily, handing her unfinished glass to a suddenly wide-eyed Hitomi.
"I was told he was attending, but I haven't actually— Oh look! There he is now! I— good Lord…"
Hitomi placed the glass on the table next to them, "What's the matter?" She asked into her own cup of lemonade, attempting to hide her anxious expression.
"Why— He's coming over here!"
She almost choked.
"Oh lud! Why must he choose to approach me when I am with you and not with friends!"
Shaking her head as she swallowed the mouthful, Hitomi smiled mirthlessly, "I am sure he will not judge."
Merle puckered her brow as she turned back to her briefly, "Be a dear, and don't interfere, will you? He most likely has no interest in who you are."
The bitter smile widened as Merle faced the oncoming Viscount.
He had enough interest to learn my name.
But I suppose you wouldn't remember that.
Hitomi simply looked down, feigning interest in the contents of her lemonade as she saw Merle fidget nervously.
Then she heard him.
"Miss Rogers, you look ravishing."
And suddenly, she didn't want him to see her at all.
She didn't want him to see her standing next to Merle; so close that she could be compared and contrasted with such prettiness, such perfection, so near that she could be weighed and measured to be found lacking.
No. She did not want him to see the effort she'd made go to waste.
Her head dipped lower, her nose practically touching the rim of her glass.
She heard Merle chuckle lightly, "Thank you, my Lord."
"I trust you have enjoyed the evening thus far?"
The smile in his voice carried, and Hitomi wondered briefly if he was mocking her.
"Oh yes indeed, my Lord! I find that these spring nights are quite lovely when it is not raining."
The Viscount sighed wearily, "Oh yes…the weather; it has been awful, hasn't it."
Hitomi caught the boredom lacing his tone. Unfortunately, Merle did not.
"Well certainly it has been bizarrely hot for April, my Lord. But what with the constant showers, it is so very difficult to take the air regularly, do you not find? I am sure I have never experienced such an uncomfortable season in all my life."
"Indeed." He said simply, before clearing his throat, "Shall we take to the floor, my dear? I think a waltz is about to begin." He paused, before adding, "That is, if your friend approves."
Upon hearing this, Hitomi froze.
There was a moment of silence preceding Merle's artificial chuckle, "Oh, she is only my chaperone, pay her no mind."
Hitomi bit her lip.
Another silent moment.
"In that case, I should like to make sure I have permission." He said, quietly, and Hitomi's eyes widened as she saw one obsidian knee-length boot turn towards where she sat.
In reaction, she stared resolutely back into her lemonade, wishing the moment away.
However, Merle seemed intent on letting her do no such thing.
"Well?" The debutante prompted impatiently, "Do you mind, Hitomi?"
Cursing silently, Hitomi counted to three in her head before looking up at the couple, fake smile already in place.
"It is perfectly alright." She said, looking directly at Merle and not at the Viscount, whose expression remained impassive, "I'll just wait here."
Merle smiled broadly, locking her arm with his as she turned to him again, "Wonderful."
Hitomi felt the Viscount's gaze remain on her for a second longer than was proper.
"Wonderful." He conceded, softly.
And then they were gone.
But not before Hitomi had glimpsed the wickedness in his dark eyes.
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
The night drew on mercilessly, and the stifling heat of the room merely served to exacerbate the length of each torturous hour. Hitomi had realised fairly rapidly that she had quite forgotten what it felt like to be pleasantly cool; though she supposed one could hardly expect to consciously remember what it was to be comfortable whilst sitting on a hard wooden chair with a crooked back, surrounded by people and wine and stale, warm air.
After letting out what must have been her hundredth sigh of the evening, she took a sip of her champagne (for she had switched to champagne a good half hour beforehand), and looked out towards the crush. However, by this point the room was so full of dancing couples and chatting acquaintances that attempting to locate her charge proved absolutely pointless, for she could see no further than those lacing the edges of the crowd.
Laying aside her drink, she stood, perhaps not as steadily as she would have half an hour beforehand, and steeled herself to enter the throng. She ducked and edged (and elbowed) her way in, not completely surprised to find that the heat was somewhat unbearable when shoved into a mass of sweating, overdressed, slightly inebriated members of the upper class. Fortunately however, after forcing dozens of limbs from her path for several minutes, her eyes finally fell on their mark.
Merle.
And Hitomi breathed a heady sigh of relief.
Because the Viscount was not with her.
She appeared to be laughing gaily with someone Hitomi recognised as Lady Millerna Aston, a woman who had little to no morality left in her perfectly proportioned body, and who had conducted more affairs with married men than Hitomi had fingers and toes put together. From her own dealings with the woman, Hitomi found her to be arrogant and condescending, however she very much doubted any man would bear the brunt of her unpleasant disposition whilst showering her with gifts every waking moment. She was widowed not a year ago (by a wealthy Duke forty years her senior), and thus she was rich in suitors and in pennies, but it was with scepticism that Hitomi wondered if her heart had not yet suffered from the fickle existence.
Her eyes lingered on the pair thoughtfully, before her attention was caught by the string quartet, which had just begun another waltz.
She rolled her eyes.
How she abhorred parties.
Moving swiftly away, she headed for the outer wall, mostly composed of large, ornate windows and, more importantly, a door leading out onto the terrace. Once again having to push forcefully past people in a fairly unladylike manner, it took her the best part of two minutes to actually get anywhere near the edge of the room, and it was only when she was literally one yard away from uncrowded territory, whilst turning to catch a last glimpse of Merle dancing with a red-haired gentleman, that she actually bumped into someone.
Falling ungracefully into the stranger as she attempted to turn around, she felt two strong arms catch her waist firmly. She jumped at the contact, and stumbled immediately out of their embrace.
"Ah! I'm so sorry, do excuse my clumsiness—"
A familiar, crooked grin stopped her explanation. However, Lord Fanel's amusement did nothing short of aggravate her beyond bearing.
"You again!"
The Viscount's eyes flashed wickedness, "Me again." He said quietly, regarding her displeased expression with open enjoyment. They stared at each other a moment, before Hitomi sighed exasperatedly.
She rolled her eyes, gesturing to the nearby door, "Will you please move out of my way."
"Is this how you apologise to everyone you smack into awkwardly?"
Hitomi made to push him aside, ignoring his pointless mockery, "I have already apologised to you, my Lord, now if you would just let me through—"
He didn't budge, "Where must you get to so hastily, chick?"
"Please move."
"A secret rendezvous on the terrace, perhaps?"
Her mouth dropped open in indignation, "Do not be ridiculous!"
The viscount's gaze slid over the cut of her dress briefly.
"There is nothing ridiculous about it." He said softly after a moment.
To her horror, she reddened, "I— will you please let me through! People are beginning to watch!"
"Well then let them watch."
"You are incorrigible!"
He merely smiled roguishly once more.
"You are most kind."
To her relief, somebody had the good sense to interrupt them before she could scream at his deliberate obtuseness.
"Fanel!" Ersham, the very Duke Hitomi had thrown excuses towards hours beforehand, approached them, clapping the Viscount on the back in a manner that was utterly male. He glanced at Hitomi briefly, outwardly showing dislike before deciding to ignore her altogether.
"What are you doing over here?" He bellowed, "A chap such as yourself should be associating with the real women! Here, come over and let me introduce you to…"
Hitomi had taken the chance to manoeuvre away before she could hear who the viscount would no doubt be forced to converse with. She all but ran to the closed terrace door, slipping outside unseen and unheard before anyone even noticed the entrance had been opened. She closed it softly behind her, relishing the breeze in the unbearably humid air. It was as this point she was rather glad for the open neck of her old dress, for it seemed it was finally proving to be somewhat useful. Sighing, she walked briskly until she reached the edge of the terrace.
Perhaps an excuse for woman, such as herself, should just remain out here all evening. She laughed mirthlessly.
An excuse for a woman. Not a real one.
A perfect summary, wasn't it.
Because no man had ever shown any interest in her. Not one.
She had but one kiss to claim for the whole of her life, and it hadn't been out of tenderness or longing. It had been to bloody silence her.
Lud, she was a sad story; kissed out of sheer exasperation.
The door started to open far behind her. Startled at the movement, she cursed at the horrible sense of déjà vu and looked around for any sort of hiding place or shadow; fortunately, she saw that the terrace led round the corner of the house, to an outer wall without any windows.
Probably for situations just like this, she mused.
She darted from her position, pressing her back up against the cold brick as soon as she reached the corner. Immediately after doing so, she heard footsteps, slow and steady, approach. She swallowed and—
"Miss Kanzaki, would you care to tell me why you appear to be cowering in such a manner?"
Hitomi blinked in astonishment as to how he'd seen her, not moving an inch.
"I am not cowering, my Lord, I am merely…I simply wish to be alone."
The viscount came into view, rounding the corner.
"Well that is a most distressing notion, chick."
Hitomi rolled her eyes at him for the second time that evening, easing the tension from her body.
"Would you please desist in using that dreadful—"
"It's called an endearment, sweeting."
"I know what it's called!" She took a step towards him, "That's exactly why I dislike it! An endearment is something reserved for a friend o-or a relative, or—"
"A lover?"
His eyes caught hers, intense; all fire and darkness and sultry seduction. She swallowed, doing her best not to fall to their sinful heat.
"P-Precisely."
Silence fell briefly, before being broken by the Viscount's heavy sigh. He leaned against the balustrade, his lithe body shifting position with such unconscious grace that it quite fascinated her.
"So are you enjoying the evening?"
Hitomi blinked, considering his nonchalance warily.
"That is neither here nor there." She conceded after a moment, "I am here for Merle."
Her eyes watched his as they took in her figure once again. She almost jumped when they returned to her own, darkened.
"I've never seen you in a dress like this before."
She frowned, "And? Since when did you see fit to concern yourself with my wardrobe?"
He flashed a lopsided smile.
"I am only paying you a compliment, my dear."
"Well don't." She snapped, "Besides, we've only met me three times, and the first time it was pitch black; so pardon me if I do not—"
"Ah yes, I remember." The Viscount took his weight off the balustrade, crossing his arms, "We were outside, weren't we." He grinned, "Just like we are now."
Hitomi's eyes widened at his tone.
"I-Indeed." She stammered, thinking it best to get as far away from the man as was humanly possible, "Well, if you'll excuse me, I think I'll—"
"Oh no," He took a step towards her, practically abolishing all chance she had of escaping since he blocked the small gap between the balustrade and the brick wall, where the corner met the open terrace, "We never finished our conversation from before."
Sighing as she stepped away from him, Hitomi threw her hands up in exasperation, "What conversation?!"
The Viscount drew closer, "The one we were having in my study."
She blinked.
"W-What?" She backed against the wall, unconsciously edging away from him.
"Don't you remember?"
Hitomi eyed him cautiously as he closed the distance between them, "What are you doing?" She asked, her voice tight.
He stopped.
"Is there a reason you are so averse to me being anywhere near you this evening?"
And it wasn't until she had opened her mouth in an attempt to come up with a worthy excuse for wanting to avoid him at all costs, and had closed it again several seconds later, that she realised she simply did not know the reason.
Dressed as he was in dark evening clothes, his cravat simply tied and the black waves of his hair still a touch too long, he looked wonderful; wickedly handsome. And so for her to want to avoid him, especially when he appeared to be making a bafflingly worthy effort to talk to her, was simply incomprehensible.
Yet what was more incomprehensible, was why on earth he seemed to be going out of his way to talk to her in the first place. Him, a Viscount, son of an Earl and heir to a vast fortune and countless estates; him, a womaniser, a rogue, a rake, conducting affairs with the most beautiful women in London, breaking hearts, stealing souls, owning them and casting them aside in the blink of an eye without a second thought.
Why would someone like him want anything to do with someone like her?
Her, an excuse for a woman.
"Well?" He prompted, his arms crossed moodily.
Hitomi shrugged.
"I suppose I just…I suppose I am simply wary of your…intentions." She conceded eventually, watching as he uncrossed his arms, his brow furrowing.
A silent moment passed, and then:
"Well I suppose that is fair," The viscount agreed, thoughtfully, closing the distance between them so gradually that Hitomi barely noticed their position until his face shadowed hers.
"W-What?" She stammered, attempting to flatten herself to the wall more successfully in vain.
"I said, 'I suppose—"
"I heard what you said!" Hitomi snapped, ignoring his boyish smile, "I only meant to ask what on earth you meant by it."
She almost choked when he leant his forearm on the wall above her head, leaning in so close to her that she could feel his breath on her cheek as she turned away.
"What do you think I meant by it, Hitomi?" He whispered lightly into her ear, his lips grazing the rim as he did so.
Eyes wide, barely processing the use of her first name, Hitomi could only turn her face to him in silent question.
His gaze darted down to her slightly parted lips, "Do you remember our conversation now?" He breathed, his fingers coming up to lightly run across her chin, tilting it upwards at her silence, "The one in my study…do you recall?"
Hitomi's eyelids drifted closed as those skilful fingers traced a line down her neck, down, down, until they reached her collarbone, where they stayed a moment, only to stray across her skin to the curve of a bared shoulder.
"I…" All coherent thought had fled from her mind, leaving her only with feeling as she revelled in his touch.
"You were blushing…just like you are now," He continued, leaving her breathless as he moved closer still, "And you denied it then…didn't you?"
She bit her lip.
"But will you deny it now?" His voice was low, soft in her ear.
"My Lord, I can't—"
"My name is Van," He brushed his lips against her cheek, smiling as he felt her shiver, "I abhor titles."
"But…" Hitomi breathed, opening her eyes to see his, heavy lidded and depthless; endless.
He leaned in, grazing her mouth with his own, "Tell me you don't want this."
The words were seduction; temptation and sweet sin.
She didn't stand a chance.
He possessed her then, coaxed her lips open with his and took her mouth slowly, taught her a rhythm that made her belly tighten and her blood heat. His warmth seemed to seep into her though their layers of clothing, his hands on her waist, his body running the length of hers…it was not like the first kiss. It was like nothing she had ever known. It was magnificent.
The silken touch of his tongue made her freeze momentarily, but she heard him sigh his approval as she began to respond, her hands finding their way to his shoulders, trailing to his chest, over his heart, and then up to his neck, to the thick, lusciously dark hair behind it. He ate at her mouth, tasting her as he explored every corner of it; she moaned as he pressed impossibly closer.
And the sound, apparently, induced the withdrawal of her talented tutor.
Van moved from her, catching her swollen bottom lip with his teeth softly before edging away. She leaned towards him, wanting more, needing more of his powerful magic, but he evaded her, his breath coming fast.
Hitomi's head swam, her senses saturated and lethargic.
"I think…" The Viscount murmured after a moment, his voice a deep silk over gravel, "I think we should…go back inside."
And that was when she woke up.
That was when she realised what she had just done; what she had just led herself to - purposefully.
Wordlessly, she covered her kiss-softened mouth with her hands, shaking her head slightly at her naivety; at her desperation.
But as she looked up at him, she saw the darkness, the danger and fire still lurking in his eyes, and she realised…
He had wanted her.
He still wanted her.
"Hitomi…"
And the thought terrified her more than anything she had ever known.
Before he could say or do anything, she pushed past him, "Do not come near me again."
His eyes widened at the words, practically snarled in his direction, and he turned to her retreating form as it approached the terrace door.
He smiled slightly, though not in amusement, as she disappeared from sight, running his fingers over his lip errantly.
"I can promise no such thing."
-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-8-8-8-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-
Ooo-er! Cheeky bastard.
Do review, gentle reader. It's good karma.
Toodles!
