Ah, and now it's my turn to write about that charming libertine. He's tough!
Disclaimer: If I DID own Reaver, I wouldn't be on fanfiction... ;)
A string of curses that would make any sailor blush (or, in her case, pirate) burst from Lisbet's lips as she stood outside Reaver's mansion.
It was beautiful, only emphasized by the posters that bore Reaver's name and symbol.
Closing her eyes and breathing deep, Lisbet opened the door.
Almost immediately, a sensual, sultry smell hit her in waves. It smelled like…jasmine. Or lavender.
She cleared her throat and gathered her skirts into her hands, so they wouldn't get in the way if she had to run. But why oh why, hadn't she changed into something more practical before she came?
The interior of Reaver's mansion was immensely lavish and extravagant, much like the owner. There were crystalline chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a large ebony piano was centered to the west of the room. The walls were dripping with portraits of Reaver and one in particular made Lisbet raise her eyebrows.
She moved forward silently, every clack of her heels sounded to her like a gunshot.
If I were a pair of underpants, where would I be…
Lisbet ascended the stairs as quietly as she could and turned right down a long corridor. There was a door at the very end and Lisbet guessed, mostly out of desire to get the quest over and done with, that it was the master bedroom.
Soft, gentle music played and Lisbet paused outside, holding her breath. Was Reaver in there? Avo help her if he was…
After many agonizing seconds, Lisbet plucked up the courage to peek around the door.
She let out a long sigh of relief when she saw that it was empty. It bothered her ever-so-slightly, however. Where was Reaver?
Lisbet crept in and without more ado began searching determinedly for his underwear.
Apart from many, many condoms, she found nothing. She'd searched the wardrobes and every drawer in the room. So why wasn't there any underwear?
She sighed and leaned back against a bookshelf, running her hands through her dark waves of hair, the way she did when she was tense.
A deep red book caught her eye and when she peered down at it she saw the words 'Reaver on Reaver'. Typical. The pirate king had to have a book on himself.
As Lisbet pulled it out, the most peculiar thing happened.
The shelf slid open and before her was a corridor, leading further into the mansion.
A secret passageway?
Book in hand, Lisbet licked her lips and valiantly stepped over the small threshold and walked down the steps.
It was very cold, she noted, shivering through the tight bodice of her dress. More paintings were slapped on the walls and Lisbet rolled her eyes at the man's obvious vanity.
When she saw the next room, she screamed.
It was only was could be described as a …a…pleasure chamber. Shackles hung from the walls and a ebony cage was suspended from the ceiling. Rabbits and chickens, of all things, ran free. She didn't even want to imagine what they were for.
Wasting no hesitation, she got to work, searching through every drawer for the pirate king's underwear.
When she finally found them, well, they weren't exactly what she'd expected.
They were long, frilly and silky. Soft to the touch. They were a delightful cream colour, with crimson frills and red laces that tied it together.
Lisbet crinkled her little nose and held them up in front of her face. Not too close, of course.
"Wow," she muttered. "The man really is perfect right down to the smallest detail."
"Why thank you, mon amour," a smooth voice said.
The underwear flew from her hand as she shrieked and drew Love from its sheath. In her other hand she held her razor-sharp sword, Hate.
She stared up at the charming deviant, hate poisoning her gaze.
The libertine smiled his signature smile and glided forward, tapping his cane as he went. When he was an inch away from her, he raised her face towards his.
"Such a lovely youthful face. No evidence of decay and age at all! How splendid."
At Lisbet's weary expression, he clicked his heels, tipped his hat and bowed.
"Allow me to introduce myself, my dear. Ahem. I am Reaver, world-renowned lover and dapper chappie to boot. Pray tell me, what is your name?"
His emerald eyes flashed attractively when he saw her breasts heave slightly as she took a deep breath.
"My name is…mmm…Benjamina."
Reaver grinned and tapped his cane twice on the stone floor.
"An admirable try my dear, truly. Unfortunately, I know your name." He stepped forward and bent down next to her ear. "Lady Lisbet."
Lisbet gasped and thrust her pistol at his face. What she failed to remember was that the Hero of Skill was standing before her, no less armed with his Dragonstomper.48.
Oops.
Reaver chuckled before drawing his own pistol. He smiled at her down it's barrel. His gaze then traveled to his underwear which lay crumpled at his feet. He sifted through the pile with his cane before bending down, never taking his eyes off her, and picking them up.
"Now why on earth would you want these, hmm?"
Lisbet felt her cheeks flush as she tried to come up with a reasonable answer.
"I…er…I…" was all she got.
Reaver beamed at her. Lisbet glared at him.
"As you wish. Don't tell me. I know anyway, Lady Rebel."
He withdrew his pistol and walked in a circle around her, tapping his chin thoughtfully.
Lisbet stayed perfectly still.
"What am I going to do with you?" he whispered sensually in her ear, making her shudder. His eyes flicked to her perfect cleavage and he smiled once more.
"Please…I…I was just doing a quest…"
Reaver nodded sympathetically. He rested his chin on one hand and propped his arm up with his cane. Still smiling.
"I know, cherie, I know. But if you don't want me to tell your father about this or, better yet, tell Logan about your little rebel friends, I suggest that you do something for me."
He was truly threatening her? That was so low that all admiration Lisbet had once held for him evaporated like vapor.
"What is it you'd have me do?" she hissed, chin held high in defiance. Lady Lisbet Whitehart was nothing if not courageous. Although sometimes, it was her downfall. She sensed that this was one of those times.
The edges of Reaver's mouth lifted, along with his eyebrows.
"I, mon petite fleur, would have you stay in my house. As a guest of honor, no less, for three months."
Three moths? With him?
No way! No revolution was worth that!
But then she thought of the consequences. People would die. Page would die, although she wasn't really bothered about that. Sir Walter Beck would die. The Prince would die…
Lisbet gulped and tried to a great extent to keep her tears at bay. She felt her courage dissolve around her.
"Three months?" she said in a quiet voice.
Reaver laughed quietly.
"No, no. I'm just amusing myself at your wounded expression. Merely two months, my dear. Deal?"
Lisbet closed her eyes and turned her head. She didn't want this…monster to see her weakness. She was doing it for all the other revolutionaries. For the Prince. For Sir Walter beck. For the revolution.
"Deal."
This chapter was a little short, I agree, but I just wanted to get thr story flowing as quickly as possible. The REAL story begins in Samarkand (duh)
Please R and R! :)
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