Blood Lines

[ladydeathfaerie]

Title: Blood Lines
Chapter Three: Engagement
Fandom: something like the Marvel Universe, leaning mostly toward the Movie!Avengers branch. but with vampires. and werewolves. in a historical setting.
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: lots of sex and violence, some language, anything else i can toss in. blood play/drinking. M/M, M/F, M/F, F/F, and any other combination that strikes my fancy
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of Marvel and whoever the hell else owns them.. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, dazzledfirestar, mistress_o_muse, ginevrasm, rylan_m, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar.

Blood Lines - The Index

~*~

"Miss Quinn! I need you to not only hold still, but pay attention to me! Did I not tell you when you first arrived that I would have questions for you? I understand that your wedding day is fast approaching and any young woman about to take that long walk down the aisle is filled with nerves and excitement, but that is no excuse for a lack of proper behavior during a fitting!" The seamstress' angry words were accompanied by the pain of a pin piercing her flesh. She did her best not to squirm with the sudden shaft of discomfort. She also didn't bother looking contrite for her lapse in being a mindless, simpering thing. The woman made a noise of disgust and turned to her mother. "Madam. Perhaps you can explain to your daughter that I require her to be still. And pliant. And responsive!"

Mary Magdelaine shot Alexis a dark look, then turned to the woman who was designing Alexis' cage. "Madam Van Dyne, please. Forgive my daughter. Alexis was always a wild, willful child. Growing into womanhood hasn't changed any of that. I hope that her impending marriage will show her the error of her ways. Men do not like their wives to be so wicked."

The elegant seamstress shot an inelegant look toward Alexis and crossed her arms over her chest in a gesture that suggested she would be willing to listen. But she wasn't quite so willing to really hear what Mary Magdelaine had to say. Alexis knew her mother, though, so she held back the sigh that wanted to come forth. Her mother would do as she saw fit. "I've done my best to teach her the proper actions of a refined lady, but she has four older brothers and for each lesson I've taught, they've undone it at least twice over. She never had a sister to spend time with. She idolizes every one of her brothers."

It took a great deal of will to hold back her snort. Mary Magdelaine was spinning quite a pitiful tale. Madam Van Dyne did not look impressed. "How does she expect to be pleasing to her husband if she cannot even hold still for a fitting? This is her wedding gown! Does she not understand the importance of it?"

Mary Magdelaine shot Alexis a look before she even considered opening her mouth. That was likely a wise course of action. Her mother was well acquainted with the things that tended to fall out of Alexis' mouth when she didn't try and guard her tongue. "Perhaps we can discuss this in a more private setting?" her mother asked lightly, giving the seamstress her most imploring look. Madam Van Dyne heaved a long suffering sigh, then motioned absently toward a curtain at the back of the fitting area.

"My private office is this way. We can speak at length in there, madam. Perhaps spending a few minutes being stuck by pins will teach your daughter the value of following instructions." Madam Van Dyne turned in a swirl of dark, chocolate colored skirts and started toward the curtain. Mary Magdelaine turned the evil eye Alexis' way, then followed the woman without another word. Which left Alexis standing there in a partially finished gown, pins poking her in odd or soft places.

She stared at her reflection, trying to imagine what the thing she was wearing would look like when it was finally finished. Her mother had insisted on a flowing silk that felt light as air, despite all of the many layers that had been used to make up the gown. It was a pale green in color, meant to bring out the intensity of her eyes, with accents of lace in a darker green at the neckline and around the arms. The skirt was done with tiny pleats around the waist that dropped into a cascade of tiers, each one edged with more of the lace.

Some of the seams were still raw and there were a few areas that required the application of more lace. Her mother had tried to talk her into allowing Madam Van Dyne to add a sea of tiny seed pearls and other fripperies that would only make the gown seem more ridiculous to her. Alexis had put her foot down, saying that the lace was more than enough to give the gown the elegance it needed. It was the only time she and the talented seamstress had agreed on anything. Alexis understood that her mother simply wanted the absolute best for her, that she wanted to see her daughter happy on her wedding day. But Alexis was sure that an expensive outer wrap couldn't dress up the plainness of the gift.

She wondered what her betrothed thought of her. They'd met at some party or another, a passing encounter that she barely recalled. And up until her mother and father had told her of the marriage offer, she'd had no idea the man had taken notice of her. She'd never had an opportunity to say that she didn't want a marriage to a stranger because her father had accepted the proposal without consulting her. She knew it was the way of things, but that didn't make it any easier for her to accept. And she was of the opinion that there were far more attractive women out there that some strange man with money could choose as his bride.

Because he was rich. This much, she did know. Her mother had told her so, that the union would benefit them all in so many good ways. Alexis hadn't had the heart to tell her that she'd always imagined she'd have the kind of marriage that her parents had. Her mother and father truly loved one another, cared so deeply that it was plain to see when looking upon their faces. They stared at each other as if there were no other souls in the world. Silly and romantic as it was, it was something Alexis had secretly hoped for.

She knew the value of her own appearance, though. And she knew she was not a beautiful woman. Perhaps pretty, but not the kind of beauty that a man with money could and should have. She had vague recollections of what he looked like. And she was sure that he was a handsome man. Why he would bother with her was beyond her. She was no one special, had nothing unique to offer in a marriage. So she couldn't understand why he would pick her. Every time she looked upon her reflection in the mirror, she only saw the seriousness that shone in her eyes. The faint frown that could be mistaken for a prim expression. Naturally she had a narrow waist and flared hips. A corset did that for a body. She felt her only remarkable attributes were her plentiful breasts.

Surely a man wouldn't marry her for having full breasts. Would he?

She turned slowly, mindful of the sharp points pricking her skin, and tried to take in the entirety of the gown. It was nipped in at the waist to give the appearance that she was even tinier than she really was. The skirt was so full and long that she didn't think anyone would see her feet while walking in it. The sleeves were short and fit snugly against her arms, a short fringe of lace dripping from them to shift against her skin every time she moved. Alexis was amazed to find that the gown flowed with each of her movements, even though it wasn't even finished yet. Madam Van Dyne was obviously magical at her craft. There was no doubt that the gown would be absolutely beautiful when it was finally complete. She thought that it was sad that such an elegant and beautiful garment wouldn't be worn by someone who deserved it and fully appreciated it. Someone she didn't think would do it the justice it deserved.

Truth be told, Alexis would rather be in a pair of breeches and a tunic, a sword at her side. Or her pistols. She'd come to the realization a very long time ago that she had either been born the wrong sex or in the wrong era. She longed for the chance to be who she felt she really was. No one seemed to recognize that she didn't belong in fine gowns doing ladylike things. She'd always taken after her brothers, had always wanted to be just like them. It was this desire that had seen them humoring her when she'd asked to learn sword play. How to fire a pistol. She was happiest when she could wield a weapon.

There were no doubts in her mind that such nightly excursions would no longer continue once she was well and truly wed to her suitor. She suspected that he might frown upon a wife who took to the back roads so that she could ply her weapons knowledge against ruffians and thugs. He would likely expect her to stay at home, keep their house, and get fat with his children. It wasn't a life she could honestly see herself live.

Not that she didn't want to have her own family. She'd often thought that children would be lovely. So long as the man who gave them to her was as eager to have them as she. So long as they loved and cared for one another the way her parents did. It was rather a moot point because her parents were an exception to the rule. They'd fallen in love with one another even before their marriage. Alexis harbored no illusions as to the chances of such an event occurring with her and her future husband. Marriage was going to strip her of everything she was, of everything she'd worked for. She would be sad and miserable. And no one would care.

As if to prove her wrong, an image rose unbidden to taunt her brain. That night on the road, when Mr. Clinton Barton had saved her life. She'd seen no condemnation in his eyes when he'd sized her up. He hadn't told her that she should be at home in bed, that sword play and pistols were a man's business. He'd seen her for who and what she was. A woman capable of so much more than simply being a receptacle for a man's semen. He'd almost seemed entranced, as if he hadn't come across a woman who was capable of taking care of herself before.

Something told her that he would be the kind of husband she wanted. She didn't know how or why she knew it. She just did. The idea made him even more appealing than she already found him. Again, she found herself consumed by thoughts of his naked body pressed to hers. A thrill tripped through her, leaving her weak in the knees. And quite hungry. She shouldn't be having such thoughts about a complete stranger. She shouldn't want him the way she did. And yet, each night when she fell into bed, exhausted from stalking the roads, she could think of nothing else but Clinton Barton and the pleasure he represented.

She fell asleep thinking of him. She dreamt of him every night, wild and wicked and wanton things that left her damp between her thighs and hungering for something she had no name for. She woke in the morning aching for him so badly that she could do little else but use her fingers to take herself to that place of golden light that she'd discovered the morning after meeting him. Self-pleasure was wrong. The church preached against such things. But it couldn't stop her from bringing herself to the very heights of pleasure. And each time she did so, she recalled her dreams of Clinton so vividly that it felt as if he was the one there, teasing and tempting and tasting her.

By God, she wanted more.

The cloth of the curtain rustled, alerting her of the impending return of her mother and the seamstress. Alexis turned back to face the mirror and did her best to drive the illicit thoughts from her mind. They didn't want to go easily and her cheeks were still tinged with pink when the two older women rejoined her. Despite her discomfort, she settled herself into a still and serene pose. Mary Magdelaine shot her a look that promised a tongue lashing if she didn't behave this time round. "My apologies, Madam Van Dyne. I am simply far too nervous at the moment. I shall endeavor to follow your instructions better and give you my full attention."

Mary Magdelaine smiled. The seamstress stared a moment, then flashed a bright smile. "Of course, Miss Quinn. I understand that you're nervous. A wedding is a sacred event and nerves can't be helped. Now. Let us see what we can do to enhance your natural grace."

Alexis held back the sigh and resigned herself to her fate. She could hold still and pose for the woman. Later tonight, when darkness had fallen, she'd seek out danger on the roads. And perhaps she'd see Mr. Barton again...

~*~

Alexis and her mother spent the remainder of the day moving around town, going from one shop to the next in order to purchase the perfect wardrobe for a married woman. She'd tried convincing her mother that such a thing wasn't necessary, that the family couldn't afford such extravagance, but Mary Magdelaine had simply given her a look that had quieted every single one of Alexis' protests. It was the look that she'd come to know well in all her years of life, the one that said her mother was going to be stubborn about it all and there was nothing Alexis could say or do to dissuade her. If she was being perfectly honest with herself, she was only going along to make her mother happy.

Because none of this made her happy. She hated the fawning and the constant poking and prodding that came with being measured for her new clothes. She hated all the little asides between her mother and the shop keepers about making sure the new wardrobe was versatile and easily altered, as if her intended would be so enamored by her looks that he'd want to spend his nights ravishing her body until she grew fat with his child. She was under no illusions that this was a love match. Marriages were about political gain for both parties involved. Usually the husband and the family of the bride. Never the bride herself.

So Alexis suffered the indignity of fittings and shopping in silence. She pasted a rather weak, very false smile on her face and hoped that no one looked too deeply into her eyes. Or, if they did, they simply took her expression to mean that she was growing more and more nervous about the coming nuptials. She only spoke or offered advice when her mother asked for it directly and did her best to keep from moving restlessly.

The only respite she had from the endless parade of shops and tittering women and questions and comments and every other silly little thing that was going on around her was when she and her mother stopped in for a quick lunch at a small cafe that bustled with business and noise. That made it harder for the two of them to converse. And the lack of wedding talk was like a breath of fresh air after having long been locked away in a dark, dank cell. That single stop kept her going for the rest of the day.

Alexis thought it odd that her mother was dragging her from one shop to the next, placing orders with every single seamstress in town. But it finally dawned on her that it was a tactical move on her mother's part, a way to show everyone who cared to take note that she was making preparations for a grand, highly overdone wedding. It also gave her mother the opportunity to gossip with any number of friends they met along the way. Alexis played the well-behaved, well-mannered daughter who didn't respond to her mother's friends unless spoken to directly. Nor did she take up any conversations with the daughters of her mother's friends, choosing to remain silent and stoic in the face of all of the wedding nonsense.

It was a relief to finally return to the family home. Alexis wanted nothing more than to retire to her rooms and take a leisurely bath before donning her men's garb and taking to the streets. It had been too long since she'd been able to take her frustrations out on the vile ruffians that preyed on innocents. She was eager for the feel of her blade's hilt wrapped up in her palm, the weight of it perfect and little more than an extension of her own arm. She longed to smell the faint, metallic tang of spilt blood on the air. She wanted to feel the caress of the wind as it blew against her cheek.

She wanted to meet again with a certain blonde archer.

The evening meal was a trial and she had to struggle to keep her mind on the brief snatches of conversation going on around her. On the off chance someone addressed a question or statement toward her. No one seemed to want to. Instead, her mother and father conversed about the way the wedding arrangements were progressing and there was mention of the child her oldest brother Cullen and his wife were expecting. Alexis knew her mother was secretly thrilled with the idea of becoming a grandmother and that she expected grandchildren from Alexis and her husband as soon as was deemed proper.

It was a relief to be able to finally excuse herself from the rest of her family and retreat to the safety of her private chambers. She spent a leisurely hour bathing and recalling the vivid dreams that had started with her introduction to Clinton Barton, which led to time spent giving in to sinful temptation.

Only when the house around her was silent did she dare don her dark attire and strap on her favored weapons, hidden at the bottom of an old chest under a pile of frilly things that she didn't think she'd ever wear. Once she was attired to greet the night, she made quick work of climbing down the trellis, her hands picking the safest holds with practiced ease. She dipped into the shadows and crept to the back gate, let herself out, and flew down the alley. She itched for the taste of violence and blood though she had no reason for such a feeling. She also itched for a rematch of wits with Clinton Barton.

By the time she returned to her lonely bed, she was depressed and oddly disappointed because neither one of her itches had been scratched that night.

~*~*~*~*~

The interior of the house was alive. With all the colors of the rainbow, glittering in the gems people wore and flashing in the length of ladies' skirts. With a cacophony of sound, each one struggling to be heard over the next. There was rich, deep masculine laughter. Light, tinkling feminine laughter. Voices raised slightly in friendly disagreement. Voices chatting about this or that. The somber sounds of a stringed quartet playing the most popular songs. With the flickering, shimmering light of dozens upon dozens of bees wax candles. With furniture that was fine and lush, though not so fine as one might see in a noble's castle, and with wooden floors shone with care and a fresh coat of wax.

With the heavy, hypnotic taste of blood on the air.

He watched the smiling, laughing, stoic, somber, serious, happy faces as they moved around the main living area, mingling with one another. The entire house was filled with well-wishers, every single one of them dressed in clothes that marked them as being part of the nobility or perched just on the very cusp. It was in the manner of dress, the cloth used to create a garment. The way one held his or herself. It was in the air that they held around themselves, the one that spoke of position and importance. It was both refreshing and depressing to see that things had not changed so much over the long centuries.

There had been a time, so very long ago, that he'd been subject to such events as the one he was currently attending. Naturally those affairs had been much different than this. Then, the party had been held inside of a large, cavernous Great Hall filled with unwashed bodies and smoky torches. There had been filthy rushes covering the floors and mongrel dogs had paced uncontested between the gathered throng. He'd seen nobles of the highest birth and the bluest blood mingling with the lowliest serfs and the roughest soldiers.

That had been a time when people, men and women alike, had been known to wear clothing that hung long and dragged the floor. Clothing that had been meant to be sweeping and dramatic. The nobility had worn the finest silks and plushest velvets, the softest linens and the sleekest satins. The serfs and the servants and the soldiers had worn rougher garb crafted of home spun materials.

That had been a time when sexual congress had been known to occur in the shadowed corners and in the hidden alcoves. Or even out in the open, where anyone could see. Food and drink had been different. Music had been different. Everything had been different. Less refined and more rambunctious. The affairs his father had held had been loud and boisterous. So very different from the civilized and quiet party before him.

And yet, despite those differences, things really hadn't changed quite that much. People still put on their finest clothes in the vain hopes that they would outshine their fellow party goers. Talk was still the same, of politics and religion and sex and the state of the world's morals. The men made conversation on the best bedding practices and the best places to find the best whores. The woman spoke at length about landing themselves rich, well-to-do husbands and where to find them. The only noticeable difference was the fact that such conversations, once held in mixed company and with no fear of reprisals, were now conducted in soft whispers under the unrelenting stare of strict Victorian morals.

Clinton sighed and shook of his thoughts. He managed to thread his way between a pair of groups that stood talking and mingling, his presence barely noticed by the party goers as he searched the faces for a familiar one. It had been several nights since he'd last seen Alexis, his duties to his Lord and Lady and the coven taking precedence over his ability to lurk in the shadows along the roads on the off chance he'd catch a glimpse of a his avenging angel. He'd barely had enough time to slip into town two nights before and head to the pub so that he could listen to the latest gossip. It was there that he'd heard about this party. It was there that his world had tilted slightly off kilter and he'd realized that he needed to know what was going on.

Of course he'd informed Lord Phillip and Lady Miriam of his intentions for the evening, as well as his destination. They'd sent him on his way with their blessings. Also with a touch of concern for his state of mind and well-being. He'd assured them he'd be fine, then he'd garbed himself in his finest clothing for the soirée. His attire was all in the modern day's style, though he had clothes dating back to his youth several hundred years prior to that night. Lady Miriam had told him he made a dashing figure in his black coat and trousers. The shirt was white as newly fallen snow and the cravat at his throat a deep, royal purple that added a touch of color to the ensemble. A modestly sized diamond surrounded by deep purple amethysts was nestled in the center of the silk cravat. Not a single soul had paid him any mind when he'd entered the house.

As yet. he'd been unable to locate his target. He'd tried locating her by the well remembered scent he associated with her. He'd caught it clinging to her skin and clothes that night when she'd nearly gotten herself killed and he'd stolen a kiss instead of stealing her virtue. He'd memorized the smell of her, picking out all of the various and gentle scents that enveloped her. Honest sweat, a hint of clean talcum powder, tendrils of tea roses, and her own personal perfume with its mixture of feminine musk and the sweet tang of her blood. But the house was so crowded with people, all of them stinking of sweat and moth balls and too much toilet water, that he'd been hard pressed to tell one person's scent from another's.

He'd next tried to find her by searching for the chaotic tumble of her never ceasing thoughts, his mind searching for hers amidst the thick throng of people. But that was almost even more impossible than seeking out her scent. Too many minds, filled with loud, scattered, obnoxious thoughts, fought for his attention and cluttered his mind up until his head ached with trying to sort it all out. Vapid, empty thoughts clashed with scheming, plotting thoughts. Money. Men. Women. Sexual congress. Horses. Betting. Alcohol. A few thoughts that were so heinous and vile, they saw the long slumbering soldier in him try to rise to the surface and demand justice.

He broke away from the crowd after marking the owners of those thoughts, promising himself that he would deal with their villainy at a later date.

The press of humanity against his senses sent him seeking out a place of refuge. It had been over four hundred years since he'd been in such close quarters with so many people. Not since his battles in France. He was much out of sorts, having gotten used to the smaller numbers of the coven. It was a vampire's nature to need room to one's self despite being something of a social creature. Vampires had once been human, after all. So they clustered together in small groups that were more along the lines of extended family than anything else.

Clinton found an empty room and slipped inside. The sudden loss of minds and blood pressing against his skin was like rain after a long drought. A sigh of relief welled up even as he took a deep, cleansing breath that he didn't really need. With that breath, he pulled a cloud of familiar scents into his lungs, the softness of talcum powder fighting for dominance with the sweetness of tea rose. Clinton let his eyes wander and found himself in a room that was actually fairly bland, despite the obvious expense of the furniture. The bed was brass, covered in a plain, off-white duvet that looked older than dirt. A door to his left hung open, leading into a room he was sure was a private bathing chamber. A glance inside showed a room with white walls, white porcelain fixtures, and absolutely nothing else.

It was a very impersonal room for someone so vibrant and filled with life.

For a moment, he considered peeking inside her armoire and chests to see what kind of clothing she kept hidden away. He'd only ever seen her in masculine garb and had no idea what she looked like in women's things. But the desire faded away as he looked around the room and tried to imagine what it must be like for Alexis there. Other than the large, lonely looking brass bed dressed for an aged spinster, the armoire, a heavy dresser, and a few small chests, there was an ancient looking wall of shelves that held many leather bound books. He moved closer to look at them and found that only a select few were titles meant to be read by women. Most of the others were tomes meant to be read by learned men, on a variety of subjects that suggested long hours of intense reading. He saw books on military strategy and history, medicine, science, and several others that surprised him.

Muted sounds of laughter and conversation reached his ears, drawing him forward toward the bank of windows that lined the back wall. The curtains had been left pulled back so that he could look out over the yard stretched out behind the upscale house. Even more people had spilled out onto the lawn and moved among the neatly kept shrubs and flowers. Several tall trees stood among the ever shifting crowd, silent sentries that guarded the house and its inhabitants. Stone and wrought iron benches dotted the grounds, allowing people the opportunity to sit and enjoy the crisp night air. A small area had been kept clear for couples to use as a dance floor and a second quartet played a waltz that guided their motions.

Clinton allowed his gaze to slide around the faces that had congregated in the yard. Many held goblets of crystal filled with a liquid that glowed golden in the light pouring from the lanterns. Even from where he stood, he could see the tiny bubbles rising up from the bottoms of the goblets, marking the drink as expensive French champagne. There was more talking happening here, and a few couples were risking their delicate reputations in the darkened areas of the yard. He smiled at their youthful vigor and wondered how long it would be before someone went in search of them.

A single group made up of about a dozen people caught his attention and drew his gaze their way. Instinct told him that he was looking at Alexis' family. There was a familiarity in the lines and structure of their faces that said as much. He easily picked out her mother and father, their faces older and more worn than those of the men standing around them. The two were standing side by side and wore genuinely warm smiles. Her father wore standard black while her mother wore a pale gold gown accented with bronze and white lace. She was smiling prettily at a guest while her husband spoke. To her right stood four young men, each of them bearing physical resemblance to Alexis. Her brothers, without a doubt. All of them appeared older than her, but only one stood with a woman at his side. Likely the man's wife.

A titter of laughter floated up from the group and he froze in place, as if he'd been caught in a web or a net or a spell. Alexis stood between her father and a second man that Clinton could only assume was her intended. There was a smile on her face, her cheeks flushed with color and her eyes dancing with the light of the lanterns. Her hair had been styled with care, much of the length pulled back into a bun at the rear of her head while several thick strands had been coaxed into curls that hung down and framed her face. The gown she wore was a deep red silk that hugged her shape like a lover, revealing to him every single curve her man's clothing had hidden. Black beads and lace accented the red, as did the black lace gloves that encased her delicate hands. Both colors brought to attention just how pale she was.

By God, she was beautiful.

The man next to her put his hand on her back, leaned in toward her as he said something. She smiled coyly in response and gave him a look that sent an irrational shaft of jealousy flooding through Clinton's belly. The man was tall, his hair long and a glossy shade of brown that he'd tied back at the nape of his neck. His eyes were a clear blue that seemed to see everything. Even from this distance, it seemed as if there was a weight to his gaze as it slid over Alexis' face. His mouth was curved up into a knowing smile, the kind of smile that Clinton had seen on many men's faces when they'd had seduction on their minds. His clothes were rich and expensive. Naturally, he wore black coat and trousers while his shirt was white as freshly driven snow. The cravat at his throat was the exact shade as Alexis' dress. He was obviously her intended.

Clinton watched them for a few moments, letting his mind absorb what he saw. Her parents looked pleased as punch, her mother's smile as broad as the Thames. Her father hid his pleasure better than his wife, but it was still there in the way the man smiled and the way his hands made lazy gestures when he spoke. Her siblings gave off a sense of protective older brothers as they watched the couple with indulgent smiles. Guests would join them on occasion, offering up their congratulations on the impending wedding. Through it all, Alexis smiled and nodded her thanks.

Some part of him died again with the knowledge that he'd lost her. Already he'd lost her and he'd only just found her. He'd never been one to wail about life's fairness, but this was a time when he felt he was justified in thinking that life simply wasn't fair. Why would the Fates bring her into his life if they had planned on yanking her out of his grasp before he'd had any kind of chance with her? Why were they such cruel bitches?

He should leave. Get as far from here as possible and drown his sorrow in fighting and fucking and blood. Logic said he should do it, that he should put her out of his mind and never think on her again. But his heart refused to listen and the message his brain sent to his feet never seemed to really make it. So he stayed. He stood there and he kept watching. And he noticed something odd.

Every time the man moved toward Alexis, she discreetly shifted away from him in an attempt to keep some distance between them.

Undaunted by her behavior, Alexis' betrothed inched closer to her while lifting a hand to brush against the curve of her shoulder. He made it look as if he was merely sweeping away some minute mote of dust or dirt, but Clinton's eyesight was such that he could see there had been nothing there to brush away. The man was making excuses to keep contact with her. Curious.

Looking closer, Clinton could see signs of strain at the corners of Alexis' eyes and mouth. When she wasn't making motions with her hands, they were fisted tightly at her sides, partially hidden by the voluminous flow of skirts. And she never actually let her eyes shift to the man at her side. The smile and the laugh were carefully crafted shields to keep those around her from seeing the truth of the matter. She had no desire to be there.

Staring her in the face, Clinton could easily find her thoughts. Even with so many others around her, he could find the unique patterns and thoughts that were her own. And he could read in them her desire to be anywhere but where she was. There was a deep longing for the road, for the feel of her sword in her hands. Or the smooth curve of a pistol grip. She wanted to feel the wind blowing in her hair and she wanted to hear her sword singing as it sliced through the night. She wanted...

Well. Wasn't that fortuitous?

Heat coiled through Clinton's belly at the thoughts that lay buried in the deepest part of Alexis' mind. He was part of those thoughts, part of the images that never really halted. She was maintaining her pleasant exterior through the wickedly erotic thoughts that she held on to. Thoughts and images that he was part of. Her imagination had filled in well the information she didn't yet have about him. He wasn't at all surprised to find that there was a thick well of desire simmering just under the surface of the stoic serenity that plagued Victorian England.

He let his mind slip in a little deeper, put some weight and heat behind a ghostly hand that grazed her breast in her waking dreams. He felt Alexis start in confusion and pleasure, her body responding to the mental stimulus. She must gasped, stumbled in response to the metaphysical touch. Everyone turned to her, concern lacing their words as they questioned whether she was alright. If she'd grown too excited by the evening's events. If she needed to rest. Steel determination laced her voice as she told them, rather politely, that she was fine. But he could sense her confusion as she tried to determine just what had happened.

Look up, little girl.

She didn't start this time, did nothing to give away her surprise. But she did as he'd told her. She lifted her eyes and, in only seconds, vibrant green found him and pinned him where he stood. The wooden smile she'd been wearing became something secretive and oh, so very real. And the heat that had curled in his belly only moments ago exploded into something that raged within, like a wild animal that had been caged and wanted its freedom.

Their gazes locked and held, time suspending between them as if it had no place in their lives. Tension built between them, a tightening of invisible silken strands that wove together, that wrapped around his heart and his mind until all he could think or feel or see was Alexis. It was a silly, irrational reaction. He barely knew the girl. But he wanted her the way he hadn't wanted anyone since...

The connection shattered almost painfully. Clinton came back to himself to find that Alexis' intended had his hands on her elbows, one arm wrapped around her protectively. Possessively. Gone was the real smile, replaced with a soft grimace of pain. Skin that was naturally pale had whitened even further, proving that there was some real distress. Clinton frowned at that, but only for a moment. Because Alexis lifted her gaze to his and though he could see pain in it, he could also see pleasure. She was glad to see him.

Of course, her attention to the window brought the sharp, searching gaze of her betrothed up to the window. Clinton faded back into the shadows before the man could see him, his gaze once more sliding toward the bed. He didn't know what drove his actions, but he found himself reaching for the pin at his throat. It took little work to remove the piece from his cravat. When he had the brooch freed from the material, he laid it on the pillow that best held her scent, then he slipped quietly from the room.

The party was still in full swing when he rejoined everyone on the first floor. No one paid any attention to him, just as he liked it. There were some perks to living as a vampire and the ability to hide himself in a room full of strangers was just one of them. He moved silently through the throng toward the back of the house, searching for an opened doorway to the yard sitting behind the building. He found one in what was obviously the family dining room, the long table heavily laden with platters of food stuffs for the guests. Clinton barely glanced at the food as he passed the table by and stepped through the opened doors.

The cool touch of night settled down around him like an old friend. The house had been too bright, too loud. Much too alive. It reminded him of things he'd lost. Outside, under the canopy of the darkened sky, twinkling with thousands of tiny diamonds, he felt more at home. The darkness hid what he was from those who didn't want to know.

His feet made straight for Alexis where she and her family stood, his body weaving in and out of the crowd as if they were merely ghosts and memories. No one chanced a word with him, a good thing because he did not wish to be waylaid. Something inside of him demanded that he make Alexis' side without having to stop for anything or anyone. He kept his gaze on her, watched her as he drew nearer. Out here, he could plainly see the rigid set of her shoulders and the strain that lingered around her eyes and mouth. She wanted nothing to do with this party. Just as she wanted nothing to do with the man at her side.

"Excuse me, good sirs." He let a touch of his power fill his voice so that it could brush along her brothers' shoulders. They parted almost instantly, not even realizing why they would do so. Alexis turned her gaze toward him and that same smile spread across her lips once more. The connection reestablished itself and the heat once more blossomed into a maddening fire of want and need. It was a pleasant sensation, save the needling pinpricks of unpleasantness that tried to work through the connection. He could feel her fiancé's gaze upon him. "I come to offer my wishes of happiness and joy to the couple of the hour."

Alexis held her hand out to him, a silent invitation to touch her. He did so, lifting his hand from his side to take hold of her own. His skin brushed hers through the intricate design of her gloves, sending sparks shooting up his arm. She gave that soft gasp again, telling him that she'd felt it, too. Then she was smiling broadly to cover her reaction. She said nothing as he bowed low over her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it in a quick salute. Then he turned the hand and made a show of leaving a lingering kiss on her palm. At the same time, he rolled his eyes up so that he could look at her face. A light blush dusted her cheeks with rosy color and her eyes damn near glowed.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that her future husband was watching him with barely contained anger. The man's mouth was flat and one hand was fisted at his side, as if he planned on using it against Clinton. Jealousy did not become the man.

Clinton raised his head and shot Alexis a cocky grin, then released her hand and straightened. "My lady. Your beauty is only enhanced by your pleasure. May all the happiness in the world be yours."

"Thank you, kind sir, for such sweet words," she replied steadily. He could feel her mind whirling, trying to figure out what he was doing there. How he could sound so sincere about his statement. How he could flaunt their brief and entirely asexual relationship before her betrothed so shamelessly.

"Oui. Thank you for your generous wishes," the man added, voice level and steady despite the rage simmering just under the surface. He was French, though his accent suggested he spent as much time in England as he did in his own country. "I am afraid I do not know who you are."

"Just a friend," Clinton told him. He tipped an imaginary hat at them, then drew away. Both of their gazes followed him as he slipped into the crowd.

~*~*~*~*~

Alexis was working her way out of her evening's clothes when a firm knock sounded on her door. She heaved a sigh and considered pretending that she was already asleep. It had been a long, trying night and she really wanted nothing more than to curl up in bed and drift away on her dreams. It was far too late to head out for the road. And she was far too worn down for such a thing to have been a good idea anyway. It had taken all of her concentration to keep her intended from taking advantage of her inability to call him out on his behavior. She'd had to play the blushing bride-to-be all evening long and starting an argument in the middle of her formal engagement party would have been frowned upon as bad form.

The entire evening had been one of the worst in her life. She'd barely touched the outrageous spread of food the family's cook had prepared for the event. She hadn't even touched the fine champagne. She'd needed her head the entire time because she'd had to dodge the amorous intentions of her fiancé all night long. The only bright spot had been knowing that Clinton was there. And that had been rather a surprise.

Just thinking of him was enough to remind her of the sudden heat that had filled her upon seeing him. She'd been trying to convince herself since its occurance that it had been little more than a physical reaction to a man she found quite attractive and very dangerous. Oddly, she'd noticed the same qualities in her intended but they had not evoked the same kind of emotions within her that Clinton did. She found that rather confusing. Because that meant that there was something special about Clinton. Part of her wanted to find out what that something was but...

"Alexis! I know you're awake in there, girl. Open the door and let me in. We have matters to discuss," Mary Magdelaine's voice cut across her thoughts. It was like being doused in cold water. Heaving a sigh, she turned for the door and tugged it open without bothering to take the unenthusiastic look from her face.

"Can this not wait until morning, Mother? I have had a long, trying day and I wish for nothing more than deep sleep." She punctuated her statement by yawning. Loudly. Mary Magdelaine only gave her a look and pushed her way into Alexis' chambers, closing the door behind her firmly.

"You've had a long day? Girl, did you not see the lengths I went to for your engagement party?" her mother asked, her tone suggesting she'd been sorely put upon.

Alexis was tempted to respond with a snarky comment somewhere along the lines of the fact that she'd never asked for such a large and ostenatious party to announce that she was wedding a man she had absolutely no interest in. But she knew better than to say such things. It would upset her mother and start a row. The effects would linger for days. "I did, Mother. It was a lovely party. It was much too grand, though. I would have been happy with a smaller, more private affair."

"But you're marrying a Lord, child. The engagement party needed to be large so that everyone who matters could attend. We want them all to know that you've landed yourself a very rich and handsome Frenchman with a title." The excitement that had only just been in her mother's voice was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced with a slightly apprehensive look. She motioned Alexis toward her bed, curling one hand around her daughter's wrist to guide her toward it. They sat side by side and, after a few moments, Mary Magdelaine reached out and patted her hand. "Speaking of that French devil, I feel its well past time for me to explain a few things about marriage."

Alexis felt shock roll through her. Her mother wanted to talk to her about marriage? They'd covered the topic more times than she could remember. Which meant she wanted to discuss something else. Heat flared in her cheeks as she realized that there was likely only one topic her mother wished to cover. "Mum, I--"

"Now, Alexis. Let me do this without raising a fuss. This is information you need to have. For your... marriage bed." Well, hell's bells. This was going to be awkward. "I saw how he was looking at you, girl. Don't think I don't know when a man is eager for a woman. The way he kept touching you is a clear give away. Promise me you'll not entertain thoughts of allowing him to have his full rights until the night of your wedding."

Alexis blinked at her mother. Was Mary Magdelaine actually worried about Alexis' state of virginity? She couldn't help the scoffing laughter that bubbled up her throat. "I don't think you have anything to fret over, Mother. I am not the kind of woman who tempts men into their bed."

Mary Magdelaine stared at her, as if unable to believe what she'd heard. Then she shook her head and pulled Alexis into her arms. "Darling girl, what makes you think such a silly thing?"

"I have seen my reflection in the mirror, Mother. I know that I'm no great beauty," she returned softly.

"Alexis," Mary Magdelaine set her back. "Darling child, do you not see the way men's heads turn when you pass them by? Do you not see the way their eyes burn with hunger for you? How can you not know that men see you as a beautiful woman?"

"Because I am not a beautiful woman, Mother. And I have accepted this. Men only lust after the money and prestige they feel a marriage to me would bring them."

"You're a beautiful young woman, Alexis. And men lust after your body. Not your family's fortune. That young buck you're going to wed is no different. Which leads me to why I've come to see you," her mother said, deftly steering the conversation away from feelings of Alexis' worth. "On your wedding night, girl, your new husband is going to order you to take your clothing off. You mustn't deny him, child. You must do whatever he demands of you. When he climbs between your thighs and puts himself inside of you, you must accept it and--"

Alexis snorted a laugh, bringing her mother's words to a halt and earning her a narrow-eyed look. "Himself?" she asked, barely able to get the word out without breaking out into further laughter.

"Yes, girl. Himself. His manly part. He's going to put that inside of your feminine part and--"

Alexis had to interrupt her before she fell off the bed in a fit of laughter. "Its called a penis, Mother," she said, trying to calm herself enough to speak without choking on her mirth. The effort failed completely when Mary Magdelaine gave her a wide, shocked look.

"Alexis Eirinn Quinn!" The shrill use of her name let her know that her mother was far from amused by her reaction and knowledge. "Where did you learn such horrible things? A lady shouldn't talk like that! Manly parts and feminine parts is much more acceptable than... than..." Mary Magdelaine's hand made a weak gesture.

The laughter died in an instant with her mother's chastisement. "I learned such things by reading. A man's part is called a penis, Mother. It is accompanied by a set of testicles. When a man is excited, his penis hardens and lengthens in preparation for sexual penteration. A woman's part is called a vagina. When a woman is excited, she grows wet to make penetration by the penis easier for her."

She rose from the bed and took a few steps across the room, then turned and looked at her mother. Mary Magdelaine was staring at her in shock. "Would you rather I tell you what the common man calls them? I've learned some rather interesting words, though they are a little coarse. I heard someone refer to his member as a cock, though it is rather an amusing--"

Her words died as Mary Magdelaine's hand cracked hard across her cheek. "Enough! You're a proper young lady. I suggest you start acting like one. I doubt your husband will be pleased to know that you spend your day picking up coarse language on the streets. If you cannot control yourself, I will have you confined to your chambers until it is time for you to go to the church and say your vows. I suggest you spend the day tomorrow thinking upon your behavior. I'll be sure to tell the maids to leave you to your thoughts!"

Mary Magdelaine stormed from the room and the last Alexis heard from her was the turn of a key in the lock.

~*~*~*~*~

"Who are you, sir? And what are you doing in my carriage?" the Frenchman asked indignantly upon finding Clinton awaiting him. Clinton motioned with a hand toward the bench opposite him, his smile filled with danger. It was the kind of look a predator gave its prey before pouncing and rending the morsel into bits. The Frenchman moved slowly, as if he didn't trust Clinton not to pounce on him. The door to the carriage shut softly behind him, leaving the two of them locked away in their own little world. Clinton lifted one hand and absently rapped his knuckles against the roof. He heard the driver call to the horses, there was a crack of the reins, then the carriage lurched into motion.

"My name is not important," Clinton replied with a shrug.

"Are you kidnapping me?" the man asked, as if the realization only just hit him. Clinton threw his head back and laughed.

"Why would I wish to kidnap you?"

"Because I'm rich and powerful. I could give you anything you asked for."

"I care nothing for your money," Clinton responded, sobering instantly. He had to wonder if the man would give him what he asked for. If he were to ask for it.

"Do you not know who I am?" There was curiosity in the man's words, as if he was surprised someone might not know his name.

"Of course I do, good sir," Clinton let his smile grow. It was once again that predator's look. "You are Remy LeBeau. Your family owns estates in France and you come with your very own title. You have more money than you know what to do with, you have a title, and you are to be wed to Miss Alexis Quinn in a fortnight's time. Have I missed anything of importance?"

"You were at the party this evening," LeBeau remarked, as if this was nothing surprising.

"I was."

LeBeau stared at him a few moments before his own smile surfaced. This one was less charismatic and more shark-like. "I see. Alexis."

"Aye. Alexis," Clinton replied.

"She's a beautiful woman, non? How much money will it take to convince you to stay away from my future wife?"

"You think to bribe me? When I know more about your own betrothed than you do," Clinton laughed softly, shook his head in the negative. "No. I don't think so. There isn't any sum of money you could offer me that would convince me to stay away from Alexis. Actually, I'm here to warn you."

"Ah. You love the girl and you plan to convince me to step out of the picture so that you can marry her. I'm afraid you've wasted your time, then. She's mine and I do not plan on giving her up. Perhaps we should duel for the lady's hand?"

"You would fall to my sword. Hardly a fair fight," Clinton assured him. His certainty earned him a cocked brow in silent question. He let his grin spread, let it speak for him. Yes. I am that good. LeBeau's eyebrow went up another notch, a silent invitation for Clinton to get to his reasons for invading the man's carriage. Very well. If that was the way he wished to play it, Clinton would be happy to oblige. "I thought that perhaps I should do you the favor of telling you a few things about your betrothed."

"I see. Because you know so much more about Alexis than I do?"

"I know that she has an affinity for weapons of all kinds. I know she likes to roam the streets in the dark of night, waiting for an opportunity to lay waste to any thief or villain she happens to meet. I know she's quite adept with the use of a sword, with a crossbow, with a pair of pistols." Clinton paused for just a moment to let that sink in. Then he grinned and went on the moment the other man reached the point of not quite believing, but not quite fully disbelieving. "I know that marrying her and tying her down to a manor house, that saddling her with children, will see her growing to resent you. She was made to be wild and free, like a horse or a wolf."

"Horses and wolves were made to be broke, monsieur." LeBeau didn't need to say that he would enjoy breaking Alexis. Clinton could read it in the man's eyes.

"Harm her and you will have me to deal with, monsieur," Clinton replied coldly. He lifted a hand to rap at the ceiling of the carriage. It halted and his hand reached for the door. He and LeBeau stared one another down. "Pray that you never meet me in a darkened alley, Monsieur LeBeau. I will not be kind."

He was gone into the night before LeBeau could answer.

~*~*~*~*~

"Wake up, little girl." The voice was a breathy whisper against her ear. At the same time, the touch of calloused fingers scraped gently across her forehead, brushing a few stray strands of hair away from her face. She shifted slightly, turning toward the touch, muttering under her breath about how much she loved the feel of his hands against her bare skin. A low chuckle thrummed through her, setting her blood on fire. "I've barely touched you, little girl. But perhaps if you wake, we can rectify that."

"Go away," she mumbled, one hand reaching up to brush at the fingers gliding across her forehead. "I'm dreaming of Clinton."

"Are you now?" The bed beside her dipped, sent her body sliding until it came to rest against something solid and hard. "What kind of dream are you having?"

"A lovely dream," she murmured.

"I've news for you, little girl." Hot breath plumed over her ear and cheek, tickled the short hairs that couldn't be confined to a braid. At the same moment that heated air touched her cheek, a hand slid slowly down the length of her arm. She fought to pull herself from the lingering hold of sleep. This was no dream. This was real. Her eyes fluttered open to find that a candle burned beside her bed and it cast a golden glow over Clinton's face. He smiled when he saw her looking at him. "This is no dream. But it can be so much lovelier than it is."

"Clinton? What are you doing here?" she asked, dragging herself from the embrace of her blankets so she could sit up.

"I couldn't stay away, Alexis. I've not seen you in several days. I've missed you." His hands reached up to cup her cheeks, fingers stroking over their curves lightly. She sighed and leaned into him, silently offering her mouth to him. She knew all the reasons why this shouldn't happen. She was betrothed. Well-bred ladies didn't simply engage in any forms of sexual congress before they were married. It was frowned upon to do anything wanton. She knew nothing about Clinton beyond the fact that the mere thought of him made her blood burn with need. And she didn't care about any of it. She just wanted him. In ways she'd never imagined she could want a person.

There was a moment when he didn't move, simply sat there and stared at her. She could see the silent battle waging in his own eyes. She could almost hear his words as he turned her down. Her mother's words from earlier in the evening still echoed in her head and she knew that it was that memory that drove her actions. She didn't care. She leaned in even closer, slipped her hands up until she mirrored his hold on her, hands cupping his cheeks, and gave him what she hoped was a convincingly wanton look. "Please, Clinton. I haven't thought of anything but what your lips might feel like against mine. I would like to know that much, at least, before I am to wed."

"Alexis, if I kiss you as I wish to, there will be no stopping me." It was a warning and a promise all in one. She knew that. Smiling, she leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

"I've no wish to stop you, Clinton," she whispered. "All I ask is that you leave my virginity."

He made a strangled sound before very carefully pulling her closer to him. His lips touched hers, prompting her eyes to drift closed. As the pressure of his mouth on hers increased, he so very slowly and carefully eased her back onto the bed. She swore she could hear his voice in her head, praising and coaxing her while his hands worked at removing her night dress. The garment was thrown to the floor, forgotten, as he shoved the blankets down. The cold air brought goose flesh up on her arms and legs, tightened her nipples until they were painfully hard. Then the touches stopped and his mouth pulled away so he could look down at her.

"By God, Alexis. You're so beautiful," he breathed, voice a whisper of sound in the silence of the room.

His words saw her flushing and the instinct to cover herself died. She let her arms rest limply on the mattress beneath her so that he could look his fill. His eyes burned as they trailed over her, leaving a path of heat in their wake. Soon enough, his hands lifted to follow the road his eyes had traveled. She sighed and moaned softly into the feather-light touch of his palms against her breasts. When his fingers tweaked the tips, her back arched up off the bed and her legs fell open in silent invitation. It was all he needed.

One hand slid away from her breast to ghost lightly over her skin, down toward the juncture of her thighs. She wanted to watch him, wanted to see what he planned on doing, but the sensations were so overwhelming that her eyes fell shut, blocking the sight of his wonder and amazement. A single finger slipped between her labia to glide effortlessly along the length of the seam. "You're wet for me already, Alexis," he said, voice rough and harsh with his own growing need. She managed to crack her eyes open so that she could watch as her hand made its way between his thighs. The choked sound he made when her fingers grazed his length prompted her entire body to spasm. "Alexis... Don't. Not unless you're prepared for everything."

"Please, Clinton. I need... something. There's an urge growing inside of me, pressing against my skin," she begged.

"I understand, my sweet. Lay back and let me help you." The hand that had been teasing her breast lifted away to capture her wrist and draw her questing fingers away from his groin. He brought her hand up and again pressed a kiss to her palm. This time, his tongue traced a pattern into her skin. He leaned forward to take her mouth with his, to drive his tongue between her teeth. At the same time, his fingers burrowed deeper between her labia and began a series of long, slow strokes that dragged across her clitoris. The sound of surprise and hunger that she made disappeared into his mouth as he deepened their kiss and stroked her harder.

Tension coiled in her belly, a heavy thing that grew and spread with each pass of his fingers. Her legs opened further, without her having to tell them, her hips working up into his touches in a series of thrusts that begged him to delve deeper. To give her more.

His mouth remained on hers as one hand worked her breast and the other continued to tease her clitoris. Tendrils of tension crept out from the pit of her stomach to branch out into her limbs. Her fingers and toes tingled, body so tight that it felt as if it would shatter with the right touch. She brought her hands up, curled them into the length of hair at the back of his head. Pushed and pulled as she tried to decide if she wanted more or if she wanted it all to stop.

The fingers that rubbed at her flesh halted their motions, spread and drifted deeper until she could feel them barely pressing into her vagina. His thumb came to rest on her clitoris and ground against it hard. Her hips jerked up as the tension burst apart inside of her. His mouth was there to catch the cries she made as she climaxed and only lifted away when she finally lay limp and silent beneath him. He stared down at her with a soft smile. "That felt good, didn't it?" he asked her quietly.

Her mind was too addled to conjure words. She settled for jiggling her head in the affirmative. It earned her a full grin. Even as he did so, his hands were stroking the interior of her thighs with long, slow caresses that sent her straight for the cliff's edge over which she'd just fallen.

"Let me show you more, Alexis," he whispered. His eyes pleaded with her that she say yes, so she once again jiggled her head in agreement and watched as he shifted positions. Soon enough, he was kneeling between her knees, his hands still stroking the soft flesh of her thighs. Without another word, he lowered his head until it was caught between her spread legs. His tongue touched her, turning the glowing embers of her passion into a wall of flames, and she had to bite her lip to keep from crying out so loudly that she woke her family.

His tongue worked between the swell of her flesh, licked and teased until passion left her blind to all but his mouth touching her most intimate places and the sound of his voice echoing softly in her head. It grew and swelled and expanded until it felt as if her skin was going to split apart, until she felt full to overflowing.

Then she was falling into the abyss again, his fingers teasing her until she whimpered for him to stop. He didn't stop. He kept working until her vision faded out. There was a prick of pain in her thigh, the erotic feel of his mouth drawing against her skin. Then his voice was in her head, urging her to sleep and she knew nothing more.

~*~