“I’m beginning to have second thoughts about this.” Sophia twists her fingers in her lovely gold borrowed dress. Her hair itches, and she longs to pull the many pins from her curly hair and set the dark brown mess free. The styles in her home in Pennsylvania aren’t nearly as elaborate, and she has yet to get used to what’s popular in England.

Her friend, Penelope Nightingale, tilts her head and lays one kind hand on Sophia’s arm.  “You’ll be fine, everyone will love you as I do.”

“Mmmm…” Sophia responds noncommittally, wishing not for the first time that she’d had the forethought to feign illness, but Penelope would have known it for a lie. Werewolves are resistant to illness, especially those that would make it easiest to avoid dancing. Not only that, but she would have felt silly eventually, avoiding a dance because of a bit of nerves.

“Don’t worry. I promise tonight will be special. I’ll introduce you to all of the interesting people. No need for you to be a wallflower.”  Penelope wraps one gloved arm around her. “Besides, we’re here.”

The Duke of Ipschurch’s manor stands in the middle of the foreboding woods just on the outskirts of town. Tonight it’s been decorated for All Hallow’s Eve — an eccentricity — with lamps set out along the pathway lit up in multiple colors, illuminating the newly planted trees with their bare branches seeming to reach out towards passerbys. Sophia doesn’t know why anyone as high up as the Duke would even know what the celebration is, let alone how to decorate properly for it.

They walk down the path to enter the mansion, and Sophia stops in her tracks as soon as they cross the threshold. She’s been in the mansion before, but only during the day and definitely never when it’s decorated like this. The lamps are lit low but that doesn’t hinder her heightened senses. The colors of the drapes across the windows are in warm, dark colors. With her keen sense of smell, Sophia catches scent of good food from an adjoining room.  Her mouth waters in anticipation. While from behind her, she hears the soft baying of the dogs from outside.

“It’s lovely…” Sophia says with awe. “Is it always like this during balls?”

“Oh, yes. Though, tonight seemed to be special for Ipschurch.” Penelope laughs lightly at her fiancé’s exuberance and steers Sophia towards the back of the room.

The Duke descends, bestowing hearty kisses and even heartier shoulder claps. After a round of greetings Penelope is whisked away, leaving Sophia somewhat startled and alone.

A number of exceedingly elegant chairs line the sides of the ballroom, and Sophia feels more out of place than ever sitting in one. This is the sort of opulence she's never been able to get used to, no matter how often she interacts with it. There's the ever-present feeling of playing dress-up like a child, even though she knows she has just as much right to be here as any of Penelope's more highborn friends.

She does wish she knew more of the people entering, though. She recognizes some, but most are strangers. This does not surprise her; she’s never kept track of who’s who in local society.  She never needed to.  That is what Penelope is for. As the daughter of a lord heavily invested in international trade, Penelope knows everyone worth knowing, and even a few not worth knowing.

Sophia sits there as people file into the room, trying her best to seem like just another delicate young woman. It’s difficult, nearly impossible. She has never spent much time being delicate in any way, and she doesn’t know how other women manage it all the time. It’s so boring.  Maybe that's why nobles tend to be such gossips — at least then something happens.

She's just about to stand as subtly as possible and make her way over to someone she knows when she spots Penelope approaching again with a man Sophia doesn't recognize by her side. Sophia sits up automatically, trying to take stock of anything out of place on her person without looking like she's paying a lot of attention to how she looks. It's nearly impossible, and already she is starting to have more respect for the women who do this every single day.

“Sophia, I would like to introduce you to Baron Patrick Sweet. Lord Sweet, this is my closest friend, Miss Sophia Lowell,” Penelope says, clasping her hands eagerly. “He’s visiting all the way from Wales.”

Sophia tries her very best not to look too uninterested as she assesses the baron. He looks like the definition of a smug noble, with every inch of him pressed and adjusted to perfection. Honestly, if Penelope hadn't decided to bring him over, he probably wouldn't even stand out among the other noblemen in the room. He doesn’t quite tower over Penelope (a difficult feat in itself), but even from her sitting position Sophia can tell that he’s going to be taller than her. He has black hair, pale skin, and striking green eyes that sparkle with a clever light. There’s something interesting beneath his unassuming surface, but Sophia can’t decide if it’s good or not.

“It is... lovely to meet you, Lord Sweet,” she says, sounding as neutral as she can. She’s met men who were pleasant to look at but utter snakes under the surface. It would be ridiculous to have stars in her eyes immediately. She has to stop having stars in her eyes right now. Ugh . “I hope that your journey to England was uneventful?”

“Oh, quite, Miss Lowell,” Lord Sweet says, his voice low and warm like the afternoon sun. “I was expecting the trip to be troublesome because of the time of year, but it went by with little problem.”

Sophia prays the heat in her cheeks isn't as obvious as it feels like it is. Is this some sort of test? How can she remain virtuous while being faced with someone whose accent sends shivers of honey through her? She wants to get lost in his voice, lay in bed and have him read delicious poetry or even packing lists to her. A tingle of something lances through her at the thought, and she can’t stop the heat which floods her cheeks.

A subtle clearing of a throat penetrates her fantasies, and if anything her blush worsens.

“That's... wonderful to hear,” she hazards.

Penelope's understanding little smile does nothing to soothe her, nor does the answering smirk on Lord Sweet’s lips.

“Oh! Lord Sweet, you simply must meet Herr Schwartz before the first dances. I think you two will like each other!” Penny says, touching Patrick's elbow lightly. As he turns away from Sophia, Penelope shoots her the most sympathetic look, which says all sorts of things.

Sophia manages a tremulous sigh, giving her friend the briefest of nods in gratitude.  She’s made a horrible fool of herself. Thank goodness for Penelope.

It's a relief when the band starts up not much later. While Sophia doesn't expect to be asked right away, the music is light and the dancers graceful. It’s the kind of excitement which doesn’t overwhelm her senses.

She does her best to lose herself in the music. How people spend several nights in a row dancing until the early hours of the morning while still being functioning members of society, she cannot comprehend. Watching the dancers enthusiastically engage with each other is enough to make her tired already.

While normally she might feel a bit self-conscious about not being asked for a dance by anyone, she is somewhat grateful to be able to relax without having to worry at her every movement for a bit. That, and the fact that with all the people dancing they are far away enough that her sensitive nose gets a break from the heavy perfume and other, less savory, scents.

Though she would never admit it out loud, her gaze is drawn towards Lord Sweet. While objectively he still isn’t the most handsome man in the room, something about him is different. He's dancing with Penelope right now, and he’s moving across the ballroom like he’s simply walking in a straight line instead of performing complex dance steps.

She likes to think she's a rather tolerant young lady, but something about him aggravates her. Logically he hasn’t done anything wrong at all, but Sophia has never been wrong trusting her gut instincts before. Her gut is telling her that Baron Sweet is a danger waiting to happen. Even though she feels this way, she can’t force herself to be distracted by anything else. The way he dances is mesmerizing, and while she's suspicious she can admire beauty where she finds it.

The two are in the middle of a particularly difficult movement when it happens. Sophia is still watching, enraptured, when Baron Sweet looks up and over, right at her. Their eyes meet, and she finds herself sitting up straighter, a blush creeping across her face again. Although it feels like he's the only person in the room looking at her, she's also painfully aware of all the other people here. It's ridiculous... to feel like they're doing something shameless just from making eye contact.

The end of the song takes her by surprise, and she hopes everyone was too distracted by the dancers to notice her. Although she would like to think that she's overreacting, she's heard tell of stories about young ladies who got into trouble simply for making eyes at the wrong man. That would be a terrible way to start her time in proper society.

Luckily it seems like Lord Sweet disappears from immediate sight once the dance ends. Maybe she'll get lucky and will be able to sneak over to the food table and not have to worry about dancing or mesmerizing barons for —

“Miss Lowell?” comes an accented voice, breaking her out of her thoughts. She looks up and goes pale when that voice belongs to Lord Sweet. His smile is somewhat amused, and she can't tell what it's directed at, but her hackles automatically rise. “You seem somewhat lonely over here, miss. Would you indulge me in the next dance?”

Well. There it is. The very thing she'd been hoping she'd be able to avoid. It's likely she'd tempted fate too much in hoping, but it still feels overly cruel to have the exact opposite of what she wanted to happen. Not to mention... if she says no, that's basically it for the night. She wouldn't be able to dance at all for the rest of the time without causing offense to Lord Sweet and her host.

“... I would be delighted to, Lord Sweet,” she says, inclining her head slightly before standing.

He leads her out towards the dance floor with that same small, mysterious smile that hasn't left his face once. There's a twisting in her stomach that can only ever be explained by going out to dance in public with a handsome man that one doesn't know very well. Then the music begins, and she realizes with a start it's an allemande. It's not even the fact that she's not very good at that, it's... it's that it's so intimate for a first dance. It's not something strangers tend to do together, or at least she didn't think so. This could be entirely normal, but she can’t just ask that outright.

“... So,” she says, quieter than she meant to. They're in the middle of the line, not quite the first but certainly not the last. “What brought you to England, Lord Sweet? Surely not just this party.”

He laughs. “No, as nice as it would be to only visit on the basis of parties,” he says, “I'm actually here on business. But I don't have to worry about that right now, which is quite lovely.”

“It must be nice to be able to rest before business,” she says, as they step into the dance. To her shock and dismay, Lord Sweet is the most perfect dance partner she’s ever known. Every step he takes is right out of an instruction manual; all of his touches are perfectly polite while also sending a shiver up Sophia's spine. She's never been more glad she's wearing gloves, because if she'd ended up touching him like this with skin-on-skin contact, she's absolutely certain she'd make a fool of herself.

“You're quite good at this, you know,” he whispers after a few moments. “I wasn't expecting that, truth be told. I've met many young ladies like you, and they all tend to trip over their own tails.”

Sophia is about to snap at him, tell him that he's being rude, and maybe say something particularly biting that will finally wipe off that smug grin of his, but something stops her. It's... the way he said young ladies ‘like her’. What does that even mean? Is that just a particularly backhanded comment?

Then something occurs to her, and she really does almost trip over her own feet.

Of course someone who actually knows what they're doing and whose blood is probably bluer than the sky knows that she's not actually a real noblewoman. She did sort of expect this inevitability, but not so bluntly. The knowledge that Lord Sweet isn't as immaculate as he seemed is little comfort.

“Lord Sweet,” she says. “I'm sure I don't know what you mean. Any woman ‘like me’ would be perfectly adept at dancing, I assure you.” She turns in a sharper manner than is really necessary, making her skirt flare up in a dramatic manner. She wishes she was back home, away from rude noblemen and stuffy ballrooms.

“Perhaps. I haven't met all the women in the world, after all.” He seems oblivious to the ice in her voice, and simply shrugs. “Regardless, it is always refreshing. Especially in places like here, where you are the only one of your kind.”

Sophia jerks away from him like she's been burned, and it is beyond satisfying to see Lord Sweet step back in surprise. Perhaps it's the look on her face, which is not pleasant.

“Pardon me for my rudeness, Lord Sweet,” she says, only politely enough to put off the stares they're getting from the others in the room. “I seem to have suddenly developed a horrible stomachache, and fear I'll faint if I continue to dance.” She takes another step away and is surprised when Penelope appears at her elbow with hardly a sound.

Her friend gives Lord Sweet an acidic look and takes Sophia's arm gently. “Poor Sophia! Goodness, pardon us, Lord Sweet, I simply must get her out to the drawing room to rest.” Penelope still speaks with kindness, but there's an underlying current of cold in her voice that not even the most oblivious of people would be able to ignore.

“... Of course. I hope that you feel better, Miss Lowell.” Lord Sweet seems sort of taken aback by all of this, which Sophia refuses to feel bad about. He's been rude to her all evening; she thinks he can handle a bit of rudeness in return.

The two of them hurry out of the room, and Sophia only feels relief when they're in the comforting darkness of the hallway. Then the enormity of what she’d just said crashes down upon her.   What had she done? ?

“Oh, Lord, Penny,” she says, clinging to her friend with desperation. “What was all that! What- He! Ugh.” She rests her head on Penelope's shoulder and is surprised to feel her eyes prickling with unshed tears. Great. Even her body doesn't know how to react to this.

“Oh, Sophia.” Penelope hugs her, rubbing her back lightly. “I don't know what he said, but it must have been very rude for you to react like that. Was he awful? Would you like me to get Ipschurch to throw him out?”

“That would just make trouble for you,” Sophia mumbles, unwilling to cause more issues than she already has. “He… I am pretty certain he knew I wasn't a proper lady, and treated me horribly. I wasn't expecting him to be so blatant about it, but I swear there wasn't any way to misunderstand him!”

“I know. I believe you. He gave me a strange feeling, but I didn't want to assume things that might not be true...” Penelope takes Sophia's hand and turns to her, worry written all over her face. “Would you like to leave? I'm sure I can arrange something. Anything, to help you feel better.”

“I think I'd rather just… spend time out in the garden, if that's alright. No one else is out there, correct?”

“Right. I'll escort you out there; maybe the dogs will be wandering around and you'll really have some time to relax!” As always, Penelope's enthusiasm is catching, and Sophia finds herself smiling a little bit despite how upset she is. She follows along as her friend leads her down the corridors, until they reach the arched doorway that leads out to the gardens.

The gardens of the mansion are well-known to be particularly elegant and lovely, even when compared to similar places. It's one of the few artistic things the Duke spends a lot of time attending to, and it shows in the well-kept hedges and flowers which bloom even in the early chill of October. The perfumed scents out here are much more pleasant, and Sophia can hear the Duke’s dogs much better from here. She wishes it was a full moon, so she could join them. Things are much less complicated when she’s transformed, like she doesn’t have to worry about anything for as long as the night lasts. It’s much preferable to this stressful nonsense.

As soon as Penelope returns to the ball, Sophia lets out the breath she didn’t know she was holding. It's a relief to finally sit down on one of the marble benches. There's no one out here to judge her, and she can relax as much as she wants. Even the cold and damp of All Hallow's Eve can't lessen her enjoyment of silence.

Sophia wonders if she should have come to the Duke’s party. It seemed like a good idea at the time, especially since Penelope has been such a close friend for so long. Of course blackguards and knaves had always been a possibility — it wasn't like she was oblivious to these things. But before, she'd always been able to take control of the situation. Been able to stand her ground, even if it wasn't the most socially correct thing to do. Here, though... she'd felt helpless, and she hated it.

If that's how she’s expected to feel, proper decorum can shove it. She’d rather go back to America and go back to her pack in the wilds than deal with this nonsense.

As she's ruminating on how best to leave without causing too much trouble for anyone, she hears the crunch of fallen leaves and her head snaps up. Lord Sweet stands in the doorway, looking a little flustered and upset. She immediately goes on high alert, especially because of his expression. What does he have to be upset over? It's not like he’s the one who’s overly embarrassed and hurt by all of this. Or, at least, not in a way she can figure.

“What do you want? Don't you know it's improper to just barge in on a lady when she's alone?” Sophia doesn't bother to keep the ice and fire out of her tone. In fact, she makes it sound as bitter as possible and feels more than a bit smug at the way Lord Sweet looks down at his feet with remorse.

“... I recognize this isn't exactly proper, but… it’s... I believe there was a misunderstanding. So with your permission, Miss Lowell, I would like to apologize for it. Then, I will be on my way if you wish it. But since upsetting you was far from what I'd intended, I would like to humbly beg your forgiveness.” In opposition to how smooth he'd been before, his words come out in a rush and like he hasn't really thought them through before he speaks them. This gives Sophia pause more than anything.

“All right then. Out with it.” She does mean to snap, but still feels bad about it.

Lord Sweet doesn't seem to care, however, and draws himself up before taking a deep breath. “I apologize for having said something offensive. It was not my intent. I thought, er, that you would perhaps find it funny?” He fidgets a bit under her disbelieving glare.

“You thought I would find it funny? And what part, exactly, was supposed to be so hilarious?” She stands up, feeling more imposing this way. If he expects her to believe that he was trying to get her to laugh at poor jokes, she'll break his nose right here.

“Er. The... the puns?” He sounds a bit sheepish, and his words bring her up short.

“Puns? What puns? As far as I could tell, you were being rather rude about my standing in society. Or worse. What could you possibly have been making a pun about?” she says, and his look of surprise confirms her mistake. Oh, hell.

“The... the puns about you being a werewolf. With the tail?” He rubs at the back of his head, looking more sheepish than ever. “I assure you I would never make tasteless jokes such as that, especially since I didn't think anything of your societal placement? But — well. You seem like a cheerful, clever young lady, and I figured that if anyone would enjoy a good joke, it might be you.”

Sophia stares at him for a moment, all sense of anger lost and replaced by an indescribable feeling. This lasts only a moment, however, because she falls back into the seat absolutely howling with laughter. The baffled look on Lord Sweet's face just increases it until he gives a little nervous chuckle himself.

“I can't believe this! That's such a terrible pun!” She laughs and covers her face, feeling all sorts of embarrassed. She didn't even think about it at the time because of how anxious she was, but now that she looks back on it, his phrasing certainly was strange. And that comment about her being the only one of her kind... sure, that might have meant something cruel, but if she takes him at his most literal he was genuinely talking about her being the only werewolf in attendance. “I am so sorry, Lord Sweet. I didn't mean — ”

“Miss Lowell,” when he speaks, it's soft but stern at the same time, “forgive me for being rude, but I won't accept an apology when it's obvious I wasn't clear enough in my speech. To be honest I'm surprised you didn't slap me. It would have been deserved.”

That gets a surprised giggle out of her, which makes him smile and gesture at the seat behind her. She is suddenly very aware of them being alone out here, but for whatever reason she doesn't feel as intimidated as she would have earlier.

“If you'll have me, I would love to just sit and talk. I'll even go and fetch Lady Penelope if it would make you more comfortable. Or, I could leave.” He pauses. “I'm babbling. Sorry.” He shuts his mouth, and in the moonlight, Sophia can see a slight flush on his cheeks. She's hit with a feeling of fondness for this man who not so long ago she'd thought was utterly insufferable, but seems to be just as uncertain about how to proceed as she is.

It's a wonderful feeling.

“Well, since you've been a gentleman. I'll gladly let you.” She sits and pats the seat beside her with a small smile. He brightens and goes to sit next to her a respectable distance away. With no one here, however, it feels far too close.

“I really feel like I should apologize again. I suppose I'm somewhat out of touch when it comes to what's considered proper flirting anymore...” He rubs his chin. “Though truth be told most of the werewolves I've met have wanted to fight me over my bad jokes.”

“I liked it well enough once I realized you weren't trying to insult me.” She laughs, feeling more comfortable with him. It's almost cute. “But I do have a question, if that's alright.”

“Certainly.”

“How did you know I was a werewolf? If I was something else I could understand it, but it's not a full moon. And I know you aren't one too, because I'd have been able to smell you.” She tilts her head, curiosity written all over her face. She doubts he was lying about the Welsh thing, because that particular accent is very difficult to pull off, but she suspects he’s something other than human.

“Oh, haha, well as it happens,” he says, “I’m a mage, of sorts. I’ve spent a long time around those of supernatural origin, so it’s almost second nature for me to recognize it. And werewolves have one of the more unique sensations.”

Sophia just stares at him for a moment. On any other night she wouldn’t believe him this fast. But she’s met magic users before, back home, and it’s not unthinkable that one would show up at a party they weren’t invited to. And (though she won’t ever say this out loud), Lord Sweet really does fit the magic profile of being a bit exasperating.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve met anyone who used magic,” Sophia says, frowning. “But why are you so interested in me? There’s enjoying meeting new people, and then there’s what you’ve done tonight.”

“I spoke to you because I thought you were beautiful.” Lord Sweet smiles in a slow, deliberate way and Sophia only now recognizes how close they've gotten. “And I couldn’t help myself, I — ”

“I don’t believe you,” Sophia says, staring him down.

Lord Sweet looks bewildered. “What?”

“There are a lot of more beautiful, more interesting unmarried ladies at tonight’s party. Even if I am the only werewolf in attendance, I don’t believe for a moment that would be enough to get you to latch onto me as fast as you have.” She crosses her arms. “So what is the actual reason?”

Instead of answering immediately, Lord Sweet looks away and taps out an uneven rhythm on the marble. His expression is uncertain, and as much as Sophia doesn’t want to interrupt his thoughts she would like an answer sooner rather than later.

“Alright,” he says, finally. “I suppose I should have expected that response, since you’re pretty clever. The truth is I did not come here of my own choice — I’ve been stuck here, trapped like an animal, for... it must have been decades. Long enough for ladies’ outfits to change fairly drastically.” He taps his fingers together, staring down with his brows knit tight.

“Trapped? I don’t understand. Do you think I had something to do with your release?”

“As a matter of fact, I know it.” He looks up with a wry little smile. “The lovely sorceress that cursed me was very specific about what would break the curse. Someone determined, who would not be swayed by my amazing charms but would instead take me as I am.” His smile gets a bit more strained. “As far as the both of us knew, that was a death sentence.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Sophia feels heat rush to her cheeks.

“Oh,” is all she manages. Then she shakes her head, straightens up, and decides that she refuses to be distracted by her amazement. She wants a few more answers, and after that… Well, she hasn’t thought that far ahead. “So what am I? Some sort of soulmate?”

“Nothing so serious, no. But it does mean you interest me. Beyond just a joke or two.”

He sets a hand on her thigh and she looks at him, then at his hand. She’s spent so long trying to be proper, trying to fit in with this society, that she’s well and truly sick of it. Instead of fleeing back to the relative safety of the ballroom, she flutters her lashes at him and laughs.

"Well, I’m very glad, Lord Sweet. Your jokes are truly atrocious."

Lord Sweet looks briefly surprised before grinning and leaning forward. “Please, call me Patrick.”

Sophia braces herself for the shock of being kissed, but she doesn't expect it to actually be nice. She's only ever been kissed in brief, joking moments with the boys who lived near her when she was younger. It's so much different with someone who actually knows what they're doing. Patrick's lips are soft, and he presses up against her a bit more, his mouth insistent against hers. She lets him take the lead for now since he has much more knowledge about this than her.

"Was that alright?” Patrick whispers when they pull away. “I’m afraid I’m a bit out of practice.”

“I liked it,” Sophia says in an attempt to have time to catch her breath. “I hope they are not going to be in short supply tonight.”

“How could I withhold such a precious resource from such a precious woman?” he says, before leaning in to kiss her again. This time, he cups her face with his hands and she puts her hands onto his chest. She kisses him back with more confidence than the first time, leaning in towards him and enjoying the warmth of his body against hers. She opens her mouth to sigh out her contentment, but what happens instead is she groans. She doesn’t even realize it came from her, at first.

Patrick raises an eyebrow at her as she turns bright red.

“I did not mean to do that.”

“Well, I cannot complain. Noises like that, coming from you? A man could be tempted to ravish you.” He nuzzles at her neck, and she gasps at the lightest feeling of teeth against her neck. Not nearly enough to bring any bruising to the surface, but more than enough to shock her.

“Perhaps... perhaps I want you to ravish me.” She bites her lower lip, looking up into his eyes with a sort of hope. “But I have to tell you something. I do not want to lose my virginity. However, if there is another way to do this, I would not be uninterested.” She hesitates, uncertain but determined to speak of this. Ever since leaving her pack she’s learned all sorts of things about how sex is treated among mundanes. But surely since Patrick is a magic user, he will understand what she’s looking for?

“If you don't want to lose your virginity that is certainly fine by me. I assure you, I know more than one way to please and be pleased by a woman.” Patrick smirks at her and she can't help but smile back, relief making her sit up straighter. That was so simple it almost feels fake but Patrick seems totally genuine. Actually, now that she thinks about it, it seems as though his superficial personality ended as soon as he entered the garden.

“Oh, lovely. Shall we move then? Not that this bench isn't nice, but if Penelope or anyone comes by and sees me doing anything scandalous I'll be ruined.”

He laughs at that and takes her hand before standing. It’s lucky that the garden’s hedges are tall enough that they hide anyone from sight easily, especially if they’re hiding on purpose.

The second they are out of sight Patrick kisses her again, but it's different from earlier. He's more passionate than before, grasping her gently by the shoulders as his mouth covers hers. She doesn't know where to put her hands for a moment, but then she wraps them a bit uncertainly around his waist. She can't help but admire the feeling of his strong body just beyond his clothes.

"I'm sad that the fashion seems to be so geared towards low necklines... " Patrick says, running a finger down Sophia's neck. She shivers a bit, since even though the touch isn't very intimate it feels more so than anything else they've done so far. "I'd love to leave a couple of marks for you to remember me by."

"I assure you I'm not going to forget you anytime soon," she says, and then makes an embarrassing yelp when he tugs down the edge of her neckline a bit. She never thought about how low the dress was before, but now it’s all she can think about. "Be careful! This dress isn't mine."

"Duly noted," he says before pulling her dress and underthings down far enough so her breasts spill out over the top. She can't help but cover her face at the lustful look he gives her. Then his hands are on her, one hand cupping a breast while he trails kisses down her neck. Her breasts have never been much beyond some bother to her, but right now, as spikes of excitement go through her, she’s delighted that they’re sensitive to Patrick’s ministrations.

His free hand goes to lift the skirt of her dress up, until it and all of her undergarments are around her waist. The night feels like it's gotten colder with how hot her body feels. Every other time she’s been this exposed it’s been after full moons and decidedly nonsexual, and she’s never experienced the hungry look he gives her body. It’s not something she wants to stop.

Patrick kneels in front of her, delicately tucking her skirt in so that it stays up, and Sophia honestly has no idea what he's doing. Most of the stories she's heard from other women haven't gone into too much detail, but there was certainly not a whole lot about men getting down on their knees. Especially not when there's even the slightest chance of being caught.

"What are you planning?" she asks, breathless and wary at the same time. "I don't know much about what we're doing, remember, so you'll have to tell me."

"It's really very simple, I think. You wish to keep your virginity intact, and I enjoy pleasuring my partners." His hand settles on her thigh and slowly makes its way inside and up. "I'm going to feast upon your beautiful cunt, dear Miss Lowell, and it's going to feel absolutely fantastic. And if it doesn't, I'll try something else until you feel as good as I know you can."

"You can call me Sophia now, you know. And I hope you realize that's still rather unhelpful for someone who doesn't know what you're planning — oh." She gasps and clings to the rough leaves of the hedge behind her. His fingers have brushed up against her most private place in a way she didn't even think was possible. She's explored her body once or twice, just out of curiosity, but had nothing like this feeling. It's indescribable.

"Relax, Sophia," Patrick says, softly. "Is it too much? I can go slower, if you'd like."

"No! No, please. I've just never. Ahem." She clears her throat and refuses to look at his smug face directly. "Please, continue."

Patrick mumbles something that could be "so adorable," but Sophia can't quite make it out, and anyhow it barely matters in the next few seconds when he puts his mouth on her. Just him touching her was nice enough, but his mouth's heat and his tongue bring that to a whole new level. Logically, Sophia knows that feeling this good is probably a horrible, terrible sin... but logic is hardly the first thing on her mind when Patrick's tongue flattens against a part of her that sends electricity through her. If most people don't get to experience this kind of treatment during sex, she feels absolutely terrible for them.

"Oh! Oh my God! Patrick!" she keens, one hand grasping lightly at his hair. She doesn't want to yank or hurt him, because that seems like just about the rudest thing she could do. It's unclear how long she can keep at that, though, considering that Patrick seems determined to make her faint from sheer pleasure.

Patrick must have noticed, because in a smooth motion he takes her leg and hitches it over his shoulder.  She didn't think it was possible for him to make her feel even better, but that thought is quickly disproved when her entire body goes stiff as a board, and she's hit with the most intense feeling she's ever had in her life. If she had to explain it, it'd be a mix of feeling utterly relaxed and being overwhelmed by something, making her entire body buck into Patrick's mouth.

He keeps rubbing his tongue against her until she's shuddering and gently pushing him away, at which point he leans back and looks indescribably smug. He licks his lips before taking out a handkerchief and wiping at his face, which Sophia notes a bit dazedly is wet. Was that from her? And why does Patrick look so pleased with himself, even though he definitely didn't get anything from that…

"That sounded quite satisfactory, Sophia. It's a good thing that not many people are likely to come out here tonight, or I think we'd have all sorts of curious prying eyes from how loud you were," he says.

She pulls a face. “I... was completely unaware I was making any noise. I apologize...”

Laughing, he says, "No, no, it was exactly what I love to hear. You did wonderfully, especially considering it was your first time doing anything." Patrick stands, helping her to tug her dress back into place. When she glances down to make sure her breasts are properly put away again, she realizes that there is a very large bulge in Patrick's pants where there wasn't one before.

Well then.

“Am I going to be doing something similar with you, now? Your interest is showing,” she says, and then decides to be brave by reaching out to touch the front of his pants.

He jumps a little, and that's definitely not just stuffing or an oddly shaped bunch of fabric. That's part of his body under there.

“It would be greatly appreciated. Come on, take a seat, I doubt you want to get your pretty dress spoiled.” He takes her by the hand, kisses the back of it, and leads her over to a nearby bench.

She feels nervous, but she's mostly excited. If this is something she can do well, then she'll be able to feel more than a little confident when she gets married.

She sits down and fidgets a bit, not quite sure what to do with herself. Patrick stands in front of her, his breath coming harder than it had previously, and undoes his pants before sliding them down. Sophia isn't sure what she was expecting, but when his member pops out she can't help the surprised, bemused look on her face.

“Oh. Um, that isn't quite what I was expecting it to look like.” She hums and reaches out to touch it, curiosity written all over her face. She knows a bit more about what's expected here because Penelope and the other young ladies are terrible gossips. It isn't the most intimidating thing she's ever seen, though, and she actually feels a little more confident than before.

“Yes, well, that's a common reaction. Take your time, you can — oh sweet summer stars you already know what to do?” Patrick's voice takes on a funny, squeaky tone once she starts touching him more firmly and presses a light kiss to the tip of his cock.

“I've heard a lot of salacious stories. Besides,” she licks the tip and smiles a bit at his full-body shudder, “you made me feel like I've never felt before. It's only fair that I attempt to pay you back, correct?” Before he can answer, she goes back to kissing and stroking him as confidently as she can manage.

It's true she doesn’t know a lot about the specifics. The tales she's heard were surely overblown, and told in giggles. But she knows enough to know her mouth is what he really wants, and so pops her lips over the head of his cock while being as careful as possible with her teeth. The weight is strange in her mouth, and the taste gives her some pause. But neither is so off-putting as to make her want to stop, so she simply presses her head down as far as she can go. Which isn't as far as she'd like, honestly.

Patrick seems to like it, though. He hasn't actually said anything, instead letting out harsh pants and broken off words in a clear attempt to stay silent. But he isn't asking her to change things or adjust her position besides a few nudges with his hands, so clearly he's enjoying what he's getting. Sophia actually feels a bit proud of herself despite what she'd normally think. This is fun, and there's a certain amount of power that she's finding in causing someone to feel like she did. She can't judge Patrick for being so into seducing people, if this is how he gets to feel all the time.

He settles his hand on the back of her head and grips her hair, which annoys her briefly because of what a pain it was to get it styled in a way she liked. But glancing up and seeing his blissful face is enough to stop her from complaining. It's not like she's going to go back into the ball after this, so who's going to see her to judge?

“Ah — Sophia, I’m going to — well, you might want to pull away? It. It won’t taste very good, and you might get messy, and oh my God.” Patrick seems to be babbling and unable to concentrate.

Curious, Sophia doesn’t pull away and is brought up short when his cock twitches, sending spurts of salty bitter liquid into her mouth. For a moment, she’s unsure what to do.  She doesn’t want to swallow his seed, but spitting it on the ground is equally unappealing. With muffled groan, Patrick pulls out his handkerchief and offers it to her.  Relieved, she uses the scrap of linen to remove the taste from her mouth. Huh. And that came out of him? She wishes they weren’t only lit by the moonlight, because to be quite honest she’d love to study him a bit more.

“Are you alright?” he pants out after a moment.

It’s funny enough that Sophia snorts, covering her mouth in an attempt to not offend him. “I’m fine, don’t worry about me. How are you feeling?” She smiles up at him. It counts as a victory to make such a handsome man look so disheveled, as far as she’s concerned.

“Oh, wonderful.” Patrick tucks himself away and sits next to her, smiling broadly. “I just got to have some fun with a beautiful, charming woman and I could not be more pleased.”

“You’re quite the charmer.” She hesitates, and says her next words like she’s not sure whether or not they should come out. “Will I be able to see more of that charm, beyond tonight?”

“I would certainly hope so. Why would you not?” Patrick has settled back against the hedges, and a stray patch of moonlight hits his face. It makes Sophia’s heart stop and she considers, for a moment, just enjoying this. But if she’s someone so special for Patrick, then it is only the responsible thing to talk about it.

“You’re a mage, and clearly noble-blooded besides. I told you earlier that I was in no way a noble, and that was the truth. Do you not have things you will want to catch up with? People you will wish to see?”

To her utter surprise, Patrick laughs. She almost snaps at him, before she recognizes the lack of cruelty in it. It’s simply surprise in his laughter.

“My darling, sweet, innocent Sophia. It would take that damned witch to return with a far more powerful curse to stop me from at least meeting the lovely young woman who’s freed me. Besides, I should still have a lovely manor in Cwm, and it would be a terrible shame not to have someone to share it with.”

The words warm her to her very core. “Well, if you’re to stay, you may need to have a good word put in for why you left so suddenly.” Sophia says this as lightly and airily as she can, twirling a strand of hair around her finger.

Patrick looks at her, a grin slowly making its way across his face. He moves closer to Sophia and wraps an arm around her waist. She’s grateful for it both because of the closeness and the warmth. “And would you put in that word for me?”

“I would need some more convincing in order to make a proper case.” Sophia leans up a bit, closing her eyes and pursing her lips and hoping Patrick gets the hint. He does, thankfully, and they kiss with a tender passion Sophia didn’t even know existed. She’s thrilled to be learning all sorts of things, tonight.

“I suppose I’ll have quite a lot of time to be doing as much convincing as I need, my Lady.”

* * *

Nyssa Whitehead is an author from Southern California who writes romance mixed with whatever genre she can get her hands on. She enjoys folklore, dogs, and Halloween in all of its forms. You can find her on Twitter .