I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You
Apr. 5th, 2013 06:42 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
primogen_vampirateMina couldn’t decide which was more humiliating. The corset or the dress. Probably the corset. She understood the necessity of wearing a dress in certain circles, even if she didn’t much care for it. But the corset? What was the point? She was naturally thin to begin with and she, frankly, had no desire to parade her breasts around to everyone. But Anne had insisted and seeing as it was Jacqueline’s party, Mina finally relented. She would be on her best behavior tonight. But there would be no promises about tomorrow night.
It was several hours into the party and Mina had had quite enough inane chit chat with Jack and Anne’s guests. She loved the two of them, of course. And Jacqueline, beyond words. But some of the mortals they chose to associate with had some particularly peculiar ideas about life. And Mina was more or less done with it all. What’s more, she’d begun to notice something strange about Jack. Every time she happened to glance up from a conversation about how the South was ‘destined to rise again,’ she noticed him looking her way. He was always quick to avert his eyes, but his smile seemed to linger in her direction.
She didn’t trust him.
Probably best to retire from the evening, if only she could manage to escape her current warden, a pot-bellied, old man who looked like a walrus and smelled like one too many drinks. He was going on and on and on about carpetbaggers and how he wanted to dispose of them in a manner that even the Lancae Sanctum would probably have found distasteful. “And then,” he drawled, “I’d put their heads under the backside of my fav’rite mule. And, and then I’d-”
“Pardon me,” a voice said suddenly, breaking into the tirade. Mina glanced up to see her savoir. He was a tall, thin man in a dark navy waistcoat. His hair was long, a bit old-fashioned really, pulled back with a blue ribbon. He bowed. “Forgive the interruption,” he continued, his voice washing over Mina with a comforting London accent, “but I’m afraid there’s an urgent matter.”
Mina had no idea who the stranger was, nor what the urgent matter could be. Perhaps he was mistaking her for Anne. It didn’t matter though. When Mina Barrett saw an opportunity, she always seized it. “Oh dear,” she said, turning to flash an apologetic look at the walrus. “I’m so sorry, pardon me.”
The gentleman offered Mina his arm and she took it. Immediately, he started to steer her through the crowd, past the guests engaged in some sort of stylized dance. Mina made to look over her shoulder, but the man let out a sharp hiss between his teeth. “Don’t look back.”
“I’m not Mrs. Rackham,” Mina said softly.
“I know,” he replied, “but you looked like you could use a rescue.”
She had to laugh at that, softly, taking care not to move her shoulders too much.
They walked to one of the other rooms, a side parlor where some food had been set out. “We should be safe here,” the man said, taking a step back and bowing politely to Mina again.
“Well, thank you very much, Mister…?”
“Gordon,” he said. “Henry Gordon.”
Mina smiled. “Two first names, how unfortunate.”
“Yes,” he replied, surprising her a bit with his quickness. “It’s a burden I’ve had to bear all my life.” He folded his hands behind his back, overtly looking Mina up and down. “And you must be Mina Barrett.”
That caught her off guard. Mina was not used to being known. Not in these circles, anyway. And the man had no predator’s taint. She’d even felt a pulse in his arm when she’d taken it. “Must I be?” she asked.
“I have it on the best of authority.”
“Who told?”
He drew in air between his teeth. “I can’t say.”
Jack. Or Anne. Mina knew a set up when she smelled it. No wonder Anne had insisted that she wear the corset.
The last time Mina had been with a man, she’d been in her early twenties. Still human. She’d been Mary then. His name was Richard Crane. A balm to soothe the loss of Tom. It hadn't worked. She’d loved Tom, her husband, with everything that she had to give. Mina had stopped thinking about men. Stopped thinking about their complications and all the passion that came with them. And she’d been happy. But Anne, dear, bullheaded, stubborn, hopelessly-in-love Anne, had always insisted that Mina was missing something from her life. Insisted that her duty to the Crone wasn’t nearly enough to be happy. Mina agreed that, on occasion, she wanted more. But not this sort of…wrinkle. There was just no place for it.
“I see,” she said.
“My source insists on complete anonymity. He would be most unhappy if I revealed his identity.”
Bugger. “Jack, then?” she asked, puckering her eyebrows.
Henry winced, not making even the slightest bit of effort to look sincerely sorry. “Oh, you’ve figured it out.”
“Not an overly complicated elucidation,” she replied. “It was either one or the other.”
“Why not both?” Henry said.
Mina bowed her head. “Why not both?” Her eyes swept through the entryway into the ballroom. And there they were, like little conspirators, Jack and Anne, their heads close as they watched Mina and Henry. Anne noticed Mina’s gaze and quickly looked away. Jack was slower on the uptake, seeming entirely too pleased with himself as he whispered something to Anne. Mina could only shake her head. She’d repay them for this kindness later. For now. “Well, you must excuse me.”
“May I have a dance?” Henry asked.
She shook her head. “You’ve been bought and paid for,” she told him. “And now your services are no longer required.”
“One dance?”
“I haven’t a dance card.”
“No matter,” he said, reaching into his coat and producing one of the long, thin dance cards Anne and Jack had provided the ladies in attendance. “I took the liberty of filling one out for you.”
He held up the card. Narrowing her eyes, Mina snatched it out of his hand. Fumbling to open it (damn the long evening gloves!), Mina peered at the neat, delicate script inside. Every single line had the same name, written over and over again: Henry Gordon. Slowly, she raised her eyes to look at him. “Every dance? Awfully ambitious of you.”
“Ah,” he said, holding up one finger. “But as I understand it, you admire ambition.”
“Is that what the connivers told you?”
“As a matter of fact, they did.”
She closed the dance card. “What else did they say?”
Henry gave it a moment of consideration. And Mina, watching him as he pondered it, realized that he was devilishly handsome. Not like her Tom, of course. He’d had a hardness to him. Henry, by contrast, had boyish features; his face was round, with a sharp jaw, like a heart. The corners of his eyes were crinkled, as if to indicate that he was perpetually smiling. She liked his hair too. It was lamentable that most men wore it so short and neatly cropped, these days. Mina appreciated a good head of hair. And now, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through Henry’s hair.
Damn it to hell. She would murder Jack and Anne for this.
“They told me that you’ve got a temper on you,” Henry said.
And that.
“That you enjoy tall tales and drinking songs,” he continued. “That you can shoot the head off of a sparrow at fifty yards. You detest riding side-saddle and you’re probably desperate to get out of that dress right now and into a pair of trousers.”
All of her worst qualities. By the standards of today’s society. Jack and Anne had laid them before him. Honestly. And here he was, pursuing her all the same. Either Anne had done a brilliant job of Dominating him, the man was mad, or perhaps…perhaps…he warranted further investigation. “Anything else?” she asked cautiously.
Henry made a soft, considering noise. “They told me that you would make for some jolly good conversation.”
Mina smiled slightly. “Well. They were certainly right about that.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“Are you putting me to task?”
“Perhaps.” He inclined his head in the direction of the ballroom. “And how about my dance?”
She held up her dance card. “I’ll have to see if there’s an opening for you.”
He pulled the card out of her hand, tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
It was several hours into the party and Mina had had quite enough inane chit chat with Jack and Anne’s guests. She loved the two of them, of course. And Jacqueline, beyond words. But some of the mortals they chose to associate with had some particularly peculiar ideas about life. And Mina was more or less done with it all. What’s more, she’d begun to notice something strange about Jack. Every time she happened to glance up from a conversation about how the South was ‘destined to rise again,’ she noticed him looking her way. He was always quick to avert his eyes, but his smile seemed to linger in her direction.
She didn’t trust him.
Probably best to retire from the evening, if only she could manage to escape her current warden, a pot-bellied, old man who looked like a walrus and smelled like one too many drinks. He was going on and on and on about carpetbaggers and how he wanted to dispose of them in a manner that even the Lancae Sanctum would probably have found distasteful. “And then,” he drawled, “I’d put their heads under the backside of my fav’rite mule. And, and then I’d-”
“Pardon me,” a voice said suddenly, breaking into the tirade. Mina glanced up to see her savoir. He was a tall, thin man in a dark navy waistcoat. His hair was long, a bit old-fashioned really, pulled back with a blue ribbon. He bowed. “Forgive the interruption,” he continued, his voice washing over Mina with a comforting London accent, “but I’m afraid there’s an urgent matter.”
Mina had no idea who the stranger was, nor what the urgent matter could be. Perhaps he was mistaking her for Anne. It didn’t matter though. When Mina Barrett saw an opportunity, she always seized it. “Oh dear,” she said, turning to flash an apologetic look at the walrus. “I’m so sorry, pardon me.”
The gentleman offered Mina his arm and she took it. Immediately, he started to steer her through the crowd, past the guests engaged in some sort of stylized dance. Mina made to look over her shoulder, but the man let out a sharp hiss between his teeth. “Don’t look back.”
“I’m not Mrs. Rackham,” Mina said softly.
“I know,” he replied, “but you looked like you could use a rescue.”
She had to laugh at that, softly, taking care not to move her shoulders too much.
They walked to one of the other rooms, a side parlor where some food had been set out. “We should be safe here,” the man said, taking a step back and bowing politely to Mina again.
“Well, thank you very much, Mister…?”
“Gordon,” he said. “Henry Gordon.”
Mina smiled. “Two first names, how unfortunate.”
“Yes,” he replied, surprising her a bit with his quickness. “It’s a burden I’ve had to bear all my life.” He folded his hands behind his back, overtly looking Mina up and down. “And you must be Mina Barrett.”
That caught her off guard. Mina was not used to being known. Not in these circles, anyway. And the man had no predator’s taint. She’d even felt a pulse in his arm when she’d taken it. “Must I be?” she asked.
“I have it on the best of authority.”
“Who told?”
He drew in air between his teeth. “I can’t say.”
Jack. Or Anne. Mina knew a set up when she smelled it. No wonder Anne had insisted that she wear the corset.
The last time Mina had been with a man, she’d been in her early twenties. Still human. She’d been Mary then. His name was Richard Crane. A balm to soothe the loss of Tom. It hadn't worked. She’d loved Tom, her husband, with everything that she had to give. Mina had stopped thinking about men. Stopped thinking about their complications and all the passion that came with them. And she’d been happy. But Anne, dear, bullheaded, stubborn, hopelessly-in-love Anne, had always insisted that Mina was missing something from her life. Insisted that her duty to the Crone wasn’t nearly enough to be happy. Mina agreed that, on occasion, she wanted more. But not this sort of…wrinkle. There was just no place for it.
“I see,” she said.
“My source insists on complete anonymity. He would be most unhappy if I revealed his identity.”
Bugger. “Jack, then?” she asked, puckering her eyebrows.
Henry winced, not making even the slightest bit of effort to look sincerely sorry. “Oh, you’ve figured it out.”
“Not an overly complicated elucidation,” she replied. “It was either one or the other.”
“Why not both?” Henry said.
Mina bowed her head. “Why not both?” Her eyes swept through the entryway into the ballroom. And there they were, like little conspirators, Jack and Anne, their heads close as they watched Mina and Henry. Anne noticed Mina’s gaze and quickly looked away. Jack was slower on the uptake, seeming entirely too pleased with himself as he whispered something to Anne. Mina could only shake her head. She’d repay them for this kindness later. For now. “Well, you must excuse me.”
“May I have a dance?” Henry asked.
She shook her head. “You’ve been bought and paid for,” she told him. “And now your services are no longer required.”
“One dance?”
“I haven’t a dance card.”
“No matter,” he said, reaching into his coat and producing one of the long, thin dance cards Anne and Jack had provided the ladies in attendance. “I took the liberty of filling one out for you.”
He held up the card. Narrowing her eyes, Mina snatched it out of his hand. Fumbling to open it (damn the long evening gloves!), Mina peered at the neat, delicate script inside. Every single line had the same name, written over and over again: Henry Gordon. Slowly, she raised her eyes to look at him. “Every dance? Awfully ambitious of you.”
“Ah,” he said, holding up one finger. “But as I understand it, you admire ambition.”
“Is that what the connivers told you?”
“As a matter of fact, they did.”
She closed the dance card. “What else did they say?”
Henry gave it a moment of consideration. And Mina, watching him as he pondered it, realized that he was devilishly handsome. Not like her Tom, of course. He’d had a hardness to him. Henry, by contrast, had boyish features; his face was round, with a sharp jaw, like a heart. The corners of his eyes were crinkled, as if to indicate that he was perpetually smiling. She liked his hair too. It was lamentable that most men wore it so short and neatly cropped, these days. Mina appreciated a good head of hair. And now, she found herself wondering what it would feel like to run her fingers through Henry’s hair.
Damn it to hell. She would murder Jack and Anne for this.
“They told me that you’ve got a temper on you,” Henry said.
And that.
“That you enjoy tall tales and drinking songs,” he continued. “That you can shoot the head off of a sparrow at fifty yards. You detest riding side-saddle and you’re probably desperate to get out of that dress right now and into a pair of trousers.”
All of her worst qualities. By the standards of today’s society. Jack and Anne had laid them before him. Honestly. And here he was, pursuing her all the same. Either Anne had done a brilliant job of Dominating him, the man was mad, or perhaps…perhaps…he warranted further investigation. “Anything else?” she asked cautiously.
Henry made a soft, considering noise. “They told me that you would make for some jolly good conversation.”
Mina smiled slightly. “Well. They were certainly right about that.”
“I’m not convinced.”
“Are you putting me to task?”
“Perhaps.” He inclined his head in the direction of the ballroom. “And how about my dance?”
She held up her dance card. “I’ll have to see if there’s an opening for you.”
He pulled the card out of her hand, tossing it over his shoulder. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”
