𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐩𝐞 𝐍𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐦

Act II, Scene III

"There is a stubbornness about me that never can bear to be frightened at the will of others. My courage always rises at every attempt to intimidate me."
~ Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice

__________

With a blasé grace, Evelyne turned, noticing for the first time that she had an audience of two. Her gaze fell upon Virgil, and she let out an audible gasp. Her eyes swept over him from his face to his feet, and back up again. Her pupils dilated.

One languorous hand placed on a jutting hip, Evelyne's stunned expression transformed into a coy smile. "Lucy, dear..." she said, not bothering to look in Lucy's direction at all. "Who is your alluring friend?"

"'Alluring'," Virgil repeated, giving seductive emphasis to his vowels. His brazen stare continued to bore into Lucy's housemate. "The very word for which I was searching."

Unsure what to make of the sudden lust-filled tension in the room, Lucy clung to her ever faithful safety net: etiquette.

"Miss Ives, may I present Virgil," she said in the most polite tone she could muster. "And Virgil, this is Miss Evelyne Ives, a house guest of Victor Wilhern, like myself."

Virgil stepped forward, waving Lucy aside as if she were a pestering puppy. He took the hand Evelyne extended to him, and placed a wanton kiss on her dainty knuckles.

"Evelyne, it is a profound pleasure to make your acquaintance," Virgil murmured, the timbre of his voice completely different than it had been while speaking to Lucy. "Forgive me for saying so, but you are far too exotic a beauty for dreary old London. What tragedy befell you to bring you to this metropolis of gloom, and what can I do to amend it?"

Evelyne laughed. It was a beautiful sound that managed to be delighted, flirtatious, and seductive all at once.

"Believe me, the pleasure is entirely mine," she purred, her hand still clasped in Virgil's. "And I was born in England, as a matter of fact. However, if your face and accent are any indication, I'm guessing you were not."

"Astute as you are ravishing," Virgil conceded, dipping his head. "I was born in what is now Constantinople."

One of Evelyne's perfectly groomed eyebrows elevated by a fraction. Her smile grew just enough for her dimples to make an appearance.

"Constantinople," she said. "How provocative."

"At times," Virgil said with a wink. "But I'd much rather hear about you. Your history. Your family. Exactly what happened between whom to create a face like this?"

Virgil took Evelyne's chin delicately between his forefinger and thumb, as though only through touch could he ensure her presence was no apparition. With a gentle hand, he tilted her chin to the right, then to the left. Seeming satisfied in her solidity, he released her.

Lucy observed his actions in quiet contemplation. He was not simply looking at Evelyne, or taking her in. He was beholding her.

Lucy fiddled with the hem of her sleeve, feeling like an intruder.

Evelyne, on the other hand, seemed to be feeling some variation of ecstasy Lucy had yet to experience. She beamed at the dhampir, her dark eyes dancing with arousal and delight.

"London was always called home by my father," Evelyne told Virgil. "He was born not a stone's throw from Tower Bridge, and boasted such pale skin and red hair, he appeared to serve as a caricature of England's most common occupant."

Virgil chuckled. "I can see him now," he said. "And what of your mother?"

"Ah. Well, my mother was a different sort," Evelyne said, the reminiscence of old memories stripping the clarity from her eyes. "She was born in Morocco — a trinket of a village outside of Tétouan. She was a medicine woman and a healer. Damn good one, too. She saved my father's life from the fatal poison of a snake bite. It was his first time traveling abroad, and, as he regaled to me when I was a child, no one had thought to warn him that most snakes in Africa are poisonous." She expelled a dainty laugh. "So the great tale of disaster and romance goes: the moment he had the strength to stand, he married my mother, in that very village."