A Night at the Opera {Private 18+} {Squeeze and Blue}

[b.lueeyes]

A Night at the Opera

18+

 

~A night at the opera turns into a fateful meeting between aristocrats, and an unquenchable lust for blood~

 

b.lueeyes

Lord Ashford Saint-Clare

 

SqueezeBabe

Viscount Amadeus Lucius

[SqueezeBabe]

The flickering light reflected in his cold green eyes. He was always fascinated with fire, his mortal enemy. Few things in this world could kill him, not even sunlight could anymore... but fire, fire was different. It would burn him up, consume him eventually, but for now, he was content to stare at the dancing flame. There was one other thing that was equally fascinating, and that was books. It wouldn't matter how long he lived for, he would still not have lived long enough to read every book there was to read, but still he would continue to collect them until his world was full of nothing but. He sighed, leaning back into the comfort of the the leather seat, picking up the glass of wine beside him. The colour was a deep, rich red, and he sniffed at it delicately. The sweet fruity aroma tickled his nose and he took a sip.

 

"My Lord, the carriage is now waiting" He sighed again, but stood gracefully, every movement was deliberate, the surety of being alive for hundreds of years. He allowed his manservant to adjust his cravat, place his hat just so, and took the long delicate looking cane that was offered. He walked purposefully through the hallways, servants bowing as he strode past, through the double doors of his home into the cool night air. The gentle breezed tugged at an unruly lock of blonde hair, dragging the fine strands across his face, across skin that was pale and smooth, completely untouched by the passage of time.

 

He climbed into the waiting carriage, tapping on the ceiling with his cane to signal to the driver he was ready. The carriage moved with a slight lurch and then continued smoothly. It was high season in Vienna, and he was going to the opera. A man of his standing was expected to attend such events, lest he be branded as a complete recluse. He found going into the capital distasteful, the throng of humanity, the smell of the great unwashed, milling about in confined spaces like the cattle they were. His lip curled in disgust. Oh how he hated it. Thought tonight, he was lured out, by the promise of obtaining some rare books for his collection, and the opera itself was based upon old stories that he had the pleasure of reading, and the privilege of being alive during. It would be interesting to see the interpretation offered to the masses.

 

He passed the time with idle thoughts, of fond memories, and the musings of one so old that philosophy was second nature. The jerk of the carriage disturbed his thoughts and he glanced out of the window. He was here. He waited for the carriage door to be opened for him, before stepping out. The smell made him stagger imperceptibly, but he gritted his teeth at his own perceived weakness. Nothing but food he thought bitterly, Life so fleeting, why would you bother having hopes and dreams, when in the blink of an eye, it's nothing but dust His face never betrayed what he was thinking, always cool and impassive. He smiled and greeted those vying for his attention, playing the perfect gentleman as he made his way inside the theatre. He climbed the stairs to where he'd be sitting, box seats of course, but tonight he'd be alone.

 

Lord Amadeus Lucius preferred it that way.

[b.lueeyes]

"Ashford!"

 

The word echoed through the halls of the extravagant townhouse, spilled from the lips of a frustrated and rather upset aide. Stalking up the stairs, the sound of running arpeggios filled the air, pleasant and ordinary, but with the same usual flair he exhibited. Rounding the corner, Edward Wessex took in the sight of his master at the large white grand, his neck tensed with wear and almost anger. He turned his cobalt eyes over his shoulder with a sharp sound of annoyance, the sound stopping abruptly. "What?"

 

"Lord Ashford, honestly; you have been at this for hours. Take a break; your inspiration will come," He sighed, reaching out a hand to the lord. Ashford Saint-Clare was allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and away from the dreaded instrument that had been plaguing his mind for a good two weeks now. "You must prepare for tonight, I have arranged for you to have a box seat at the opera this evening, for the performance of Gounod's Mareille, my lord. You must attend, I am afraid."

 

The lord stood to his full height and ran a hand through his dark locks, which fell just around his throat. His skin was a pale, English figure, taller than the average woman at least, and lean. Ashford gave a deep sigh and pulled his shoulders back, and allowed his aide to direct him to his room to dress. "I should not be leaving, Edward, I have much work to do- I am not finished!"

 

"You have not started!" The aide replied, pulling at his vest. "Come now, we must get you dressed."

 

"I do not care, Edward, I need to write!" He snapped, his eyes glittering with anger. Ashford was well aware that this argument was entirely futile, and would get him nowhere, yet his point was valid. "I have a debut in a month, and yet I have nothing to show for it! And here you are about to drag me to an opera of all things!"

 

"Indeed I am my lord," he spoke as he dressed the man, donning him in a well-tailored jacket with starch gold cufflinks, his attire relatively simple otherwise. His master was not one for extravagance, he preferred simplicity yet style. Before Ashford knew what was going on, he was being dragged from his studio and down the winding marble staircase, his hat passed to him and his collar straightened. "As I have already told you, your inspiration will come. Now...please, enjoy your opera. You will be in lounge with the Duchess of Canterbury and a number of her friends."

 

And with that, he was helped into his carriage, spluttering at the sheer idea of lounging with the dreaded Duchess.

[SqueezeBabe]

He spared a glance at the theatre slowly filling up, his face betraying no emotion. He shifted his legs out of habit, if he was still for too long, it unnerved those that watched him. The smell of perfumes and powders rose up through the air and he wrinkled his nose in disgust. Sheep! Cows! That's all they are! his thoughts were angry, the smells and sounds assaulting his senses always put him on edge. It was why he avoided crowds of people, preferring the solitude of his gardens and his library. The rustling of skirts, and murmurs of the patrons scratched at his ears like nails down a chalk board. His eyebrow twitched slightly, the only outward sign of the irritation he was feeling.

 

Mirreille he thought, Why must everything be about love? Love was becoming another one of those emotions that he could do without. When you lived for as long as he did, what was the point of love? To watch them wither and die before your eyes? Even if he did... make them like him, there was no guarantee that the love would last any longer. A wasted effort. He leaned back into the plush seat and closed his eyes for a moment and just let the heat of being alive wash over him. His lip curled slightly, the warmth reminded him of everything that he was not... and it made him hungry

[b.lueeyes]

Arriving at the opera house was probably the most thrilling experience of the day so far. Stepping out of his carriage his name was called from one of the members of the crowd and that whipped things into a frenzy. The lord was bustled into the theater and up the stairs, before finally the crowds began to fall away. Ashford was an up and coming musician, he had studied at the London conservatory, and spent two months within the walls of the Saint Petersburg National Conservatory of Russia, where he had the honour to be tutored under some of the greatest of their era so far. Currently, his holiday around southern Europe had warranted quite a bit of attention.

 

Ashford climbed the stairs towards the box seat he was supposed to be in, Edward close to his side. His loyal aide had been with him three years, attempting to find him muses, inspiration, and in general serving his needs to the best of his ability. However, that was more difficult than it proved to be. Lord Saint-Clare was quite a bit of a social recluse, as it were, he preferred the company of pianos to the company of Western women and he prefered the touch of keys to his fingers than the lips of a lady. He was quite a pain to deal with, even Ashford knew it. Even more so now because...

 

His music had run bone dry a month ago.

 

The composer moved to greet the Duchess, a busty blonde woman who was the queen of high society at the present in Vienna. She was a dreadful woman, but she was currently one of his many benefactors, so he chose not to be too picky about her. He sat down gracefully, tugging at his stiff collar. Of all the shows...why Mirreille?

[SqueezeBabe]

He snapped his fingers once. That's all that was needed to have his manservant come and kneel down beside him. "My Lord?" He leaned in close to the manservants ear and whispered instructions that had him scurrying off. It was simple really. He was hungry, so therefore he needed something to eat, and if he had to do something as distasteful as eating... There was still an hour or so to go before the opera started, plenty of time for the manservant to find something appropriate, and half an hour or so later, he wasn't disappointed.

 

She was beautiful, as small and delicate as a flower, the graceful column of her neck glowed in the candlelight. She was a nobody, plucked from the streets, bathed and dressed with considerable skill that she could pass off as a member of nobility, and when he was done with her, to obscurity she'd return. She'd have a sizable amount of money for her troubles, enough to offset any... disadvantages she may have incurred. She was all blushes and nervous fidgets, obviously unused to the finery and attention; things she'd only glimpsed from afar and wished for in the depths of her heart. He stood up and bowed gracefully, taking her tiny hand in his own and brushing his lips across the back of it, the very model of chivalry. He showed her to her seat, well aware that the masses below could see them and leaned in close to her ear. "Say nothing, you're not here to speak" he said softly. Oh how she trembled and he watched in fascination, the delicate muscles of her neck moving as she swallowed. He could snap that pretty neck with one hand. So fragile...

 

He would be attentive, feed her tidbits and treats from his own hand, and then when the night was nearly over, and she was pliant and willing, he'd eat. She'd awaken in a luxurious hotel room not remembering anything, with enough money for a comfortable existence if she was shrewd enough. She would never recognise him, and after this night, no one would recognise her either. He smiled charmingly at her, and waited for the lights to dim.

[b.lueeyes]

"Ah, Lord Saint-Clare, how wonderful it is to see you this evening!" Greeted the Duchess, leaning across her seat in a rather ungraceful fashion to kiss his cheeks. How he loathed to be in this woman's presence; she was the epitome of over-indulgence, and it showed on her face. She was much too old a woman to be pretending to be so young, even in Vienna society. Her styles completely distasteful, and her voice shrill and scratchy, yet...she was one of his many benefactors and he had no choice but to oblige her if he were to continue to receive financial support. Unforunately, despite being of an aristocratic family, money were still a matter of concern. Being a composer no matter how well received and yes, occasionally contrivertial, has its costs. While he would much prefer to choose his benefactors, he was bound to a few, as with the Duchess of Canterbury, which he would rather do without.

 

Ashford gave a charming smile and returned the greeting, before he took her hands and brought them to his lips, causing the woman to flush and pull a hand back to snatch up her fan. "As it is equally as wonderful to see you this evening my lady; as stunning as ever, I assure you," he told her in a tone as pleasant and fake as false flowers. Not that one such as her would ever notice; she was too caught up in people's words than their tones. The woman flushed and proceeded to introduce him to her companions, all of whom he also found distasteful. He would much prefer to have a private box, of all things; he glanced over his shoulder to Edward, who glared at him, a clear sign that he was to stay put.

 

Ashford pushed his dark hair from his eyes as the Duchess moved to speak to one of her many ladies, and cast his dark eyes over the high society below. They were middle to higher class society, filling the opera house to the brim; quite honestly, the composer did not know why. Mirreille was one of the words of Verdi, a man who he greatly admired, yes, yet it was not one of his better works. Indeed, it was a monstrosity that seemed to deface the ideas of love with such countenance and ill-discipline; it was after all a commission, he was not surprised in that fact. He would not be surprised even if Verdi himself disliked it.

 

As his eyes spun around the opera house, taking in each of the people there, his eyes found one of the box seats just across from his own, a little behind his in rows, to be precise. He blinked at the sight of a private box; the two figures within seemed to be alone. Ashford blinked from his reverie as the Duchess gave a chuckle, covering her mouth with her fan. "Oh, that devil," she giggled, shaking her head and gesturing with a gaudy, lacy glove. "Each time I see him he is with someone different."

 

"Who?" Ashford asked, his brow furrowing very slightly, almost inquisitively.

 

"Why the Viscount Lucius of course."

[SqueezeBabe]

She looked so frightened, and to be honest, he couldn't blame her. He murmured softly in her ear, "You don't need to be frightened. Just, enjoy the night for what it is, and tomorrow you will wake up, and it will all feel just like a dream." His voice was soft and soothing, but still he could see the fluttering pulse at her neck. He licked his lips. He really shouldn't wait so long between meals... He blew softly against her ear, causing her to jump a little. He reached for her face, cupping her chin gently in his hand. If she wasn't going to remember anything tomorrow, then she had no reason to feel shame for tonight, besides, the chattering of the masses was starting to get on his nerves.

 

He leaned in and kissed her softly, his lips just brushing against hers before descending once more. She quivered beneath his hand, but he could feel the heat blooming from her. He licked his lips, she was so warm; so alive. He cupped her face in both hands and looked at her, his green eyes glowing for a moment, "You have nothing to fear" he said softly, watching her start to relax as the glamour took effect. He smiled at her, ever the charming host, "I trust you'll enjoy your evening m'lady." he said. He snapped his fingers once more, and his manservant approached. "This is for you" he said to her.

 

On a silver platter, was a single blue-coloured rose. "From my garden," he said, offering it to her. "From this, everyone will know that you are mine tonight."

[b.lueeyes]

Ashford turned his eyes back to the higher box seat, his dark eyes finding the blonde easily. He seemed, even from afar, like a man of high stature; he seemed to hold himself all too easily, even if he seemed to be almost wrapped around his female companion. "Viscount, you say?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. High aristocracy, definitely.

 

"Oh yes, he too is visiting the city; he owns a number of properties around Europe, even, I believe. Rather dashing too, I might say," she laughed loudly, her fan fluttering in front of her cheeks. "I myself would not mind a night with that one."

 

"Duchess!" One of her companions scolded, looking scandalized. Ashford too felt his cheeks fill with red, his dark eyes falling towards his hands. This woman was married, no matter what she was like. Her husband was a respectable man, he supposed, if a little quiet. He was rather pleasant actually; he did not try and push him into women, unlike his wife.

 

A slow hush began to fall over the crowd as the orchestra began to rise in the overture, and the brunette turned his attention towards the stage, resting his cheek against his hand as the stage began to shift. "Hush now, the opera is beginning." He spoke to her, before he shot her an almost alluring smile. "We can speak of this during interval."

[SqueezeBabe]

He closed his eyes as the lights dimmed, almost willing himself into the darkness. At least the woman wasn't afraid anymore, sitting in rapt attention. In the darkness he could sit perfectly still, and no one would notice, in fact, they'd forget that he was even there. He couldn't even be bothered paying any attention to the opera, so consumed he was in his own thoughts. He gave a start as he felt a warm hand touch him, "M'Lord?" the soft voice whispered and he blinked a few times, noticing that the lights were coming up. "Ah," he said, "Interval already? You go on ahead, I will join you shortly."

 

There was a rustle of fabric and the passing of air, and he was alone once more. He listened to the sounds of those below exiting their seats. She'd be well-looked after by his manservant, the flower he'd given her would make sure that no one questioned her too closely, and she was pretty enough that she'd attract attention on her own merits. Something that she would never have been able to do; she was beneath the notice of the aristocracy, perhaps this way, she'd end up with a better life than the one she had... He gave a small smile, it wasn't like him to be this... sentimental. He waited for the sounds to disappear and sat in the silence for a moment.

 

He gave a small sigh and stood, adjusting his clothes. He might as well make a showing.

[b.lueeyes]

The opera was not at all riveting to the composer. He himself was a fan of Verdi's works in orchestra, and the music itself was enough to make him pay attention. Mireille was nowhere near the composer's best opera; Ashford himself had seen quite a few of them, and all of them better than this. Indeed, he had seen a better production of Mireille not six months ago in Moscow. However, he had to admit, the Royal Opera Company in Moscow was much better than the one playing tonight...he supposed they were not as prepared.

 

When the lights once again rose, Ashford was one of the first to his feet, helping the Duchess in her gaudy, garish red gown, to her feet, and helping to escort her, after a stern look from Edward, down the stairs. His aide followed soon after, directing her companions. Ashford tried not to think of the fact that the woman's hand rested in his, lacy against his own leather gloves. He rarely let his hands show in public, something he had learnt from his teachers in Russia. It added to a sense of pride for the higher pianists of the era, as they said; take pride in your tools, take pride in your hands. Show them only to those deserving, or only show them to your instrument.

 

"Oh, shall we head down to the lounges for a while? I would like to mingle," the Duchess crowed, her blonde curls bouncing as she walked with far too much sway. Ashford turned to gaze at her, his back straight and his own walk held with pride, but now huge bounds of it. "Show you off, perhaps?" She gave him an over-exaggerated wink, and a loud laugh echoed from her lips, spinning around the corridor and into the lounge as they entered.

 

Of course, she would wish to show him off. Ashford smiled as best he could and turned dark eyes over the room, noticing the size of the crowd. He did not do well with crowds, he was a wallflower at best, unless they were fellow musicians. He only ever felt comfortable in crowds of those of his craft. And...these people were not them.

[SqueezeBabe]

He walked down the stairs slowly, deliberately, his cold green eyes taking in the scenes before him. The lights seemed to bright to him, the smells a little overpowering... he wrinkled his nose slightly, imperceptibly. Ladies fluttered their eyelashes at him over their fans, and he smiled charmingly, once again playing the perfect gentleman, though on the inside, he wanted nothing more than to leave and take refuge in his library. His eyes searched for his companion, she shouldn't be too far away and leaving her alone for as long as he did was bound to get the gossip mills turning and whilst his companion wouldn't remember anything tomorrow and be free from the maliciousness of high society, he would once again be subjected to speculation. His eyebrow twitched. Wasn't he too old to care what people thought about him?

 

He spotted his companion at the far end of the room, already cornered by some boorish woman dressed in a red dress that certainly did not suit her ageing figure. Her voice grated against his ears and he could feel his irritation rising. The crowd parted from him almost unconsciously, he couldn't bear to be touched and somehow, subconsciously, people sensed this and moved away from him. He smiled and nodded, stopped for small talk, ever the perfect gentleman. He captured a glass of wine as it went past and finally made it to his companion. He smiled and bowed, as he straightened his perfect eyebrow arched ever so slightly, and in a voice as smooth as silk he greeted them. "Good evening Ladies, perhaps I can have my companion back?"

[b.lueeyes]

"Oh, if it isn't the Viscount!" The Duchess practically crooned, reaching out her hand towards the man, a smile that could crack her face upon her features. She had strategically cornered the woman; instantly recognizing her from having noticed the blue rose. It was his signature after all, one such as her did not miss things such as that. The Duchess had sent Lord Ashford for drinks, the man having spilled away into the crowds like a fox, sleek and easy. "Oh, how wonderful it is to see you again, my lord! I was just telling this lady how proud she must be to be your companion this evening," she winked garishly at him, over the top and overly girlish. Disgusting.

 

"Oh, but where are my manners! I should introduce you to-" She turned her eyes over the crowd, and her smile lit up all the more. Ashford wove his way back through the crowd, holding one glass of wine, the other of water with lemon, bubbling lightly, looking suspiciously like champagne. Yet, only he and Edward knew that it was not at all alcoholic. "Lord Saint-Clare! There you are, come here! Let me introduce you to the Viscount!"

[SqueezeBabe]

His face didn't move as the introduction was made, his emotionless green eyes taking in the young man. He tilted his chin slightly in greeting and murmured a "How do you do." He gave a small smile to the duchess, "You'll have to forgive my companion, this is her first time to the opera, and she is unused to such esteemed company as yourself." his voice was soft, and most would struggle to hear his words above the noise and chatter of the others. He didn't feel the need to raise his voice any louder than what it took to be heard.

 

A waiter came past with a tray of drinks, and he took a glass of wine, sniffing at it before bringing the glass to his lips. "How is your champagne Lord Saint-Clare?" The Viscount arched a perfect eyebrow over the rim of his glass as he took a swallow.

[b.lueeyes]

As his eyes roved across the man, he realised then that the Viscount was just as attractive as the Duchess had let on. Passing her her wine, he turned his eyes over the silken looking blonde hair, and the intensity of those eyes even in their almost blankness. He was taller than he, if only a little; enough to make it noticeable. And he was impeccably dressed. Ashford had to admit, this man was beautiful; he could almost understand why the man, reputedly, surrounded himself with women. If he could believe the public, monstrosities the Duchess spoke.

 

"I am well thank you, and you?" He asked, his eyes flickering down to the wine in the man's hand, nodding, not realising the man's tone, moving to spill the same words he always had planned. Ashford rarely drank, he had many an excuse. "Ah, it is good thank you. I myself am only just getting tastes in Vienna, it is a rather different one to that of the French. And you? How is your wine, the vintage is said to be quite good." He spoke with a soft-spoken tone, his voice drifting across the space between them. The voice of someone who kept their words close.

[SqueezeBabe]

He smiled a small smile, "It is passable, I of course have much better at home." he said as he took another sip, the red staining his pale lips slightly. "Though, I do not recall that the Viennese sparkling was so... lemony" the tone was low, audible only to the Lord Saint-Claire. Lord Lucius eyes green eyes sparkled slightly, as if the thought amused him slightly. A tray of hors d'oeuvres was being passed around by the waiters and he deftly snared a sweetmeat, and offered it to his companion, balancing it on the end of his finger for her to take. She at least blushed prettily as she did, and so he smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but added to the appearance of him being the perfect gentleman.

 

He ignored the coo's from the other ladies. He was nearing his limit of being social and he was becoming slightly irritated. His brow twitched slightly, but still he smiled on. "Ah, forgive me ladies, but it's time my companion and I headed back to our seats, I'm sure the bell will be sounding soon. Unfortunately I seem to be at my limit for being sociable, as you know, I'm such a recluse"

[b.lueeyes]

The composer gave a slight start, pulling his shoulders up straighter, his eyes widening at the man's now obvious observation. Ashford gave an inquisitive expression and was about to speak with a rather witty remark, yet he caught sight of the man feeding his companion almost as if she were a pet. Edward moved behind him, at his side, ever the faithful servant, and he replied for him. "Yes, you are quite right, my lord; shall we return to-"

 

"Oh, yes, well that is such a shame." The Duchess remarked almost harshly, her eyes sliding towards the Viscount. Placing a hand on his arm, she drew close. Ashford had the feeling that she was not going to be letting him go that easily. This was not going to be good- "What is it these days with men being so reclusive? I find it near impossible to tear Lord Ashford from his studio, ah! Even while in London he was near inseparable from the blasted piano, from what I hear. Isn't that right, Ashford? Always so difficult." She practically groaned at the end, expressing her distaste at the notion.

 

The dark haired man gave the very slightest of scowls, his eyes lighting up with defensiveness and a very slight sheen of anger that Edward caught. "My dear Duchess, I would assure you that-"

 

"Ah, the bell!" Edward interrupted, placing a hand on his lord's elbow to stop him, stepping forward just as the bell began to toll for entry. "We must return before the second act, I am so sorry to break up this wonderful conversation. My lord, shall we? And Viscount, it was wonderful to be meeting you. Please, have a pleasant evening!" And with this, he whisked his Lord away, the composer practically seething.

[SqueezeBabe]

He looked down to where the awful woman was touching him. He could feel his skin crawl with disgust. "Those of us who shun the company of others are doing so because we have better things to occupy ourselves with." He said coldly, still perfectly polite, but his words chosen so that there really could be no mistake that he was inferring that the Duchess and her ilk were nothing but insipid creatures. He noticed that the Lord Saint-Claire took the Duchess' words to heart, and could feel the heat of his anger wash over him in a wave, the lordling might not have shown it outwardly, but he was indeed offended by the nasty womans words.

 

The bell sounded and he held his arm out to his companion. "Shall we?" He tilted his head towards the others, "I bid you farewell, perhaps we may meet again some time..." He turned his back on the others and escorted his companion through the milling crowd and back to their seats. As he waited for the lights to dim for the second act, he thought back on his earlier interaction. The Duchess was a vile woman and stank of excess. No doubt she had the lordling as some sort of trump card, or perhaps he owed her something... he smiled a small smile to himself, perhaps he could "steal" the lordling, just to rub her nose in it of course. He was bored. Perhaps some petty revenge would provide some amusement...

[b.lueeyes]

Edward pulled his leige back towards their seats, not so much caring for the Duchess' reaction as he dragged the tall man away from the group. Ashford was silently seething, gripping his glass of lemon-water tightly between a pale, ivory grip. "How dare she-"

 

"How dare you, Ashford?" Edward shot back as they entered the box, well before their counterparts. The aide turned to his lord and master, dropping his wrist from his firm, horrible grip. "Do not embarrass yourself in such a way by losing your benefactor over a bare insult. You have come much too far to be demeaned by such a woman. Pull yourself together, sit down and be careful." Ashford was pushed then back into his seat, and he turned his gaze away from the blonde Englishman, scowling.

 

Of all the times for that woman to speak, it had to be then. The viscount seemed like a man who was very observant, and very difficult. He had noticed his drink being unalcoholic! No one had done that, for all intents and purposes, it worked well. Ashford had never drunk in public before, for many a reason, and that fact would be scorned by the public. Yet...the Duchess, more importantly...

 

For all the composer knew, he could have been completely indifferent about the insult and the situation...what was he talking about? The Duchess was a vile, evil woman without any regard for anyone else nor their reputations. "Fine; but if anything, it is your fault of this." He shoved the glass up towards the man, keeping his eyes on the stage.

[SqueezeBabe]

His ears perked up at the conversation he could hear. So perhaps the Duchess had something over the lordling after all. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He'd have to come up with something to steal him out from underneath the Duchess' nose, and in such a way that it would be she who was humiliated. He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose, he had a headache coming on, one that was induced by lack of... food, and all this plotting was enough to work up a most unholy appetite. Though, if he kept his mind occupied, he could then keep the hunger at bay...

 

He glanced over at his companion, his eyes taking on a wolfish cast, he was sure that they were positively glowing in hunger, enough to make even the most stalwart tremble in fear. He could smell the fear emanating from her, and whilst strong emotions made them taste all the more sweeter, he preferred passion as his choice of seasoning. He could, no, he would control himself, or else it was a meal wasted.

 

He called his manservant over, and penned a short missive, sealing the envelope with his trademark blue wax. He had old music manuscripts in his library; perhaps they would be enough to tempt the lordling over for a visit. It would be the height of rudeness to refuse an invitation from him, and not even the Duchess could stop him, in fact, she'd probably invite herself with him. He tapped his chin thoughtfully, he was sure that he could provide adequate amusement for the Duchess whilst he entertained his... other guest...

[b.lueeyes]

The Duchess strode back in with a terrible, unsightly scowl etched on her disgusting face, her posse following close behind her, practically bursting at the seams behind their fans. She did not so much as look at him before she sat down in the seat next to him, keeping to the very edge of the fashioned love seat next to his house chair, one of the usual from the opera house boxes. That was how truly vain she was; she had requested that they bring a seat from her own house for her to sit on. One of the reasons that he despised her was for her vanity, something he had never been particularly fond on in either sex or on any kind of person.

 

Ashford turned his dark blue eyes back over his shoulder to gaze at Edward, who gave him a warning look. Of course, throughout the pure decedant horror that sat next to him, no matter what she did, no matter what she said, this was no time to be complaining about her, nor losing his only funding here in Vienna over some insult. Then again...she did strike his pride quite regularly.

 

Just before the second act began, a manservant came bustling into their box, and the Duchess put on a surprised, winning smile, reaching out for the message. Yet, the man bypassed her entirely, instead somehow managing to slip around her, and pass a beautiful envelope, tinged with a rich cream, into his hands. "A message from my master, Lord Ashford; requesting your presence. May the rest of your evening be merry and well." With that, the well dressed manservant bowed low, and left in a flourish of a rich, dark blue coat. He did not even stop to ask for a reply...curious; what if he did not wish to attend?

 

"Who on earth could that be from?" The Duchess spat, reaching out to take the letter from him, yet Edward intervened, taking that moment to offer a drinks tray between them.

 

The composer took a moment to turn over the letter, the sight of the same rich blue meeting his eyes once more. He had seen this colour quite a bit this evening, it was the colour of that rose on the woman with Him, and the colour of the man's cufflink-

 

The Viscount.

 

The man took a small knife from the platter next to him, and unclasped the letter, letting it drop into the pocket of his coat hanging over the side of the box as he slid a well-written card from the creamy case, his eyes skimming over it. "An invitation..." he murmured quietly, taking in both the penmanship, the eloquence and the slight scent of roses from the parchment. Yes, most definitely the Viscount.

 

He passed the note back to Edward just before the lights began to dim, and sat up just a little straighter, swallowing once and then twice. The letter expressed the desire for him to be present later in the evening for pleasentries at the Viscount's estate just towards the outskirts of the city. The man was inviting him to view his library; somehow he must have found out that he was indeed a musician; or had heard of him previously. The idea of manuscripts sparked curiosity within him. There were many an old manuscript from ones such as the Baroque marquis who had lived here during the period, and then of course many a Classical man had travelled here during his studies...

 

Edward caught his eye and he nodded slightly, and as he turned once more to look at the stage, the music starting up, he could not miss the look of envy, abomination and shock upon the Duchess' cheeks, her fan unable to cover the monstrosity of it. Ashford pushed back a lock of dark hair behind his ear, and turned his cheek onto his hand, turning to watch the opera with a thin smile, trying not to seem amused. The woman was deplorable...any chance to have her angry was one he would not miss.

[SqueezeBabe]

As the music started and the lights dimmed, he closed his eyes once more, concentrating on keeping the dull ache of his hunger at bay. It seemed that tonight he had managed to over-extend himself somewhat, his hunger would normally just be a gentle niggling, reminding him that he needed to feed, but what he was experiencing was a gnawing deep inside, it made his hands clench and his jaw ache. He opened his eyes and stared at his companion hungrily. It would seem that he didn't have the time to take her home and prepare her properly... he'd have to start now...

 

He reached for his companions hand, drawing it to his lips, pressing a kiss into the back of it. This was no gentle brushing of lips against the delicate skin, he opened his mouth slightly, drawing the hand into a wet, indecent kiss. He stared at his companion over her hand, allowing his eyes to fill with the hunger he was experiencing. She blushed at his indecency, the warmth washing over him as he pulled her closer, his lips brushing against the soft spot behind her ear where the vein throbbed, he could feel the blood pulsing through her under his lips. He suppressed a shudder, fighting the urge to take her there and then... when he did, it would be because she had begged him to.

 

And so he teased her with hot, moist kisses throughout the rest of the opera, until her face was flushed, her breathing hitched and the heat from her skin warmed him through... the lights coming up amidst a rather passionate embrace, his lips locked with hers, her tiny delicate hands clutching at the lapel of his coat.

[b.lueeyes]

The second act of the opera was no better than the first, if anything, it was an overdramatic restatement of the themes in higher keys with faster movements, and screechier singing. Ashford rolled his shoulders as the final notes of the overture gave out, and begrudgingly he joined the audience in their applause, the lights brightening rather quickly. Obviously, even the House knew their performance had not been up to scrap, despite the plebs below thinking it might have been. The composer gave a low sigh and turned his eyes around the room once more, realising then that he did indeed have somewhere else to be this evening, small ebbs of excitement shooting through him.

 

He searched up towards the Viscounts box, intent on making contact with the man, but the sight that caught his eyes was certainly not one he had expected. The dark haired man's lips parted and he let out a breath as he gazed over their embrace; the way she was clinging to him, and the sheer intimacy that their embrace spoke of-

 

"Ashford," came the whiny, nasal voice of the woman beside him and he hurriedly looked away, turning from where he had spun his shoulders to look, and looked at the Duchess, a slightly annoyed expression on his face. She fanned herself with a bored expression, pursing her lips out. "Shall we? I grow tired of this place, we have more important places to be."

 

Ah, of course...the Viscounts. "Yes, ah, let me just grab my coat," he said as he moved to stand, his aide quickly moving to usher the ladies from the box. He grasped his coat from the balcony railing, and tried not to look back up at the box, the very slightest of flushes staining his cheeks from the thought. Edward turned to him, and he strode past him quickly, pulling his coat over his shoulders. "Let us just go, do not talk to me."

[SqueezeBabe]

He was breathing heavily, fighting for control with every mewling gasp she made. He gritted his teeth, angry at himself. It seemed he shouldn't have waited this long... but it couldn't be helped. His companion looked like she was in no fit state to actually walk out of the theatre, so they would have to wait until house had emptied. Most likely they would have to arrive at his estate through the servants entrance to avoid unwanted attention. He'd already "warned" his estate that there would be guests tonight, so the servants would be able to handle the lordling and whatever companions he brought with him until he'd finished with the girl. He continued to steal moist kisses from her as the sounds of people faded away into silence.

 

X-----X-----X-----X

 

The trip back to the estate was uneventful from the point of view that they managed to avoid the prying eyes of others, however, inside the carriage was a completely different story. Her eyes were heavy lidded with need, and his jaw ached something ferocious, but still he continued to tease and torment her, telling himself that it would be worth the effort, worth the wait... The carriage had come to a halt outside the servants entrance, the door being opened for him. He gathered her into his arms as if she weighed nothing, for indeed, to him, she did weigh nothing, and carried her through his house up towards his bedroom. He could hear the faint sounds of music and of guests and he hoped in the back of his mind that there weren't too many people in his house.

 

He nearly flew up the stairs in his haste, pushing open the door to his rooms with his foot, and collapsing on the bed with his companion underneath him. Gripping the bodice of her gown with both hands, it parted as if it were nothing but cobweb, exposing flesh that was as flushed as her face. She writhed underneath him, a soft sob escaping from her parted lips., she was so very close... He tore away the rest of her gown, his cold lips descending on her flesh, bringing her closer until she began to shudder. His teeth sunk into the hot flesh of her thigh, her blood, thick and hot, flowed through his lips, made impossibly sweet for those few moments. He swallowed, feeling the warmth, the life fill him.

 

He left her on the bed, her gentle rise and fall of her chest reassuring him that he hadn't gone overboard. The hunger was gone, and he at least felt nearly.... human. He quickly dressed himself and made ready to go and greet his guests.

[b.lueeyes]

Needless to say, the trip from the opera house had not been a pleasant one. The Duchess along with one of her attendants had joined him and Edward within the carriage, after some maneuvring to actually settle the noblewoman and her gaudy, excentric dress on one seat, leaving the three of them on the other. Cuddled up next to that woman had not been pleasant, because of the proximity that the Duchess seemed to insist upon. Ashford was not fond of over-eager women. He enjoyed the company of women yes, but this one...in no way was she his type.

 

As they travelled, Edward attempted to keep the conversation light, yet he knew that his master was brooding by the window seat, and knew that when they arrived, there may be some trouble with his attitude. His master was not all that fond of the Duchess, that much was common knoledge in their household. Either way, however, she was his benefactor and as his servant, Edward could not allow him to lose his only current source of income while Lord Ashford quite frankly-

 

-couldn't write music.

 

X-----X-----X-----X

 

The estate was wide, expansive, and rather extravagant. Of all the places to expect, even for a viscount, it had not been this in Ashford's mind. The composer gazed around the grand sitting room, thinking on the high, vaulted ceilings and the beautiful surroundings. They were expensive looking and very Venetian, yes, but they were no where near as over the top as he had come to view Venetian styles. He admired the thicker drapes, the mahogany wood, and the tasteful accenting. It was...stately, but almost homely in it's extravegance.

 

The Duchess sat fanning herself vigerously at the table, a glass of wine in her hands, having been delivered by one of the butlers not five minutes ago. They had been here not too long, but already they were being supplied with drinks. Edward had left with one of the staff, asking discreetly for some non-alcoholic beverage for his master, leaving, quite unfortunately Ashford stuck in the presence of this vile woman and her companion, who was making eyes at him from the sofa.

 

The lord stuck to the bookcases, reading the titles. Some seemed interesting enough, and that showed promise for the music section if he was interested in things...other than music from this man's collection. He had to admit, he could not wait to glimpse the library, as promised, but he would much rather do it without the presence of his beloved benefactor.