@Dauphin DaGlobster
In another life, maybe, Yvaine thought she might have actually liked her new home. The manor was spacious and well-lit, most of the rooms bearing large windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, or nearly. Her new bedchamber itself had a wall that was almost entirely window, leading out onto a small but elegant balcony. And it really was a fine set of rooms, even aside from that: the bed was luxurious, she had her own private bath chamber, a small sitting room for "taking tea", as she'd been told, even a smallish sort of study space that seemed to have mostly served as an offshoot of the main library up until this point.
Yes, in pretty much any other circumstances she might have been quite happy here. Aside from her family--well, her brothers, really--she had anything she could possibly want.
Anything except her freedom.
"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Amelia Devereaux had snapped at her daughter when Yvaine voiced this two days ago when they'd first arrived. "You're his betrothed, not his prisoner." She'd narrowed her eyes, pinning Yvaine in place with a cold, distant glare. "You have a responsibility, Yvaine."
She could taste iron in the back of her throat at those words.
And that was that. She hadn't seen or heard from her family since they'd left her...her
betrothed's manor two days ago. She knew she wouldn't until the wedding in two weeks' time. It was a bit unorthodox for the new bride to be living in her husband's home before they were officially married, but her parents had wanted her in Uthlyn--with
him--as quickly and efficiently as possible.
Nip those rumors in the bud, he father had said flatly.
So here she was. Far from her home, her family, her friends, everything and everyone she'd ever known. And this is where she would stay.
Yvaine did find some solace in the library of Thistlewhit Manor--a rather fanciful name, but almost despite herself she thought it might be able to grow on her. She only hoped the same could be said of its lord.
It was a massive room on the first flood which stretched upward nearly a full two stories, accessibly from the second floor by a thin balcony that wrapped around the interior. It was on the balcony that she'd been finding herself most often the past two days, skimming the shelves with her fingertips as she familiarized herself with the place.
That evening though, she decided to take a closer look at the first floor--which was really more a personal museum than it was a library. The floor space was mostly occupied with carefully organized glass and wood display cases, plush-carpeted paths winding between them. There were the customary bookshelves along the walls, of course, but these were rare, old tomes. Some even dealt with arcane topics, though all of those were chained behind a special glass case front.
Lord Farris Seigbert was a man of refined, eclectic tastes, and he was quite proud of his collection. In fact, it was nearly all they'd spoken of in the last few days. Which was better than quite a few alternatives, she supposed, but still...he was just so incredibly
dull! Ansgar, she'd thought she might just expire from boredom when he attempted to give her a tour of this lower floor earlier and spent nearly fifteen minutes waxing poetic about a scrap of cloth supposedly once part of a holy knight's banner.
Luckily he'd retired for the night, leaving her alone in the library. Yvaine looped around the back of the room, her eyes skimming the tall shelves. Her eyebrows crept up. As much as she didn't want to vindicate Seigbert's pride in his collection--as he hadn't actually
done anything to acquire these books and artifacts, other than inherent quite a bit of money--she had to admit the titles and authors she saw on these tomes were impressive.
I just wish...No. No, stop that!
Gritting her teeth, Yvaine slammed her hand into the side of a bookshelf, sending a resounding
THUD pulsing out through the vaulted room. She didn't care. No one was around to here.
"Stop wishing, stupid girl," she hissed to herself, fists clenched tight at her sides, head bowed forward and eyes tight shut. "Wishing is what got you here."
Ahh, Connlaoth. Herrick loved thieving here. The walls were always well patrolled, there was that added anti-magic risk, and the nobles were just packed with excess riches. Just what he needed to keep his edge sharp.
And lo and behold, what could call to such an elusive master thief as him like the promise of a long-lost divine artifact, recently acquired by a noble family and hoarded away in secret? So he'd done his research, or what little of it he could with his contacts in the country. It had been acquired through less than savory channels, and as far as he knew it hadn't resurfaced in the public eye.
So it must be kept either in the vault, or perhaps as a quiet personal effect. So he'd have to go in through the second floor either way, by the looks of it. The balcony was fairly convenient and the estate itself wasn't walled or particularly guarded, just the usual security.
"All the better," Herrick muttered to himself, and he stood up into a crouch. He took a bit more time to observe the routes of the guards patrolling the gardens and courtyards. He'd been brushing back up on his magic and made a mental note to himself to use more of it so he kept the skill sharp.
He was quick to slink down across the street, and during a vulnerable moment he clambered up the stone corners of the wrought iron fence that surrounded the manor and surmounted it. Getting across the gardens was easy, and he was climbing up the wall and reaching the balcony in pretty quick time. He took his lockpicks out to start working on the balcony door, making sure to cast a silence spell and slowly whisper it to himself to keep the effect going. The lock took him a minute to get through, but soon enough he was soundlessly opening and stepping through the door, closing it behind him.
His stomach dropped when he looked down and spotted a woman, dressed finely enough to be the lady of the house, perusing through the lower shelves. And then his eyes rolled around the room and sure as bear shit in the woods a fragment of the Unknown Paladin's War Banner was sitting there, in a locked cabinet in the library's study area. It was sitting prominently in the center of the collection and Herrick couldn't help but curse and thank his luck.
What he came for right here in front of him, but the library had an occupant...
No worries! He let himself down silently on top of the shelves and dropped down, landing like a feather despite how tall he was. He was behind her, but he turned away to slip to another aisle and to a hiding spot. Just then, she slammed the wood and Herrick froze. At first, he thought he'd been caught, but when it was just her having some issues, well...
Yikes...
he was about to turn away when suddenly a book from up above tipped over the edge, having needed just that extra push. Magical Plants of Connlaoth, Three-Volume Atlas came down like a brick made of knowledge and slammed into him, causing him to stumble and stop to catch himself.
He knew he was screwed, that he couldn't get around the corner in time. She'd scream for sure, so instead of running he focused himself to his magic and tried to extend the radius of his silence, he could only hope that it would take effect in time.
Yvaine whipped around at the sound, eyes wide and skirts whirling dramatically around her legs. She hissed in a breath and cursed softly, quickly slapping at the fabric in a slightly-less-than-ladylike manner to try to prevent it from hindering her stride as she started back down the center aisle of the room.
Her eyes narrowed, searching. Her brain had snapped into a higher level of alertness, thoughts spinning as she took a step, then another. She could call for the guards--she wasn't familiar with their patrol pattern yet, but she knew somehow had to be within shouting distance at least. But if whoever, or whatever, had made that sound meant her harm...
Shouting was probably not her best option.
"...Who's there?" Her voice snapped out, harsh and commanding, but no louder than a rough whisper.
Okay, damn, no luck there. He was already found, she just hadn't laid eyes on him. He was standing up straight against the edge of a shelf, making himself as thin as possible so he could conceal himself behind it.
He could hear her shuffling towards the door, but she hadn't called out, an interesting choice. It meant he wasn't immediately made out, at least, but now he had to play this right.
"Nobody who wants to hurt you, madam," he whispered back, although he didn't move or reveal himself quite yet.
"I'm just here for one thing," he continued, and the sound of his rapier sheathe unbuckling pierced the silence and he held an arm out from behind his hiding place to hold it out.
"See? Not here to hurt anyone."
Yvaine went still again when she actually received an answer. She hadn't really been expecting that--though she wasn't sure herself what she had been expecting.
Then a flicker of motion caught her eye; it took a moment, but once she'd focused on the sheathe and realized what it was she found herself taking an instinctive step back. No one who wants to hurt you, the housebreaker had said.
Right.
"I'm just supposed to believe that?" she snapped, folding her arms in front of her bodice. Despite the fact that she knew she probably should scream, should call for help, she continued to keep her voice relatively low, just above a whisper.
Even she wasn't sure why. Recklessness, maybe. Or boredom. Or something dangerously like hope.
"Come into the light," she demanded, her eyes already flicking around to take stock of the few display cases around her, trying to identify if any of the artifacts could be used as a weapon.
To be fair, if the Lord of the house was into collecting ancient paladin banners, ancient blades or Old Adelan style axes would not be too unusual a collector's item...
"I'll be forthcoming, I know I'm not exactly in a trustworthy position," he started, and he slowly came out from behind the bookshelf, steps even so he wouldn't spook her. He set his rapier on one of the study tables that happened to be nearby.
Even in the clear light, his darkened leather armor and padded cloak made him little more than a tall shadow until he pulled his hood back and tugged down the black cloth that covered his mouth and nose. His long, reddish hair was pulled back into a ponytail for stealth purposes, leaving his squared face and green eyes unframed. He was tall but also thin and flexible looking, not as bulky as one would expect for his stature.
"I'm here for just one thing, and it's in this room," he started, and he rested a hand against the study table to lean against it.
Yvaine took an automatic step back, even though she had been the one to demand that he come forward. Her eyes flickered from the thief--she was fairly sure that's what he was by now, a thief, not an assassin or something equally dramatic--to the rapier he had placed on the table and back.
"...And what might that be?" It was phrased as a question, but her lifted chin and hard eyes made it clear that it was a command to speak. She could be imposing when she wanted--and by God, if she was to be the Lady of the house, then she would make sure anyone who set foot in the place knew it.
"And while I hardly expect you to give me your proper name, I won't very well continue this conversation by referring to you as "hey, you" or some such. So tell me what to call you, what you're here for, and give me a very good reason why I shouldn't yell for the guards."
She narrowed her eyes at him, hazel gaze gone gray with a fierce, prideful kind of anger. Her almost doll-like features had somehow hardened from porcelain to immovable steel. "You have approximately thirty seconds."
Herrick smiled when she gave him thirty seconds, and he quietly pulled a seat out so he could sit down, one leg crossed over the other. Why not be honest with her? It's not like he didn't already have a bounty on him here in Connlaoth anyways. Mostly for grand larceny and burglary.
"My name's Herrick Tavish, and I'm just here for that scrap right there," he said, indicating towards the holy paladin's banner fragment.
"Nothing else. Calling the guards won't really change anything, I can make it out of here with it faster than they can burst in. But..."
He leaned forwards and put out a chair for her, and gave her a disarming smile.
"Do you know the actual legend of Letrois The Golden? If you bring it here I can translate the scripts, I can read old Adelan."
She just stared at him for a moment, silent.
"And why," Yvaine said after several long, tense beats of quiet, "should I do that?" She gestured to him dismissively, with the well-practiced air of nobility. "You have just admitted your intent to steal from my--from this house. Why on earth should I humor you?"
Strangely, though her eyes were still narrowed and her mouth still a thin, hard line, she didn't seem quite so...so angry as she perhaps should have been. Her question almost seemed to be genuine; she wanted him to give her a reason, a good reason.
At her question, Herrick sort of paused. He could read the lack of anger in her expression, hear the genuine tone of her voice. He rest his chin on his knuckles, thoughtful. He narrowed his own eyes at her for a moment, before smiling warmly.
"Part of me's saying that you're curious, that you want to know more than you let on. Or maybe you're just bored," he said, not teasing but speaking honestly. He glanced around at the library and then back to Yvaine. His expression became somber, almost... understanding. He used to be the scion of a noble family, after all, and her outburst earlier didn't exactly leave much to the imagination.
"Or maybe... you want someone to talk to?"
Yvaine had to draw on a good deal of her etiquette lessons not to let her reaction to that show on her face. She wasn't sure which idea was more unsettling--that he'd been around long enough to observe her minor break earlier, or that she was simply that easy to read.
"...Perhaps," she allowed after a long moment spent just staring at him, considering. "But that still hardly makes you trustworthy. You could be planning any number of heinous things, just waiting for me to let my guard down."
She didn't believe it, not really, and it was clear in her tone, in the slight shift to her expression that in other circumstances might have been described as almost playful.
"However," she murmured after another moment, "I believe that qualifies as reason enough not to call the guard. For now." She took a step back, one hand surreptitiously reaching onto a shelf behind her, the motion hopefully hidden by her skirts.
The mounted rapier was an antique, sure, but she had a feeling it would still work in a pinch.
"For now," Herrick conceded, and he slid off the table he was sitting on and gave the library around him a nice looking over. "I'd hate to have to trash this place with a fight, though."
"This isn't such a bad spot, you know. I've seen this manor plenty of times in town, but never had the chance to, well... explore," he said, keeping his voice low but otherwise letting her know that he was comfortable with her around.
He approached the banner fragment,sealed away in a glass-topped display box, and he took a moment to just pass his hands over the frame of the box. With his back to her, she'd be able to see that he had an ornate pistol with a rather over-sized barrel and extensive dragon motifs strapped to his rear hip.
"In truth, Letrois is only a theoretical identity for The Unnamed Paladin. An old Adelan lord whose life story lines up well with The Paladin's tale, but nobody really knows..." he said, trailing off as he finally found the hidden latch and undid the seal.
There was still a lock to get through, but that was easy.
"But if you know how to read Old Adelan, and you had access to an original artifact, who knows, maybe you and me are about to make theological history."
The hilt of the rapier fell into her palm. Yvaine quickly flicked it behind her back, hidden by her skirts as she shifted back and around the display case when Herrick approached it. She seemed to be listening to him, though her eyes tracked his every movement with the tense wariness of a hunting hound.
When he flicked open the seal she moved in a sudden, surprisingly graceful burst of motion. The rapier came up to press the tip gently against the hollow of his throat, and she somehow managed to keep her hand steady.
"I said I would not call the guard." Her voice and eyes were hard. "I did not say I would allow you to take or do as you please. Step back, ser."
Yvaine was by no means an accomplished swordswoman, but he had no way of knowing that. She hoped the bluff would be enough to earn her some time.
And she had actually been listening to him. Tilting her head, she mused carefully, "If you prove an amiable guest, serrah, I may be willing to take you to the library where such artifacts are stored. Though I cannot allow you to steal from this house." She pressed the blade just a bit more firmly against him before backing off again slightly.
The rapier to the neck was a pretty good way to get him to stop, and he he nodded a little bit, returning the steel in her eyes with the same kind of mettle in his own. He was fairly confident she wouldn't just slash his neck here, and he even managed a grin.
"Of course, M'lady, my bad for being so presumptuous," he said, and he motioned to a bottle of wine sitting by some cups on a platter, probably placed there by a servant or the lord of the house himself as he did some private reading.
"Could I pour you a cup?"
"No." Yvaine smiled, a tiny thrill of excitement going through her as she allowed the rapier to fall back to her side completely.
She'd done that. Her. Future husband be damned, this strange thief in a stranger library was her adventure to handle.
Probably the last chance at one she'd ever get.
"No," she said again, with a nod to the wine. "But feel free to help yourself. The lord of the manor has very...expensive taste, I assure you."
She could appreciate the move for what it was, but she wasn't about to let this strange who had already confessed to wanting to steal an artifact from the manor get her drunk.
"Very kind of you, all things considered," Herrick said with a friendly dip of his head. He spoke confidently and politely, not quite like the common street urchins and more like someone of similar breeding as Yvaine herself.
But there was a different kind of look in his eye. A thrill for the sudden danger, some sort of happy realization that this woman wasn't just a reedy gasper, that she actually had some mettle to her. He paid his rapier no mind, although the feeling of the empty sheathe on his belt made him feel uneasy. He didn't usually keep too much of a distance between himself and the fortune-blessed weapon.
Oh well. It seemed it'd already served him well enough tonight.
Instead, he went and poured himself a cup, and then he stepped up to one of the bookshelves, eyes scanning the spines with a genuine curiosity.
"Quite the collection of history volumes... Adelan feudalism, the Essyrni tribal conflicts..."
Then, he smiled a little wider.
"I was never really much for history."
"Nor I, really." She huffed and leaned her hip up against the nearest display case. She still watched Herrick warily, but seemed to be growing fractionally more relaxed. "Of course, noble daughters are typically given more lessons in decorum and current policy than history. Even if one wanted to learn."
She eyed him up and down, considering. She had a hunch... "But you probably knew that, didn't you?"
Her eyes moved to the books he was skimming. "Why such an interest? Are you a collector, or just stealing for one?"
Indeed, something about her words rang true to Herrick and he nodded.
"I'm not a stranger to the world of the nobility, though I wasn't quite born into it either," he said, but there was a shadow that passed over his expression when he was reminded of the constricting life that he'd left.But then he met her eyes, and maybe she'd be able to see some recognition in his eyes. As if he'd realized that they weren't all that different...
"I didn't have much time for history, either, unless it had something to do with the military," he started.
"But I love legends. Tales of myths and forgotten holy relics. I'm not here because gold motivates me, either."
He pushed off the bookshelf.
"I'm here because that banner fragment might help me piece together something much larger," he said with a smile, and swigged from his wine. Then, he shot her a grin.
"Curious?"
Yvaine smiled back--not the cool, polite smile of a courtier, but something bright and brief and a little wild.
"Who wouldn't be curious?" She tipped her head to one side and arched an eyebrow. "Though only a fool submits to curiosity at the cost of forsaking sound judgement. I haven't forgotten that you're here to steal from...from my betrothed."
She stumbled a bit over the words and winced internally, hoping he wouldn't notice. God but she'd been avoiding calling the man that, as though if she didn't say it, somehow it wouldn't be true. But she was astute enough to recognize that emphasizing her claim to the property he was trying to pilfer might be a subtle hint to mind himself.
Still, she couldn't stop herself from adding, "Though, if you make it worth my time...as I said, I know where the artifacts you're talking about are kept. I could show you." Her lips twitched up one one side and she turned the rapier she still held so it caught the light for a moment. "Under supervision, of course."
That smile resonated with Herrick the most, and he focused on that little tidbit more than the flub that came afterwards.
Mostly because he knew exactly what was wrong. It was the very same thing that caused him to run away from his life of riches, after all.
"Worth your time? What could you want, with all your worldly needs tended to?" he said, teasing her, but he was quick to continue in a sober tone. He took a seat at the small table, but not before pulling the seat across from him out for Yvaine.
"Maybe it's the same thing I wanted, when I was in your position," he said.
That had her eyes hardening, her grip on the rapier going white-knuckled.
“You were never in my position,” she whispered, her voice suddenly low and dangerous. “I won’t pretend to know your life, but simply by virtue of your sex you cannot understand what it is to be in my position. Bartered away for a dowry and the sake of a family name, like a prize brood mare meant only to produce attractive and talented offspring. No choice of your own, no love, no life.”
The rapier was shaking. She realized it was her hand that was actually trembling. With a great effort of will, she stilled the motion and tried to collect herself. She took a breath and forced her shoulders to settle back, then offered a brittle smile.
“Humor me. What did you want, Ser Thief?”
He didn't miss how her hand tightened on the sword.
Was he testing her? A little. He wanted to see how quickly her anger could take her, but he ultimately determined her to be of a rather level head.
"I wanted to choose who I loved, most of all," Herrick said, eyeing the firelight reflecting in his wine, and then gave her a look that wasn't quite knowing, but... he understood.
He opened his mouth to speak, and then he widened his eyes and put a finger onto his lips, meeting her gaze.
Armored footfalls faded into audibility. A guard was patrolling down the hallway past the library. The door was closed, but any conversation might be overheard.
Yvaine's expression softened slightly, almost against her will. Quietly, barely more than a whisper, she murmured, "That, at least, I believe we may have in common..."
It was all she managed to get out before she caught the sound of footfalls outside the library as well, and her face paled as she snapped her head toward the door. Her lips formed soundlessly around a curse and she darted forward to grab Herrick by the sleeve and pull him after her, down through the rows of display cases and around the corner of a towering bookshelf.
"Stairs," she hissed at him, shoving him toward the tiny door set into the back wall. She pointed up, indicating the veranda that wound around the second floor of the library. "Quick, but quiet," she urged, glancing over her shoulder and peering around the bookshelf in an effort to get a glimpse of the library door.
Quick and quiet, that was one thing he could definitely do. He came along easily, almost like a co-conspirator.
They made it to the stairs and gave her a glance before he ascended, and for such a tall man he ascended quickly and silently. He lingered by the door to the veranda until she came up, and then opened the door to let her through.
God help her, what on earth was she doing?
She couldn't answer the question herself as she crept silently up the stairs behind Herrick, closing the small door behind her with the quiet ease of many years spent sneaking through a manor when she knew she shouldn't be. She blinked, trying to adjust her eyes to the dark as she cautiously made her way up the stairs onto the veranda--a nod of her head and a small smile spared for the thief when she realized he'd held the door for her.
She was helping a thief sneak through her betrothed's house. Willingly. That's what she was doing.
I am utterly out of my mind.
Knowing that didn't seem to stop her from doing it.
Carefully, she crept to the rail and peered down into the lower levels of the rotunda. She could still hear footsteps by the library door, then muffled voices. A change in the guard. Ah, it was about that time, wasn't it?
Slipping back to press behind a bookshelf, she unthinkingly reached out to catch Herrick's sleeve and drag him with her, hardly daring to breathe as she waited for the voices and the footsteps to either pass on, or enter the library itself.
And Herrick was right there beside her when she peered down, noting the guards outside the door. As the guards exchanged some words, he leaned closer to whisper something, but then she'd pulled him behind a shelf by the sleeve and he hid with her, doing his best to suppress a breathless chuckle.
His shoulder against hers, he remained perfectly silent, he barely even made a sound when he took a breath. He could've sworn he heard footsteps coming closer to the door, and he leaned away from the view, closer to Yvaine, and he tapped her arm with his thumb to get her attention.
He started to whisper.
"They're gonna-"
a knock rang out from the door.
"My lady? Do you require anything of me before my guard ends?"
Herrick met Yvaine's eyes, raising his eyebrows questioningly.
"More wine?" he mouthed, letting his expression turn playful.
A shiver ghosted up her arm from his touch and she shot a quick, sharp look at him, as though he'd somehow done that on purpose.
But no. No, that was all her. All her and her stupid, girlish fascinations, her obsession with danger, with excitement, with just about anything that wasn't good for her. Hiding from her fiance's guards with an admitted thief who was now asking for more wine. God, she should just--
Grinning, Yvaine stepped away from behind the shelf and leaned out over the rail, catching the guard's attention with a small wave. "Actually, I do think I will be up a bit longer. I don't suppose you could bring some refreshment? Perhaps a bottle of the Ravensway red, I heard the master of the house mention. You can leave it in the reading room off the rotunda." She smiled as the guard nodded, then added a quick, "Oh, and tell your replacement not to worry about walking me back to my rooms. I'm quite capable on my own. Thank you."
The guard seemed about to argue, but something in her expression must have stopped him. He nodded again and gave a semi-salute, then turned on his heel to leave.
Yvaine didn't breathe until the door shut behind him. She gripped the rail, leaning a little more heavily against it, and gave a breathless laugh.
"God, I am absolutely mad."
The door closed and Herrick let out a breath along with Yvaine.
"Ravensway's good. 'Master of The House' has got pretty good taste," he whispered. He had his hunches, anyhow. Of course, Herrick's only intention was to get a free drink outta things, buuuut...
...he didn't miss that little shiver, either. He loved to be the fire people played with and it was with a knowing smile. He leaned the back of his hip against the railing and looked up at the ceiling, then back to Yvaine.
"And besides, you strike me as shockingly sane, Madam..."
He pushed off the rail and beckoned her to follow him out onto the balcony, their original destination before the guard had interrupted them.
He opened the glass-paned door that led in from the balcony and put a hand over his face in mock surprise.
"Oh dear, someone's left this unlocked," he said with a playful look her way as he opened it for her.
“Yvaine,” she supplied when his voice trailed off. It had suddenly struck her that she didn’t know if the name he’d given was his proper name either. “My name is Yvaine, Ser Thief.”
She smirked a bit when he swung the door to the special collections room open, and she rolled her eyes as his dramatics. “What a careless oversight. Perhaps I should call back the guard to ensure they rectify it,” she noted dryly as she slipped passed him into the room.
It was smaller than one might first expect, but meticulously well kept. Every tome and artifact was safely locked behind glass; some of the more valuable items were displayed in the center of the room, rather than stored on shelves.
The room full of artifacts was wonderous, but it was Yvaine who had his attention. Her fire was growing on him.
"Yvaine," Herrick repeated, finding he rather liked the sound of that name on his tongue, and he dipped his head and gave her a well-practiced bow as he offered her his hand.
"Herrick Tavish, the pleasure is all mine," he said.
"Herrick." Much like he had, Yvaine repeated the name as though trying to sound it out, getting a feel for the sounds as she watched him.
Her eyebrow flickered up toward her hairline for a moment at that bow. Well, he had implied he was more than just a simple thief...
She took his hand delicately, and for a silly, brief moment wished she wasn't wearing gloves. "Mysterious and well-mannered. My, I can't imagine how you find time to break and enter into people's homes with all the attention that must garner," she said with all the wry tone of a disapproving dowager, though there was a hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
And she left her hand in his, curious to see what he would do.
Herrick laughed, he couldn't help it. Herrick knew his own boundaries and that of the nobility, and while he wasn't going to make any presumptions... He stepped away from her, he let his fingers brush her palm as he let go of her hand, so that their hands lingered in temptation together for just a moment longer.
"A little odd for my profession, I know."
With a parting smirk her way, he finally looked away from her to the room around them. It was, for all intents and purposes, a treasure trove. Too bad he was only here for one thing.
"But look at this place, it's huge. You could get lost in here, even with someone with you," and then dipped his eyes to Yvaine's. A statement and a question.
"Flatterer," Yvaine accused with a smile as she stepped around him to sweep her eyes over the shelves and display cases that sprawled out along the second floor. There were significantly more shelves than cases on this level, but with the way the veranda overlooked the main floor one could see nearly every item displayed down there.
"I'll admit I've been a little worried of getting lost myself," she noted blithely as she traced one finger along a dark wooden shelf while she walked by it, eyes scanning but not really reading. "Part of the reason I'm here, actually. I assume I will be spending quite a lot of time here in the near future; I wanted to familiarize myself."
Realizing that may have revealed more than she would have liked, she turned back to him and leaned lightly against the side of the shelf behind her, arms folded and one eyebrow raised with an expectant, playful smile quirking at her lips. "But I believe you said you were here for a specific reason, Ser Herrick. And I doubt it is simply the pleasure of my company."
"Alas, that I should strike diamonds in my search for gold," Herrick said, eyes following her as she leaned back against a bookshelf and crossed her arms. He stepped towards, and then past her, to where the shelf ended and veranda railing began.
Arms straight, he leaned forwards against the railing as he let his eyes scan about the room beneath him. Indeed, it was a veritable trove of artifacts. Antique enchanted items, relic weapons, glass cases that displayed valuables and knick-nacks of all provenances and shapes.
"You make it so easy for me to forget, but yes, I did come here with an objective."
He motioned out to the room.
"Your betrothed seems to like his relics. Tell me, has he ever mentioned any holy banner fragments?"
Yvaine arched one eyebrow artfully. “Of which country and era?” she replied as she shrugged away from the bookshelf, then moved to stand beside him by the railing. Not too close, though. She certainly wouldn’t put pickpocketing outside his range of abilities.
Cocking her head at him with a crooked smile, she added, “You do know I can’t just let you take something though, right? I may not be lady of the house just yet, but it is rather the principle of the thing, isn’t it?”
With a touch of hidden amusement, Herrick noted the small distance between them. To play along with her caution, he pushed off the railing just a tad and set his hands behind his back, one holding the wrist of the other.
"Well, a conventional scholar would say it's from Adela's Feudal period, but anyone who knows about Serenity's famous Nameless Paladin would tell you that there shouldn't be any Adelan marching banners with their likeness on it. Especially since those banners have a strong tradition of accurately accounting for those present and the Paladin, of course, is just a fairy tale..."
He paused a moment, then smiled.
"So I'd have to say it looks like a Feudal Adelan, but the threads and shape of the fragment give it away as Serenian, although that's only what I've heard. If only I could just confirm it exists, sketch the depoictions and words... I'd be very grateful, Yvaine," Herrick offered.
"Mmm." Yvaine gave him a look that said she wasn't convinced. "Well, I suppose we'd best check both places then, shall we?" she offered after a moment longer of watching him consideringly.
There was the faint sound of footsteps from out in the hall on the main floor and she quirked an eyebrow. "Unless you'd like that drink first?"
The guard who'd gone to fetch the wine she requested poked his head into the library, and Yvaine abandoned all sense of caution or propriety to shove Herrick back behind a bookshelf; she found herself briefly pressed up against him in the far too tight space before she managed to disentangle herself and step back out to the balcony railing, telling herself that her face was no redder than usual.
"Thank you," she called to the guard as he left the bottle in the reading room as she'd requested. He inclined his head to her and murmured a "Good evening" before going out into the hall once again.
Yvaine released a long breath, gripping the railing and letting her head fall forward as she closed her eyes for a moment. What on earth am I doing?
"I don't know about you, but I like to enjoy my tapestries with a whetted tongue," he said quietly, eyes tracking her with a growing smile before it turned into one of surprise. She was pressed up against him and he was sandwhiched between her and a bookshelf. The way she held his collar did some kind of something to him, and he looked at her curiously as she parted herself from him.
As she retrieved the bottle and the door closed, Herrick alighted from the bookshelf she put him up against, fixing his shirt as he raised an eyebrow at her while she took a moment to breathe.
Herrick let her have her moment while his eyes sought out his prize, but he was happy to spot a pair of glasses in a finery cabinet instead. He came back with the pair of glasses held in one hand, standing by the railing next to her. Slowly, as if testing the boundaries, he held out his free hand to her, palm up and fingers curved, all the easier to be taken.
"Which ones are your favorites?" he asked, turning her question game back to her with a raised eyebrow.
Yvaine eyed his hand for a long moment, cheeks flushed and eyes bright even from that too breif--or too long, really--moment pressed against his chest with her hand curled in his collar and his breath on her neck.
No. Stop that.
She knew exactly the sort of trouble that lay down that road. It was partially why she was here.
Still...she couldn't stop herself from taking his hand with a low, resigned sort of sigh. "Favorite what?" she asked with a slight tick upwards on one side of her mouth. "Wines or tapestries? Or--" she waved a hand out at the library stretched around and below them-- "all of it? Because truthfully, I'm afraid I haven't been here long enough to really decide."
"Me neither, but maybe we can find one we both agree on," Herrick answered softly. Once her fingers were curled into his, he let some of the distance between them melt but kept her at a tantalizing distance. His hand and fingers, strong and lithe from a career's worth of climbing and lockpicking, slowly closed around hers so he could lead them along.
Indeed, this collection was vast! The various aisles in the collection room held all manner of objects, arranged for display like pieces in a museum. Not just tapestries, but actual artifacts! All manner of ancient sword scabbards, antique portraits of long-forgotten lords and ladies.
He stopped in front of a tall glass case, containing a suit of Thanati armor with a scowling face plate and a curved sword at its feet. He passed a hand along the glass, as if gauging something, and then turned to put his back to it.
With her hand still in his, the invitation to come closer flit across eyes and widened his smile, just a little. It didn't need to be spoken. His hand behind him supported him against the glass and made his posture rather receptive.
"I'm practically swooning over all of this," he said, genuinely impassioned by all the history around him.
"Is this where you take all the handsome thieves you meet?" he added.
"Oh, of course not," Yvaine replied dryly as she watched him nearly swoon against the glass with a small smile. "Just the ones I've taken a particularly ill-advised shine to."
They were back on the main floor now, and while she knew how impressive the collection was herself, she found herself more entertained by his reaction to it all. Cocking her head to one side, she took a few small steps forward at his silent invitation and arched one eyebrow. "And I do believe that's the first time you've outright admitted to being a thief. Should I be concerned, Ser Herrick?"
I should call the guards back, the logical side of her mind thought desperately, for the twelfth time in the last two minutes. Once again, she ignored it, taking another step forward into his space. They weren't pressed together they way they had been when she tried to hide him behind the bookshelf, but they were now certainly not maintaining the distance that "propriety" demanded.
Herrick smiled and laughed at her admittig that she'd taken a shining to him, dipping his head down so he could make the sounds without disturbing the silence in the vault. Oh and he did not miss how she shrunk the space between them, and his pulse quickened all the more for it.
"I thought it plain enough, I'll be honest," Herrick said with another small laugh. With a measure of boldness in his expression, he let his thumb stroke the top of Yvaine's fingers as he stopped leaning on the glass.
For a moment, it was almost like that brief second between the bookshelves, but he was already moving on, leading her to what he thought was a section devoted to banners and tapestries. There was a lecture podium that he set the two glasses down, and then he let Yvaine's hand go so he could ask for the wine bottle with an outstretched hand an a playful look in his eyes.
"Well of course it was, but it's different to hear you actually say it," Yvaine chuckled quietly. Her breath caught for a moment when his thumb skated over the backs of her fingers, feeling the edge of a lockpicker's callouses against a noble's smooth skin.
She allowed him to lead her through the collection as though he owned it, a smile dancing teasingly at the edges of her lips. When he put the glasses down and looked at her expectantly, she rolled her eyes theatrically. "Yes, yes, give me one moment," she laughed lightly, turning to slip into the reading room where she'd asked the guard to leave the wine and returning with a rather ornate bottle a few moments later.
"Here." With a kind of graceful ease that belied quite a bit of practice, she broke the wax seal around the neck of the bottle and tipped it quickly over both glasses, filling them about halfway. Setting the bottle aside, she took her glass and raised it in something of an ironic toast.
"To history?" she offered with a crooked smile.
If Herrick seemed familiar with the place's layout, that stemmed from the fact that he was, in an indirect way. He'd been inside many, many treasure vaults, secured armories, and even a couple royal treasuries. He had an intuitive sense of direction when it came to places full of valuables, almost like a sixth sense.
Or maybe it's because he knew that tapestries would be kept opposite the windows, in the coolest part of the room and not in the way of any sunlight, direct or otherwise. Perhaps a bit of both.
As she poured the wine into their cups, he took in the smell of this part of the treasury, and smiled to himself.
"History," came his answer to her toast, and he tapped his glass against hers. He made sure his gloved finger was between the two glass surfaces, so it was more of a gentle tap than a clink!
He raised his glass to his mouth and after properly sampling the smell he let it tip back to take a smooth drink of its contents. He let out a soft breath after it settled, and opened his eyes to regard Yvaine once more.
"A full-bodied sweetness... With a dash of unexpected spice. " Herrick said, potentially talking about either the wine or Yvaine herself as he met her eyes. "It catches you off guard in all the best ways," he said, offering her an inviting smile as he passed his fingers over the spot on his neck where she'd brandished that rapier.
"Does it now?" Yvaine only realized after the words were spoken that her voice had dropped into something slower and almost blurred around the edges. She cleared her throat and lifted her own glass again, sipping delicately.
It was good wine.
Her eyes flicked toward him sidelong, caught the motion of his fingers against his throat, and she found herself wincing and smirking at the same time. "I...suppose I should apologize for that," she chuckled sheepishly. "But in my defense, you did break in."
And now here she was, sharing a glass of wine and giving him a tour. As though she had any right to do either.
The knowledge that she really, really shouldn't didn't seem to be able to stop her from taking a small step closer, leaning her hip carefully against one of the smaller display cases.
At her need to apologize, Herrick simply widened his smile and let his hand rest on the arm holding his cup. He watched her intently, eyes taking in any detail she saw fit to show him. That small step she took shrank the gulf between them and once she stopped, her hip resting, he approached. He locked eyes with her and it seemed he was going right in to finally close the space between them, the space she'd been slowly shrinking.
He came close enough to touch, hand slipping downwards until his eyes turned teasing and he let his fingers splay out against the glass case, which was not her hip, but the way his fingers stroked the glass...
His vision slowly slid from her own neck, down to her collar and eventually down to the case they were both now occupied with. It held a thick, quilted blanket, deep blue like the sky and with almost real looking clouds made with layered silk and cotton.
"I've had blades to my neck before, but never by someone so... disarming," he said, smile growing.
“Mmm…” Yvaine tracked the movement of his eyes, following it to look down at the display case—and in an effort to avoid thinking about how it might have felt if he had placed his hand on her hip instead of the glass.
“I can’t quite decide if that’s flattering or not,” she murmured after a moment, smiling lopsidedly. “See, if you’re the sort of person who frequently ends up with blades to his throat, just what kind of person is usually holding the hilt?”
There was still a bit of space between them, just enough that she couldn’t lean in to touch him easily—which was probably a very good thing, considering how much she was starting to want to.
“What do you want from me, Ser Herrick?” she whispered after a moment. Her eyes flicked down to the blanket, then back up again. “I’ve shown you all I can of this place. It seems to me all that’s left for you is to leave me indisposed, snatch your prize, and be on your way.” She drew in a shaky breath. “So. Why are you still standing here with me?”
"Usually, they've got a pair of manacles and they're not nearly as beautiful," Herrick said, mind going back to the times he'd been cornered, facing down guards or dealing with fellow criminals. He'd never had a noblewoman face him down before.
His eyebrows rose when she referred to him as Ser, the heat and tension between them rising as she spoke of him... leaving her indisposed. He could think of a few ways.
"My prize... is not so clear now," he said, every breath between words bringing him closer, until his hand slid past her on the case. He still did not break that glass-thin barrier that existed between them. Yvaine no longer had distance as an excuse.
"Do you want to be indisposed... here?" He asked, fiery intent veiled behind his words.
"Or shall I tie my lady to a chair, in a most dastardly fashion?"
Yvaine’s breath caught as he moved closer, and no matter how she railed at her foolish little heart it still skipped a beat in nervous, excited anticipation.
“An unclear prize, hm?” she murmured, telling herself that she sounded no more breathless than usual. Or at least not significantly. “And just what seems to have distracted your attention so?”
He closed the distance between them until they were a breath apart, and Yvaine realized she was nearly trembling with the effort it took to keep still. A vague corner of her mind noted that it was almost ironic, really: she was only here, in this house, because of a dangerous lapse in propriety, a lack of discretion on her part, and her family seemed to think that marrying her off swiftly was the best way to curb her willful nature.
All it really seemed to have done was back her into a corner and give her nothing to use. It wasn’t as though she had a reputation to worry about protecting anymore, was it? Not one that would matter to the master of the house, anyway.
“I suppose that depends,” she murmured after a few long, considering moments where she just looked up into his face and held his eyes. “If your plan was to tie me, you hardly have the proper material on hand in this particular room.” She waved a hand about vaguely, though her eyes never left his. “So how else might you leave me indisposed, Ser?”
Oh she’d certainly noticed the slight reaction he’d had to the more formal address, and couldn’t resist prodding a little further with it.
She called him a Ser again (she really had no idea how right she was, in that regard), although the enjoyment Herrick got from it in this moment was purely an ironic one. Herrick could almost feel the tension radiating from her. This close, she'd be able to see his chest rise just a little higher, his expression just that much softer in the dim light of the study.
"Maybe..." he started, letting his eyes slowly roll downwards as if to size up how he would "indispose" Yvain. They stopped at her collar, as that far would already be considered scandalous in high society. He let his consideration show for a few moments, before his hand finally brushed over hers. With ease, he kept the distance between them fractional as he receded backwards with her, away from the candlelight.
Away from any potential eyes or interruptions.
"I should sequester you to one of these dark recesses," he whispered, voice dripping with invitation. He knew she was torturing herself just keeping the distance, so it was with a cruel little tilt to the corner of his mouth that he drew her hand closer, not to his arm, but to his side. When he stopped, it was with his back to a tall armoire with a few rows of helmets inside.
"Oh?" Yvaine let him guide her out of the light, knowing it was foolish, knowing it was risky, but unable to assert common sense over the thrill of adventure. She found herself flushing lightly under his gaze; despite the modesty of her walking gown, the way his eyes traced her neckline raised heat to her skin. Which she knew was exactly what he'd intended, but knowing that didn't stop her body's reaction.
"Sequester, is it?" she murmured, letting her head tilt to one side and her mouth curl wryly. "You know, typically, that word is used when speaking of hiding something one wishes to protect. To keep secret and safe." She cocked an eyebrow. "Hardly the intention of a dastardly thief, no?"
She let him draw her hand to his side, though she kept her touch as light as she could, still warring with herself. She knew now that she wasn't going to call for the guards--if she'd ever truly intended to, she would have done it when she first saw him--but she still wasn't sure what she was going to do, exactly. And not knowing that was a thrill in its own right. One she shouldn't have enjoyed as much as she did.
The slight flecks of gray in her hazel eyes darkened slightly with the shadows around them. Letting out a soft, short breath, she glanced away and all but whispered, "I should perhaps mention...it is precisely this sort of mistake of judgement that has landed me where I am today, Ser Thief. I believe you will have to be very convincing."
Her words about "mistakes of judgement" had his eyes lowering as Herrick felt a pang of honest understanding go through his heart at that. Indeed, were it not for some poor, poor lapses in judgement, he would not be here now.
Still, there was nowhere else he'd rather be, both right now in this moment and in general. With delight, he noted how her hand never left his side, and felt a little excitement that for now at least she was still playing this game with him.
"Ah, but what is a thief, if not someone who knows treasure when he sees it?" he said, quoting from a novel he'd read when he was younger, still a member of his father's court.
"And how to treasure it?" he continued. The hand that he'd used to guide Yvaine's to his side slowly splayed out against hers, covering it against his side. He let his head lower, not to touch any part of her with his lips like she might have wanted, but to merely add a whispered "Let me keep this secret with you," into her ear.
She did want to kiss him. Very badly, it seemed. But she forced herself to hold still, clenching her free hand in her skirt until her fingers were wrapped so tightly in the fabric her knuckles paled.
She was actually trembling now, though whether that was really tension or temptation even she couldn’t say. Her hand on his side fluttered for a moment, then slid down slightly, enough to rest lightly just above his hip. Her head turned fractionally, but they were so close that even that slight movement meant her nose nearly brushed his cheek.
“My last mistake was meant to be a secret too,” she breathed. “As I said, Herrick…” She let his name rest on her tongue for a moment, hanging in the air between them. “You are going to have to make this worth ruining myself even further.”
The words were almost fatalistic, but her tone didn’t match, something almost like a plea embedded beneath the words themselves.
Herrick himself didn't exactly know where this was leading, or where exactly he wanted this utterly unexpected encounter to go. There was suddenly such a strong feeling of restraint from both sides and it felt like they were both one pin-drop away from, well...
His heart sped up just that little bit further when her hand came to rest above his hip, and he turned into her so they stood chest-to-chest. His hand drew up her arm until the tips of his fingers reached the border where her walking gown gave way to her collar, and merely turned his hand so he could cup one side of her head. His fingers brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear with a feather-light touch, and he used this barest contact between them to tilt her head up into his gaze.
He did not miss the pleading tone in her voice, how her words seemed to war with the heated tension that he could see her fighting with. Herrick knew that she'd already made her decision. If she truly wanted, she could've had every guard here chasing him out into the night.
But no, there was some other outcome she wanted, that much was clear.
"Should I count the ways?" he started, letting his nose brush the shell of her ear as he continued to speak, lips hovering just beneath the lobe, aching to devour the side of her neck but otherwise docile. His other hand traced down her free arm and covered her hand where it bunched up in her skirts, soothing away the tension with a stroke across her fingers before he covered her hand in the same way she covered his own hand on his hips.
"Or should I simply invite my lady to do as she pleases?"
His lips drew closer, he could almost taste her skin as he whispered.
"I do so very much want to treasure her."
A shiver started at the base of her skull and raced down her spine, rippling outward over every inch of skin until she felt like her body was alight with it.
Remember last time, a frantic voice in the back of her head warned. But this didn't have to be like last time. Besides, what more could her family do to her?
Her hand trembled under his, then her fingers slowly uncurled from clutching at her skirts to trace lightly against his palm for a moment before she took his hand in hers and placed it gently on her hip. She realized vaguely, almost giddily, that without her usual addition of gloves, even that chaste touch felt like lightning.
"And how would you do that?" she found herself breathing in answer to his whispered declarations, turning her head just slightly so he was forced to move with her or commit to the kiss he was so clearly teasing. "You see the treasure in this room, locked behind glass, admired but never touched. Would you do the same to me?"
Oh, he did move with her, but perhaps not in the way she expected. He accommodated her small motion just enough so that their noses brushed and they were all but kissing at that point, and let his head rest against hers.
"If that is truly what my lady desired," Herrick started. The touch on her hip remained feather light but he used even that bare contact to draw her closer against his chest.
"But locks have never bothered me," he added with a growing glint in his eye. He hand cupped her head lower, closer to her neck, and he stroked along her jaw with his thumb.
"And I prefer to admire from so much closer," he added, and he turned her own trick back on her. Lifting his head to meet her eyes, although she would have to avoid him if she didn't want to kiss him.
Yvaine let him pull her in closer, shivering when his thumb skated along her jaw but still resisting the urge to tilt her head into the touch.
A tiny, breathless sound slipped passed her lips when he tilted his head, so soft that even she barely heard it. Nothing in his touch was confining--in fact the most intimate contact between them had been instigated by her--so she knew if she moved away, he would let her.
She didn't. He lifted his head, and she stayed exactly where she was, not even daring to breathe as their lips brushed together in something that was not quite a kiss. Her hand on his side clenched slightly, fingers pressing into black fabric, and she let her other hand slide up from where she'd placed his on her hip to follow the line of his arm up to his shoulder, where it rested lightly.
Then her eyes slid closed and she suddenly rocked up onto her toes, pressing her lips to his in earnest and tilting her head ever so slightly into the contact.
That brief, delay between their lips brushing together and the actual kissing was everything Herrick could ever want. The heat, the forbidden anticipation as they both wanted to give in but neither wanted to be the first to crack.
It seemed that even then, passions could never fully be contained, because all it took was the barest brush of their lips, and then her hand was snaking up his shoulder, lips pressing sweetly against his own.
Herrick let the hand on her hip travel to the small of her back to finally close that last shred of distance, but he dared not go. Now she was fully in the dark with him, one strong arm around her while the other splayed against the hair on her nape.
The first time their lips parted, Herrick made it last like a sip of fine wine before he kissed just a little lower, teeth dragging against her bottom lip when they parted once again for breath.
This is a truly, spectacularly bad idea, Yvaine found herself thinking giddily as she leaned into him just a little when his hand pressed gently to the small of her back.
She knew--from a strictly pragmatic viewpoint--that they were hidden here, tucked away in the dark, in a part of the manor that wasn't a part of the guards' regular patrol, so their chance of discovery was minimal. And she was well convinced, had been for a while by that point, that Herrick himself posed no real danger to her.
At least, not a tangible sort of danger. But this...the way his mouth lingered against hers before they parted for a breath, the heat of his touch through her gown, the slight tension she could feel through his body from where she touched him in turn... That was a danger all its own.
She felt his teeth against her lip and tried--and failed--to swallow back a sound that was embarrassingly close to a whimper. It was enough to bring her back to herself slightly, and she turned her head just a bit so she could catch her breath, though she was still pressed to his chest and wasn't all that interested in moving away.
"So." Her voice was shaky and breathless, no matter how she tried to steady it. She glanced up at him sidelong through her lashes. "Was that...close enough for your preferred method of admiration, then?"
Herrick breathed with her in the darkness after she turned her head away, basking in the sweetness of her closeness. The hint if her form behind the gown, the warmth if her body as she fought her trembling against him.
Oh yes, Herrick liked being the danger. Yvaine had given him the chance and he took it in a heartbeat. He admired her for a moment, thinking her question over as he met her eyes, but then he went and left a kiss above her ear, light as a thief's touch could be.
He made a considering sound and his hand stroked along the small of her back.
"Hardly. Was it for you?"
Yvaine shivered again as his lips brushed just above her ear, and she swallowed thickly. She met his eyes for a long moment, another little shudder trickling up from where his fingers stroked over her back, then she shook her head.
"No. It wasn't."
She reached up to curl her fingers around the nape of his neck and pulled him down to her, slowly, cautiously, as though afraid a sudden move might shatter the quiet stillness around them. She stopped when their lips were a breath apart, considering, then tilted her head to press a light, perhaps surprisingly chaste kiss to the corner of his mouth.
Herrick took a moment to drink her shiver in, eyes easily meeting hers as she looked up at him. As her fingers curled around the nape of his neck, his hand finally settled properly on the small of her back, although he only wanted to maintain this tantalizing half-distance between them.
When she paused, their lips apart, she'd be able to hear Herrick's breath catch in anticipation and delight. His eyes slid closed when she leaned in, and he made a hushed, appreciative sound at the feeling of her lips, even if it was a relatively innocent touch.
For the faintest moment, he nuzzled his nose against Yvaine's and guided her hand lower on his hips, drawing her hand behind him so she could hold him like he was holding her.
"Good," Herrick finally murmured, and he mirrored the kiss to the corner of her mouth, but rather than end it there, his lips kissed lower, along her jaw, and finally just beneath it, soothing the drag of his teeth with another kiss, although he was gentle as to not leave any marks.
He knew how this sort of thing worked.
"I could spend a long time admiring you," he said, letting some heated intent out with his words. His lips drifted lower, kissing just that bit further away from her jaw.
"Every last beautiful piece."
She let him guide her touch as he would, so close now that she could feel the slight stutter in his breath as a hitch in his chest against hers, and a part of her dearly wished it didn't thrill her as much as it did.
A soft hum rose in her throat when he mirrored her little kiss, which rose to something of a contented sigh when he continued in a trail along her jaw to just barely brush a kiss against her neck.
"Could you now?" she whispered, repressing another shiver at his words. "How long, do you think? An hour? A night?"
Shut up, shut up, shut up and walk away, came the dying gasps of whatever good sense she had. Again, she ignored it, letting her fingers trace lightly up and down his spine as she tilted her head to offer the curve of her neck to his attentions.
Oh, had Herrick been a vampire his very fangs would've curled at the way she offered him her neck. Very much like a vampire, he didn't hesitate for long to accept the offer. It wasn't too far a leap for him to stamp a proper kiss against her neck, his hand slipping to the side of her head to cradle it as he lavished her with attention.
He pressed more of his form to her as he did so, goaded by the gentle skating of her fingers along his spine. Finally, his hand went from the small of her back and settled on her hip properly so he could slot her against him.
"However long it'd take to leave my lady... sufficiently indisposed," he finally whispered, letting his teeth graze close to her collar.
That, combined with his attentions to her neck, earned another shiver as Yvaine let her own hand come to rest on his hip and pressed just a fraction closer.
"Mm...promises, promises," she murmured with a hint of a laugh in her voice, lips curled into a crooked smile and her lashes brushing her cheek as her eyes closed. The graze of his teeth against her collar raised goosebumps to her skin along with a flush of color, stark against her fair complexion.
"And just how often have you employed this particular technique in your exploits, hm?" she asked, mock stern.
"I've never done anything like this before," came Herrick's honest reply. It was true! He'd lied and seduced in the past, fair enough. But to be caught by the lady of the house, only to end up in her arms? It was like something out of those books noblewomen kept hidden under their pillows.
It was exactly the kind of danger he lived for.
The grazing of his teeth was replaced with the glide of his lips as he soothed away the marks. Another to the column of her throat. His hand wandered lower so he could gently curve her leg against his hip. He slowly learned her shape, despite the modesty her nightgown provided.
"Never on a haunt, and never with anyone so gorgeous," he said, smile widening as his lips visited the corner of her mouth again. Herrick's lips lingered just a breath away from Yvaine's, part of him still thrilled by their game of intimacy.
"If I promise to give you my heart, just for tonight... will you do the same?"
Oh, God help her.
His hand moved to her leg and she momentarily went so tense that there was a fleeting worry she might simply shatter into a thousand crystalline, brittle pieces. And then she all but melted against him, humming quietly when his lips just barely brushed hers and then forcing herself not to chase after the touch when he hovered to maintain that breath of distance.
Her breath caught slightly at his words, and yet again she found herself torn between a rational responsibility and painful, desperate yearning for something more.
"Just...for tonight?" she repeated with a tiny thrill. Just one night. Just a moment, really, in the grand scheme of things. Just one night to allow herself to be utterly free, before a lifetime of being caged in gowns' stays and household duties and loyalty to a man she didn't know or love.
When she finally released her tension and the contact between them became so utterly complete, Herrick let out some air through his teeth and his hands held her more securely. Now that she'd fully melted against him, he wasn't afraid to properly grip her.
"Only tonight," he said with a hint of urgency in his voice. He let his lips close the distance between hers and he could never believe that he'd ever parted the two of them to begin with. Her lips felt like a hot bolt of lightning against his. He tilted his head and drank deeper. His hand remained firm against the inside of her knee, pulling her ever more flush against him until their clothes were the only things separating them.
"Only for you," he murmured after he'd pulled away with a very needy tug on her bottom lip.
Yvaine bit back a sound that she was rather worried was a moan when he closed the distance to kiss her properly again. His hand curving her leg more tightly against him felt like a brand through the fabric of her nightdress. She wound her arms around his neck as he pulled her closer, her breath catching for a moment when their chests pressed flush together and she could feel his heartbeat against hers.
The tug of his teeth on her lip earned an honest to goodness gasp, and she had to force herself to go still again rather than chasing after the kiss as he broke away. She blinked at him, lashes hanging low, eyes hazy, and murmured what felt like an obligatory, "You don't even know me..."
Which felt rather wonderful, actually. The idea that they could know little more about one another than their names, and it still felt like this. Her whole body felt moments away from bursting spontaneously into flame, and she wasn't much interested in trying to tame the fire.
She leaned up onto her toes, breathing, "Just for tonight," before her lips were on his again, kissing him like she never intended to stop.
"I don't need to," came the heated whisper from Herrick's lips, just before Yvaine took the kiss for herself and he was silenced good and proper. A low sound welled up in his chest, delight and pleasure, and he let one hand rise to smooth down her head and long hair, down to where it stopped on her back.
She kissed him with a kind of fire and longing that he at once both understood and had never felt before from another person. She took his breath away and when he finally had to surface for more of it he was panting with her.
It was his turn to cut loose.
Spying a low desk very close by, Herrick was quick to display his strength and their difference in size. She already had her arms around his neck, one leg curled against his hip. It was very easy for the tall thief to momentarily support her other leg and back, momentarily lift her, and set her down on the desk. A book or two were moved aside, and a wooden scroll case went rolling towards the edge.
Deftly, he stopped it with a hand while the other still held Yvaine's side. He set it somewhere out of the way and dove back in, drawing his now freed hand along her hip and down her thigh, where he found a secure purchase.
Now that she was more level with him, it was all too easy to get lost in the kiss. He remained chest-to-chest with her, his body parting her legs. It would be all too easy for Yvaine to take the final step of wrapping them around him.
Yvaine gasped again, then found herself struggling to swallow back a slightly incredulous laugh as he lifted her up onto the desk. She opened her mouth to make a quip about his quick reflexes when he stopped the scroll case from rolling onto the floor, but before she could his lips were on hers again and she was once more melting into the kiss.
Oh god. She leaned back slightly as he pressed closer, his hand sliding down to her thigh, moving far, far to easily to accommodate his body against hers.
What was she doing? Things like this didn't happen, not outside of the ridiculous novels she used to catch her maid hiding between cushions when she thought Yvaine's mother wasn't looking. That didn't stop her from moving to hook her other leg up around Herrick's hip to draw him even closer. Her skirts still hindered them slightly, an extra few layers of fabric she by now sorely wished was thinner, and she gave a soft, plaintive noise of frustration as she curled her fingers in his collar and tried to drag him closer.
He knew what was troubling her, and he was quick to drag his hands up her thighs to roll up her nightdress, and then took her by the hips and brought her closer. Their bodies were flush together now, hips and all, and Herrick sighed against Yvaine's lips at the momentary spike of pleasure that brought.
He wanted the sound to be louder, it was obvious, but he bit his lip and kept quiet. When he needed to draw breath, it was his turn to lean back. With a few deft flicks of his fingers, he undid the buckles for his leather breastplate so it slid down to his ankles, where he nudged it aside with a foot.
His fingers visited the bottom of his black, long-sleeved chemise. Herrick gave Yvaine a look not too dissimilar to a cook presenting a dish, and then promptly lifted it up over his shirt so that Yvaine could finally see and access his physique. He was well cut, wiry around the forearms and legs but with a chest, stomach, and other features that belonged more on a knight than a thief.
He had some scars, most small, but he had a prominent scar from a musket ball of sorts that bloomed across his right shoulder, accompanied by a small, puckered lump on the other side. Entry and exit wounds, as it were.
Up until this point in her life, Yvaine had only ever seen one other man without a shirt; and, while that had been under perhaps unfortunately similar circumstances, she still felt rather suddenly like the blushing maiden of a noblewoman she was supposed to be at the remaining newness of it.
She dropped her eyes—which turned out to be a mistake, as it only served to remind her of just how close their hips were pressed together and sent another shiver skittering down her spine—then lifted them again quickly. Her gaze caught on his shoulder, and she suddenly paused, concern flickering through her expression.
Without thinking, she reached out and let her fingertips brush lightly over the scar there. How often does a thief survive a shot like this? she wondered silently. She'd suspected, but it seemed there really was more to Herrick than he first appeared.
"You're a fighter," she whispered, finally glancing back up to his face. Cautiously, she flattened her palm over the scar. "Cat burglars don't get scars like this." One brother in the military and one in the clergy had taught her that much.
Still moving slowly, she let her hand smooth back over his shoulder to rest lightly at the nape of his neck, then leaned forward to press a light, fluttering kiss against the scar, cheeks flushing despite herself.