moritat | Victorian weenie au

Jekyll is glad for the cool night air, as his cheeks flush all the more for her comment. It can be passed off for nothing but a cause entirely of that air. Certainly not for speaking of scandalous things!

Rather than say anything that might cause further embarrassment, he leads her into the house, laying a hand over top of hers. "I might make your introductions to anyone you would like."

Paloma feels the warmth of Samantha's home against her face, heard its steady noise. With that, with the hand gentle over her own, she's braver.

Her smile up to him is intensely grateful. They haven't yet been announced to the room filled with guests who've likely read the papers of late. "You will be the good doctor giving charity to a wretch."

Now. When nobody can see them at the door, which will be only another second or two ... no. Nope. "I mean that is what they will see only!"

"I would hardly call you a wretch." He would offer her forward to be introduced first, but that might put her on the spot. So instead he takes her hand to remain with her, only a step behind as they are announced one by one - although the 'and' linking their names certainly must cause a stir by the implications of it. Not at all what Jekyll had intended to come about.

As they make their way into the crowd, he whispers to her. "I must apologise, I hadn't anticipated... I shall be sure to clear you of any suspicions."

The gasps are perhaps sharper in Paloma's ears, but underneath the instinct to cringe flares a mad defiance. They cannot say or do worse than her runaway sire. She holds eye contact with more than a couple lookieloos before Jekyll's whisper reaches her.

Her cheek turns from the furtive interest of strangers to the man who's no white knight but gallant, in his way. And observant. He may see a little madness in her large eyes. "Sure to clear me? Very well, but what do you -- protest?"

"Why, that there is anything untoward or improper going on, of course." Although of course he knows there has been. They've covered up a murder and slept together, it doesn't get very much more improper than that. But no one else can know that.

"It would do you a great harm in your already fragile state if our peers were to think we have had some affair." What he doesn't say is how bad it would be for himself as well, which is at least of equal concern.

"Of course," she murmurs, thinking back to that wild kiss after she had been dead. "As you say. My state is fragile."

She doesn't sound disbelieving. Not hurt, nor upset. Neither does she sound happy for the service.

But her fingers on his arm are ever gentle. "Carlos told so much of my illness to so many. You could have seen me, if he asked. For examining."

Truthfully he would like to slip off to some secluded room or hall to repeat that kiss. But he continues to play the proper gentleman. "That certainly sounds reasonable." And it isn't entirely false, really...

But he does wish to act like a knight would. Even if he's far removed from one. Looking about as a tune comes to its end, he offers his hand. "Would you be my partner, Paloma?"

His question isn't loud. But with the music quieting, Paloma again hears a ripple of affront with a dismayed edge to it all. Not for her sake, she thinks.

"Harry!" she begins in the lowest tone to be mustered, and knows her mistake the instant her familiarity is marked by a woman nearby. Fans flutter. Men rumble. It's very dramatic. She can do nothing but take his hand. "Dr. Jekyll, it is my believing I like your offer more than they like it."

It feels as if his throat drops into his stomach with those murmurs, and Jekyll knows he's made a mistake. Crossed a line. But it is too late to take it back, and anyway he doesn't really want to.

Maybe he can ease both their fears as he leads her toward the other dancers. "I shall ask another lady shortly, perhaps a widow, and the whole thing will be dismissed."

Paloma agrees, dizzily, "A widow."

This moment is pulled straight from private dreams, ones from before Mr. Vasquez departed from London society with police dogging his ankles. They come back to her now and she falters from something less than fear and more than excitement.

But he won't have a stumbling partner. Paloma recollects herself, biting her lower lip in that bad habit of hers.

"I trust in your lead." A quivering smile forms. "If you step on my foot, you cannot hurt me."

"Do you take me for such a poor dance partner as to trod upon your feet?" He laughs, positioning them properly for the waltz to follow. "I will have you know I am a fine dancer! It is, after all, a matter if precision - not so unlike science."

Luckily she enjoys learning new dances and took a quick shine to the waltz when shown the way.

Only problem is they're not close in height, but by now she's accustomed to craning her neck when he's around. Forgetting that the host who invited her here ought to be greeted before she goes dancing with a known bachelor, she musters up the night's first laugh.

"Your difficulty shall be in the trouble I give you, then!"

A known bachelor, but also known to not be looking to change the fact. With any luck, maybe any spectators will recall that. At least, it is always his hope when in public with a woman in some fashion.

"Not at all, you are always incredibly graceful!" As the music begins, Jekyll gives her a small nod before starting, to lead in. He may not join in on dancing terribly often, but he isn't sloppy by any means. Really he wouldn't even appear to be out of practice. After all, he tries so hard to be the ideal gentleman. That includes being adept at dance.

But for her part, there is only one man ... creature ... with whom she's waltzed, and only once in public. Not long after he let her out of the house. After she had 'recovered' from poor health brought on by traveling to England.

She loves the whisper of her dress and shoes; the look on his face; the space they've been given; the people she doesn't see anymore except as blurs.

"It is lovely to -- let another lead me," Paloma starts, too high up and giddy to nail English phrasing easily, "in this way. You do not have rough hands."

Being as they're gloved, she can't mean texture.

"It would be impossible to dance well in such a tense manner! It requires a gentleness - fluidity." He smiles. "Besides which, you deserve as much grace at any time."

But this was a mistake, looking down at her, held so close to him, he wants so much to kiss her in the middle of the dance. Only there's no way he could, not even afterwards, and he's certain he must be quite red.

Only just arrived and he already wants to run away home, to give all the desires he can't allow himself to Hyde.

To hear she deserves anything so fine as grace and fluidity. It'd be enough to stop her heart.

What's fascinating is the color he turns. Like someone went and slapped him on both cheeks until he was ruddy from it. Or he'd been drinking (she knows it's not so).

Paloma says nothing until the dance brings them closely private enough for her to sneak in a question unheard by passing dancers, "If you must, please, make an excuse." Clearly he's just so embarrassed by this display ........

"No, no certainly not, there's no need at all." But she's so close now, it really was a mistake, the temptation is too great. Caught up in the moment and too overwhelmed by it, the next time they're brought together, he leans down to kiss her.

It's only after that he realises his mistake, in such a public space. "--Ah."

Initially she expects he's leaning in to be secretive, that he's got something to share unintended for the perked ears around them. As he moves, her eyes slide a little to his left and catch Samantha messing around with her turtle brooch, watching them bemusedly.

He catches her unawares and it's enough to scald a wretch immediately to attention. Paloma gives him a warm welcome to the mouth without thinking terribly much about the guests' opinions, or the dancers who don't miss a step.

Ripples of titters overtake various groups of people. She wets her lips instinctively. "Kiss an old widow and she may beat you with her fan."

"I'm sorry, I-" What can he say? He done messed up. And still he wants to kiss her again. Beet red, Jekyll covers his mouth with a hand as the dance ends and he's left standing there like a fool as others leave the floor.

Trying to smooth things over with onlookers as best he can, he whispers to her, "Slap me if you will, show that I have acted out of line."

As their fellow dancers leave, some alone and others in twos, Paloma stays with her gentleman beet.

She does the opposite of hitting him (never, ever!) and touches his elbow with some dim awareness of trembling. "But you have not, Harry. Worse if they see you so."

"I must deal with my own consequences on my own. Perhaps it is simply some delirium, a fever, or having been too long at work!" He bites the inside of his lip, and offers his hand to her again to lead her away, back to the crowd or to a seat, as a proper gentleman should. Redeem himself at least a little.

"I'm sorry, there is so much trouble I have caused for you in my weakness."

Somehow Paloma doesn't believe it's any of those. And ... show gratifying, knowing she's not by herself in badly timed impulsiveness.

She goes with him to seats set against a wall heavy with paintings. For once they don't distract her from present company. Reluctance to separate keeps the light weight of her fingers on him; she tries to show him her guilty pleasure by tilting her chin up near as allowed.

"Trouble follows me with or without you, and I would happy-- happily remember this dance and your ..." Well. The kiss.

Victorian weenie au

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