Thread: Au-delà du Temps: Beyond Time (LeatrixSage x SacrlettRose)

Lord Wessex looked at the ethereal creature queerly. However, he was not taken in by her dramatics. Though he had to give her a hand for it. She could damn well be an actress! She certainly looked like a harlot, for the missing jewels, the hair piece and most shocking of all - where the hell was her corset?! Luckily, he was a man far too used to the company of women of an exotic nature. However, this was neither the time or the place as she tore herself from his clamp like grasp. Hurting, my dear. Roarke said rather coolly as he advanced towards her like a cat manoeuvring it's prey into a corner with no escape. Is an understatement of the pain you're going to be feeling if you toy with my patience. The spy had watched her closely, playing the part of an ignoramus. Or maybe she thought he was one, to be taken in by her acting skills. Truly it would have been entertaining to indulge her at her own game for sometime however, as it pertained tonight, time was short as was his patience. He rounded upon the fair creature. Finding it hard to believe that such a pretty face could be so deceiving but then he mused it was indeed the prettiest faces that could make a man of sense lose his mind and splurge his wealth. Fortunately, he was far too sensible for such antics. The light around her diminished as he stalked closer, the darkness almost encompassing in it's foreboding for her. It also struck him as odd how she switched to good old English but her accent . . . It was like none he had ever heard before. There was something indeed about this creature that was out of place. Everything pointed her to being a spy and he very much doubted they were on the same side. For one the Hades Club did not employee women in their work. Never had, never would. Secondly, if she was of a foreign body that was an ally he would have been debriefed as such. That naturally only left one option She was a French spy. Oh, madam! Tu dois me paradonner. Stopping two feet away from her Roarke bowed grandly. Where are my manners. Marquess of Wessex. Unfortunately Madam, He addressed her darkly in his crisp British accent, his hand shooting out to her shoulder, whipping her around in his grasp and smacked her head against the wood panelling. You'll be the one being of service to me tonight. He finished as she crumbled to the floor in a mass of silks. For a long moment, Roarke gazed down at her crumpled figure. She was so very petite. Barely a wisp of a girl. If she was a spy as he suspected, he had to take decisive action as he had done. It could have easily become a game of kill or be killed. There were men out there who enjoyed it, he knew very well but he was not the kind of man who liked to put his hands on any woman in a violent manner. Still, he needed answers and this was not the place for them. From answers he could decipher and concoct a solution to his discovery and for that he needed her. And he needed those documents. It did not take long at all for the Marquess to come up with a stratagem. In fact he was known for his interesting mind. Going back to the desk, Wessex began to scroll and tie up the important pieces of parchment he was taking with him. There were four long scrolls that he carried over to the unconscious body. Adjusting the striking vixen he lifted her long skirts and shoved the scrolls under her legs and the skirts. Of course, he indulged in the luxury of her silky smooth skin against the tough skin of his hands, knowing she would have been outraged as any woman had been thinking he'd taken such liberties. Howbeit her modesty was something he was willing to sacrifice for the greater good. Righting the silks of her skirt back into place, Wessex pressed his arms beneath her corpse and heaved her up into his strong arms. Moving closer to the candle light to get a better look at her face. She was pale but not unbecomingly so, with thick dark lashes shadowing her slightly rounded cheeks leading down to plump plush lips and a stubborn chin. All in all she was rather lovely. As much as Roarke would have liked to marvel at her beauty in the candle light he had to get out of here. Pressing his back to the wooden panel at the far right of the room, the bookcase on the other side started to squeak and shift. Swiftly he moved through it into the actual study. It was pitch black but he knew every step to take until he was out of the door and on the landing. The music was louder out here and the sound of people laughing, talking and having a merry time filled the air. The spy wasted no time manoeuvring through the grand household and down the even grander staircase. A plump round finely dressed gent with a flushed complexion holding an eye glass stopping in his wake as Roarke walked towards him with the woman in silk in his arms. Roarke grinned at the perplexed looking man who looked deeper into his monocle at the sight. Femmes! Roarke blurted in a horse like manner, without stopping but shaking his head and looking towards the heavens dramatically as if the answers lay up there somewhere. Ils vous promettent une chose et ensuite se saouler et s'endormir! The frowning gentleman's expression quickly changed to mirth at the Marquess' words. Thank God! Roarke thought, he didn't want to have to deal with him too. Though, he very well would have if he had confronted him about the crumpled body in his arms. Of course, he thought her just another wanton woman at the ball. There were plenty to go around. After all, they were French. Ah! Tu aurais d avoir ton chemin avec elle quand mme! The man replied cheerily growing more flush as he laughed. Roarke's own features became more strained but he managed to hold the grin in place. For a man of his times, he held certain ethics and morals that most men would not bat an eyelid at to override. Yes women were property but he was no rapist, nor a man who beat women or expected them to do as he said. And he hated men who thought it alright to do such things. However, he would not confront a man over their rights. Any woman that ended up in his bed, was there because she wanted to be. Not because he had forced her. Ah! Mais j'aime quand ils se dbattent. Roarke said darkly not stopping as he passed the man and headed straight out the front doors. Hailing the footman to bring his carriage around and glad too that he had indeed bought his carriage tonight and not his fine steed. It was late into the night or rather early depending on how one perceived time that Roarke was leaning against the huge stone mantel piece in his Parisian townhouse. The roaring fire playing dark shadows against his tenebrous countenance. The room itself was set in stone like the whole of the building. With high gothic ceilings and stained glass windows that were currently as dark as the night outside them. Cases with tomes probably older than time worked their ways both left and right of the small sitting area in front of the fire in the centre of the room. Roarke poured over a parchment more deeply in front of the blaze. His whiskey resting on the mantle piece as he raised an jaundice gaze at the mass of crimson silks stirring on the deep purple velvet chaise longue. Welcome back to the world of the living mon cher. His voice as dark and rich as her gown. I'm sorry about earlier. A necessary evil on my part. He said to her as he lowered the parchment in his hands to regard her fully. Tu comprends? He moved to pour her a drink from the decanter and place the whiskey on the table in front of her. But it's my turn to ask the questions now. So, let us begin with your name and where you're from and then we can move onto the fact of how exactly you stumbled - and I use that word very loosely - upon me in Murat's secret little room. Hmm?