In the corner of the ballroom he sat alone pondering so many things as he watched Lady Katherine Clarke enjoy herself. They had locked eyes many times throughout the night, but they had kept much distance at times as well. Only when they danced had they been close enough to enjoy each other's full company, and he had kept his mouth shut on the subject he so wanted to discuss with her. He knew that she was thinking the same as him, he could feel it, and yet he had been unable to get the words out. As he watched her his heart throbbed to an endless degree, his body began to sweat even though he was not in a physical process of dance. He had many dances this night, with many women, and yet it was Katherine who his mind was transfixed on, though his body had yearned for others that night as well as they had danced. It had been far too long since he had been with a woman and that fact was eating away at his willpower.


Others around him talked with one another with smiles and happiness and yet Richard was without such joy. He was simply trying to survive with his sanity intact. He felt much need to leave, but then again he knew should he and be alone in this city that he would have been more likely to do something he'd regret. Raising the glass of wine to his lips he sipped of it feverly, the drink so weak in alcohol that he drank hurriedly to become intoxicated, but to no avail. How he wished it had only been Katherine who had showed interest in him this evening, but he had also been confused by others as well. What a cursed being he was, he would have gladly given up his looks and charm for a straight path that would have much better morale bearing and have been much more ease on his mind.


Running his hand through his hair as he sat back and crossed his legs he took a look up at the ceiling decked in fine chandeliers. Taking another long sip of his drink he tried to find himself lost in the fine art. His dark black tunic with its gold trimming, dark pants, and dark boots offset him and other Harleston types much from the crowd who were all dressed in finer colors. You could easily point out Harleston though, and as Richard thought further into it, strategically it was a great advantage, especially should something happen to throw the whole event into disarray. Not like that was likely to happen, surely it wasn't, but such mental questions to ponder quickly took his mind off of love, women, and much less holy of thoughts. And yet, in the back of his mind he knew that more often than not there were eyes of women on him, undressing him and such realizations were drawing him more and more on the brink of a moral breakdown.

Corby's eyes lit on another nobleman. He was obviously a fine sort, dressed in the dark colors that marked him at the very least upper Harleston nobility. How she loved Harleston Hypocrites, as she thought of them. Pious every Sunday morning but just as black as any cat at night, or so she thought. She'd not had too much opportunity to ply her trade there, but she'd found enough customers, as many as were at Pemberton in truth. And piety... the things one of them had asked her to do still made her grit her teeth to hold back a shiver.

"Milord," she said, her voice slightly gravelly with a lingering cough, tho' the flush it gave her cheeks could be taken as excitement or even the bloom of health. And it had made the necessity for carmine less. "I'm the lady Caroline Kemp." She curtsied best she could, and hoped the dance would be an easy one, if he asked her to do it. She didn't know all these fancy dances, for all she could be limber in bed.

She rose from her curtsy and watched his reaction. Her neckline was lower than most of the women at the ball, and she'd tugged her corset tight to show off her assets, with the result that the skin of her waist would be bruised tomorrow. But no matter.

Corby's eyes lit on another nobleman. He was obviously a fine sort, dressed in the dark colors that marked him at the very least upper Harleston nobility. How she loved Harleston Hypocrites, as she thought of them. Pious every Sunday morning but just as black as any cat at night, or so she thought. She'd not had too much opportunity to ply her trade there, but she'd found enough customers, as many as were at Pemberton in truth. And piety... the things one of them had asked her to do still made her grit her teeth to hold back a shiver.

"Milord," she said, her voice slightly gravelly with a lingering cough, tho' the flush it gave her cheeks could be taken as excitement or even the bloom of health. And it had made the necessity for carmine less. "I'm the lady Caroline Kemp." She curtsied best she could, and hoped the dance would be an easy one, if he asked her to do it. She didn't know all these fancy dances, for all she could be limber in bed.

She rose from her curtsy and watched his reaction. Her neckline was lower than most of the women at the ball, and she'd tugged her corset tight to show off her assets, with the result that the skin of her waist would be bruised tomorrow. But no matter.

Richard's odd attention given so greatly to the ceiling above was disrupted as he heard a soft feeling voice calling to him, or to another lord nearby. Drawing his eyes from the ceiling he sat up and looked at who had spoken, a very cute, and sultry young woman. However, the sultry came all from oddities that he would not expect from a noblewoman. She was not very tall, and her top was so lowcut it drew eyes immediately there where her young supple breasts were drawn together and pushed up. More fathers would have a fit if they saw their daughter dressed as such, or they were very needy to get her married off very quickly. Finding his eyes draw for far too long to her chest he drew his eyes up to regard her.


Short, skinny, and with eyes so intense. The flush in her cheeks showing excitement in the moment. She had likely been one who had been watching him and finally gotten the confidence to come over, maybe wine had been the catalyst as well. Would make the most sense wine was involved and the blush that followed because of it. Rising from his seat to do as any gentleman would he smiled as she curtsied, replying with a bow of his own. "I am Lord Richard Castyll of Harleston. Well met Lady Caroline," he said, rising from his bow and regarding her from above as he towered over her. As her eyes were drawn upwards his were drawn down, right down to her chest again. How could one not be tricked into the trap that they were?


"Would you care to dance?"


Truly, he had no further desire to dance, he'd much rather feel her chest up against his own. Dances like that did not take place a nobleman's ball. Instead there was distance and only wishes. Offering her his hand he would lead her just a bit away from the side of the room. Guiding her to the floor he held her hand in his own as he turned her in front of him, his other hand placed upon her waist. And soon, they danced, but his own attitude was barely into this at all. His eyes were even away from her bosom at this point and silence continued between them.

Corby's eyes narrowed thoughtfully when she noted the direction of his gaze. How familiar! How familiar all these games, how human and uninteresting at their bottom. The world was a bawdy-house, the court was full of whores, and she was the only one honest enough that her stance as a lady was one she recognized for the masquerade it was. What was a lady, but an unpainted harlot?--and what a harlot, but a lady who had more skill than others in necessary areas?

They began to dance, and she noted that his gaze had drifted away from her, over her head.

"Bored, milord?" she murmured, pressing her body forward against his when she saw other couples draw closer together in the dance as well. "I should hope not." She moved against him in a way guaranteed to alleviate boredom--or so it had always been in the past. "So you're related to the Duke, milord?" she added, blinking up at him innocently, as though her movements had been entirely accidental.

He hadn't noticed that she had seen his interest had gone elsewhere, at least not until she came out and stated just that. Immediately drawn back down to her he looked sympathically as if he had hurt her feelings. "No no...it is not.....," he begun to say when suddenly she drew her body closer against his own. Her bosom pressed against his chest only caused for it to be pressed up further nearly popping forth from her dress. He got a quick look before she had drawn herself close enough that he could only get eye contact with her and not much further study of her body. However, she made up for that as well.


The way she moved against him, so suggestively and moving in places that brought excitment, kept him from ever wanting to see her bosom again for the feeling she brought him. Finally, he was drawn out of it for a moment as she asked a question of him. Looking down at her as she looked up, trying to be all innocent, which made him more curious for her knew her actions on purpose he finally got a reply out from his lips. "Yes, Duke Westley is my brother." Feeling her move yet further against him he really wondered if someone was setting him up for humiliation. Was he really at a ball of nobles?


"So, what lands do your family call their own?" It was another way of saying what duchy has your family sworn allegiance to, but the way he said it was much more diplomatic and less confrontational.

What lands... Corby had no idea what the question even meant.

"I'm of Pemberton parts," she said, dodging the question as artfully as she could manage. She moved back, wetting her lips deliberately with her tongue. Seduction appeared to work so well on him. Not all lords were this suggestible; and here he was of Harleston too. She smiled to herself. But there was fear behind her eyes--fear lest he find her out for what she was. And anger at the unfairness of it all.

"So, milord," she added in a whisper, "do you have any passtimes?" Her tone was one she used when coaxing patrons along. Low, hoarse--as if choked with passion. Though in fact it had been a long, long time since she'd felt honest passion. Too many bad nights had killed it. Conversation--that was the proper, wasn't it?

Truth was, Richard didn't care for Pemberton much at all, actually he greatly disliked it. Most of the dislike came solely from the knight who had brought his cousins trouble in the inn, a knight who had visited with not being allowed by the Duke. And, that was essentially the only reason why there was a dislike, but it was not likely to be faded away due to the interest of this woman. She was an oddity in fact, acting far unlike most noble women he knew. Her touches, movements, and as she stepped back and licked her lips that only added to the oddness of the moment.


"Well, I am afraid many of my passtimes are things that would bore you, however I do like to sing and I do love a good horseride throughout the countryside," he said, his hand gripping her waist slightly tighter. He wanted to know who this woman was, wanted to see what she was capable of. There was one thing, she had brought the possibility of something that he had been yearning about only moments before. Her arrival came as if she had been reading his thoughts and picked him out of the room. "So, what do you like to do in your passtime, My Lady?," he said, finding himself leaning in alittle closer, an intenseness in his voice.


He was certainly eyeing her up, though he swore not to pursue noblewomen in such a way, especially those of other courts and one he disliked. Any fling between them would go far beyond just a fling for it would surely become public knowledge somehow, leading to things he did not want to be known. It would certainly hurt the duchy as well, and he had his eyes on Kitty. He had soon the nerve to ask for her hand in courtship, before he would go to her father and get it to be public information. Duchess Lucy had already given her approval and thus he knew her father would agree the same. But, there was nothing of them yet, nothing to damage, and yet, nothing really was inevitable with him and this woman as well.


Maybe he was just reading her wrong, she had not made any true desires or intentions known.

"Oh, the usual things," Corby said flippantly. What did noblewomen do? "Ride, embroider, sing. I must admit I'm no great shakes at singing, though." Did noblewomen speak like this? Surely not--but it would pass. At least she hadn't spoken of anything grossly inappropriate at that.

"Mostly I find myself idle." She only wished! If she wasn't working, or lounging in the room recuperating and resting, she was out buying clothes. Clothes were the staple of her trade, really. No one wanted a whore in rags. Or she was shopping for food. The leisure time she did have--and sometimes she had enough of it for her tastes--was more in the nature of a blessed relief than anything else. In the past she and Catherine had gone to penny plays together or simply strolled the streets. But with Elisa there were no such diversions.