"What in the sweet hell were you all thinking?" Kathleen fumed, pacing up and down the parlour room she had corralled the lot of them inside and slammed the door shut. Hearing her use a very unladylike word made both Blanche and Nicola flinch from where they sat at adjacent corners of the room, dripping onto the rug beneath their feet. Lady Blackwood was the epitome of propriety and if she had resorted to cussing... then they were in for a lengthy diatribe, at least. Kathleen had yanked each one of them into a chair as far away from each other as possible, as if keeping a distance between them would ensure less of a chance for mischief. She was, Nicola realised, treating them as naughty children and she supposed they had behaved as such, but still.

"Can you imagine if you anyone saw you?" Kathleen continued to hiss, specifically at the chandelier hanging from the ceiling. "The scandal the family would have then... and just how would the lord of the manor handle that situation I would love to know!"

"You are being dramatic, mother," Jason drawled from where he slouched against a settee, arms folded against his bare chest and his trousers dark and clinging to the contours of his legs most deliciously.

His mother threw a crocheted blanket at him, the gesture spoke volumes about what she thought of his state of undress. Jason merely eyed the dainty pink cloth as if it were burning him where it lay across his expansive chest.

"My boy, dramatic is not the half of it," she scoffed, wagging a finger at him. "I have half a mind to lock the lot of you up in this house and never allow you to set foot outside again!"

"Sounds hyperbolic," her son intoned, shrugging the blanket off him. "Keeping us all prisoners under one roof would surely entice more scandal than were we to, say, continue with our day-to-day business."

Her look told him just how unwelcome his speculation was, but then she turned her eyes to Blanche, who was shivering and wriggling under the shawl as if something were plaguing her. "And you, Blanche," she seethed, "I knew you could be belligerent, but this. I have half a mind to demand one of these buffoons marries you!"

"Mama!" Blanche stopped fidgeting and stared at her mother with horror. "You wouldn't!"

"I would!" But Kathleen glanced doubtfully at the big hulking bear positively pooling water around her exquisite chaise longue, and then at the other impossibly roguish auburn-haired gentleman who was trying desperately not to laugh, the devil incarnate.

Lady Blackwood stopped pacing and crossed her arms furiously, her expression clearly speaking her utter horror at the plausibility of having one of these vagrants ruining her furniture as her son-in-law and Nicola found it all so absurdly funny a snort of laughter escaped her.

She slapped the shawl and hand to her mouth to stop more of the vastly inappropriate noise escaping. Too late, she realised, as the attention of the room swivelled to her, including Kathleen's steely gaze. "And you, Miss Eversley," she began with quiet disappointment and Nicola couldn't recall the last time she had ever used her formal name. "I would expect this atrocity from my own wayward children, but I was so sure of your propriety, you can understand how utterly disappointed I am in you, my dear."

Oh, God, she was going to laugh again, right in this lovely woman's face who had taken her in and welcomed her as a constant guest of the family. But, truly, Jason should not be nodding sagely in a such a facetious show of agreement behind his mother's back, his eyes devilishly mischievous as they studied her.

Kathleen threw a hand at her wretched son. "Should someone other than myself have found you, God forbid, you would have been forced to marry my scoundrel son." If this revelation bothered the marquis in question, he clearly didn't give a rat's ass considering the unrepentant wink he gave her at the culmination of his mother's words. "Or, and I honestly do not know which would be a worse fate for you, you could take your pick of the three of them!"

Blanche snorted now, the same wide-eyed desperate amusement on her face. "You both think this is funny?" Kathleen whispered in quiet outrage. "The scandal that would be attached to your names would not only ruin yourselves, but the entire family. Your sisters wouldn't be able to enter polite society without talk, possibly even shunned from events. Is that what you would find funny?"

And that was the truth of it and it was sobering enough to let Nicola sit up straighter and feel utterly wretched. Grace and Diana loved attending the balls and the events of the seasons, as did Blanche. It was unthinkable to imagine they'd all be barred from them as a consequence of her outrageous actions this evening.

If she regretted any of it, however, Nicola did not feel that she did. Perhaps she regretted that they were caught, for she was certain that if the opportunity approached again and again, she would lean in favour of a swim in the lake at the early hours of the morning, or a sprint through a field or the forest with Jason Blackwood, every time.

But these sentiments would not rectify the damage of the situation and before Lady Blackwood could impose some dire punishment on her and Blanche, Nicola said earnestly, "You're entirely correct. Our actions were in poor form and Blanche and I simply did not think accordingly of the repercussions."

Kathleen pursed her lips as she studied her. Blanche, for her part, was wriggling again, but thankfully the laughter had died for the most part. There wasn't a trace of repentance on Jason's, Oliver's, or Nathaniel's faces. "At least one person in this room has the sense to know better next time," Kathleen muttered, seemingly satisfied with Nicola at least, "but I am afraid I will have to implement stricter routines with you two. For the next week, you shan't attend any events-"

"Mama, no!" Blanche pleaded. "That is not fair! We had planned-"

"I'll not hear of it, Blanche."

"But-"

Jason stood suddenly and went over to his irate mother. "Dismiss the ladies and have at it with me," he said. "It is late, we are all exhausted. If you wish to lambast somebody, it should be me for allowing it, for suggesting it in the first place, but allow the others to go to bed."

Kathleen considered him for a long moment, those grey eyes shrewdly discerning, before glancing at each other them in turn, and finally she appeared to come to a decision and nodded. "Very well. To bed, the lot of you, and pray I do not find you lingering around near my presence until well after noon!"

Dismissed, Nathaniel and Oliver practically bolted for the door, and Blanche and Nicola followed more sedately. Before she exited, she cast the scene behind her one last glance. Jason was watching her as she left, one arm leaning against the mantel above the hearth as he waited to talk with his mother, and her eyes lingered on the play of muscles rippling against the skin of his flank. He noticed it and smiled, but the movement was subdued, and subtly he tilted his head in a direction, communicating something silently to her, and she had a sneaking suspicion she knew just what.

As they left the parlour room, Nicola noticed the grandfather clock. It was where he had jerked his head, was where he wanted to draw her attention to, but she did not dare approach it now with Blanche, twitching furiously, at her side. Just where Oliver and Nathaniel had moved off to so fast was unclear, but for the moment they were alone.

Blanche was scratching and squirming furiously.

"What is the matter with you?" Nicola demanded, regarding her friend with a concerned frown. "You have been squirming since your mother dragged us by the ear inside that room."

Blanche glanced about nervously and then threw the shawl off her shoulders, scratching her shoulders, her arms and neck, with abandon. "It's the grass," she explained, sighing with pleasure as she could claw at her reddening skin at leisure. "The shawl you gave me was on the grass and my skin... reacts."

Red welts were appearing on the skin of her arms, her neck, and then she began to scratch at her stomach, moaning like a wanton woman. Nicola grabbed her arms. "Stop that, you need a bath," she ordered, pulling her towards the stairs.

"I'd like to see you resist scratching when your skin feels alive," Blanche grumbled, but dutifully allowed herself to be led up the stairs toward her chambers.

"Well we might not have much else to do but scratch ourselves if you mother has any say about it," Nicola said testily.

Blanche snorted softly. "She wouldn't dare. I mean, she is understandably furious with us, but banning us for a week? It would be as detrimental to her as it would be to us."

"How so?"

Blanche gave her a wry grin. "If we are out in polite society, at least we are compelled to behave... for the most part, anyway. Mother would never lock us away here for so long. I would drive her to madness, and she knows it."

By the time Nicola crawled into bed, the sun was rising, and sleep claimed her quickly, but not for very long. A tray of breakfast had been sent up to her room, a clear statement by Lady Blackwood that they were to remain out of sight for the next few hours if they wanted to be spared her wrath, and she supposed deservingly so. She ate promptly, bathed and dressed, and then, with no small amount of fear exited her chamber, anticipating that Kathleen would be guarding the outside of this wing to ensure that Blanche and Nicola did not venture back and forth.

However, she was not, so Nicola crept her way to the entrance hallway, opened the grandfather clock, retrieved the note from within as she expected it to be, and returned to her room with due haste.

When she unfolded the page, however, there was no written missive from him. Rather, a sketch. A flowing lined replica of her own face met her eyes, with wet hair and shoulders, half-submerged in a dark pool of water. He had gotten the details so perfect, from the arch of her brow to the bedraggled ribbons of her hair pooling in the water around her shoulders, the subtle bend of the tip of her nose, the sideways quirk of her lip that she favoured. The material of her nightgown was lined and shadowed exquisitely, and she did not even mind that he allowed such honed attention to detail when sketching the swell of her breasts. Even the water was rippled with edges of light from the moon.

It was the most beautiful thing she had even been given and she hastily locked it away, her chest swelling with a tangible ache as she grappled with a fresh page and the inkpot.

The sketch is beautiful. Do I owe you further thanks for saving us from your mother today?

Nicola exercised caution when she returned to the clock, and any subsequent trips, due to the possibility of running into Kathleen... she was not sure if the woman would be too impressed so soon if she found Nicola sneaking around the manor house on her own, and she wouldn't press her luck so shortly after the promise of retribution due to an evening of cavorting with Jason and his cronies.

His reply was prompt, when next she checked.

I admit I am struggling to capture your lips accurately... you do not even realise the unique way you move them. It's adorable. And, no. Kathleen will not forbid you to attend events this week. Be sure though to give her a wide berth today, and perhaps not push your luck. My appeal only stretches so far...

She replied:

Pray, do not dare say I resemble a beetle! I may end you for it. Thank you, then, for quite possibly rescuing me twice in one evening.

To which he replied:

I have yet to meet an adorable beetle, and I believe I said your mouth was that. So no, assuredly not a beetle. However will you repay me? Lest you forget I am not a knight in shining armour... the protection of your revered reputation comes at a cost.

Nicola: A ladybug is rather cute, don't you think? Perhaps that is what your grandmother meant, in which case I won't be quite so offended. Lest you forget, sir, that I am already accompanying you to two more events in order to uncover the identity of your secret admirer. Surely this constitutes adequate repayment.

Jason: I did not say cute, I said adorable. Stop applying an absurd metaphor to the magnificence that are your lips. Adequate repayment? The cost of your reputation is priceless and I insist on a higher value than simply accompanying me somewhere boring.

Nicola: What do you have in mind, then? And since you chose the events, you have only yourself to blame if you consider them boring.

Jason: You don't want to know what I have in mind. I chose the least boring events out of several tedious options, believe me.

Nicola: I couldn't begin to guess the nature of your mind, but since you will not divulge any details, I'll assume the payment is forfeit. I will admit to being avidly curious of your paintings now that I know it to be your pastime. How is it I have not known this about you before?

Jason: Payment is not forfeit. You won't get out of this that easily. As for my paintings, you simply have never asked just as I have never asked of your pastimes, though I am sure I can venture a few guesses, or you have been a very clever girl and not ventured to parts of the manor house you shouldn't have, because if you had you would have found a specific parlour room I dedicate my time to, but that is dangerously close to my private chambers and we both know what will happen if you venture close to this wing again.

Nicola: It is forfeit as long as you remain elusive about it. I still would very much like to see your work.

Jason: I would not like to offend your sensibilities with my specific payment demands. Perhaps, if you're lucky, I'll show you one day.

Nicola: My sensitivities have been scandalised to the point of no return in less than twenty-four hours. You'll find my constitution stronger than you realise.

Jason: Trust me, they can be scandalised a lot more.

She felt the paper as a hot palpable thing between them and could only stare at that last missive for several moments, her lips tingling with the memory of his kiss. She could smell him, she realised, as if he were physically in the room with her, which was ridiculous, of course, but it was there, perhaps lingering on the edges of her memory of him- of cedarwood and something infinitely him and male. Then she remembered that she did indeed have a keepsake of him from their last interlude, recalling the shirt she had retrieved from the steps, and Nicola eyed the tangle of the shawl where it lay across the chaise longue near to her armoire, intertwined with his article of clothing that she still had in her possession. She wandered over and collected it, held it to her chest, and realised that she was not going to return this to him. No, she speculated, if she was never to have the man himself, then at least she had this deliciously scented part of him.

Seated at her vanity again, she wasn't sure how to reply to his last taunting note, and she wasn't sure if she were brave enough to continue in this thread, as titillating as it may be.

I was under the impression that you were going to protect me, and that should pertain to scandals as well, was all she wrote and returned.

Jason: Always.

Nicole: And if it is yourself I need protecting from?

Jason: You will always be as safe as you allow yourself to be with me, Nicki.

Nicole: That sounds ambiguous.

Jason sent another sketch in reply to that and this one had her skin burning. Despite the licentious subject matter of the picture, Nicola realised that the man had an astounding memory to retain such extraordinary detail and execute it with dexterity and finesse. He had drawn her again, this time up to her knees in the dark water of the lake, her limbs covered with the sheer, translucent fabric of her nightgown. Every curve of her had been lined and shaded from memory, the flare of her hips and the way the material clung to her legs, the triangle between her thighs... studying it made her blush fiercely, but she couldn't look away from the picture, from her, and then he had drawn her breasts, her nipples just visible under the delicate lines of the fabric pulled tight across her chest. Ribbons of hair curled around her shoulders, draping down to her waist, and Jason had managed to capture her mouth poised to the side, frozen in speech directed at him no doubt, but there was subtle laughter and humour radiating from the girl in the picture, from her.

At the bottom of the picture, he had written, This image has been stuck in my mind for hours.

She wanted to frame it and have it hung in a room she frequented every day so that she could look at it however many times she pleased. She had received flowers and chocolate, even small trinkets or jewellery pieces, from gentlemen who had attempted to court her over the last two years, but... nothing like this. She should feel scandalised, she should feel embarrassed that he had drawn her almost naked from his memory, but she was hot and thrilled. Perhaps that made her a foolish woman, perhaps it would ultimately bring her ruination.

I have never seen something as beautiful as this. Thank you.

Awhile later, his response was, Neither have I... have I failed to scandalise you sufficiently?

Nicole: If you mean to do so with your talent, you will find yourself failing. The sketch is beautiful. I'll refrain from commenting on the nature of the subject matter.

Jason: If that has failed, I have other talents that won't.

Nicole: Where has this desire come from? Are you trying to frighten me?

Jason: Frighten you? That is not a word I would use to describe it.

Nicola sighed and set aside her pen, dropping her chin to her hand and staring out the window, absently admiring the two blooming orchids she had spent months nurturing and deciphering the best conditions for the plants. In their respective pots, they were favouring, for the time being at least, the warmth from the window so long as the sunlight was not directly on them. They were temperamental plants, but she enjoyed the challenge, enjoyed the moment they seemed to start thriving under her care.

She thumbed his letter thoughtfully, wondering how to reply, wondering if she should. It was exciting to communicate with him like this, but at the same time... dreadful. She longed to see his face, his smile. She supposed she had engrained enough of his visage to memory, indeed his half naked form, from the last two days to last her a lifetime, but somehow she thought it wouldn't be enough.