Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction ❯ The Dark Duke ❯ Introductions and Demands ( Chapter 13 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: okieday17 
The ball continues...
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.22.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 648 | Status: Work In Progress
The ball continues...
Anime/Manga: Dragon Ball/Z/GT Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Romance / Drama / Comedy / Adventure / Action | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 01.22.2012 | Pages: 3 | Words: 6.8K | Visits: 648 | Status: Work In Progress
Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Warnings: Cussing
A/N: I cannot believe that I have over one hundred reviews at ff.net--seriously, you guys rock. For the people who have reviewed every chapter, and for those of you who just drop me a wonderfully nice line every now and then--I love you all. Your reviews never fail to make me smile, and they continue to inspire me to write.
Also--way to go RocktheDragon for catching the Monty Python reference in my A/N's last time (it's the nerd in me, I can't help it).
Lilpumpkingirl, thank you for being more than just a usual beta reader--thank you for pushing me to be a better writer. Seriously, you are awesome!
Chapter Thirteen: Demands and Introductions
"You have to do something."
Vegeta, who was in the process of watching (and yet not looking at, at all) Bulma, turned towards the dowager, frowning. Where had she come from? How had she found him? He had come to the mezzanine above the ballroom, making sure he was in the shadows with the strict goal of not being found by others. Apparently he was only able to hide from people not as hell-bent as the dowager was. Still, her finding him was not the problem--her declaration was.
"I do?"
The dowager scowled, glaring at him as if he was being willfully obtuse--which Vegeta was proud to admit, he was not. The dowager always found a large number of things to complain about, and Vegeta had long since given up trying to understand what went on in that head of hers. "Of course you do. The point of finding Kakarrot was for him to help further our bloodline, and to ensure that the Vegetasei land does not fall into non-Saiyan hands. We are supposed to be making sure he makes the appropriate match with a woman, one we can approve of, one who will continue our bloodline through her womb."
Vegeta raised an eyebrow and when she did not continue simply prompted, "And isn't he?" Was that not the whole point of this damned ball, as the dowager had pointedly reminded him numerous times over the past week?
The dowager pointed, her long slender finger finding Kakarrot and Bulma on the dance floor where Vegeta could tell you without any hesitation that they were sharing their fourth dance. Her voice rose slightly, an oddity in itself, and Vegeta found himself listening as the dowager spoke, curious to her anger.
"Not with her in the picture! There are already whispers about how indecent it is for him to dance with his sister more than twice--especially since there is no blood relation." When Vegeta only sipped scotch from the tumbler in his hand the dowager's eyes narrowed and making her voice low, she practically hissed as she continued, "She is a commoner Vegeta! An American commoner! I do not want her blood mixing with our families--he needs to dance with any of the other titled women I have decided are appropriate for him! Not that harlot!"
Vegeta's eyes grew infinitesimally larger--as surprised at the dowager's outburst as she appeared to be. The longer she spoke the more her voice rose and her usually pale cheeks flushed with anger. It was a side to the dowager he could not recall ever seeing before. She was a very cool and composed woman--what was it about Bulma that seemed to prompt the most stone-like of Vegetasei's into emotional outbursts?
The dowager had regrouped wonderfully though, patting her hair as the color left her cheeks, her metaphorical claws retracting as she gracefully reminded him, "You have been neglecting your duties as a host, and I have not pointed this out--"
"Until now," Vegeta retorted right back.
His grandmother continued as if he had not spoken, "--because it is expected of you, as it is the personae you have always cultivated in society. One I wholeheartedly approve of." Vegeta felt the old desire he had to change anything about himself that made the dowager happy, by going and becoming the most social of persons at the ball. But that would involve talking to others, and if there was one thing Vegeta liked less than the dowager, it was the stupidity of the British peer. So he did nothing, instead looking at the dowager as she spoke to him sternly, "But I am asking you to do this. Miss Briefs has danced every waltz with Kakarrot, and I would like you to claim the next one with her."
Vegeta took another slow sip of his drink before he blandly asked, "Me?"
"Yes, you! It is your duty to ensure that Kakarrot's children are nobly born, and we both know if he ends up with his Ôsister' then our children will be as common as the lowest street sweepers."
Vegeta frowned at her use of pronouns and knew that when Kakarrot did have children, he was going to have to move hell and high water to make sure the dowager did not sweep in, herd them off, and raise them as she had done to him. No child deserved that cold, impersonal childhood that he had had.
When Vegeta said nothing, the dowager continued, "Head Miss Briefs off the next time she wants to dance with him, and tell her it is your duty as host to dance with her. Do you understand, Vegeta?"
Of course he understood, but (just to annoy her even more) Vegeta shrugged, not letting his grandmother know a thing. "But would I not be the one who is wasting their precious dance time on a commoner? What if I am to fall in love with her?"
The dowager was the one who raised an eyebrow this time, the sensible cool woman he remembered from his childhood back in full swing. "That would require a heart Vegeta."
Then she was gone, coming as quickly and as quietly as she appeared.
Vegeta frowned at the dowager's retreating back as she descended the grand staircase. His view from the mezzanine that surrounded the packed ballroom gave him an unfettered view of all that was happening below him. Up here, he was practically invisible--trust the dowager to find him, command him to do something, and then disappear as if she had never been here in the first place. Oh, and insult him--mustn't forget that one.
He sighed as he rubbed his brow, wondering how late it was. He had been able to spend much of the ball in the gentleman's parlor, drinking fine scotch, and smoking expensive cigars.
He had discovered at a very young age that some of the best politics went on during social events when most men let their guards down. Vegeta had no compunction about making a deal with an inebriated man, or forcing them to sign a contract--as long as he got what he wanted. And he was always sure to make certain that the deal was not so one-sided that a man could complain (or take him to courts) the morning after.
Even from the gentleman's parlor though, the success of the ball was well apparent. Anyone who was anyone was here and Kakarrot had been a huge revelation for all of the partygoers. He had already overheard several marriage minded momma's trying to figure out how to get his newly turned nineteen-year-old cousin and their debutante daughters together. That thought made the over-thirty year old Duke smirk, knowing that Kakarrot had not a chance against the most...creative...of these mother's, who would be looking for ways to trap him into marriage.
Vegeta would have to keep an eye on the more ambitious ones, not because he cared if his cousin got trapped or not, but because there was some truth in what the dowager had said. Vegeta did not want their bloodline mixing with just any noble. He would have to make a good match, one that Vegeta could give his stamp of approval. Especially as there was so much riding on the young man's shoulders, even if Kakarrot was not yet aware of this....
Vegeta had been getting compliments all night on a party well thrown. The food was excellent, the alcohol was flowing, and everyone was already trying to figure out just what they could copy to make their parties even an ounce as successful as this one. He should feel proud, though he thoroughly detested throwing parties.
And yet...Bulma.
What a thorn in his side she was proving to be.
Right after Kakarrot had made a successful entrance as the newest Vegetasei, Vegeta had been doing his duty and speaking to those who had questions about the land, title, money and responsibilities of the newly found Viscount of Vegetasei. It had been tedious, but it needed to be done. And Vegeta had already been counting the minutes until he could make an escape from the banality of the ballroom when he had suddenly felt the air become electrified. He was the first person to sense it. He knew this because he had tensed and lifted his head from the conversation he had been having, listening for...for what?
He had turned towards the stairs then almost knowing what was coming and yet still finding himself completely unbalanced by the sight of Bulma as...as a lady. When he thought of her he saw her as that fiery temptress, or that irritating woman who stood up to a British Duke for her brother, or that bold genius who commandeered his office and saw nothing wrong with discovering all of his secrets. He had thought of her as an American heathen (much like his grandmother still thought of her it seemed), a siren, an inventor, and a linguistic genius--but not as this elegant beauty that was captivating all five hundred people in the ballroom. Hell, forget everyone else in the room--she had utterly mesmerized him in a way that had nothing (yet everything) to do with his lust.
Even now, as she whirled away below him, Vegeta followed her progress with eagle eyes. Each time he saw her he was amazed at just how damn beautiful she was.
Bulma was a vision in a deep, ruby red--a color other woman were wearing tonight but none quite like her. The darkness of the gown counteracted with the fairness of her skin, emphasizing the red color of her lips, and the blue of her hair and eyes. The dress was off the shoulders and her hair pulled up, gracefully revealing creamy expanses of the white skin of her neck and shoulders. The front dipped down to reveal a hint of her cleavage, a silver and ruby broach drawing the eyes straight to her impressive chest. The silk gown pulled in at her tiny waist (which he had only seen hints of in her day gowns) before flaring out at the hips, her skirt not puffing out quite as large as every other woman's in the establishment.
He was sure she had already started a new trend. Vegeta could already imagine the hundreds of women going to their modiste and seamstresses tomorrow, begging for them to make them look like her. He snorted at that thought--Ôthat would be highly unlikely.'
It was not just the gown itself that transformed her--it was the very way she carried herself as she walked down those stairs alone. She held her skirts as she walked down unaccompanied with her head held high, looking very much like she belonged in a royal palace and not just some Ducal home. She was a lady, pure and simple, and Vegeta had heard the hundreds of buzzing whispers about her start before she was even fully down the stairs. How different she was from that woman who had first run into her drawing room to meet him--he could almost not reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he had first met. How could he ever think she was not refined, or dignified?
With every dainty (yet sure) step she had taken down those stairs earlier, he had felt like he was getting hit in the stomach as his gut tightened, unable to tear his gaze away from her. He had had every desire to run to her, meet her at the bottom of the stairs, and sweep her into his arms and carry her away from the eyes of everyone else in that ballroom. Something possessive and hot had slithered through him as he realized that he was not alone in watching her. Everyone was--not just the females either. The male's as well.
No other male should get to look at her! She was his!
Vegeta moved away from the grand staircase as a group of laughing ladies returned from the retiring room they had been at, chatting and gossiping about the nights events. He pushed himself further along the abandoned mezzanine, wishing to do nothing more than to disappear into the shadows as he had done many a times in his tenure as a spy. But he did not disappear completely... not this time. He had to make sure he could see Bulma, and when his eyes found her again seeing her laugh at something that idiot Kakarrot said, his hand tightened on his glass as he felt an echo of that earlier feeling.
It had been the most possessive feeling Vegeta could ever remember having. It had threatened to choke him as a fine red mist settle in front of his vision. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs, disappearing into the crowd who all turned to her, crowding her, that Vegeta had been freed from the feeling--and fled. He had left the ballroom, uncaring of the duties he was leaving behind. Bulma had thrown him off--he had needed to escape--and escape he did straight to the gentleman's chambers.
Even there, though, he could not truly escape her. As she had captivated everyone, even the men were buzzing with gossip and rumors about the blue-haired beauty. Though most of it was innocuous enough, some of the more lascivious of men were letting their imaginations run away from them. Every time Vegeta heard a word or whisper from a male peer describing just what he would like to do with the vision in red, Vegeta had had to work hard at tampering down the beast inside of him that urged him to rip that man's throat out. Every time, thinking How dare he!
Vegeta was glad he had years of hiding his emotions on his side, especially when it became common knowledge that Bulma had been staying under his roof and would for the whole season. The more courageous (or perhaps it was stupid) of men would look to him, excited upon discovering this news, and Vegeta would have to fight back the urge to do something very ungentlemanly to them. He had been approached many times, with a variation of, "I say, that woman lives here? Can you introduce the two of us, Vegetasei?"
Vegeta would meet all such inquiries with a dark stare, no other motion needed as the other man would generally just pretend to remember they had somewhere else to be. Vegeta knew only the most foolish of men could withstand that look from him, especially as he had once been told that it somehow managed to suck the soul out of the person he was staring at, and so he gladly employed it tonight.
Vegeta wished to be completely alone but since this was his ball, he could not leave. So he had gone as far from the ballroom as he could, avoiding it as if it harbored the black plague. Knowing Bulma was in there...moving around and talking to... dancing with...other men! Again it was unintentionally making him see green, and Vegeta did not relish the feeling. It was the jealous feeling though, the one he had been trying to avoid, that had finally driven him from his hiding spot. The whispers about Bulma and Kakarrot dancing together had grown louder and louder, no matter how much he had tried to ignore them.
When it had become known that they were lining up for their fourth dance Vegeta had finally given up on any pretense of not caring, and come to the upper mezzanine, where he though he could watch her dance without any interference. Trust the dowager to find him. He sighed at that unpleasant thought, before he threw back the rest of his scotch, the burning sensation running hot down his throat as he used his exceptional vision to continue to watch Bulma.
She even danced with an unstated poise he had come to find--leaving him to wonder just how wrong he had read her. What other surprises this woman was hiding from him? Before tonight he would have confidently said Bulma was many things (loud, crass, boorish, beautiful, smart...) but he would never have anticipated that he would have said she was by far the most graceful woman in a ballroom full of woman bred to be graceful.
When he had stipulated that she answer three of his questions Vegeta had only had one question in mind (having to do with a certain relationship she had with her brother), but now he was glad to have claimed all three questions instead of just one. She intrigued him--and more than just his lust responding to seeing her.
His grandmother had railed against her marrying Kakarrot, and Vegeta understood why from a pride standpoint. But if he were not a Duke, if he was not a Vegetasei, if he did not have other obligations that made marriage pointless--Vegeta would have pursued her. She might not have a title, but she carried herself as if she had hundreds of them, and thousands of years of breeding, behind her and would produce only the bluest of blood among children if she did indeed marry into the London peerage.
Which was a dangerous thought.
One he was only too happy to have interrupted, even if it was his awful grandmother, commanding that he dance with the one woman he knew he should be avoiding the rest of this ball. Why her? Why not anyone but her?
But he sighed, knowing that even if he would love to do nothing more than throw this in the dowager's face and not do as she asked, Vegeta knew he had to. It would not further his motives if he Kakarrot did not get married to someone who could carry on the Vegetasei lineage. And despite what he had just thought about Bulma producing noble children, he would rather die a slow and painfully long death than to see Bulma's stomach grow large with any man's baby--other than his, of course.
Another extremely dangerous thought to have when one was a spy.
~~&~~
Bulma was on top of the world.
She had known that charging into the ballroom was perhaps not the smartest idea she had ever had, but Bulma knew how to work a crowd. She had spent hours getting ready, and Bulma was just vain enough to know that her natural beauty was only enhanced when she had three different maids getting her ready. She would stun tonight, especially with the exquisitely crafted gown she was wearing. And she was right.
She had felt all of their stares, but had not met a single eye as she descended, using her entrance into the ball as a way to take all of those stares off of her decidedly flushed looking brother. Goku hated attention of any kind, unless he was in the boxing or fencing match, in which case he reveled in being able to show off his skills. Bulma had known this, and so had decided what better way to get them to stop talking about her brother than by giving them something far, far prettier to talk about?
When Bulma had finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she had been swamped. Women crowded her, trying to ask the names of her dress maker, or push their daughters next to her in the hopes that some of Bulma's sparkle would rub off on them, while men young and old crowded her, well...because she was gorgeous, if she did say so herself. She had been introduced to so many people she had not a chance of remembering any of their names. Not even the men she danced with.
As far as she could remember, they had all been charming with their British accents, and blandly handsome, as all men with money tended to be. Not that every man she danced with was handsome, but there was that air of knowing they were still desirable because of their bank accounts and family lineage. Bulma thought the men in New York were bad enough, but the English were proving far worse as they had hundreds of years of history telling them they were better than everyone else. Honestly, it was as if they expected her as an American to fall at their feet, simply because they had money and a title. She could only roll her eyes as the night went on and the egos only seemed to get bigger.
Bulma knew she would be successful in a London crowd, she just had not anticipated how successful she would be. Was she truly the only new woman of the season, or was it her Americanness that had drawn them in? She had just wanted to distract everyone from her brother, not become the hottest commodity at the ball. Especially as she was thinking about her new duties as a member of the war offices in London--what kind of spy would she make, being the most visible person at any ball? Maybe this would come in handy, though. People would probably not suspect an American was a spy for Britain, and be more loose-lipped around her. Especially the men who wanted to impress her. She could use this to her advantage...
Still, there were decided disadvantages to being the most sought after person in a ballroom. Particularly when it came to obligations she had to her brother. She had to extricate herself from four different men to make her way to Goku for their promised dances, and none took too kindly to being told that she would rather dance with her brother than with them. Not that that would stop them from trying again, later, she had discovered. The second Goku would put walk her off the dance floor she would be crowded by other men.
Bulma knew she had danced with her brother too much. Mr. Shu's voice was annoying loud as he shouted at her subconscious, "TWO DANCES WITH ANY ONE PERSON! THAT IS IT!" But she did not care as this was her brother. Goku needed her, and Bulma had not met a man alive yet whom she cared about more than her brother. Mostly because the dances she shared with Goku, as she subtly led him around the dance floor, were her favorite. She could be herself with Goku, laughing, smiling, and not worrying about saying the wrong thing. It was a nice mini-break from the tedium of politeness that followed her everywhere else.
After they finished their fourth dance together, Goku had once again proven his usefulness as he read her thoughts and smiled. He said low enough for only her to hear, "I'll go get you some punch. You look thirsty. You haven't stopped all night, have you?"
"Not at all. Punch sounds perfect right now. Thanks, Goku!" She smiled gratefully, especially as she was exhausted from all the dancing and politeness (it was tiring!), though she was still riding the high of being such a success at the ball. Every time she caught a glimpse of her mother, Bunny was beaming at Bulma, and Bulma could only look forward to the grilling she was sure to get later, in relation to every man she had danced with. Bunny wanted grandchildren, and, as she kept reminded Bulma, Bulma was not getting any younger at the very marriageable old age of twenty-two.
Bulma was glad Goku had escorted her off to the side of the ball, so she could observe the dance floor without being on it. She found herself intrigued to notice the similarities and differences between the best of New York society and the best of London society. It did not matter which side of the pond you were on, it seemed. Marriage was the goal for the women, while for the men it was avoiding marriage for as long as possible at all costs. That always created the most fascinating of dramas...
After a short break, the musicians were setting up for another dance, a lively quadrille, and despite her aching feet, Bulma wanted to participate. She loved dancing, it was one of her favorite things to do, and it had been a while since she could stay at a ball as late as it was, as New York's season had not begun before they had left. As she saw the familiar lines of dancers begin to form, Bulma felt a yearning to be out there to join them.
As if on cue another man, a tall, dashing figure in his evening kit, approached her. "Miss Briefs." He gave a bow, and Bulma curtseyed back.
When she rose, she took the man in, and was interested to see how handsome he really was. She was quick in her assessment, as she knew she could not stare her fill, and had learned early on to get as much as one could in a quick look. He was lean, athletically built, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He had long, exceptionally dark black hair that he had braided, thrown over one of his shoulders. His eyes were the brown of a caramel, and his smile was seductive. Right off the bat Bulma was impressed. He was exceedingly handsome, almost bordering on pretty, and she could not help the flip she felt in her stomach. She had a weakness for handsome men.
And in a room full of handsome men, this one stood out. Well, with the exception of a certain--so far missing in action--Duke...
"I'm sorry, have we been introduced?" Bulma's smile was large, trying to remember if they had or had not met tonight. She did not think so (she would like to think she would remember HIM!), but still, it was improper of a man to come straight up and introduce himself. There were English rules in place that insured young men and women could not just walk up to each other and start talking to each other. The English rules were stuffier than the ones she was used to, but she could see the wisdom behind them, especially as men had been sniffing at her heels all night for an introduction.
The man smiled a winning grin at her, his brown eyes sparkling. "Not at all. I just find you exceptionally hard to track down, and have found myself in good fortune to find you alone. I am the Viscount Viridian."
Bulma eyes lit up as she heard him speak, "You are French!"
Viridian's brown eyes grew large, seemingly taken aback. He covered though, quickly, with a small laugh, "I'm sorry? Did I say something in French and not realize it?"
Bulma chuckled, shaking her head. "No, no--not that. I'm sorry--it was rude of me to burst out like that--it is just with the way you speak. Your accent is very subtle, but it is there."
Viridian raised an eyebrow, a muscle clenching in his jaw. "Is it?"
Bulma nodded, deciding that he was taking this matter far too seriously. "Oh yes. Especially with how you say Viscount. The British tend to put a lot more emphasis on the Ôs', whereas the French people I have met leave the s out."
Something flashed, dark, in Viridian's eyes, but it was gone rather quickly. Once again Bulma found herself wondering why it mattered if he was French or not. "You have found me out. I was not raised in Britain. But I have lived here a very long time."
Bulma sensed he wished to leave this part of the conversation behind, but she was curious as she could not figure out why he was uncomfortable about it. "Have you been to France recently? I have always wanted to go."
Viridian smiled again, all charm as he spoke, "I regret to inform the lady that I have not been in years. But perhaps I will go back, now that the country is more settled." His smile grew as he looked at her, effectively changing the subject and tampered down Bulma's open curiosity when he spoke next, "Now I must admit, Miss Briefs, I do not feel right, speaking to such a lovely young woman when such a lovely quadrille is being played. May I have this dance?"
Bulma nodded, putting her gloved hand in his, and letting him lead her back out to the floor. Viridian was an exceptional dancer, lively and spry, and Bulma found herself laughing and smiling whenever they got the chance to speak. She felt bubbly, the smile unable to leave her face, especially when he looked at her.
This feeling, she recognized.
It was fun, and lighthearted--she was flirting with this man. And--Bulma was proud to say--she was doing a damn good job of it. Viridian could not keep his eyes off of her, and Bulma felt a small spark whenever she touched his hand. This she knew! This she could do! This lighthearted flirting was what she had been taught since before she could go to balls, this was the way men and women were supposed to interact. This was courtship and she was enjoying herself. She was almost disappointed when she heard the last chords being played knowing her time with Viridian was coming to an end.
As the dance ended the Viscount took her hand and led her to the edge of the dance floor, smiling down at her. "I am now the envy of every other man at this ball."
Bulma smiled at him, delighted to find that his eyes were on her alone. She lowered her lashes as she answered primly, "And I am sure I am the envy of quite a few number of ladies, as well."
As the next dance started, Bulma and Viridian stood off from the crowd, and used the opportunity to chat about inconsequential things one tended to when flirting in proper society. He asked her about her trip from America, and she asked him about his lodgings in town. He countered with bland questions about how she was liking London, and she responded with blander questions about the normal London weather.
There was nothing inappropriate about what they talked about, but the deeper subtext of flirtation was definitely there. Bulma laughed daintily (like she had been taught to do) whenever the Viscount said something slightly witty and she was proud to see the flash of attraction in Viridian's eyes. This was what she was used to when it came to men. Not that dark, overpowering feeling she tended to have around the Duke...who she was not going to think about right now!
While they were speaking, Bulma accidentally (on purpose of course) lightly touched Viridian's cheek. She was surprised by his reaction when he drew back sharply, and put a hand to where she had touched as if it had burned. Bulma was confused to the stark way he reacted (most men were delighted to be touched by her) but then she looked down at her glove and saw that she had smeared some skin-tone colored rouge onto the tips of her fingers when she had touched him, and she looked up at him, confused.
Viridian, who still held a hand to his cheek, smiled at her, apologetically, back to his charming self. "Excuse the vanities of man, Miss Briefs. I had a skin condition as a child, and find that makeup is necessary is social situations, unless I want every person to stare at my discolorations."
Bulma's confusion lifted at his explanation, and she put a hand to her mouth, feeling guilty, "Oh, I am so sorry! I had no idea!"
Viridian nodded, "Yes, it is not something I usually advertise." He gave her a rueful grin before slowly removing his hand, "Is it smeared much?"
Bulma took a step closer to him, looking at his cheek, before smiling at him reassuringly. "Not at all. You cannot tell I have even touched you."
Viridian turned his head, looking at her. "And yet I feel as if I have been imprinted for life, Miss Briefs."
Bulma felt her stomach give another little flip, especially at the twinkle in his eye. Even with the flippy feeling making her giddy, when the strains of a waltz began to play Bulma nodded at Viridian as she took a step back. It was time to resume her duties as a good older sister, and so she sighed as she gave a small curtsy. "Viscount, if you would excuse me. This dance has been claimed."
Viridian took a step closer, closing the distance between them that she had just created. "Can you break that claim? I would love to waltz with you."
Bulma smiled, sardonically this time at the man. Ah yes--the ego of a handsome man. She should be used to this what with having been around some very handsome men in her lifetime. They always assumed a lady would break a promise she had made to another man simply because they wanted her too. Still, she was not unkind when she answered, "Unfortunately, I cannot. It is with--"
Bulma was cut off as a very familiar deep voice cut her off, "Me."
Bulma was surprised enough to take a step back from Viridian and whirl away at the same time as she saw Vegeta standing not two feet away from her. Even with his dark eyes glaring at her and Viridian, flashing disapproval, he was the most handsome man in the whole of the ball. Though every man was wearing a black evening kit, most were wearing colorful waistcoats--not Vegeta.
He was head to toe in black, except for the white of his starched shirt. The white contrasted just enough with his skin to make his already tan skin look bronzed, emphasizing the darkness of the Duke. Even with the frown on his face Vegeta had captured her interest as no other man had, and all of those little flips Bulma had felt for Viridian did not compare with the rather large one her stomach gave as she saw the way Vegeta was looking at her. Much like he wanted to scold her at the same time he wanted to devour her.
Still Bulma was skeptical of Vegeta and what game he was playing. She had never promised him this dance--she had not even seen until now! Where had he been hiding all night? This was the first she had seen of him--of that she was sure, for at no other point had her mouth gone dry, her heart pounding, her body thrumming to life as it only seemed to do around him. She would have certainly remembered this feeling.
While Bulma strongly wanted to disagree with Vegeta about owing him a dance, she was a smart woman. Smart enough to know that Vegeta would not react kindly with being argued with in front of a guest, and even Bulma did not wish to push him that far. Plus, she was curious as to why he claimed this dance with her. Despite the dark look in his eyes, she did not think it was because of lust alone. Did he have important spy business to discuss with her?
So Bulma turned towards Viridian, smiling as if nothing had interrupted her, "Yes. I am sorry Viscount." She gave him an apologetic smile. "He is the host, you know."
Viridian, who had been eyeing Vegeta, turned towards Bulma with a smile meant to make her stomach flip again. Unfortunately, it had no such effect... what with Vegeta causing all of her senses into overload. The Viscount bowed over the hand she offered, leaving a small kiss on the knuckles, "Of course, Miss Briefs."
Before Viridian could leave, though, Vegeta spoke again, "Care to introduce me to your friend, Miss Briefs?"
Bulma looked between the two handsome men, quizzical, "You did not meet at the receiving line?"
Vegeta frowned at her, a proper scowl this time, "The Vegetasei's do not hold receiving lines."
Bulma swallowed, "Oh, of course." Why of course she was not sure, but she should have guessed Vegeta would find a way out of talking to more people than he wanted to. She smiled as she turned back to Viridian. "Viscount Viridian, may I introduce the Duke of Vegetasei."
Viridian smiled, charming as always, giving a formal bow. "An excellent gathering, your Grace. This ball will be talked of for many years to come, of that I am sure."
Vegeta's eyes narrowed at the compliments, but he nodded none-the-less. "I shall pass your compliments onto my grandmother, Viridian. Are you new to London?"
Viridian smile became remorseful. "Not entirely, but this is my first season in years, your Grace."
Vegeta thoughtfully nodded before abruptly turning to Bulma, done with the subject. "My dance?"
Bulma blushed at the way he said my, but still turned towards Viridian. "Will I see you again, Viridian?"
Viridian ignored the stare that Vegeta was giving him, and took a step closer, kissing her knuckles one last time, "Of course, Miss Briefs." He paused, as if hesitant, before he continued, "I hope I have your permission to call on you?"
Bulma beamed. "I would be honored. You can find me here, during regular tea time."
Viridian smiled broadly. "I will see you soon, Miss Briefs." And then he was gone.
Vegeta was at her side as soon as Viridian had walked way, holding his arm out to her, even as he scowled at Viridian's retreating back. "I believe this dance is mine."
Bulma only looked between the two men, before frowning, placing her hand on Vegeta's arm.
It certainly was now, if it was not before.
~~&~~
A/N: Okay, you guys have every right to be angry with me, because I promised B/V goodness this chapter, and instead I'm cutting you off here, right when they're going out to dance. But I promise that this is not just a throwaway chapter! Plus--next chapter there is no way I can avoid having Bulma and Vegeta...dance.... Who's excited?!
Warnings: Cussing
A/N: I cannot believe that I have over one hundred reviews at ff.net--seriously, you guys rock. For the people who have reviewed every chapter, and for those of you who just drop me a wonderfully nice line every now and then--I love you all. Your reviews never fail to make me smile, and they continue to inspire me to write.
Also--way to go RocktheDragon for catching the Monty Python reference in my A/N's last time (it's the nerd in me, I can't help it).
Lilpumpkingirl, thank you for being more than just a usual beta reader--thank you for pushing me to be a better writer. Seriously, you are awesome!
Chapter Thirteen: Demands and Introductions
"You have to do something."
Vegeta, who was in the process of watching (and yet not looking at, at all) Bulma, turned towards the dowager, frowning. Where had she come from? How had she found him? He had come to the mezzanine above the ballroom, making sure he was in the shadows with the strict goal of not being found by others. Apparently he was only able to hide from people not as hell-bent as the dowager was. Still, her finding him was not the problem--her declaration was.
"I do?"
The dowager scowled, glaring at him as if he was being willfully obtuse--which Vegeta was proud to admit, he was not. The dowager always found a large number of things to complain about, and Vegeta had long since given up trying to understand what went on in that head of hers. "Of course you do. The point of finding Kakarrot was for him to help further our bloodline, and to ensure that the Vegetasei land does not fall into non-Saiyan hands. We are supposed to be making sure he makes the appropriate match with a woman, one we can approve of, one who will continue our bloodline through her womb."
Vegeta raised an eyebrow and when she did not continue simply prompted, "And isn't he?" Was that not the whole point of this damned ball, as the dowager had pointedly reminded him numerous times over the past week?
The dowager pointed, her long slender finger finding Kakarrot and Bulma on the dance floor where Vegeta could tell you without any hesitation that they were sharing their fourth dance. Her voice rose slightly, an oddity in itself, and Vegeta found himself listening as the dowager spoke, curious to her anger.
"Not with her in the picture! There are already whispers about how indecent it is for him to dance with his sister more than twice--especially since there is no blood relation." When Vegeta only sipped scotch from the tumbler in his hand the dowager's eyes narrowed and making her voice low, she practically hissed as she continued, "She is a commoner Vegeta! An American commoner! I do not want her blood mixing with our families--he needs to dance with any of the other titled women I have decided are appropriate for him! Not that harlot!"
Vegeta's eyes grew infinitesimally larger--as surprised at the dowager's outburst as she appeared to be. The longer she spoke the more her voice rose and her usually pale cheeks flushed with anger. It was a side to the dowager he could not recall ever seeing before. She was a very cool and composed woman--what was it about Bulma that seemed to prompt the most stone-like of Vegetasei's into emotional outbursts?
The dowager had regrouped wonderfully though, patting her hair as the color left her cheeks, her metaphorical claws retracting as she gracefully reminded him, "You have been neglecting your duties as a host, and I have not pointed this out--"
"Until now," Vegeta retorted right back.
His grandmother continued as if he had not spoken, "--because it is expected of you, as it is the personae you have always cultivated in society. One I wholeheartedly approve of." Vegeta felt the old desire he had to change anything about himself that made the dowager happy, by going and becoming the most social of persons at the ball. But that would involve talking to others, and if there was one thing Vegeta liked less than the dowager, it was the stupidity of the British peer. So he did nothing, instead looking at the dowager as she spoke to him sternly, "But I am asking you to do this. Miss Briefs has danced every waltz with Kakarrot, and I would like you to claim the next one with her."
Vegeta took another slow sip of his drink before he blandly asked, "Me?"
"Yes, you! It is your duty to ensure that Kakarrot's children are nobly born, and we both know if he ends up with his Ôsister' then our children will be as common as the lowest street sweepers."
Vegeta frowned at her use of pronouns and knew that when Kakarrot did have children, he was going to have to move hell and high water to make sure the dowager did not sweep in, herd them off, and raise them as she had done to him. No child deserved that cold, impersonal childhood that he had had.
When Vegeta said nothing, the dowager continued, "Head Miss Briefs off the next time she wants to dance with him, and tell her it is your duty as host to dance with her. Do you understand, Vegeta?"
Of course he understood, but (just to annoy her even more) Vegeta shrugged, not letting his grandmother know a thing. "But would I not be the one who is wasting their precious dance time on a commoner? What if I am to fall in love with her?"
The dowager was the one who raised an eyebrow this time, the sensible cool woman he remembered from his childhood back in full swing. "That would require a heart Vegeta."
Then she was gone, coming as quickly and as quietly as she appeared.
Vegeta frowned at the dowager's retreating back as she descended the grand staircase. His view from the mezzanine that surrounded the packed ballroom gave him an unfettered view of all that was happening below him. Up here, he was practically invisible--trust the dowager to find him, command him to do something, and then disappear as if she had never been here in the first place. Oh, and insult him--mustn't forget that one.
He sighed as he rubbed his brow, wondering how late it was. He had been able to spend much of the ball in the gentleman's parlor, drinking fine scotch, and smoking expensive cigars.
He had discovered at a very young age that some of the best politics went on during social events when most men let their guards down. Vegeta had no compunction about making a deal with an inebriated man, or forcing them to sign a contract--as long as he got what he wanted. And he was always sure to make certain that the deal was not so one-sided that a man could complain (or take him to courts) the morning after.
Even from the gentleman's parlor though, the success of the ball was well apparent. Anyone who was anyone was here and Kakarrot had been a huge revelation for all of the partygoers. He had already overheard several marriage minded momma's trying to figure out how to get his newly turned nineteen-year-old cousin and their debutante daughters together. That thought made the over-thirty year old Duke smirk, knowing that Kakarrot had not a chance against the most...creative...of these mother's, who would be looking for ways to trap him into marriage.
Vegeta would have to keep an eye on the more ambitious ones, not because he cared if his cousin got trapped or not, but because there was some truth in what the dowager had said. Vegeta did not want their bloodline mixing with just any noble. He would have to make a good match, one that Vegeta could give his stamp of approval. Especially as there was so much riding on the young man's shoulders, even if Kakarrot was not yet aware of this....
Vegeta had been getting compliments all night on a party well thrown. The food was excellent, the alcohol was flowing, and everyone was already trying to figure out just what they could copy to make their parties even an ounce as successful as this one. He should feel proud, though he thoroughly detested throwing parties.
And yet...Bulma.
What a thorn in his side she was proving to be.
Right after Kakarrot had made a successful entrance as the newest Vegetasei, Vegeta had been doing his duty and speaking to those who had questions about the land, title, money and responsibilities of the newly found Viscount of Vegetasei. It had been tedious, but it needed to be done. And Vegeta had already been counting the minutes until he could make an escape from the banality of the ballroom when he had suddenly felt the air become electrified. He was the first person to sense it. He knew this because he had tensed and lifted his head from the conversation he had been having, listening for...for what?
He had turned towards the stairs then almost knowing what was coming and yet still finding himself completely unbalanced by the sight of Bulma as...as a lady. When he thought of her he saw her as that fiery temptress, or that irritating woman who stood up to a British Duke for her brother, or that bold genius who commandeered his office and saw nothing wrong with discovering all of his secrets. He had thought of her as an American heathen (much like his grandmother still thought of her it seemed), a siren, an inventor, and a linguistic genius--but not as this elegant beauty that was captivating all five hundred people in the ballroom. Hell, forget everyone else in the room--she had utterly mesmerized him in a way that had nothing (yet everything) to do with his lust.
Even now, as she whirled away below him, Vegeta followed her progress with eagle eyes. Each time he saw her he was amazed at just how damn beautiful she was.
Bulma was a vision in a deep, ruby red--a color other woman were wearing tonight but none quite like her. The darkness of the gown counteracted with the fairness of her skin, emphasizing the red color of her lips, and the blue of her hair and eyes. The dress was off the shoulders and her hair pulled up, gracefully revealing creamy expanses of the white skin of her neck and shoulders. The front dipped down to reveal a hint of her cleavage, a silver and ruby broach drawing the eyes straight to her impressive chest. The silk gown pulled in at her tiny waist (which he had only seen hints of in her day gowns) before flaring out at the hips, her skirt not puffing out quite as large as every other woman's in the establishment.
He was sure she had already started a new trend. Vegeta could already imagine the hundreds of women going to their modiste and seamstresses tomorrow, begging for them to make them look like her. He snorted at that thought--Ôthat would be highly unlikely.'
It was not just the gown itself that transformed her--it was the very way she carried herself as she walked down those stairs alone. She held her skirts as she walked down unaccompanied with her head held high, looking very much like she belonged in a royal palace and not just some Ducal home. She was a lady, pure and simple, and Vegeta had heard the hundreds of buzzing whispers about her start before she was even fully down the stairs. How different she was from that woman who had first run into her drawing room to meet him--he could almost not reconcile the woman in front of him with the one he had first met. How could he ever think she was not refined, or dignified?
With every dainty (yet sure) step she had taken down those stairs earlier, he had felt like he was getting hit in the stomach as his gut tightened, unable to tear his gaze away from her. He had had every desire to run to her, meet her at the bottom of the stairs, and sweep her into his arms and carry her away from the eyes of everyone else in that ballroom. Something possessive and hot had slithered through him as he realized that he was not alone in watching her. Everyone was--not just the females either. The male's as well.
No other male should get to look at her! She was his!
Vegeta moved away from the grand staircase as a group of laughing ladies returned from the retiring room they had been at, chatting and gossiping about the nights events. He pushed himself further along the abandoned mezzanine, wishing to do nothing more than to disappear into the shadows as he had done many a times in his tenure as a spy. But he did not disappear completely... not this time. He had to make sure he could see Bulma, and when his eyes found her again seeing her laugh at something that idiot Kakarrot said, his hand tightened on his glass as he felt an echo of that earlier feeling.
It had been the most possessive feeling Vegeta could ever remember having. It had threatened to choke him as a fine red mist settle in front of his vision. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs, disappearing into the crowd who all turned to her, crowding her, that Vegeta had been freed from the feeling--and fled. He had left the ballroom, uncaring of the duties he was leaving behind. Bulma had thrown him off--he had needed to escape--and escape he did straight to the gentleman's chambers.
Even there, though, he could not truly escape her. As she had captivated everyone, even the men were buzzing with gossip and rumors about the blue-haired beauty. Though most of it was innocuous enough, some of the more lascivious of men were letting their imaginations run away from them. Every time Vegeta heard a word or whisper from a male peer describing just what he would like to do with the vision in red, Vegeta had had to work hard at tampering down the beast inside of him that urged him to rip that man's throat out. Every time, thinking How dare he!
Vegeta was glad he had years of hiding his emotions on his side, especially when it became common knowledge that Bulma had been staying under his roof and would for the whole season. The more courageous (or perhaps it was stupid) of men would look to him, excited upon discovering this news, and Vegeta would have to fight back the urge to do something very ungentlemanly to them. He had been approached many times, with a variation of, "I say, that woman lives here? Can you introduce the two of us, Vegetasei?"
Vegeta would meet all such inquiries with a dark stare, no other motion needed as the other man would generally just pretend to remember they had somewhere else to be. Vegeta knew only the most foolish of men could withstand that look from him, especially as he had once been told that it somehow managed to suck the soul out of the person he was staring at, and so he gladly employed it tonight.
Vegeta wished to be completely alone but since this was his ball, he could not leave. So he had gone as far from the ballroom as he could, avoiding it as if it harbored the black plague. Knowing Bulma was in there...moving around and talking to... dancing with...other men! Again it was unintentionally making him see green, and Vegeta did not relish the feeling. It was the jealous feeling though, the one he had been trying to avoid, that had finally driven him from his hiding spot. The whispers about Bulma and Kakarrot dancing together had grown louder and louder, no matter how much he had tried to ignore them.
When it had become known that they were lining up for their fourth dance Vegeta had finally given up on any pretense of not caring, and come to the upper mezzanine, where he though he could watch her dance without any interference. Trust the dowager to find him. He sighed at that unpleasant thought, before he threw back the rest of his scotch, the burning sensation running hot down his throat as he used his exceptional vision to continue to watch Bulma.
She even danced with an unstated poise he had come to find--leaving him to wonder just how wrong he had read her. What other surprises this woman was hiding from him? Before tonight he would have confidently said Bulma was many things (loud, crass, boorish, beautiful, smart...) but he would never have anticipated that he would have said she was by far the most graceful woman in a ballroom full of woman bred to be graceful.
When he had stipulated that she answer three of his questions Vegeta had only had one question in mind (having to do with a certain relationship she had with her brother), but now he was glad to have claimed all three questions instead of just one. She intrigued him--and more than just his lust responding to seeing her.
His grandmother had railed against her marrying Kakarrot, and Vegeta understood why from a pride standpoint. But if he were not a Duke, if he was not a Vegetasei, if he did not have other obligations that made marriage pointless--Vegeta would have pursued her. She might not have a title, but she carried herself as if she had hundreds of them, and thousands of years of breeding, behind her and would produce only the bluest of blood among children if she did indeed marry into the London peerage.
Which was a dangerous thought.
One he was only too happy to have interrupted, even if it was his awful grandmother, commanding that he dance with the one woman he knew he should be avoiding the rest of this ball. Why her? Why not anyone but her?
But he sighed, knowing that even if he would love to do nothing more than throw this in the dowager's face and not do as she asked, Vegeta knew he had to. It would not further his motives if he Kakarrot did not get married to someone who could carry on the Vegetasei lineage. And despite what he had just thought about Bulma producing noble children, he would rather die a slow and painfully long death than to see Bulma's stomach grow large with any man's baby--other than his, of course.
Another extremely dangerous thought to have when one was a spy.
~~&~~
Bulma was on top of the world.
She had known that charging into the ballroom was perhaps not the smartest idea she had ever had, but Bulma knew how to work a crowd. She had spent hours getting ready, and Bulma was just vain enough to know that her natural beauty was only enhanced when she had three different maids getting her ready. She would stun tonight, especially with the exquisitely crafted gown she was wearing. And she was right.
She had felt all of their stares, but had not met a single eye as she descended, using her entrance into the ball as a way to take all of those stares off of her decidedly flushed looking brother. Goku hated attention of any kind, unless he was in the boxing or fencing match, in which case he reveled in being able to show off his skills. Bulma had known this, and so had decided what better way to get them to stop talking about her brother than by giving them something far, far prettier to talk about?
When Bulma had finally reached the bottom of the stairs, she had been swamped. Women crowded her, trying to ask the names of her dress maker, or push their daughters next to her in the hopes that some of Bulma's sparkle would rub off on them, while men young and old crowded her, well...because she was gorgeous, if she did say so herself. She had been introduced to so many people she had not a chance of remembering any of their names. Not even the men she danced with.
As far as she could remember, they had all been charming with their British accents, and blandly handsome, as all men with money tended to be. Not that every man she danced with was handsome, but there was that air of knowing they were still desirable because of their bank accounts and family lineage. Bulma thought the men in New York were bad enough, but the English were proving far worse as they had hundreds of years of history telling them they were better than everyone else. Honestly, it was as if they expected her as an American to fall at their feet, simply because they had money and a title. She could only roll her eyes as the night went on and the egos only seemed to get bigger.
Bulma knew she would be successful in a London crowd, she just had not anticipated how successful she would be. Was she truly the only new woman of the season, or was it her Americanness that had drawn them in? She had just wanted to distract everyone from her brother, not become the hottest commodity at the ball. Especially as she was thinking about her new duties as a member of the war offices in London--what kind of spy would she make, being the most visible person at any ball? Maybe this would come in handy, though. People would probably not suspect an American was a spy for Britain, and be more loose-lipped around her. Especially the men who wanted to impress her. She could use this to her advantage...
Still, there were decided disadvantages to being the most sought after person in a ballroom. Particularly when it came to obligations she had to her brother. She had to extricate herself from four different men to make her way to Goku for their promised dances, and none took too kindly to being told that she would rather dance with her brother than with them. Not that that would stop them from trying again, later, she had discovered. The second Goku would put walk her off the dance floor she would be crowded by other men.
Bulma knew she had danced with her brother too much. Mr. Shu's voice was annoying loud as he shouted at her subconscious, "TWO DANCES WITH ANY ONE PERSON! THAT IS IT!" But she did not care as this was her brother. Goku needed her, and Bulma had not met a man alive yet whom she cared about more than her brother. Mostly because the dances she shared with Goku, as she subtly led him around the dance floor, were her favorite. She could be herself with Goku, laughing, smiling, and not worrying about saying the wrong thing. It was a nice mini-break from the tedium of politeness that followed her everywhere else.
After they finished their fourth dance together, Goku had once again proven his usefulness as he read her thoughts and smiled. He said low enough for only her to hear, "I'll go get you some punch. You look thirsty. You haven't stopped all night, have you?"
"Not at all. Punch sounds perfect right now. Thanks, Goku!" She smiled gratefully, especially as she was exhausted from all the dancing and politeness (it was tiring!), though she was still riding the high of being such a success at the ball. Every time she caught a glimpse of her mother, Bunny was beaming at Bulma, and Bulma could only look forward to the grilling she was sure to get later, in relation to every man she had danced with. Bunny wanted grandchildren, and, as she kept reminded Bulma, Bulma was not getting any younger at the very marriageable old age of twenty-two.
Bulma was glad Goku had escorted her off to the side of the ball, so she could observe the dance floor without being on it. She found herself intrigued to notice the similarities and differences between the best of New York society and the best of London society. It did not matter which side of the pond you were on, it seemed. Marriage was the goal for the women, while for the men it was avoiding marriage for as long as possible at all costs. That always created the most fascinating of dramas...
After a short break, the musicians were setting up for another dance, a lively quadrille, and despite her aching feet, Bulma wanted to participate. She loved dancing, it was one of her favorite things to do, and it had been a while since she could stay at a ball as late as it was, as New York's season had not begun before they had left. As she saw the familiar lines of dancers begin to form, Bulma felt a yearning to be out there to join them.
As if on cue another man, a tall, dashing figure in his evening kit, approached her. "Miss Briefs." He gave a bow, and Bulma curtseyed back.
When she rose, she took the man in, and was interested to see how handsome he really was. She was quick in her assessment, as she knew she could not stare her fill, and had learned early on to get as much as one could in a quick look. He was lean, athletically built, with broad shoulders and a trim waist. He had long, exceptionally dark black hair that he had braided, thrown over one of his shoulders. His eyes were the brown of a caramel, and his smile was seductive. Right off the bat Bulma was impressed. He was exceedingly handsome, almost bordering on pretty, and she could not help the flip she felt in her stomach. She had a weakness for handsome men.
And in a room full of handsome men, this one stood out. Well, with the exception of a certain--so far missing in action--Duke...
"I'm sorry, have we been introduced?" Bulma's smile was large, trying to remember if they had or had not met tonight. She did not think so (she would like to think she would remember HIM!), but still, it was improper of a man to come straight up and introduce himself. There were English rules in place that insured young men and women could not just walk up to each other and start talking to each other. The English rules were stuffier than the ones she was used to, but she could see the wisdom behind them, especially as men had been sniffing at her heels all night for an introduction.
The man smiled a winning grin at her, his brown eyes sparkling. "Not at all. I just find you exceptionally hard to track down, and have found myself in good fortune to find you alone. I am the Viscount Viridian."
Bulma eyes lit up as she heard him speak, "You are French!"
Viridian's brown eyes grew large, seemingly taken aback. He covered though, quickly, with a small laugh, "I'm sorry? Did I say something in French and not realize it?"
Bulma chuckled, shaking her head. "No, no--not that. I'm sorry--it was rude of me to burst out like that--it is just with the way you speak. Your accent is very subtle, but it is there."
Viridian raised an eyebrow, a muscle clenching in his jaw. "Is it?"
Bulma nodded, deciding that he was taking this matter far too seriously. "Oh yes. Especially with how you say Viscount. The British tend to put a lot more emphasis on the Ôs', whereas the French people I have met leave the s out."
Something flashed, dark, in Viridian's eyes, but it was gone rather quickly. Once again Bulma found herself wondering why it mattered if he was French or not. "You have found me out. I was not raised in Britain. But I have lived here a very long time."
Bulma sensed he wished to leave this part of the conversation behind, but she was curious as she could not figure out why he was uncomfortable about it. "Have you been to France recently? I have always wanted to go."
Viridian smiled again, all charm as he spoke, "I regret to inform the lady that I have not been in years. But perhaps I will go back, now that the country is more settled." His smile grew as he looked at her, effectively changing the subject and tampered down Bulma's open curiosity when he spoke next, "Now I must admit, Miss Briefs, I do not feel right, speaking to such a lovely young woman when such a lovely quadrille is being played. May I have this dance?"
Bulma nodded, putting her gloved hand in his, and letting him lead her back out to the floor. Viridian was an exceptional dancer, lively and spry, and Bulma found herself laughing and smiling whenever they got the chance to speak. She felt bubbly, the smile unable to leave her face, especially when he looked at her.
This feeling, she recognized.
It was fun, and lighthearted--she was flirting with this man. And--Bulma was proud to say--she was doing a damn good job of it. Viridian could not keep his eyes off of her, and Bulma felt a small spark whenever she touched his hand. This she knew! This she could do! This lighthearted flirting was what she had been taught since before she could go to balls, this was the way men and women were supposed to interact. This was courtship and she was enjoying herself. She was almost disappointed when she heard the last chords being played knowing her time with Viridian was coming to an end.
As the dance ended the Viscount took her hand and led her to the edge of the dance floor, smiling down at her. "I am now the envy of every other man at this ball."
Bulma smiled at him, delighted to find that his eyes were on her alone. She lowered her lashes as she answered primly, "And I am sure I am the envy of quite a few number of ladies, as well."
As the next dance started, Bulma and Viridian stood off from the crowd, and used the opportunity to chat about inconsequential things one tended to when flirting in proper society. He asked her about her trip from America, and she asked him about his lodgings in town. He countered with bland questions about how she was liking London, and she responded with blander questions about the normal London weather.
There was nothing inappropriate about what they talked about, but the deeper subtext of flirtation was definitely there. Bulma laughed daintily (like she had been taught to do) whenever the Viscount said something slightly witty and she was proud to see the flash of attraction in Viridian's eyes. This was what she was used to when it came to men. Not that dark, overpowering feeling she tended to have around the Duke...who she was not going to think about right now!
While they were speaking, Bulma accidentally (on purpose of course) lightly touched Viridian's cheek. She was surprised by his reaction when he drew back sharply, and put a hand to where she had touched as if it had burned. Bulma was confused to the stark way he reacted (most men were delighted to be touched by her) but then she looked down at her glove and saw that she had smeared some skin-tone colored rouge onto the tips of her fingers when she had touched him, and she looked up at him, confused.
Viridian, who still held a hand to his cheek, smiled at her, apologetically, back to his charming self. "Excuse the vanities of man, Miss Briefs. I had a skin condition as a child, and find that makeup is necessary is social situations, unless I want every person to stare at my discolorations."
Bulma's confusion lifted at his explanation, and she put a hand to her mouth, feeling guilty, "Oh, I am so sorry! I had no idea!"
Viridian nodded, "Yes, it is not something I usually advertise." He gave her a rueful grin before slowly removing his hand, "Is it smeared much?"
Bulma took a step closer to him, looking at his cheek, before smiling at him reassuringly. "Not at all. You cannot tell I have even touched you."
Viridian turned his head, looking at her. "And yet I feel as if I have been imprinted for life, Miss Briefs."
Bulma felt her stomach give another little flip, especially at the twinkle in his eye. Even with the flippy feeling making her giddy, when the strains of a waltz began to play Bulma nodded at Viridian as she took a step back. It was time to resume her duties as a good older sister, and so she sighed as she gave a small curtsy. "Viscount, if you would excuse me. This dance has been claimed."
Viridian took a step closer, closing the distance between them that she had just created. "Can you break that claim? I would love to waltz with you."
Bulma smiled, sardonically this time at the man. Ah yes--the ego of a handsome man. She should be used to this what with having been around some very handsome men in her lifetime. They always assumed a lady would break a promise she had made to another man simply because they wanted her too. Still, she was not unkind when she answered, "Unfortunately, I cannot. It is with--"
Bulma was cut off as a very familiar deep voice cut her off, "Me."
Bulma was surprised enough to take a step back from Viridian and whirl away at the same time as she saw Vegeta standing not two feet away from her. Even with his dark eyes glaring at her and Viridian, flashing disapproval, he was the most handsome man in the whole of the ball. Though every man was wearing a black evening kit, most were wearing colorful waistcoats--not Vegeta.
He was head to toe in black, except for the white of his starched shirt. The white contrasted just enough with his skin to make his already tan skin look bronzed, emphasizing the darkness of the Duke. Even with the frown on his face Vegeta had captured her interest as no other man had, and all of those little flips Bulma had felt for Viridian did not compare with the rather large one her stomach gave as she saw the way Vegeta was looking at her. Much like he wanted to scold her at the same time he wanted to devour her.
Still Bulma was skeptical of Vegeta and what game he was playing. She had never promised him this dance--she had not even seen until now! Where had he been hiding all night? This was the first she had seen of him--of that she was sure, for at no other point had her mouth gone dry, her heart pounding, her body thrumming to life as it only seemed to do around him. She would have certainly remembered this feeling.
While Bulma strongly wanted to disagree with Vegeta about owing him a dance, she was a smart woman. Smart enough to know that Vegeta would not react kindly with being argued with in front of a guest, and even Bulma did not wish to push him that far. Plus, she was curious as to why he claimed this dance with her. Despite the dark look in his eyes, she did not think it was because of lust alone. Did he have important spy business to discuss with her?
So Bulma turned towards Viridian, smiling as if nothing had interrupted her, "Yes. I am sorry Viscount." She gave him an apologetic smile. "He is the host, you know."
Viridian, who had been eyeing Vegeta, turned towards Bulma with a smile meant to make her stomach flip again. Unfortunately, it had no such effect... what with Vegeta causing all of her senses into overload. The Viscount bowed over the hand she offered, leaving a small kiss on the knuckles, "Of course, Miss Briefs."
Before Viridian could leave, though, Vegeta spoke again, "Care to introduce me to your friend, Miss Briefs?"
Bulma looked between the two handsome men, quizzical, "You did not meet at the receiving line?"
Vegeta frowned at her, a proper scowl this time, "The Vegetasei's do not hold receiving lines."
Bulma swallowed, "Oh, of course." Why of course she was not sure, but she should have guessed Vegeta would find a way out of talking to more people than he wanted to. She smiled as she turned back to Viridian. "Viscount Viridian, may I introduce the Duke of Vegetasei."
Viridian smiled, charming as always, giving a formal bow. "An excellent gathering, your Grace. This ball will be talked of for many years to come, of that I am sure."
Vegeta's eyes narrowed at the compliments, but he nodded none-the-less. "I shall pass your compliments onto my grandmother, Viridian. Are you new to London?"
Viridian smile became remorseful. "Not entirely, but this is my first season in years, your Grace."
Vegeta thoughtfully nodded before abruptly turning to Bulma, done with the subject. "My dance?"
Bulma blushed at the way he said my, but still turned towards Viridian. "Will I see you again, Viridian?"
Viridian ignored the stare that Vegeta was giving him, and took a step closer, kissing her knuckles one last time, "Of course, Miss Briefs." He paused, as if hesitant, before he continued, "I hope I have your permission to call on you?"
Bulma beamed. "I would be honored. You can find me here, during regular tea time."
Viridian smiled broadly. "I will see you soon, Miss Briefs." And then he was gone.
Vegeta was at her side as soon as Viridian had walked way, holding his arm out to her, even as he scowled at Viridian's retreating back. "I believe this dance is mine."
Bulma only looked between the two men, before frowning, placing her hand on Vegeta's arm.
It certainly was now, if it was not before.
~~&~~
A/N: Okay, you guys have every right to be angry with me, because I promised B/V goodness this chapter, and instead I'm cutting you off here, right when they're going out to dance. But I promise that this is not just a throwaway chapter! Plus--next chapter there is no way I can avoid having Bulma and Vegeta...dance.... Who's excited?!