Marcus cleared his throat, and placed his hands in his pockets. He made no effort to return her attentions with a gesture of his own. So, carefully, Isobel dropped her hand from his cheek, trailing it down his neck and allowing it to come to rest at the top of his chest, so her fingers were covering his collar bone and the rest of her hand was nestled in the slight dip between his shoulder and the swell of his pectoral muscles.
"It is...alright." His words were casual, yet carefully chosen.
Isobel tilted her head slightly, in a flirtatious yet questioning gesture. Marcus smiled at her before chucking softly.
"It certainly became much more interesting once you arrived, my love." He was very close to her now, so close she could feel his warm breath on her face. It was the familiar cigar smell that she had become so familiar with, but laced with something else, another heady scent, alcohol.
"Thank you for the glass of red wine, by the way," his voice was breathy as the words left his lips. He brought a hand to her waist, cupping the exposed skin with his gentle fingers. She felt her body instantly respond, her position altering subtly to arch round his hand. It was an involuntary movement, but it was also one of possession. Her body reacted to him, like it was hers to react to. The toned muscles in her abdomen tightened, a light electric sensation running down the skin he touched.
But, despite her body's reaction, she was still able to keep her tone beautifully even and controlled. Her voice was sweet and smooth and dripped from her tongue like syrup from a spoon. "It was my pleasure..."
"What a naughty girl you are...coming to the ball dressed up like this. Purposely trying to overwhelm me," he scaled teasingly.
Isobel giggled softly, her laugh thick with temptation. She rolled her eyes and shook her head slightly in a playful gesture, a smile playing on her rouged lips.
"You're just so...seductive."
Marcus pulled back slowly, taking a single step from her so he was back, leaning against the wall once more.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Isobel told him, blue eyes sparkling with false innocence. Her tone was soft and pure, but there was a husky undertone to her words, darkening the innocence ever so slightly.
She took a step towards him, the movement almost predatory. Without taking her eyes off Marcus, Isobel reached out and picked up the glass of champagne she'd set down on the wall. She lifted the slim glass to her lips and took a sip, allowing the cool bubbles to flow across her tongue and down her throat. Then she replaced the glass. Her movements had been completely fluid and beautifully executed, without a mistake or blip. She'd kept her eyes on Marcus the entire time, creating an atmosphere he couldn't break. But now she was ready to control the situation.
She took another step towards him so they were stood close together. Then, she stretched out a hand, running it through Marcus' hair, before winding her fingers in so she had a hold on him. She used this grip to pull his face towards hers. They got closer and closer, and Isobel's intentions seemed almost certain. But when his face was just millimetres from hers, their lips just brushing at the very edge, Isobel froze. She blinked, tilting her held slightly towards the floor, looking up at him through her thick lashes.
"Maybe we shouldn't..." she teased, her voice almost an inaudible murmur. "I wouldn't want you to get into trouble..."
The girl before Philip stared at his outstretched hand, her mouth forming a perfect 'O' shape of surprise.
"Is that... For me?" she asked, glancing behind her quickly, as if she were looking for someone else Philip could be speaking to. He knew her type immediately. She was the daughter of an aristocrat who believed their daughter should remain the perfect lady forever. She was probably an only child, or her siblings were much older than her. She'd clearly never been to one of these parties before. In fact, she'd probably only been brought tonight because her father could think of nowhere else to send her.
"Of course," Philip smiled at her charmingly, revealing his pearly white teeth in a beautiful smile. He was going to charm this girl until she didn't even know what her own name was.
He could feel Vivian's eyes on him, but he refused to turn around and meet her gaze, even acknowledge he cared. This was her fault. She'd know full well that he was standing right there and could hear every word she'd spoken to her husband. She'd led Philip on, let him think she might still love him and maybe there was a chance for them still. But it was just a lie, and Vivian had known that all along.
"Oh, thank you," the girl stammered, remembering her manners over her surprise.
"It was my pleasure," Philip replied, setting the glass in her hand.
"Um..." she stared at him like a rabbit caught in headlights. Normally, a woman who dwelled in these social circles would know to respond with some clever, flirtatious response. But, instead, this woman panicked and said all in a rush, "I'm Violet LaCroix. That's my daddy. He owned LaCroix energies. We lived on the West Coast." Her words tumbled out quickly, as if she was simply trying to fill the silence, rather than being comfortable in it like most who knew this well were. Vivian would know, Philip thought bitterly.
"Philip," he responded simply, forcing Vivian from his mind and painting another lovely smile on his lips. He lifted his glass, almost as if he were toasting, yet he had nothing to toast. Thankfully, Violet caught on and clinked her glass against his. Then she took a sip. Her lovely face contorted into a look of disgust as the liquid met her tongue and tumbled down her throat. Evidently, this was her first taste of champagne... Under any other circumstances, Philip probably would've laughed and joked with her. He remembered the first time Vivian had given him champagne. He'd detested it. But it had grown on him since. But he couldn't bring himself to laugh. Not tonight. Everything she did and said only made it all the more brutally obvious that she wasn't Vivian, and no woman could ever be a substitute for her.
Suddenly, he felt a brush against his arm and out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of unmistakable red hair. And in that moment, his actions were no longer his own.
"I... Um... Excuse me," he told Violet hurriedly, excusing himself before turning back to follow Vivian, as she disappeared out of a door across the other side of the room. There was something wrong, he could tell that just by the way she walked, the way she'd felt when she touched him.
The instant he entered the deserted corridor, save for he and Vivian, he spotted her, She was leant against the wall. face pressed against it. Philip knew he said he wouldn't go back to her. That she'd lost her chance with him and he no longer cared what she did. But the sight of her, so broken, and the thought in his mind that his actions tonight may be responsible for her pain was unbearable. He was at her side in seconds.
"Vivian?" he asked softly, his voice caring and gentle, with no malice whatsoever. He reached out a hand and brushed back a strand of hair that had fallen in front of her face. But his warm hand carried on, across her scalp, stroking down the length of her hair. The gesture was kind and loving. There was no ulterior motive to it, with only the intention of comforting her. When his hand reached the end of her hair, he raised it up again to her cheek where he rested it, cupping her face and stroking it gently with his thumb.