Ballroom Thief

Ok, I know I suck with titles. It's been ages since I've been writing, so obviously titles are the last thing on my mind.
Just a little piece inspired by a man being poisoned and some music. It's not edited or anything, just posting it right after finishing.



He spied her across the room just as a new dance started up. With a few long strides he crossed the room and placed a hand at her elbow. She’d been talking to a duchess, the sly bird, and had probably already taken what she was after. She turned at his touch, and smiled.
“I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever come and ask me to dance!” She gave a small laugh, but her eyes betrayed the slightest hint of surprise. She nodded to the duchess. “You’ll excuse me?”
He didn’t let the duchess answer, but instead swirled his catch onto the dance floor. The two of them navigated the dance floor with the ease of practiced dancers. He looked down at her and she grinned.
“How did you get in? I know you were not listed among the guests. I helped Lafferty pick them out myself.”
Her Cheshire cat grin widened and that old, familiar twinkle appeared in her emerald eyes. He felt a stirring inside him as past memories came to the surface. He suppressed them and waited for her answer.
“Oh, I’ve got a few friends in town. If I recall, you’re the one who commented that I’ve got friends everywhere. And I believe I do!” She laughed lightly as he spun her. “Dancing with you is like being young again!”
He secretly delighted in making her smile, but would not give her the satisfaction of knowing that. “We are still young.” He, in fact, was in the prime of his life.
They were once again close, his left hand holding her right, and his right hand demurely on her waist. Her left hand patted his shoulder lightly. “You know what I meant by young. Playmates. Friends.”
The music swelled and he looked away. They danced in silence for a few minutes, and he was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t notice her hand leaving his waistcoat pocket. Almost.
He expertly caught her wrist while removing a small dagger from another coat pocket and holding it to the small of her back. He pressed it lightly into her back and they didn’t miss a single step. She pouted at being caught, but showed no sign of fear.
“My watch? That’s what you’re after? It’s not even worth much. Surely the duchess’ signature ring will fetch you a better price.” He held out his hand, and she relinquished the watch, which was worth a bit more than he let on. He guessed she was just trying to take something of his to get the better of him. He pressed his dagger a little harder into her back and she gasped, pressing herself against him to avoid the point.
Knowing he had the upper hand he pressed just a tiny bit more, knowing he would draw blood, but not enough for anyone to notice. “Now, this dagger would fetch a handsome price, though you might have some trouble pulling it from you back.”
She glared at him and raised her chin defiantly. But as they turned and turned, he didn’t remove the knife from her back. Finally she sighed and leaned her head against his chest. His heart leapt and he prayed she could not hear it.
“You win.” She mumbled.
He looked down at the top of her head, curls piled and stuck with too many pins. She never was up to date with the latest fashions. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear you.”
She looked up at him, her face mere inches from his own. “You win…this round.”
He took the dagger from her back and expertly slipped it back in its place. The dance had ended and another started, and neither missed a step. Their faces still close, so close he could smell the mint on her breath, they did a slow waltz around the ballroom. He stared at her and a flash of a memory blinked across his mind-he was ten, she was eight, and they were racing through the garden, playing catch a kiss. He caught her, as he always did, and they would both fall into the flowers laughing; and he would kiss her until she squirmed away, breathless and red-faced.
His voice was low. “How about a kiss, for old time’s sake?” He knew what he asked was inappropriate, but he suspected that she wouldn’t care.
“We shouldn’t.” Her voice was low too, but she sounded hesitant.
“Playing the proper lady now, are we?”
“I just don’t think it’s a very good idea. Especially since I heard that you’re pursuing a lovely young lady from a very well-to-do family here in London. Wouldn’t that cause such a scandal?”
He glanced about the room. “No one is paying us the least bit of attention. And since when are you concerned about causing scandals? Your whole life would be a scandal if it were made public.”
“You’ll notice I’ve taken pains to stay out of the public eye, that being one of the reasons.”
He could feel the moment slipping away. Her face was drifting away from his own. He slid a hand to her neck as he was overcome with the need for a kiss. “Just one?”
She sighed heavily. “If you must. But I warn you, it won’t be like old times.”
He silenced her with his lips and tried to imagine them back in the garden. He pulled away, searching her eyes for a look of longing, and thought maybe he saw it, when he felt a sharp pain in his throat.
He coughed, licked his lips, and coughed again. She looked on with concern. His eyes began to water, and it was then he saw the look of sorrow on her face.
“I told you it wouldn’t be like old times.” She spoke barely above a whisper.
The music continued, but he stumbled. She gave a small cry as he leaned heavily on her. His throat was closing up and the edges of his vision going dark. He looked at her, incredulous. His hands gripped her arms with brute force, but she took it in stride.
“You…clever…” he coughed. “Bitch.”
She didn’t appear to be stung by his words. In fact, it seemed as though she wore a small smirk, but his vision was blurring rapidly and he couldn’t be sure. He felt his knees buckle and she yelled as he crashed forward. The dancers around them finally took notice, and parted, as the two sank to the floor. His head rested in her lap, and she began slapping his face, which was starting to go numb, and yelling his name. He wanted to cry out, to curse her, to ask her why she left him all those years ago.
Her lips were at his ear, soft and warm. “You should never have crossed the room.” He thought her breath should tickle his ear, but he could hardly feel anything now. Some of her curls had come undone, and hung in his face. “I knew you would though. You can never just stay away, no matter how many times I tell you. And now I have what I came for. I’ll let you keep the watch, though it is a handsome piece. Maybe when you wake you’ll remember to keep away.”
And then her lips were gone and his vision went dark and the last thing he heard was her screaming for a doctor.



One of my goals this year is to really get on board with writing. I'll never get published if I don't put something together. In my next post I hope to be putting up more from my Swan Prince piece.
Enjoy!