Never Be Free Chapter Six
Title: Never Be Free
Author: Noirreigne
Pairing: Blair/Chuck & Blair/OC
Rating: R for language and smut.
Spoilers: Through 2x17
Summary: Except you enthrall me, never shall be free. Future Fic.
Previous Chapters
Blair surveyed her surroundings, bestowing a proud smile on the beautifully orchestrated event unfolding before her. The Royal Opera Benefit was one of the premier social events of the year and as the current chairwoman it was one of her responsibilities. She had joined the prestigious board soon after her marriage, quickly moving up through the ranks to become the youngest chairwoman ever to oversee the Royal Opera Benefit. It was a huge undertaking, responsible for raising funds to cover everything from dance, music and theatre classes for the underprivileged to the historic preservation of costumes, musical scores and even the theatre itself. Not exactly a fan of the arts like Serena, she chose this charitable endeavor for more than just the social cachet it carried. Cedric’s ancestors, along with those of many of the oldest noble families, were the original founders and patrons of the Royal Opera. Over the centuries, with so many aristocratic families dying out, the Errols were one of the only original families still active in the Royal Opera. Several generations of Errol wives had supported and served as board members and now it was her quest to surpass all of them in her dedication, be remembered as the one to herald in a golden age for the old theatre.
It was the least she could do in return for all that Cedric had given her. While he would never admit it, she knew, he had married beneath his station. While being a Waldorf granted her entry into the upper echelon of New York society, allowing her to rise to Queen status in the incestuous hothouse of the Upper East Side, it meant little here in England. From her first introduction to London society it was made obvious to her that her marriage was considered a misalliance. Even more mortifying was the knowledge that all of society was snidely gossiping on about how soon the marriage would fail and what settlement she could hope to procure. With the odds stacked against her, she made sure in those early years to give to all the right charities, attend all the important events carving a niche for herself that proved the American stereotypes her peers held about her were wrong. Immersing herself in the strict protocol and obligations of her new life she now embodied the ideal that the aristocracy aspired to and measured themselves against.
A queen among courtiers, she strolled through the scarlet draped atriumpausing to welcome old friends and newcomers, their status easily gauged by the length of her attention. In between pretentious air kisses she shared bits of gossip, banal inanities and gracefully accepted accolades. In this instance she knew the compliments and appreciation were well deserved, as everything looked perfect. Amidst the awe inspiring soaring columns of the room she had placed small exhibits of artifacts from the Opera’s past ancient preserved and lavishly jeweled costumes along with set pieces and rare instruments created small tableaus to serve as conversation pieces and distinctive decoration.
Taking a sip of her sparkling juice she circled the edges of the room, making sure the bars were still stocked, the starched tuxedoed waiters were dutifully passing out champagne and dessert and everyone was comporting themselves correctly. While the entertainment for the evening was the opening performance of the season’s first opera, it was the socializing during intermission and the charity auction that everyone enjoyed the most, but would never admit too. The auction was a new fundraising tactic that Blair had introduced a few years ago. What had started as a small and innovative way to contribute either by donating a luxury item or purchasing one had become a cornerstone of the event. The auction was a way for the wealthy to parade their noblesse oblige, to have their efforts recognized publicly, drawing positive attention to themselves. Of course it helped the cause that the names of the donor and winner were printed in the annual quarterly publication and they were carved in a bronze plaque that was hung in the public entryway for all to see. The money earned through ticket sales was now a fraction of that earned from the auction.
This year with Cedric ailing and unable to shop for a unique gift she had been left to choose their donation, a Cartier emerald teardrop necklace. It was stunning in its simplicity, the large teardrop stone suspended from a delicate string of diamonds. She knew that it wouldn’t take much urging for the women in the audience to cajole their dates and spouses into purchasing it for them. Having tried it on last week, the green fire resplendent against her golden ivory skin, the stone falling slightly above her cleavage, it had taken all her will power to give it away. The drone of the crowd softened to a lull as the auctioneer cleared his throat, the highlight of the evening beginning.
One by one, fabulous and exotic items were auctioned off at exorbitant prices, the alcohol having loosened more than a few wallets and purses. Finally, the Cartier necklace gifted by Lord and Lady Errol was announced and paraded around for viewing, the estimate of 40,000 pounds easily met. The main event almost over and her stressful duties almost concluded she sank tiredly into one of the ornamental chairs divested artfully through the room. The cracks in her composure were beginning to show as she blinked slowly, the room blurring. She took a large drink of her sparkling juice attempting to stave of exhaustion for at least another hour.
“150,000 pounds for the necklace and dinner with the Errols. The voice rang out clear and confident.
The gasps and excited roaring of the crowd rose and swelled in her ears like the breaking waves of the ocean, the rushing hum drowning all thought. Numb she rose from her seat as the crowd, like a pack of bloodhounds scenting scandal in the air, searched the room for her presence.
“Sir, this is highly irregular. Bond Street Auctions has never received and cannot condone a stipulation like this.” He frowned, his beady eyes glaring at the interloper who dared to create chaos under his watch.
“A bid of this nature must be approved by the Chair”. The auctioneer’s voice boomed out through the microphone, shock and disapproval evident in his tone.
“Lady Errol, if you could please come to the podium and tell us how to proceed?”
Her mouth stretched into a wide aching smile as she made her way to the front of the room ignoring the wide eyes, gleeful smiles and tittering cast in her direction. Complexion white as wedding lace she pointedly avoided looking at the bidder as she accepting the help of the auctioneer to ascend the platform.
The auctioneer leaned in, covering the microphone with his hand and whispered in her ear. “Pardon the interruption Lady Errol, but what should I do? These brash Americans…I’m afraid they have no class or clue as to how things are done here.”
She couldn’t think, her thoughts were stuck like cold crystallized honey refusing to flow and function. Nodding she pretended coherence, buying herself time until she was able to come to a decision. She found herself wondering if the auctioneer realized that as an American, a British citizen only by marriage, he had just insulted her as well.
“Would you like me to put the bounder in his place?” He asked, looking at her conspiringly. “Or If your ladyship and Lord Errol could stomach the possibility of furthering this man’s acquaintance he is offering triple what the necklace is worth. More than the auction could hope to take in even without his bid. I have no idea what the bidder’s motivations are, but Bond Street Auctionssupports your decision whatever the choice.”
She knew, she understood exactly what Chuck was doing. He had played the whole situation like a maestro. If she turned down his offer, she was denying The Royal Opera a fortune, something completely at odds with her exalted position. If she accepted they would be forced to endure his company, something she vowed should never be allowed to happen again, further indulging his delusions that she could be seduced and won. As for the talk this little stunt would cause she was damned either way. Cornered she did the only thing she could; give in.
“I accept. Lord Errol and I would be honored to entertain the gentleman in return for such a generous donation,” she said graciously and calmly even as she seethed inside. She knew that the only weapon against a possible scandal was indifference. If it was perceived that this turn of events meant nothing to her then it would mean nothing.
“150,000 pounds for the Cartier emerald necklace and dinner with Lord and Lady Errol going once…”
Blair didn’t bother to pray for another bidder. She knew she was trapped and there would be no heavenly sent savior, no one who would willingly bid triple what the necklace was worth.
“Going twice…sold to the American…” He paused to look at the slip of paper one of his assistants rushed into his hand. “Mr. Chuck Bass!”
Giving a small wave to acknowledge the whooping and clapping of the crowd, she descended proudly from the stage. She brutally smothered her true feelings, enacting her own form of revenge. She knew any display of suffering or emotion on her part would only serve as some perverted form of foreplay to him so instead she chose to deprive him of any emotion other than calm disinterest.
Spots of color bled through the pale skin of her cheekbones as she made her way to the back of the room. Weak, she leaned against the cold marbled Grecian column, trying to slow the manic beating of her heart, preparing herself. It didn’t take long for him to make it to her side.
He held the black leather case out to her, his eyes glinting in amusement. “Payment for the promised dinner,” he smirked.
“That’s your grand move, public blackmail? I’m disappointed, Chuck,” she retorted.
He shrugged elegantly, “I had to do something to get your attention.” A small smile played in the corners of his mouth. “You’ve been hiding,” he said chidingly, danger lurking in his tone.
“And you’ve been stalking,” she hissed, ignoring the jewel he proffered. Forever tainted by its association with him she would rather die than wear it now.
He gave up, pocketing the case. “I’ll have it couriered to your home tomorrow. When I finally win this foolish war I’ll have you wear this...and only this.” He tilted his head, his gaze lazily skimming her figure, stripping her with his eyes, his intent clear.
“Stop that!” She commanded, practically stomping her foot.
Standing apart from the crowd they circled each other like wild animals, measuring, evaluating and searching for weaknesses as they prepared for battle. Aware that they were starting to attract attention, Blair smiled prettily, even as she raked him with her eyes.
“I have not been hiding. If you had done your research correctly you would know that I frequently reside at the Errol Estate with my husband,” she said, with huge emphasis on the last word. Furthering the pretence that they were nothing more than new acquaintances she waved and nodded with an air of purposeful nonchalance at the various greetingsand acknowledgements directed her way.
“Somehow I don’t think it’s your affinity for country air and the simple rustic life that’s keeping you out of London. You’re hiding Blair, cowering in the safety of the country. “
“If that’s true then why am I here tonight?” She taunted.
“As the chairwoman of this event there is nothing, not even the threat of running into me, which would keep you away tonight, especially since you had no reason to expect I would be here,” he said dryly.
His eyes swept over the room, surveying the exquisite spread, historical exhibits and tasteful set-up. “I definitely see your hand in this. The Royal Opera Company should be congratulated for recognizing your expertise. “
She looked at him mystified, the unexpected words of kindness throwing her off balance. “Thank you,” she answered stiffly without thinking, an involuntary reflex from her mother’s rigid training in etiquette.
“I think congratulations are also in order for your ingenious plot to have my visa revoked. I always knew you were a malicious bitch, but I clearly underestimated your skills,” he said, his mouth twisting into a hateful smile.
“I was rather impressed myself. Did you enjoy your visit with British Intelligence?” She asked tartly, taking a sip of her drink.
“Immensely. It is amazing how isolation within a small white room can give you clarity. I was able to dwell, obsess entirely about my next move and our future and I came to some conclusions,” he said, a blade of steel slicing the silk of his voice.
She stiffened, ice water beginning to run through her veins. She distracted herself by smoothing an errant curl behind her ear. “Really? I’m assuming you’re going to enlighten me regardless of whether or not I care,” she said dismissively.
“Out of curiosity, how did you manage to convince M16 that I was the mastermind behind the largest international prostitution ring in existence? Not that I’m not flattered to be suspected, but I expect I wasn’t even considered a possibility until you unsheathed your claws.”
He closed in on her, angling his body along her side, his chest inches from her shoulder. Leaning lazily against the column he studied her regal profile: the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the nervous fluttering of her pulse nestled in the elegant curve of her neck.
“It wasn’t difficult at all. Your playboy lifestyle, your monopoly of the hospitality industry and the harem of females always surrounding you made you a perfect candidate for the high-class pimp they’re looking for. With your highly suspicious modus operandi I felt it was my duty as a loyal and devoted citizen to voice my concerns with the prime minister,” she said with sickening sweetness.
“Did you share with them how delightfully you whored yourself to me in Paris? Because then I can understand how they might have misunderstood the evidence.”
With calculated precision, his hand slipped between the cold marble wall and her slight figure. Delicately, his fingers trailed up the back of her dress, flirting with the silky ribbons that corseted thestrapless dress. Starved for the touch of her skin, he took his time, understanding the heightened pleasure of anticipation. His hand - painstaking slow - glided higher, his fingertips tracing the contours of her skin that rose above her gown. He smiled in triumph, all of the unpleasantness of the last week forgotten when she shivered in pleasure at his touch.
Blair stared fixedly at the scene before her, deliberately ignoring him in the hope he would grow bored of her passivity and find a new way to torture her. Their scandalous interlude went unnoticed as England’s elite hurried to make drunken assignations of their own and finish their cocktails before the intermission ended.
“Blair, you should know by now that any plot I can buy my way out of will backfire. Thanks to you, I’m opening an office here in London and will be investing quite heavily in the British market for the next few years. Do you have any idea how much it is going to cost me to clean up the mess you created?” He asked fondly.
“Not nearly enough,” she said through gritted teeth. He had taken her perfect plan, manipulated it and turned it to his advantage. She wanted to cause a scene, scream, kick him where it counted and storm away. Instead she stood perfectly still, unwilling to make any movement that would draw scrutiny to them as he traced exquisite patterns between her shoulder blades, branding her with feather light gentleness. She hated him even as she quivered, her body awakening under his touch, betraying her.
“What next, Blair? I think we can both agree that I’m the winner this round. “
He curled his finger around one of the long ringlets that fell artfully from her chignon. Smoothing the dark satin between thumb and forefinger, he tugged lightly. “How much longer are we going to continue this dance?”
She lifted her head, trying to pull away from him but he held fast. “Perhaps you should return to New York and find a partner you’re more suited for.”
“I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever found worthy of a second dance.”
“My dance card is filled,” she snapped.
“Where is Cedric? I thought he would be here tonight for you to parade around. According to the gossip you used to be inseparable. Is it possible he no longer cares to be seen with you since you’ve been tarnished, used by someone else?”
“Stop applying your demented logic to my life. It is unfortunate you have no idea what goes on in a loving marriage, not having had the advantage to experience one yourself.
“Please illuminate it for me than,” he said coldly, the vein in his forehead beginning to twitch dangerously. “I’m dying to know why your loving and adoring husband can’t be bothered to escort you to the event of the season, one that you are responsible for. I don’t have to tell you how this loving marriage must appear to your peers. Lady Errol alone at the opera without her golden haired knight. Where is Gossip Girl when you need her? “
“Not that it is any of your business, but Cedric is feeling unwell.”
“Is that his excuse? I didn’t realize you were still that naive. I thought you would have learned from Nate that illness is one of the varied excuses a gentleman uses when they don’t want to hurt your delicate feelings by telling you the truth: That they would rather pull their teeth out than spend another tedious moment in your company at a social event,” he said condescendingly.
“If I tell you I’m feeling ill will you get the hint?” She asked darkly, draining her glass.
Chuck glowered, his hand falling from the paradise of Blair’s velvet skin at the interruption of a hulking, freckled and shockingly red haired man.
“There you are Blair. I was wondering where you’d gotten too. Sorry I missed the brouhaha, but I stepped out for a smoke.”
“Chuck this is Ian Craven, my date for the evening. Ian this is Chuck Bass, an old acquaintance from back home,” Blair introduced, smiling with relief.
“Sorry for the wait. Had a bugger of a time getting the sparkling juice you wanted. Not much of an escort, am I?” Ian asked, handing Blair a glass and taking her empty one. “Where are the penguins when you need one?” Looking around he flagged a waiter down before holding his hand out to Chuck in greeting.
Chuck shook his hand firmly, his coldly assessing eyes moving from Ian to Blair. “You didn’t mention your husband was amenable to your dating.”
“He’s not,” she said sharply.
Ian chuckled, handing Blair’s empty glass to the hovering waiter. “You must not know Cedric very well. I wouldn’t call myself a date, more like a big brother. I don’t think he would trust me near her otherwise.” He winked broadly at Blair. “Basically I’m just here to keep Blair amused, ensuring she has a good time while keeping her husband from worrying too much. He’s getting to be as bad as an old mother hen lately, always worrying and fretting.”
Blair laughed as expected, but her eyes did not quite match the humor she exhibited. “Ian and Cedric have been friends since childhood. Ian served as best man at our wedding and has become a very dear friend.”
“If we weren’t such good friends I would have stolen her away from him that night. Might have married you myself,” he sighed dramatically. “Now I’m stuck playing the role of loyal friend, forever measuring every potential wife to Blair and finding them sadly lacking.” He shook his head sadly.
“Maybe if you dated someone with half a brain you wouldn’t have this problem,” she said wryly.
“True, but then I might have to marry her, forever ruining that special relationship we share.”
She rolled her eyes. “Somehow I think I would manage.”
“But I wouldn’t. Who would tell me what color fuchsia red is, what the latest style trends are, what party to go to and most importantly what and who I’m supposed to like?” He asked, grinning widely as he turned to Chuck. “Was she this opinionated when you knew her in high school? I remember when I first met her I couldn’t believe she was marrying Cedric. He was always so quiet and introspective and she was some exotic pampered kitten all claws and spitting contradictions. She was such a bitty thing too, you could hardly tell she was−“
“Really, Ian,” she hastily interrupted, shooting him a warning glance. “Do you have to say every thought that enters your head? Besides it is not a question of being opinionated, but more a desire to help those that are severely lacking in taste and judgment. Consider it another of my charitable contributions to the world at large,” she said haughtily, even as she regarded him fondly.
“What did I say…o-pin-ion-ated,” he mouthed the word, exaggerating each syllable.
“There was a reason they called her Queen B,” Chuck replied shortly, at a loss. This was a side to Blair he had not seen, nor expected. He knew it was ridiculous on his part, but he still saw her as the Blair he knew years ago. He was jealous that this was a side of her he didn’t know and others got to see. He wanted her all to himself. He hated Ian for bringing out the playful, sarcastic Blair and he hated Cedric for arousing Blair’s protective and tender instincts. Most of all, he hated Blair for refusing him, dooming them to this never ending cycle of pain, obsession and lust.
Their conversation was halted by a series of lilting musical tones that signaled the end of the intermission.
Blair gave Chuck a small smile, delight at her sudden reprieve evident in her eyes. “We should probably head back to our box. It was… nice to see you again.” Her voice lingered over the word nice, making it abundantly clear it was anything but. “Will you be returning home then?”
“Not until I’ve gotten what I came for.” His face was icily impassive, his eyes impenetrable as granite. For an instant she glimpsed the fury that underlay his calm demeanor, the cobra lifting its hood.
She lifted her head challengingly. “I’m afraid you will be returning home empty handed.”
Chuck’s fingers twitched. He longed to grab her, plunge his fingers in her hair and force her to kiss him until all that existed for her was he. He wanted to destroy her restraint and with it the civilized, deadly peacefulness of her gilded prison.
Ian gaped at them with wide eyes. Never accused of being a clever man, he knew that hidden within the cryptic conversation lurked something dangerous and destructive, something that Blair and Cedric in all their years of friendship had never hinted at.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nice to meet you Chuck. We really should take our seats, Blair. Don’t want to miss Faust’s and Valentin’s duel, the only thing that makes the fourth act bearable.” He grasped Blair’s arm, pulling her in the direction of the stairs that led to the box seats. She turned to give Chuck one last indecipherable look before allowing herself to be led once more into a world where he did not exist.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sound of the door clicking open startled her, wrenching her from Marguerite’s aria. “Crisis averted, Ian? I don’t know what was so important it couldn’t wait until after the show,” she whispered harshly, her eyes never leaving the stage.
There was no answer as the intruder entered, the darkness cloaking him like a thief in the night. It wasn’t until he was ensconced in the velvet and gilt chair beside her that she noticed her mistake. Catching the unmistakable profile from the corner of her eye her mouth went dry, her breath catching in her throat. She looked up at him nervously, aware that while they were one of hundreds in the audience, they were isolated within the privacy of the theater box. Her eyes swayed wildly from him to the stage, searching for any sign that they were being observed. Her long slender fingers gripped the fragile arm of the chair as she attempted to rise from her seat. In a flash his arm shot out, catching her hand in a painful grip, forcing her back into her chair.
“Don’t get too comfortable. Ian will be back any minute,” she said angrily, keeping her voice low.
“Not for the next hour. Ian is taking a well deserved break from acting as your shield,” Chuck said mockingly.
“What did you do? If you hurt him−”
“Don’t worry. The manager will soon have his credit problem sorted out.”
He seated himself in the seat beside her, slinging his fingers through hers, cradling her small graceful hand in his. The simple act of holding her hand thrilled him in a way he never dreamed possible. This small intimacy between lovers, one he spent a lifetime scorning, made his heart ache with longing. Her rigid fingers grew soft and pliable in his hold as he caressed her thumb with his.
“Why do you fight so hard, Blair? Even when you know in that hard little heart of yours that we belong together.” His voice was low, seductive.
She turned her head to his, looking into the abyss, the opera house fading away. For a second nothing existed but him, his amber eyes tearing into her, stripping away all pretension. Caught in his web, she trembled, her chest rising and falling jaggedly. Tears like fractured diamonds glistened in her eyes, threatening her controlled reality.
“Maybe once, years ago, before your dad died. Whatever we had, our time, passed long ago. I’m not the same Blair you remember. I’ve made choices, done things. Whatever is left between us is toxic, destructive and will only end badly. Why can’t you see that? ” She pleaded, brokenly.
“I can only see you. Marry me, Blair. “
A sickly wave first cold than hot surged through her. She inched away from him, pulling her hand from his.
“Six years after I made my vows to Cedric you can finally see me. “ Her voice faltered, the biting sarcasm sticking in her throat. “Felicitations on your sudden maturity and personal growth, but it is too late. I don’t think I can be blunter, but maybe it would help you if I spoke slower. I do not love you. I love my husband and I will never leave him. ”
He inhaled sharply, all traces of his previous tenderness fleeing his face. “King takes queen,” he said hoarsely, simmering with barely checked passion.
He studied her with calculating eyes before reaching out to thread his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head with his hand. Trapping her in place he leaned in gently, his breath dancing along the tender skin of her shoulder. With exquisite patience his lips climbed across her collarbone to hover over the sensitive arch of her neck. Blair gasped, quivering in fearful anticipation as she waited for him to strike. A master of control, he waited, his lips only a whisper away from her pulse. It beat wildly with every second he resisted touching her, kissing her. Her ears began to ring, her breath reduced to gasps as he tortured her with his nearness. She arched her back, a broken doll, almost crying out as his lips rasped across her skin, his hand sliding up the skirt of her gown. He curled his hand around her thigh, his thumb resting on the lace edge of her stocking. He stroked lightly, knowing exactly what his touch was doing to her as she tried to remember how to breathe.
“Please…”
“Please what, Blair?”
She couldn’t answer, she could hardly hold still. There was no part of her that didn’t throb and surge with fire.
“Are you worried about all your precious society friends? Afraid they might see the tarnish on your crown? The real Blair?”
His tongue delicately stroked across her pulse as his fingers played with the satin edge at her thigh, sliding under. She moaned, her desire at war with her objections and scruples.
“I promise they can’t see. If I can’t get through to you using words, then maybe this is the only language you can understand. Let me prove my love,” he murmured, his breath fanning her as his words shivered across her skin. With his mouth and his touch he promised a new life, a new world.
He nipped, his teeth scraping against her sensitive skin as she trembled with need. Finally he stole between her legs. Each touch, every stroke, was slow and deliberate. Chuck watched her intently, waiting for just the right moment before sliding two fingers deep inside her. For a frozen moment, her heart stuttered in her chest, torn between pounding its way through her ribcage and stopping altogether. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Losing all touch with reality, her blood racing madly, she fell like Lucifer from heaven.
She heard someone whispering “please, please” over and over in the darkened box. Appalled, she realized it was her voice that begged and implored Chuck to continue . She arched, sensations ripping through her with an almost audible sizzle. It seemed to free some part of her that that had been stretched too tight for too long, like an elastic band pulled beyond its limits. She could feel blood surging through her, pulsing hotly. The sheer rightness of it caught her breath, hummed through her brain telling her that she belonged here, right here, only here.
She’d lived without for so long - the night in Paris her only aberration - she’d become used to it, almost forgotten how satisfaction felt until the heat of his touch reminded her. It was a deep hollow ache like hunger that had gone beyond starvation, no longer a pang but long gnawing nothingness. She’d known similar hunger before for food and the inevitable purging that followed. This was something similar, a hunger she couldn’t control even with purging.
He slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, licking the taste of her from his fingers.
“Your move Blair.”
She stared at him, unable to speak. Head swimming and wits scattered, she felt the sting of tears as she watched him leave. Turning to face the stage, tears beginning to course down her cheeks, she watched in horror as Valentin killed by Faust damned Marguerite to hell.
Author: Noirreigne
Pairing: Blair/Chuck & Blair/OC
Rating: R for language and smut.
Spoilers: Through 2x17
Summary: Except you enthrall me, never shall be free. Future Fic.
Previous Chapters
Blair surveyed her surroundings, bestowing a proud smile on the beautifully orchestrated event unfolding before her. The Royal Opera Benefit was one of the premier social events of the year and as the current chairwoman it was one of her responsibilities. She had joined the prestigious board soon after her marriage, quickly moving up through the ranks to become the youngest chairwoman ever to oversee the Royal Opera Benefit. It was a huge undertaking, responsible for raising funds to cover everything from dance, music and theatre classes for the underprivileged to the historic preservation of costumes, musical scores and even the theatre itself. Not exactly a fan of the arts like Serena, she chose this charitable endeavor for more than just the social cachet it carried. Cedric’s ancestors, along with those of many of the oldest noble families, were the original founders and patrons of the Royal Opera. Over the centuries, with so many aristocratic families dying out, the Errols were one of the only original families still active in the Royal Opera. Several generations of Errol wives had supported and served as board members and now it was her quest to surpass all of them in her dedication, be remembered as the one to herald in a golden age for the old theatre.
It was the least she could do in return for all that Cedric had given her. While he would never admit it, she knew, he had married beneath his station. While being a Waldorf granted her entry into the upper echelon of New York society, allowing her to rise to Queen status in the incestuous hothouse of the Upper East Side, it meant little here in England. From her first introduction to London society it was made obvious to her that her marriage was considered a misalliance. Even more mortifying was the knowledge that all of society was snidely gossiping on about how soon the marriage would fail and what settlement she could hope to procure. With the odds stacked against her, she made sure in those early years to give to all the right charities, attend all the important events carving a niche for herself that proved the American stereotypes her peers held about her were wrong. Immersing herself in the strict protocol and obligations of her new life she now embodied the ideal that the aristocracy aspired to and measured themselves against.
A queen among courtiers, she strolled through the scarlet draped atriumpausing to welcome old friends and newcomers, their status easily gauged by the length of her attention. In between pretentious air kisses she shared bits of gossip, banal inanities and gracefully accepted accolades. In this instance she knew the compliments and appreciation were well deserved, as everything looked perfect. Amidst the awe inspiring soaring columns of the room she had placed small exhibits of artifacts from the Opera’s past ancient preserved and lavishly jeweled costumes along with set pieces and rare instruments created small tableaus to serve as conversation pieces and distinctive decoration.
Taking a sip of her sparkling juice she circled the edges of the room, making sure the bars were still stocked, the starched tuxedoed waiters were dutifully passing out champagne and dessert and everyone was comporting themselves correctly. While the entertainment for the evening was the opening performance of the season’s first opera, it was the socializing during intermission and the charity auction that everyone enjoyed the most, but would never admit too. The auction was a new fundraising tactic that Blair had introduced a few years ago. What had started as a small and innovative way to contribute either by donating a luxury item or purchasing one had become a cornerstone of the event. The auction was a way for the wealthy to parade their noblesse oblige, to have their efforts recognized publicly, drawing positive attention to themselves. Of course it helped the cause that the names of the donor and winner were printed in the annual quarterly publication and they were carved in a bronze plaque that was hung in the public entryway for all to see. The money earned through ticket sales was now a fraction of that earned from the auction.
This year with Cedric ailing and unable to shop for a unique gift she had been left to choose their donation, a Cartier emerald teardrop necklace. It was stunning in its simplicity, the large teardrop stone suspended from a delicate string of diamonds. She knew that it wouldn’t take much urging for the women in the audience to cajole their dates and spouses into purchasing it for them. Having tried it on last week, the green fire resplendent against her golden ivory skin, the stone falling slightly above her cleavage, it had taken all her will power to give it away. The drone of the crowd softened to a lull as the auctioneer cleared his throat, the highlight of the evening beginning.
One by one, fabulous and exotic items were auctioned off at exorbitant prices, the alcohol having loosened more than a few wallets and purses. Finally, the Cartier necklace gifted by Lord and Lady Errol was announced and paraded around for viewing, the estimate of 40,000 pounds easily met. The main event almost over and her stressful duties almost concluded she sank tiredly into one of the ornamental chairs divested artfully through the room. The cracks in her composure were beginning to show as she blinked slowly, the room blurring. She took a large drink of her sparkling juice attempting to stave of exhaustion for at least another hour.
“150,000 pounds for the necklace and dinner with the Errols. The voice rang out clear and confident.
The gasps and excited roaring of the crowd rose and swelled in her ears like the breaking waves of the ocean, the rushing hum drowning all thought. Numb she rose from her seat as the crowd, like a pack of bloodhounds scenting scandal in the air, searched the room for her presence.
“Sir, this is highly irregular. Bond Street Auctions has never received and cannot condone a stipulation like this.” He frowned, his beady eyes glaring at the interloper who dared to create chaos under his watch.
“A bid of this nature must be approved by the Chair”. The auctioneer’s voice boomed out through the microphone, shock and disapproval evident in his tone.
“Lady Errol, if you could please come to the podium and tell us how to proceed?”
Her mouth stretched into a wide aching smile as she made her way to the front of the room ignoring the wide eyes, gleeful smiles and tittering cast in her direction. Complexion white as wedding lace she pointedly avoided looking at the bidder as she accepting the help of the auctioneer to ascend the platform.
The auctioneer leaned in, covering the microphone with his hand and whispered in her ear. “Pardon the interruption Lady Errol, but what should I do? These brash Americans…I’m afraid they have no class or clue as to how things are done here.”
She couldn’t think, her thoughts were stuck like cold crystallized honey refusing to flow and function. Nodding she pretended coherence, buying herself time until she was able to come to a decision. She found herself wondering if the auctioneer realized that as an American, a British citizen only by marriage, he had just insulted her as well.
“Would you like me to put the bounder in his place?” He asked, looking at her conspiringly. “Or If your ladyship and Lord Errol could stomach the possibility of furthering this man’s acquaintance he is offering triple what the necklace is worth. More than the auction could hope to take in even without his bid. I have no idea what the bidder’s motivations are, but Bond Street Auctionssupports your decision whatever the choice.”
She knew, she understood exactly what Chuck was doing. He had played the whole situation like a maestro. If she turned down his offer, she was denying The Royal Opera a fortune, something completely at odds with her exalted position. If she accepted they would be forced to endure his company, something she vowed should never be allowed to happen again, further indulging his delusions that she could be seduced and won. As for the talk this little stunt would cause she was damned either way. Cornered she did the only thing she could; give in.
“I accept. Lord Errol and I would be honored to entertain the gentleman in return for such a generous donation,” she said graciously and calmly even as she seethed inside. She knew that the only weapon against a possible scandal was indifference. If it was perceived that this turn of events meant nothing to her then it would mean nothing.
“150,000 pounds for the Cartier emerald necklace and dinner with Lord and Lady Errol going once…”
Blair didn’t bother to pray for another bidder. She knew she was trapped and there would be no heavenly sent savior, no one who would willingly bid triple what the necklace was worth.
“Going twice…sold to the American…” He paused to look at the slip of paper one of his assistants rushed into his hand. “Mr. Chuck Bass!”
Giving a small wave to acknowledge the whooping and clapping of the crowd, she descended proudly from the stage. She brutally smothered her true feelings, enacting her own form of revenge. She knew any display of suffering or emotion on her part would only serve as some perverted form of foreplay to him so instead she chose to deprive him of any emotion other than calm disinterest.
Spots of color bled through the pale skin of her cheekbones as she made her way to the back of the room. Weak, she leaned against the cold marbled Grecian column, trying to slow the manic beating of her heart, preparing herself. It didn’t take long for him to make it to her side.
He held the black leather case out to her, his eyes glinting in amusement. “Payment for the promised dinner,” he smirked.
“That’s your grand move, public blackmail? I’m disappointed, Chuck,” she retorted.
He shrugged elegantly, “I had to do something to get your attention.” A small smile played in the corners of his mouth. “You’ve been hiding,” he said chidingly, danger lurking in his tone.
“And you’ve been stalking,” she hissed, ignoring the jewel he proffered. Forever tainted by its association with him she would rather die than wear it now.
He gave up, pocketing the case. “I’ll have it couriered to your home tomorrow. When I finally win this foolish war I’ll have you wear this...and only this.” He tilted his head, his gaze lazily skimming her figure, stripping her with his eyes, his intent clear.
“Stop that!” She commanded, practically stomping her foot.
Standing apart from the crowd they circled each other like wild animals, measuring, evaluating and searching for weaknesses as they prepared for battle. Aware that they were starting to attract attention, Blair smiled prettily, even as she raked him with her eyes.
“I have not been hiding. If you had done your research correctly you would know that I frequently reside at the Errol Estate with my husband,” she said, with huge emphasis on the last word. Furthering the pretence that they were nothing more than new acquaintances she waved and nodded with an air of purposeful nonchalance at the various greetingsand acknowledgements directed her way.
“Somehow I don’t think it’s your affinity for country air and the simple rustic life that’s keeping you out of London. You’re hiding Blair, cowering in the safety of the country. “
“If that’s true then why am I here tonight?” She taunted.
“As the chairwoman of this event there is nothing, not even the threat of running into me, which would keep you away tonight, especially since you had no reason to expect I would be here,” he said dryly.
His eyes swept over the room, surveying the exquisite spread, historical exhibits and tasteful set-up. “I definitely see your hand in this. The Royal Opera Company should be congratulated for recognizing your expertise. “
She looked at him mystified, the unexpected words of kindness throwing her off balance. “Thank you,” she answered stiffly without thinking, an involuntary reflex from her mother’s rigid training in etiquette.
“I think congratulations are also in order for your ingenious plot to have my visa revoked. I always knew you were a malicious bitch, but I clearly underestimated your skills,” he said, his mouth twisting into a hateful smile.
“I was rather impressed myself. Did you enjoy your visit with British Intelligence?” She asked tartly, taking a sip of her drink.
“Immensely. It is amazing how isolation within a small white room can give you clarity. I was able to dwell, obsess entirely about my next move and our future and I came to some conclusions,” he said, a blade of steel slicing the silk of his voice.
She stiffened, ice water beginning to run through her veins. She distracted herself by smoothing an errant curl behind her ear. “Really? I’m assuming you’re going to enlighten me regardless of whether or not I care,” she said dismissively.
“Out of curiosity, how did you manage to convince M16 that I was the mastermind behind the largest international prostitution ring in existence? Not that I’m not flattered to be suspected, but I expect I wasn’t even considered a possibility until you unsheathed your claws.”
He closed in on her, angling his body along her side, his chest inches from her shoulder. Leaning lazily against the column he studied her regal profile: the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the nervous fluttering of her pulse nestled in the elegant curve of her neck.
“It wasn’t difficult at all. Your playboy lifestyle, your monopoly of the hospitality industry and the harem of females always surrounding you made you a perfect candidate for the high-class pimp they’re looking for. With your highly suspicious modus operandi I felt it was my duty as a loyal and devoted citizen to voice my concerns with the prime minister,” she said with sickening sweetness.
“Did you share with them how delightfully you whored yourself to me in Paris? Because then I can understand how they might have misunderstood the evidence.”
With calculated precision, his hand slipped between the cold marble wall and her slight figure. Delicately, his fingers trailed up the back of her dress, flirting with the silky ribbons that corseted thestrapless dress. Starved for the touch of her skin, he took his time, understanding the heightened pleasure of anticipation. His hand - painstaking slow - glided higher, his fingertips tracing the contours of her skin that rose above her gown. He smiled in triumph, all of the unpleasantness of the last week forgotten when she shivered in pleasure at his touch.
Blair stared fixedly at the scene before her, deliberately ignoring him in the hope he would grow bored of her passivity and find a new way to torture her. Their scandalous interlude went unnoticed as England’s elite hurried to make drunken assignations of their own and finish their cocktails before the intermission ended.
“Blair, you should know by now that any plot I can buy my way out of will backfire. Thanks to you, I’m opening an office here in London and will be investing quite heavily in the British market for the next few years. Do you have any idea how much it is going to cost me to clean up the mess you created?” He asked fondly.
“Not nearly enough,” she said through gritted teeth. He had taken her perfect plan, manipulated it and turned it to his advantage. She wanted to cause a scene, scream, kick him where it counted and storm away. Instead she stood perfectly still, unwilling to make any movement that would draw scrutiny to them as he traced exquisite patterns between her shoulder blades, branding her with feather light gentleness. She hated him even as she quivered, her body awakening under his touch, betraying her.
“What next, Blair? I think we can both agree that I’m the winner this round. “
He curled his finger around one of the long ringlets that fell artfully from her chignon. Smoothing the dark satin between thumb and forefinger, he tugged lightly. “How much longer are we going to continue this dance?”
She lifted her head, trying to pull away from him but he held fast. “Perhaps you should return to New York and find a partner you’re more suited for.”
“I want you. You’re the only one I’ve ever found worthy of a second dance.”
“My dance card is filled,” she snapped.
“Where is Cedric? I thought he would be here tonight for you to parade around. According to the gossip you used to be inseparable. Is it possible he no longer cares to be seen with you since you’ve been tarnished, used by someone else?”
“Stop applying your demented logic to my life. It is unfortunate you have no idea what goes on in a loving marriage, not having had the advantage to experience one yourself.
“Please illuminate it for me than,” he said coldly, the vein in his forehead beginning to twitch dangerously. “I’m dying to know why your loving and adoring husband can’t be bothered to escort you to the event of the season, one that you are responsible for. I don’t have to tell you how this loving marriage must appear to your peers. Lady Errol alone at the opera without her golden haired knight. Where is Gossip Girl when you need her? “
“Not that it is any of your business, but Cedric is feeling unwell.”
“Is that his excuse? I didn’t realize you were still that naive. I thought you would have learned from Nate that illness is one of the varied excuses a gentleman uses when they don’t want to hurt your delicate feelings by telling you the truth: That they would rather pull their teeth out than spend another tedious moment in your company at a social event,” he said condescendingly.
“If I tell you I’m feeling ill will you get the hint?” She asked darkly, draining her glass.
Chuck glowered, his hand falling from the paradise of Blair’s velvet skin at the interruption of a hulking, freckled and shockingly red haired man.
“There you are Blair. I was wondering where you’d gotten too. Sorry I missed the brouhaha, but I stepped out for a smoke.”
“Chuck this is Ian Craven, my date for the evening. Ian this is Chuck Bass, an old acquaintance from back home,” Blair introduced, smiling with relief.
“Sorry for the wait. Had a bugger of a time getting the sparkling juice you wanted. Not much of an escort, am I?” Ian asked, handing Blair a glass and taking her empty one. “Where are the penguins when you need one?” Looking around he flagged a waiter down before holding his hand out to Chuck in greeting.
Chuck shook his hand firmly, his coldly assessing eyes moving from Ian to Blair. “You didn’t mention your husband was amenable to your dating.”
“He’s not,” she said sharply.
Ian chuckled, handing Blair’s empty glass to the hovering waiter. “You must not know Cedric very well. I wouldn’t call myself a date, more like a big brother. I don’t think he would trust me near her otherwise.” He winked broadly at Blair. “Basically I’m just here to keep Blair amused, ensuring she has a good time while keeping her husband from worrying too much. He’s getting to be as bad as an old mother hen lately, always worrying and fretting.”
Blair laughed as expected, but her eyes did not quite match the humor she exhibited. “Ian and Cedric have been friends since childhood. Ian served as best man at our wedding and has become a very dear friend.”
“If we weren’t such good friends I would have stolen her away from him that night. Might have married you myself,” he sighed dramatically. “Now I’m stuck playing the role of loyal friend, forever measuring every potential wife to Blair and finding them sadly lacking.” He shook his head sadly.
“Maybe if you dated someone with half a brain you wouldn’t have this problem,” she said wryly.
“True, but then I might have to marry her, forever ruining that special relationship we share.”
She rolled her eyes. “Somehow I think I would manage.”
“But I wouldn’t. Who would tell me what color fuchsia red is, what the latest style trends are, what party to go to and most importantly what and who I’m supposed to like?” He asked, grinning widely as he turned to Chuck. “Was she this opinionated when you knew her in high school? I remember when I first met her I couldn’t believe she was marrying Cedric. He was always so quiet and introspective and she was some exotic pampered kitten all claws and spitting contradictions. She was such a bitty thing too, you could hardly tell she was−“
“Really, Ian,” she hastily interrupted, shooting him a warning glance. “Do you have to say every thought that enters your head? Besides it is not a question of being opinionated, but more a desire to help those that are severely lacking in taste and judgment. Consider it another of my charitable contributions to the world at large,” she said haughtily, even as she regarded him fondly.
“What did I say…o-pin-ion-ated,” he mouthed the word, exaggerating each syllable.
“There was a reason they called her Queen B,” Chuck replied shortly, at a loss. This was a side to Blair he had not seen, nor expected. He knew it was ridiculous on his part, but he still saw her as the Blair he knew years ago. He was jealous that this was a side of her he didn’t know and others got to see. He wanted her all to himself. He hated Ian for bringing out the playful, sarcastic Blair and he hated Cedric for arousing Blair’s protective and tender instincts. Most of all, he hated Blair for refusing him, dooming them to this never ending cycle of pain, obsession and lust.
Their conversation was halted by a series of lilting musical tones that signaled the end of the intermission.
Blair gave Chuck a small smile, delight at her sudden reprieve evident in her eyes. “We should probably head back to our box. It was… nice to see you again.” Her voice lingered over the word nice, making it abundantly clear it was anything but. “Will you be returning home then?”
“Not until I’ve gotten what I came for.” His face was icily impassive, his eyes impenetrable as granite. For an instant she glimpsed the fury that underlay his calm demeanor, the cobra lifting its hood.
She lifted her head challengingly. “I’m afraid you will be returning home empty handed.”
Chuck’s fingers twitched. He longed to grab her, plunge his fingers in her hair and force her to kiss him until all that existed for her was he. He wanted to destroy her restraint and with it the civilized, deadly peacefulness of her gilded prison.
Ian gaped at them with wide eyes. Never accused of being a clever man, he knew that hidden within the cryptic conversation lurked something dangerous and destructive, something that Blair and Cedric in all their years of friendship had never hinted at.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Nice to meet you Chuck. We really should take our seats, Blair. Don’t want to miss Faust’s and Valentin’s duel, the only thing that makes the fourth act bearable.” He grasped Blair’s arm, pulling her in the direction of the stairs that led to the box seats. She turned to give Chuck one last indecipherable look before allowing herself to be led once more into a world where he did not exist.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The sound of the door clicking open startled her, wrenching her from Marguerite’s aria. “Crisis averted, Ian? I don’t know what was so important it couldn’t wait until after the show,” she whispered harshly, her eyes never leaving the stage.
There was no answer as the intruder entered, the darkness cloaking him like a thief in the night. It wasn’t until he was ensconced in the velvet and gilt chair beside her that she noticed her mistake. Catching the unmistakable profile from the corner of her eye her mouth went dry, her breath catching in her throat. She looked up at him nervously, aware that while they were one of hundreds in the audience, they were isolated within the privacy of the theater box. Her eyes swayed wildly from him to the stage, searching for any sign that they were being observed. Her long slender fingers gripped the fragile arm of the chair as she attempted to rise from her seat. In a flash his arm shot out, catching her hand in a painful grip, forcing her back into her chair.
“Don’t get too comfortable. Ian will be back any minute,” she said angrily, keeping her voice low.
“Not for the next hour. Ian is taking a well deserved break from acting as your shield,” Chuck said mockingly.
“What did you do? If you hurt him−”
“Don’t worry. The manager will soon have his credit problem sorted out.”
He seated himself in the seat beside her, slinging his fingers through hers, cradling her small graceful hand in his. The simple act of holding her hand thrilled him in a way he never dreamed possible. This small intimacy between lovers, one he spent a lifetime scorning, made his heart ache with longing. Her rigid fingers grew soft and pliable in his hold as he caressed her thumb with his.
“Why do you fight so hard, Blair? Even when you know in that hard little heart of yours that we belong together.” His voice was low, seductive.
She turned her head to his, looking into the abyss, the opera house fading away. For a second nothing existed but him, his amber eyes tearing into her, stripping away all pretension. Caught in his web, she trembled, her chest rising and falling jaggedly. Tears like fractured diamonds glistened in her eyes, threatening her controlled reality.
“Maybe once, years ago, before your dad died. Whatever we had, our time, passed long ago. I’m not the same Blair you remember. I’ve made choices, done things. Whatever is left between us is toxic, destructive and will only end badly. Why can’t you see that? ” She pleaded, brokenly.
“I can only see you. Marry me, Blair. “
A sickly wave first cold than hot surged through her. She inched away from him, pulling her hand from his.
“Six years after I made my vows to Cedric you can finally see me. “ Her voice faltered, the biting sarcasm sticking in her throat. “Felicitations on your sudden maturity and personal growth, but it is too late. I don’t think I can be blunter, but maybe it would help you if I spoke slower. I do not love you. I love my husband and I will never leave him. ”
He inhaled sharply, all traces of his previous tenderness fleeing his face. “King takes queen,” he said hoarsely, simmering with barely checked passion.
He studied her with calculating eyes before reaching out to thread his fingers through her hair, cupping the back of her head with his hand. Trapping her in place he leaned in gently, his breath dancing along the tender skin of her shoulder. With exquisite patience his lips climbed across her collarbone to hover over the sensitive arch of her neck. Blair gasped, quivering in fearful anticipation as she waited for him to strike. A master of control, he waited, his lips only a whisper away from her pulse. It beat wildly with every second he resisted touching her, kissing her. Her ears began to ring, her breath reduced to gasps as he tortured her with his nearness. She arched her back, a broken doll, almost crying out as his lips rasped across her skin, his hand sliding up the skirt of her gown. He curled his hand around her thigh, his thumb resting on the lace edge of her stocking. He stroked lightly, knowing exactly what his touch was doing to her as she tried to remember how to breathe.
“Please…”
“Please what, Blair?”
She couldn’t answer, she could hardly hold still. There was no part of her that didn’t throb and surge with fire.
“Are you worried about all your precious society friends? Afraid they might see the tarnish on your crown? The real Blair?”
His tongue delicately stroked across her pulse as his fingers played with the satin edge at her thigh, sliding under. She moaned, her desire at war with her objections and scruples.
“I promise they can’t see. If I can’t get through to you using words, then maybe this is the only language you can understand. Let me prove my love,” he murmured, his breath fanning her as his words shivered across her skin. With his mouth and his touch he promised a new life, a new world.
He nipped, his teeth scraping against her sensitive skin as she trembled with need. Finally he stole between her legs. Each touch, every stroke, was slow and deliberate. Chuck watched her intently, waiting for just the right moment before sliding two fingers deep inside her. For a frozen moment, her heart stuttered in her chest, torn between pounding its way through her ribcage and stopping altogether. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Losing all touch with reality, her blood racing madly, she fell like Lucifer from heaven.
She heard someone whispering “please, please” over and over in the darkened box. Appalled, she realized it was her voice that begged and implored Chuck to continue . She arched, sensations ripping through her with an almost audible sizzle. It seemed to free some part of her that that had been stretched too tight for too long, like an elastic band pulled beyond its limits. She could feel blood surging through her, pulsing hotly. The sheer rightness of it caught her breath, hummed through her brain telling her that she belonged here, right here, only here.
She’d lived without for so long - the night in Paris her only aberration - she’d become used to it, almost forgotten how satisfaction felt until the heat of his touch reminded her. It was a deep hollow ache like hunger that had gone beyond starvation, no longer a pang but long gnawing nothingness. She’d known similar hunger before for food and the inevitable purging that followed. This was something similar, a hunger she couldn’t control even with purging.
He slowly withdrew his hand from between her thighs, licking the taste of her from his fingers.
“Your move Blair.”
She stared at him, unable to speak. Head swimming and wits scattered, she felt the sting of tears as she watched him leave. Turning to face the stage, tears beginning to course down her cheeks, she watched in horror as Valentin killed by Faust damned Marguerite to hell.