Mysterious Intrigue

His eyes reflected his anticipation as he lingered from the shadows of the veranda, silently awaiting her arrival, their blueness deepening to midnight black.

Adrienne stepped onto the lengthy veranda. It was an unseasonably warm evening in February, and she hoped to catch the breeze coming off the water. Even though she had not yet danced, her face behind the mask she wore was finely misting with perspiration. She could feel small rivulets of the same running down between her breasts beneath the heavy eighteenth century costume dress that she had chosen to wear this evening to the masquerade ball.

In honor of Mardi Gras and Fat Tuesday, her eccentric but dear friend, Angelique, was hosting tonight’s event. As a result of the celebration, Adrienne knew the party would continue well into the wee hours of the morning, leaving many a drunken and weary individual in its wake. At the moment, however, she was happy to content herself by escaping both the heat and the drunken revelry housed inside by seeking the seclusion of the veranda and enjoying the quiet, crisp coolness of the river’s breeze floating across its' length.

This evening, her friend, Angelique, had insisted upon arranging a blind date for Adrienne with someone whom she had not met named Jean-Luc, but he had not yet presented himself to her as of yet. In her eccentric and playful way, and since everyone would be wearing a mask, Angelique had insisted that Jean-Luc must seek Adrienne out amidst the crowd of people. Vases of vibrant, golden marigolds filled the rooms of Angelique’s large home and the tables of each room were laden with the same, large vases of the flowers adorning their centers. Thus, once Jean-Luc found her, he then would need to offer her a single marigold as a way to both reveal himself and to validate her identity. It was a fun ploy and offered Adrienne a bit of a choice in the matter. She would not have to reveal her identity unless she chose to do so. She sighed in the breeze of the night. Chances were slim that Jean-Luc would find her. Her chances at love had been dismal of late. One more such failed attempt would make little difference at this point, she mused to herself.

Of a sudden, she shivered as the hairs on the nape of her neck rose, and Adrienne quickly realized she was not alone. Turning sharply and glancing about the semi-darkened veranda, she stifled a gasp as a tall, lone figure emerged from the shadows.

“Excuse me. I didn't mean to frighten you,” a deep voice issued forth across the night air. The stranger wore a mask, but Adrienne could see the semblance of a smile playing upon firm lips beneath it. It was a smile of irony if she was not mistaken. How utterly strange. What could this man, this stranger, possibly find ironic at this moment?

“No, it is fine,” she said a bit nervously. “You just caught me off guard. I wanted to catch the breeze from the river.” While also avoiding the crowd of drunken people inside, she mentally added.

He casually drew nearer, choosing to stand mere steps from her along the wrought iron fencing that ran the length of the veranda. “Yes, me, as well. The air is much cooler here, is it not?” he asked and watched her uncertain nod of agreement. He quietly smiled and then added, “But alas, I must confess that I was also seeking to escape the many unfortunate, drunken souls inside.”

She acquiesced and nodded slightly, aware that this man’s presence seemed to permeate the entire length of the veranda. Moreover, had he just read her mind? It would be impossible for him to do that, would it not? A room of drunken souls was an easy observation to make on this night of celebratory endeavors during Mardi Gras.

Taking a large sip from her glass of wine, Angelique inadvertently took note of the fact that the stranger had also chosen to wear the requested costume attire of the eighteenth century to this masquerade ball. However, his had surely cost a small fortune it was so splendid and believable. Nervously, she tugged at the skirt of dress, very self-conscious that what she wore was not nearly as authentic as his garments.

“You look lovely. As though you stepped from the pages of a French novel,” he commented, his voice deeply melodic and almost lyrical.

She glanced up, surprise etched across her brow. Surely, he must be teasing her. Interestingly enough, that was twice now he had commented on that about which she just had been thinking. Was all of this real or was the wine she was drinking this evening wreaking havoc with her thought processes?

“You can’t be serious,” she said adamantly. “At least, not while you look as though you’ve just stepped off the pages of an Anne Rice novel,” she laughed lightly before adding, “That’s quite a handsome costume you wear, sir. You most certainly are the epitome of the French nobleman in it.”

Seeming surprised, the stranger arched a brow at her comment, but the semblance of a smile tugged at his lips. “I assure you I do not jest. You look lovely and divinely French in your garments,” he said. “I, on the other hand, am only wearing a piece of dusty fabric I pulled from an old box in my attic.”

Adrienne eyed him with curiosity before she was briefly distracted as a rowdy group of young people crossed Laurel Street where the house was located. When she returned her gaze to him, she noticed that, even though it was minimal, the stranger had drawn even nearer to her. She could now see intense blue eyes behind the mask along with strands of thick, dark hair that were tied back from his face in a neat, single queue at the nape of his neck. He held a glass of what looked to be Merlot, which seemed to stain his lips whenever he drank from it. So close, it was easy to see that he was quite handsome. She wondered what he would look like without the mask, since there was little doubt he was attractive. Thus far, he had been interesting enough though mysterious and she would very much like to see him without the mask.

“Are you originally from New Orleans?” he asked casually, taking another sip of the Merlot, the wine seeming to stain his lips. His blue eyes were penetrating and observant as he spoke and made her a bit nervous.

“Yes, I’ve lived here all of my life. And you?” she asked.

“I’m from Paris,” he said.

“Paris? But you have no accent,” Adrienne observed.

“I have lived in the States for many years,” he responded while looking into his drink. “As a result, I fear I have lost my accent.”

Adrienne eyed him skeptically, but she decided he did very much embody a French nobleman despite having no accent. In this, she would give him the benefit of the doubt.

“How long have you been in New Orleans?” she asked.

“Long enough to lose my accent, chère” he replied and smiled. “And what do you do when you’re not looking like you leapt from the pages of an eighteenth century French classic?” he teased. “I deal in antiquities.”

Was it just her or was he evading her questions with more questions posed for her? This man was proving to be very mysterious in many ways.

“I write – or rather, I attempt to write,” Adrienne said with a faint laugh.

“I am sure that what you’d write would be well worth reading,” he replied.

Adrienne scoffed at his words and was about to laugh and retort that she would not be so sure, but the look in his blue gaze stopped her. He was dead serious. The intensity of his penetrating gaze left little doubt as to his belief that what he said was fact. Embarrassed for some unknown reason, she looked down to gather her thoughts. This stranger was making her more self-aware than any man had in a long while. Despite the heat of the night and for reasons unknown to her, she shivered.

Beneath the mask, he watched as the stain of a blush crept across her cheeks. He felt the shiver that ran through her body as if it ran through his. She was lovely, enchanting. Angelique could have paired him with any of her silly, vapid female acquaintances, but she had obviously known that this one was quite special. Jean-Luc was anxious to learn more about her. It had yet to be revealed if she would be someone with whom he could share his darkest secrets - secrets derived from living many centuries as a vampire, created along the dark streets of Paris during the eighteenth century. He was certainly ready for a new beginning of sorts. This one was no mindless female, but an astute, intelligent, and attractive one beyond even her own awareness, and she might be the new beginning or that which he sought.

Despite the shiver that ran through her, Adrienne nervously fanned her face with the dainty porcelain fan with adornments of tiny painted violets that had come with the rented costume. She lifted her wine glass and nearly drained it of its content as the man who had emerged from the shadows stood close and watched every move she made. She could feel the heat and warmth of the wine sensuously move through her to ease a bit of the nervousness she felt as he continued to peruse her much as he would a book. She knew she should be alarmed, but strangely enough, she was not. Instead, she was intrigued. Maybe the wine was adding to his allure. He was not the type of man she usually attracted but quite different. However, she was interested in learning about those differences. Moreover, she instinctively knew he had stories to tell that could keep her interested for years.

“Are you all right? May I get you something? Perhaps another glass of wine?” he asked, smiling seductively while knowing exactly why she shivered so.

“No, I am fine, thank you,” she said. Was it her imagination or had he drawn even closer than only moments ago? His nearness was beacon of light that beckoned her toward something unknown.

“I just want to be sure you’re all right,” he said reassuringly, lightly touching her forearm, his touch eerily cool in the heat of the warm night. Her response as he touched her was instantaneous, moving through her like a bolt of electricity. Without a doubt, she could tell that he felt what she felt with the touch.

Suddenly, she realized that he had done it again. How strange. It seemed he could actually read her thoughts. She drew back ever so slightly. “Am I so easy to read?” she quietly asked, eyeing him with a bit of skepticism and the faintest trace of a smile.

He cocked his left brow. “I’m not sure what you mean,” he lied, feigning ignorance.

She reached up and touched his left temple very lightly, feeling the thickness of his hair beneath her slender fingers. His skin, like his touch, was decidedly cool despite the heat of the night and the heavy costume he wore. How the bloody hell did he manage to appear so cool, calm, and collected amidst all the revelry on this unusually warm night? Indeed, how did he manage to exude such confidence while also seeming to read her thoughts?

If Jean-Luc could have shivered, he would have done so now at her touch. Instead, his eyes turned such a deep blue that they nearly appeared black in response to both her touch and the question she posed. There was no denying the voracity created by her mere touch. Moreover, she was undeniably easy to read despite his ability to ascertain thoughts. It was as though he had known her all the years he had been on this earth.

“You seem to be able to pull my thoughts from my head and into that handsome head of yours. How is that so? Are you real or some figment of my imagination?” Adrienne questioned him, her voice a light whisper in the darkness.

Jean-Luc watched her closely, keenly aware of her nearness. He was sorely tempted to make known to her what kind of creature of the night he was, mayhap tossing caution aside and by tasting of the sweet nectar of her blood. He was sure of its sweetness without tasting it.

Of a sudden, a voice from across the length of the veranda interrupted their thoughts.

“Oh, Adrienne, dear, there you are. I’ve been looking for you,” Angelique’s voice rippled from the doorway. “How wonderful! I see you have met Jean-Luc. You two look as lovely together as I always knew you would.” With a look of smug satisfaction, Angelique turned on her heel and disappeared once again into the crowded ballroom.

Stunned, Adrienne turned to look at Jean-Luc, who simply stared back at her with, if possible, more confident interest in his crystal blue eyes than he had only moments earlier.

“Jean-Luc?” she whispered, nearly afraid that he would reply in the negative. Could the world suddenly have aligned itself to come full circle, bringing this man to her? She was nearly afraid to think too much on the matter at hand or to admit how much she wanted it to be true.

Jean-Luc watched her as he reached to pluck a single golden marigold tinted with crimson red from a vase on a nearby table, offering it to Adrienne with an intensity in his blue eyes to which she was already becoming very accustomed. How appropriate and yet ironic at the same time: the beautiful yellow of the flower looked as though someone had dipped it in blood. Surely, the flower was a mysterious foreshadowing of this predestined meeting. His lips formed a beautiful smile at the surprise at the reflected in Adrienne’s green eyes as he handed the marigold to her.

“Yes, Adrienne, the night is young, my dear. Might I offer you a beautiful marigold?”