Masquerade

His eyes sparkled with anticipation from the shadows of the veranda where he lingered, waiting for her, their blueness deepening to black.

Adrienne stepped onto the veranda. It was an unseasonably warm evening in February, and she needed to catch the breeze coming off the water. She had not yet danced, but her face behind the mask was already finely misted with perspiration. She could feel small rivulets of the same running down between her breasts beneath the heavy eighteenth century costume dress that she’d worn this evening.

Tonight's masquerade was hosted by her eccentric but good friend, Angelique, in honor of Mardi Gras’s Fat Tuesday. Adrienne knew the party would continue into the wee hours of the morning, leaving many a drunken, weary individual in its wake. At the moment, she was happy to escape both the heat and drunken revelry housed inside, seeking the seclusion of the veranda, and enjoying the quiet and crisp coolness of the river’s breeze floating across its' length.

Tonight, Angelique had insisted upon arranging a blind date for Adrienne with someone named Jean-Luc, but he had not yet presented himself. In her eccentric, 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 house and the many tables in each room. Thus, once Jean-Luc found her, he would need to then 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 not to reveal her true identity unless she chose to do so. Chances were slim that Jean-Luc would find her. Her dating luck of late had been dismal. One more failed date would make little difference at this point, she mused to herself.

Of a sudden, the hairs on the nape of Adrienne’s neck rose, and she realized she wasn’t alone. Turning sharply and glancing about the 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 came across the night air. The stranger wore a mask, but Adrienne could see the semblance of a smile beneath it – one of irony if she was not mistaken. How strange. What could he possibly find ironic in this moment?

“It’s fine – you just caught me off guard,” she said a bit nervously. “I wanted to catch the breeze from the river.” While also avoiding the crowd of drunken people inside, she added mentally.

He casually drew nearer, choosing to stand only steps away from her along the wrought iron fencing that ran the length of the veranda. “Yes, me, as well,” he said and then quietly added, “But alas, I fear it was also to escape the unfortunate, drunken souls inside.”

She nodded slightly, aware that his presence seemed to permeate the entire space. And had he just read her mind? It would be impossible for him to do that, wouldn’t it? 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 notice of the fact that the stranger had also chosen to wear the requested costume attire of the eighteenth century to this masquerade. 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.

“You look like you stepped off the pages of a French novel,” he said, his deep voice melodic.

She glanced up, surprise etched across her brow. Was he teasing her? And that was twice now he’d commented on that about which she’d been thinking. Was it real or was the wine she was drinking wreaking havoc with her thought process this evening?

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

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,” he said. “I, on the other hand, am just wearing an old piece of fabric I pulled from my dusty attic.”

Adrienne eyed him with curiosity before being briefly distracted by a rowdy group of people passing the house which was situated on Laurel Street. When she glanced back up, she noticed that, even though it was minimal, the stranger had drawn even closer. She could now see intense blue eyes behind his mask along with strands of thick, dark hair 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 Cabernet which seemed to momentarily stain his lips as he drank from it. So close, it was easy to see that he was quite handsome. She wondered what he’d look like without the mask, since there was little doubt he was attractive. And thus far, he’d been interesting enough though mysterious.

“Are you from New Orleans?” he asked casually, taking another sip of wine, his blue eyes penetrating and observant as he spoke.

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

“I’m from Paris.”

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

“I’ve lived here for many years,” he responded while looking into his drink. “As a result, I’ve lost my accent.”

Adrienne eyed him skeptically but decided he did very much embody a French nobleman despite having no accent. 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 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?

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

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

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

Beneath the mask, he watched the stain of a blush creep across her cheeks and felt the shiver that ran through her body as if it ran through his. She was lovely. Angelique could have paired him with any of her silly, vapid female acquaintances, but she’d obviously known that this one was quite special. And 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 in the dark streets of Paris during the eighteenth century. He was ready for a new beginning of sorts. And this one was no mindless female, but an astute, intelligent, and attractive one beyond even her own awareness.

Despite the shiver that ran through her, Adrienne nervously fanned her face with the daintily decorated, porcelain fan that had come with the rented costume. She lifted her glass of wine and nearly drained its’ contents as the man who’d 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 like a book. She knew she should be alarmed, but strangely enough, she was not. Instead, she was intrigued more than she could remember being for a long while. He was not the type of man she usually attracted but very different. And she was interested in learning about those differences. She instinctively knew he had stories to tell that could keep her interested for years.

“Are you all right? May I get you something?” he asked, knowing full well why she shivered.

“I am fine, thank you,” she said. Was it her imagination or had he drawn even closer than only moments earlier?

“I just want to be sure you’re all right,” he said reassuringly, lightly touching her forearm. Her response to his touch was instantaneous and moved through her like a bolt of lightning. And without a doubt, he felt it, too.

Suddenly, she realized that he’d done it again - he'd 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.

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 slim fingers. His skin was decidedly cool despite the heat of the night and the heavy costume he wore. How the devil 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 at the moment of her touch. Instead, his eyes turned deep blue in response to both her touch and her question. Her touch was electric, and she was undeniably easy to read despite his ability to ascertain thoughts. It was as though he’d known her all the years he’d been on this earth.

“You seem to be able to pull 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 and was sorely tempted then and there 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. But of a sudden, their thoughts were interrupted.

“Oh, Adrienne, dear, there you are,” Angelique’s voice rippled from the doorway across the length of the veranda. “I see you’ve met Jean-Luc. You two look as lovely together as I always knew you would.” And with a look of smug satisfaction, Angelique turned on her heel and disappeared once again into the next room.

Stunned, Adrienne looked at Jean-Luc, who simply stared at her with a 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 and brought this dating thing full circle?

Jean-Luc watched her as he reached to pluck a single golden marigold tinted with shades of 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 ironic - that the marigold was tinged with shades of red, he thought as his lips formed a beautiful smile at the surprise reflected in her green eyes.

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