Bare Her Soul (James Patrick March x reader )

Five

James stood at his mahogany mini bar, pouring another tumblr of the scotch he had received as a 'deathday' present from Miss Evers. He threw it back in a single gulp, wrinkling his nose at the bitter taste. It would hopefully calm some of the excitement he felt at the prospect of having you in his suite. Enough to give him a modicon of self control.

He heard three gentle taps from the hallway. James straightened up his blue blazer jacket, his red cravat so that it completely covered his cutthroat, and sauntered to the door.

He swung it open with more force than you were expecting and you blinked rapidly, losing your edge and looking a little rabbitish in the threshold - he drunk in the sight of it.

"Good evening Y/N" he simmered "might I say young lady, you do look exquisite."

His eyes roved over your body, your adorable little outfit, then back up to the crimson that flushed through your cheeks at his compliment. His jaw strained - thank heavens he'd downed that scotch.

"Hey Mr March, thank you." you smiled, seeming to get a hold on yourself now "and you look dapper as always."

"Come dear, call me James." he put a hand on your back, cool thumb brushing the skin of your neck, he guided you into his suite "dinner is almost ready."

He lead you to the white, satin-clothed dining table Miss Evers had laid for you both, and pulled out your designated chair at the far end.

You took your seat, though you were distracted, your gaze exploring the vast, warm-lit qaurters. You'd seen high-end restaurants less inviting.

"Do you live here all the time then?" you asked as he took the seat opposite you, picking up the bottle of wine from the table and pouring two glasses full of red.

"Yes, and you'll find Miss Evers just next door. Please, try the wine. It's Chateau Pichon...cherry." he pushed a glass towards you.

"That's very considerate of you Mr March- err- James" you smiled, taking the glass and sipping from it. "I don't think I've met Miss Evers..."

"Ah. She's my house maid, a wholesome woman, not a stain she can't get out!"

At that moment, the red headed laundress rounded the corner, a rickety trolly wheeling ahead of her.

"Beef Wellington and sautéed vegetables" she announced, cold eyes looking out of place on her matronly face.

She set your plate down with a sour-toned "ladies first" before moving to James.

"Thank you, it smells amazing Miss Evers. I'm Y/N by the way." You tried.

There was no need to introduce yourself to the help, you were Mr March's dinner guest, but of course you did anyway - because, as he'd decided already, you were as sickeningly sweet as the wine he'd selected.

You carved a mouthful out of the pastry, and James watched attentively as you wrapped your plump lips around it. The delicate skin of your throat bobbing as you swallowed it down. One of the most fascinating things about you was that you didn't seem to realise just how uncommonly pretty you were. Nor the danger that put you in.

He began getting to know you with light questions, passing the time until he could get to what he really wanted. He learnt that you'd always had a passion for dance, you'd graduated from school and your parents had you set to start at a ballet college in the new year. It was about the only thing, besides your faith, that they pushed upon you and you hadn't come to contest. In his imagination, he saw your dainty form twirling much like you had on his dancefloor, but in a tarletan tutu dress that left the apex of your thighs bare to the naked eye. A blood soaked, and ruined, little ballerina. You just kept getting sweeter and God, how that hungered him.