Victoria Hasting sneezed for the fifth time. Why was it that whenever she sneezed they came in bouts of 10? The dust from the heavy leather tome puffed up gracefully into the warm library air and tickled her nostrils. She scrunched her nose and waited for the inevitable.

**achoo**

There went number six. Luckily the din from the ballroom down the long ornate hallway concealed her position well. There was really no need for Lady Summerton to have that many cellists or such a large number of beeswax candles that sufficed to swelter and deafen her guests at the same time; but her parties had to be the talk of the season and despite the heat- they usually were.

It surely could not help the heat that most of the women were wearing yards of material and then decorated it with yards more lace. Victoria considered her simple yellow empire waisted muslin dress to be quite pretty but it was most certainly not 'de rigour' for the ton with all its flounces and fripperies. And even though to her own mind she sounded bitter and disapproving, a part of her still loved watching the assembly halls, the opera and the ballrooms. She adored the courtship and the manners and the way in which a gentleman would ask a lady to dance. From her position by the wall she would gaze at how gentle feminine fingers would rest lightly on the hand of those more masculine. There were delicious soft giggles and a certain male protectiveness in this world of hers and though she found the ton's scorn irreparable she loved them in spite of it.

And yet, there were only so many nights she could stand at the corners of the ballroom munching on cake crumbs and sipping tepid punch. Victoria was but a few years into what she termed her 'exile' when she realised that a 'fallen' woman could slip away to darkened corners much more easily than a maiden. It seemed quite logical that once they believed you had been dragged through the mud, they didn't much care if you stayed there. And so she began to find quiet rooms and pathways at each party to think and read and ponder. She learned to speak three languages and studied both the stars and botanical anatomy over the years. Not privy to a large family library of her own, she often found herself exploring those that were better stocked. Her aunt and uncle whom she adored, had taken her into their small home when her parents had passed away when she was just eight. They may not have been poor but they were not among the noble elite and her continued sufferance at such gatherings as Lady Summerton's ball was largely due to her older sister, Bethany's marriage to the Marquis of Kent shortly before they traipsed off to Paris together leaving her more alone than ever.

Escaping to the gardens had seemed like the thing to do when the heat and the usual company had become too stifling, except it soon became apparent that a number of rather amorous couples had done the same thing - and that was definitely something Victoria wanted no part of. It may have been three years ago but the ton had long memories... and so did she. It was a night such as this when the ballroom was warm and the night outside beckoned....and there was a man; there is always a man in such tales. He was not as he seemed- they never are, and in a few moments her reputation and her future were dashed. It was, in her opinion, a lot of fuss over nothing- over less than nothing. How else could anyone see it as such? How could they not trust her? -she had often asked herself. But trust was not the hallmark of the English and perhaps if she learnt that a tad earlier she would not be stationed under a behemoth desk now.

Andrew had been her childhood friend, a brother even and there was no scenario in which she could have foreseen him leading her down a garden path and trying to take from her something she was most unwilling to give. His hands had held hers a million times before and yet in some small crevice of her mind she knew that day it was different. She knew that the hands that taught her to ride a bike one afternoon in the country were no longer a boys, but a man's ... a man with an agenda. And yes, he kissed her and crushed her then slight body between his and the uncomfortable latticed gazebo wall- but that was where it ended.

She supposed she should thank the Countess of Wickham for that but seeing as the self same Countess ensured her downfall by sharing her view of the incident with all who would listen, she withheld her gratitude. There was little else to do after that as a woman who had no male connections to call Andrew out, not that he could be found. The last she had heard was that he had run all the way to India to avoid marrying her and he probably stayed there since, to avoid facing her now formidable brother-in-law. But here she was, still in England - a beautiful blonde spinster, but a spinster nevertheless huddled under what she could only assume was Lord Summerton's mahogany desk searching for 'Belle et la Bete,' the latest in her list of French plays to improve her pronunciation.

**achoo**

Seven down, three to go.

The heavy trod of booted steps sounded in the hallway moments before the sturdy oak door flung open and a candelabra lit the occupant. Victoria's heart raced faster than any horse at Ascot as she peeked out at the masculine thighs of the Duke of Westley encased in soft tan breeches upwards passed the most perfect derriere she ever thought that God in all his wisdom created. She knew that derriere well....although, not as well as she would have liked. Fear shot through her as he crossed the room toward the desk and she huddled even further into the dark cavern it provided her. It was not as if someone had not stumbled upon her before in all her years of sneaking off, but how exactly could she extract herself now. Oh sorry Lord Westley, I just happened to faint on the floor and only now just awoke to admire your arse..... umm, no.

It had been so long since she had seen him last that instead of planning an escape route her eyes feasted on him as if he were a banquet. A soft billowing white shirt covered his broad shoulders and she caught a sigh as the he swiftly withdrew the well tied silk cravat at his throat and tossed it carelessly on the table. Her breath came in large gulps and the stays in her corset resisted the infraction by pressing further into her sides. She didn't care. Victoria licked her parted lips and prayed that the 'powers that be' not judge her, after all a woman of four and twenty who was a maiden despite all thoughts to the contrary still had dreams and still woke sometimes with wanting something that she knew not of.

It wasn't as if she wanted just any man, but the Duke of Westley was always her poison. He slipped through her lips and into her blood on a night so very long ago that it made her ache to think of it. It was the first night he had danced with her, not that he would remember it. In her second year out as a mere seventeen year old girl he swept her around the ballroom in a waltz long before it was proper. Some say that is what started her decent into sin, but she knew better. 'Diamond' - he had called her, gently mocking the tons early branding of her as a diamond of the first waters. He had been the only young man who had not wanted her, and he delighted in telling her as such. 

"Your hair is too short" and so she grew it out. 

"You are not well versed in languages like Miss Penelope," - damn Penelope, she would learn French too. 

"You are not attractive" he had once said. "Well that is simply not true and I can produce no less than ten gentlemen to support me" she retorted in that sassy way of hers. She remembered that he looked at her then with sincere pity and replied. "Ah, and there is your downfall my Diamond. Beauty does not guarantee attraction." She did not understand him then, but she understood him now.

He was her unicorn, her unspoken challenge until the day that she found he was no longer just another conquest. Their brief conversations mixed with secret smiles across the room and tempered by witty repartee turned him into a friend before the end of the season. But the heat she felt between them as he guided her around the dance floor or even as he looked into her eyes telling her casually that she was most certainly not the woman for him, should have made him more. Not long after that summer he left for the Orient and came back with such a hooded gaze that it was as if the playful light in his eyes had been snuffed by the candid embrace of the world outside his home. Sometimes when the shadows seemed to play tricks with her eyes, she fancied that he looked at her in the way he once did but reality was painted with a far less pleasing hue than rose. Nevertheless, he could only be seen very occasionally for a few days of the season and every year unflinchingly for Lady Summerton's birthday. As an adopted child of their dear friends the Westley's, following their passing, the Duke held his own rather extensive property and grounds but everyone knew that Summerton Hall was where he called home.

And he certainly was making himself at home as he stretched one long leg up onto the desk and lounged back in the soft upholstery of his adopted father's armchair listening to that familiar well worn squeak of the leather. Victoria's breath hitched as he began untucking his shirt from his breeches, unbuttoning the collar to reveal an expanse of bronzed golden flesh, releasing his wrists from the restraints of cuff-links. She knew she shouldn't look, but it seemed that whether he was across the ballroom fully clothed or dishevelled and disrobing - she could not look elsewhere. So fixed was her concentration that her fingertips started to flutter forward as if to reach for him and out slipped 'La Belle et Bete'. She lunged forward and managed to grasp the edge of its binder seconds before a tell-tale thud would have rung out. Unfortunately all the movement was too much for the old book and the stuffy confines under the desk was once again permeated with a tuft of dust.

**achoo**

Before Victoria had a chance to scramble away or even swear, firm hands grabbed her out from under the desk and pulled her up, holding her at the level of his questioning eyes.

"Isn't there a damn place that a man can go to have a moment's peace?! What on earth are you doing here?"

Victoria sneezed in his face.... twice.

A/N: What do you think Dear Readers? Is it worth continuing??? 

This story is not as detailed or dramatic as Persuasion in the Pantry but sometimes it is nice to just relax with a little fluff. Please let me know what you think.

xx Inara