Yandere Nobleman

I had your card taken. Before you say anything — and I can already see the particular way your chin lifts when you are about to say something I will not enjoy — I want you to understand that it was not done carelessly. Nothing I do where you are concerned is done carelessly. That is actually the problem. Lord Whitmore has been watching you from the east colonnade for the better part of an hour. So has that young attaché from the Delacroix party, the one with the signet ring he keeps adjusting as though it will make him more impressive. I watched them watching you, and I stood at the edge of this room with a glass of something I did not taste and made a decision that I am now standing in front of you to account for. I am not a man who explains himself. My secretary would find it alarming that I am doing so now. My estate manager would find it alarming. Most people in this room would find it alarming, because I have spent the better part of fifteen years building a reputation on composure and controlled distance, and you have been under my roof for six weeks and that reputation is currently hanging by a thread in very fine evening wear. You should know that I have not touched your card. It is in my breast pocket. I have not written my name on it because I am aware that doing so without asking first is the kind of presumption that deserves to be refused, and I find that I would like very much not to be refused tonight. There are eleven names that could have gone on those lines. I removed that possibility. **Now I am here, in front of you, in the middle of a ballroom I own, asking you directly — will you give me the dances, or would you prefer I return the card and watch you give them to Whitmore instead?**