There was not much fanfare when it was told to you that there was a visitor. The Ambassador to the Republic. I mean -- what other republic is there? Waiting you downstairs, of course. He was shown in politely, and agreeably decided to wait in a side salon.
     A surprise perhaps, but what did you expect? How many have come to depend on you, as it were? Would the Von Dormand be any different?

     What may you tell of the woman you have come to... know... by how she lives? A good family, and well-to-do, confirmed -- not simply by the placement of the house within the city, but of its exterior and interior. A merchant family, most certainly, not with such wealth as Von Dormand, to be sure, but they are doing well off the spice and perfumerie trade, if not something else. While the decor is relatively moderate, each item, each color is classically tasteful.
     A scent winds down the stairs. Light, but carrying, you can smell her arrival.. even before you hear the sounds of her feet upon the stairs. "Monsieur von Dormand," Constanz's voice issues, smooth and warm, "...an unexpected pleasure..."
     She is in a layered, complicated dress -- as they all are -- of light blue and white. Her blonde hair, as it is usually, is swept up into a complicated formation, held in place by combs of pearl. Her skin is flawless where it is visible, and as she reaches you, a hand comes out. Her light green eyes lifting to you past flaxen lashes.
     "That will be all, Marie," she says to the waiting servant, and the maid turns. "Your Excellency," Constanz murmurs, her arm, hand sliding against your own. "To what do I owe this surprise..." How she turns, her bearing so high, so graceful. Her look, penetrating. She leads you toward a chaise in her salon. The maid closing the doors as she leaves.

     "A day out," Armand explains, taking your arm to guide you wherever you wish to go. "I was returning to the House after a few appointments, and I thought that my last appointment of the day, should be here, to thank you for the kindness you showed me last week. I must say that my purchases went over well, and that was no doubt, in part, due to your expert eye and hand." Isn't that an opening?
     He lets your arm go, once you arrive in the room, letting you sweep across it as you do. "I trust my dropping in like this is no problem? If you have appointments this afternoon, I would be happy to call another time after having made my own? I should have thought better of this," he murmurs, hands slipping behind his back. His fur-lined cloak and the heavy gloves were already taken, leaving him in day wear of violet and grey.

     "Not at all," she says softly, and as she reaches the chaise lounge, her arm slides from yours, her hand lays upon your hand and her gloved fingers squeeze gently. "I am glad to see you. And very satisfied that my recommendations benefitted you. Please let me know if my eyes or hands may be of additional service." She smiles at that, lips curling, almost puckering at the dual meaning. But there is only you and she here to hear it. Constanz remains standing before you. She tilts her head. "I have concocted several new blends. You have ... very refined senses and tastes. Perhaps you would give me your opinion of them...?" A plucked flaxen eye brow lifts just slightly, and her slender smile spreads.
     "Please... sit with me. Would you care for some tea? You should really tell me where it is you get your blends, Armand," she drops into the familiar, "and how I might acquire them..." The tea at your house was truly exquisite. As were all things...

     "Hmm," Armand muses, indeed, taking a seat upon the chaise. The topcoat is undone, leaving shirt and vest within. "I would be honored to give you an opinion," he muses, letting his head fall back against the curve of the chaise. A rest. He sighs, giving up the pretenses of the day. "If I must be polite to one more of the King's house, I may well put myself back on a boat to Amsterdam." There. Screw the bit on the tea.
     Hand reaches out for yours, skimming your fingers. "Ah, how you must tire of me already," he grins, knowing full well that he needs not pretend anything with you. "And if you had things to do," he sits up, "I will go," he smiles.

     She enjoys the pretense. It is a kind of delicate foreplay. The conventions of the day twisted for amusement. But the teasing is set aside as you sit, and she sits with you. Her hand smoothening over your own, giving herself to your fingers. Her eyes twinkle with the jest, and she does not temper her laughter. You sit up, her hand presses at your hand. "No, I prefer you to stay. You have only interrupted a night of letters, and I am glad for it. I do not feel in a corresponding mood."
     A gloved finger slides against your own hand, a tiny, absent circle. "They sit yet somewhat tentatively on thrones," comes a teasing coo. "One must be polite, until they are ready for Diplomacy. But I am certain," she whispers, turning her head toward you, sitting quite near you, her eyes smiling past golden lashes, "... you know Diplomacy best."
     Constanz leans in, eyes lowering to your lips, your chin perhaps. "And as for tiring of you, I should rather be made tired by you."

     Armand's brow lifts, and he laughs faintly. "You are a daring woman," he says, thudding back against the curve of the chaise. "Why have we not met in Amsterdam -- tell me, why have you not spent time in the most glorious city of all? You were made for my city," he smiles, leaning up to place a first kiss at those lips. "It was made for those like you," he kisses again, "...and me..."
     Already, his free hand has disappeared into your skirts. "Perhaps you should visit it in Springtime. That...is when it is its most wonderful."

     "I have to be," she murmurs in a spreading smile. Yes, a business woman -- this does take ingenuity in these times. And a daughter, at the very least, of some form of spice trade -- this, too, as you know takes daring. And that is just the least of it...
     Constanz closes her eyes as you kiss her lips. As you kiss her lips, you taste honey. Her lips, full, part slightly at the third kiss. Honey... and something else... something upon her tongue. "I was in Ceylon," she murmurs at your mouth, her eyes opening to look at you, "...when you were in your Amsterdam. Perhaps," a smile into a kiss, the silk of her skirts being parted, lifting. Layers of silk and ruffles parting at your fingertips, each one giving the sensation that you are coming to the end. "... I shall visit your Amsterdam in the spring. I hear April is lovely. I should like a tulip..." for now, she will have your lips. She thinks to say it, fond of puns as she is, but she holds it.
     As your fingers feel petticoats and know they are near their goal, Constanz leans back, her hands lifting, her fingers plucking at the pearl combs in her hair. Her hair begins to unravel. Slowly. "And shall I meet you upon a boulevard," she whispers. "Shall I glance clandestine, meet your gaze... and shall we go to a garden then... and ..." What.. tell me what you would like me to do...

     There is something delightful in unwrapping a gift for minutes on end. Armand does not seem to mind all the petticoats...it only encourages him further. He grins as he licks his lips, but then chooses to return to the source -- the honey tastes far better upon you than himself. "There is nothing for us in a garden, sweet. What I would like must take place in closed rooms." An honest response to a tempting question. "Much like what is about to happen here and now."
     A goal reached. Skin upon skin. His hands are unusually smooth, for one who has spent time as a cavalry officer. Fingers curl at your thigh as they slow move upwards. "I am surprised," he whispers, "...that you have not stolen all of my secrets from me yet, Constanz," he confessing something there. "The time will come, when you will want something from me," he grins, "..and you will ask...when I am in no position to decline." Like almost now.
     Armand shifts, bringing you with him. Arms cradle your shoulders and pull at your hips, grasping the bundle of woman and clothing. He leans to place a kiss at your breast, and then raises a brow as he ponders how to remove you from some of the layers.

     Yes, it is as if your fingers are on the ribbons and bows. You tug, and the construction of the gift begins to come undone. Beneath the skirts, there is supple, smooth skin. Her slender legs, her thighs parting. Constanz tilts her head, lips capturing yours for a moment, and green gleams between the gold. "I have a test for you," she whispers, grinning in the game of it. "Upon the inside of each thigh there is a scent placed... just for you. Guess it, and I shall give you a secret in return for that which you have given me..."
     Her laughter softly lifts, and as you move her, so does a delicate bouquet...

Posted by rowan at March 20, 2004 01:20 PM