Stabat Mater, P.77: 1. "Stabat Mater Dolorosa", by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi

Aiden tried to assess the situation the best he could, having a hard time processing all the thoughts that wreaked havoc in his mind.

As soon as the door had opened, he had let go of Amalia. And with his body, he was still hiding her while she adjusted the cleavage of her dress. Despite the dim lighting of the room, their proximity and disheveled states left no doubts as to what had happened here. With the concupiscent way the intruder was looking at them, Aiden worried Clifford had seen more of her than he was comfortable with.

The man was a known libertine, and such men usually knew how to keep that sort of secret. Rakes had to look out for one another. Nevertheless, Aiden couldn't be certain that his moment with Amalia wouldn't be made public.

She was done fixing her decolletage when a concupiscent look formed on the man's face. "The others and I have been wondering why you were so protective of this bohemian girl the entire evening. Now I get it. You wanted to take your turn with her before any of us did! I understand, my friend. If that's fine with you, I'll go second. Just like you, I dislike coming after everyo—"

Aiden didn't let him finish his loathsome comments. In three strides, he was by Clifford's side. He grabbed him by the collar, brutally shoving him into the wall.

"You will hold your bloody tongue, Clifford! I won't let you disrespect the lady," he threatened, his voice so low it resembled a growl.

"The lady? This is a bohemian whore! She would spread her legs for a few pennies!"

Seeing red, Aiden squeezed harder around his throat, suffocating him. He would make him regret his words, despising the idea of Amalia's honor being so loathsomely degraded. As if he'd conjured her presence, she was suddenly by his side, her hand soothingly wrapping around his forearm.

"Let go of him, Aiden," she implored him. "He isn't worth it."

Although he heard the words, he ignored them. This cockroach had to pay for his offenses. Clifford tried to talk, but Aiden pressed even harder, refusing to hear whatever he wanted to utter. The maggot's face turned blue, but it still wasn't enough to force Aiden to let go. By his side, Amalia insisted, trying to pull his arm away. With a calming voice, she kept talking to him, and Aiden's rage decreased slowly. Eventually, he loosened his grip, allowing the man to breathe again.

"You will apologize to her," Aiden ordered, bringing the man closer to his face. "And you will thank her for saving you from my wrath." Clifford nodded energetically, croaking his agreement. Aiden let go of him after shoving him harshly against the wall one last time.

The man coughed a few times, massaging his sore throat with one hand while leaning on the wall with the other. After a moment of struggling to inhale, he turned to Amalia, avoiding her eyes.

"I'm sorry for my impertinence. My rude remarks were unacceptable," he compliantly told her, his voice uneven. He was seemingly done, so Aiden grabbed the shoulder of his jacket and strongly fisted the fabric, making the seams tear. "And also thank you," he added hastily, "for... saving my life."

Before he could change his mind and decided that Clifford deserved a stronger punishment, Aiden dragged him to the door and shoved him out before slamming it behind him. This time, he took the time to secure it, turning the key in its lock.

When he turned around, he took a moment to look at Amalia. His rage resurfaced when he saw what Clifford had witnessed. No one, absolutely no one but Aiden, should ever be graced with such a vision of her.

She was breathtaking.

Still flustered from the kiss, her lips were red and swollen, even plumper than usual. Her eyes were sparkling with arousal and desire, and her cheeks were an erotic shade of pink. She almost looked feverous, but the heat in her face was solely due to their passionate embrace. Her cleavage was deeper than before, as she'd poorly rearranged her dress in her haste to hide herself from Clifford. She was the embodiment of temptation.

Such a sight was heavenly, and the fact that the moron out there has witnessed it enraged Aiden. No other man should ever have this privilege. Damn it! He wanted to go out, grab Clifford, and beat him to a pulp for having seen her like this.

Amalia twisted her fingers in front of her, visibly mortified. For a moment, she didn't know what to say. It wasn't like her, but Aiden had to admit that he wasn't sure what could be expressed in this uncomfortable situation.

"I should go back downstairs," she eventually decided with a small voice. Aiden was about to argue that they should talk first when she changed her mind. "Actually, I should leave altogether."

"Amalia—"

"Please, I cannot stay. I have to go."

"At least let me accompany you to fetch your things," he urged. She wordlessly nodded, her eyes favoring the wall by her side rather than his gaze.

The walk to the yellow parlor was a silent one. Neither one of them knew what to say nor how to say it. Aiden was desperately trying to find the words that would make her change her mind. The words that would make her stay. He refused to pretend he was sorry for what had happened because he wasn't and would never be. However, he needed her to stay. They couldn't leave things like this.

They reached the room too quickly for him to have come up with something. Helplessly, he watched her gather her belongings. Once she was done, Aiden still had no idea what he could say. Not only had her honor been tainted by the ordeal, but she'd also gotten the proof of what she'd argued. Clifford's despicable reaction had confirmed how different and poorly suited they were. To his peer, a future duke and a bohemian didn't belong together, aside from a quick, paid fuck against a wall.

When Amalia was done collecting her things, her expression was one of pain and sadness. As she was about to go for the door, Aiden finally decided to speak up.

"Amalia, we need to talk," he tried. She stopped in her tracks, and with a sigh, she put her bag down, ready to listen to him. "Please, I don't want this to change anything between us. If I cannot have you like that, let us remain friends. The idea of never seeing you again is unbearable for me."

"You want us to pretend nothing happened?" He nodded, full of hopes, and she frowned. "I don't know if I can do this. This, us, it's getting complicated. I can't—"

"If it helps, we can say it was the alcohol," he ventured.

"But was it?"

"I'm not sure I would have told you everything I did, otherwise. I probably would have still kissed you, though."

"But wouldn't you have felt the same, anyway?"

Aiden didn't answer. He knew she was right, of course. "I will never forgive myself if I lost your friendship because of this. Amalia, please, come back again."

She hesitated for the longest time, her mind trying to foresee what could happen, what she would miss, what she would risk... Raising her hands, she counted something on her fingers, her mouth muttering silent numbers. Aiden's heart tightened as he thought she was counting the earnings she would miss. He'd hoped they were past this by now.

"There are ten days left before the end of August," she stated. Relief relaxed the knot in his shoulders when he understood she'd been counting the days. "I will come back when your family leaves, and we will have the last days of summer. As per our agreement. Then, you will go back to London."

"I don't have to leave right away. I could stay longer."

"Aiden, please, don't make this harder than it already is," she pleaded, her voice close to cracking. He wasn't the only one suffering here. She, too, was having a hard time handling her emotions.

"Fine. We will have the rest of August, and then I will leave."

After a few seconds, she nodded, her eyes humid with tears. With a heavy sigh, she took her things again. They walked in silence to the main hall, and then Aiden accompanied her outside. The night was dark, but the half-moon was enough to guide their steps. When they reached the gates, he stopped at the limit of the estate. She stood on the other side of it, hesitantly gazing up at him.

"I will send someone for you as soon as I can," he promised, hoping his parents wouldn't decide to stay a day longer than they'd intended.

Amalia nodded and held her bag tighter against her chest. She raised a hand to give him a friendly touch on his arm but changed her mind mid-air.

"Goodbye, Aiden."

He didn't like how it sounded, how solemn her voice was. This felt like farewells, like they would never see each other again.

He chose not to say it back, some superstitious part of him thinking it meant he'd have to see her again. With one last unwilling smile, she turned around and walked away. Even long after she'd vanished into the night, he kept staring in her direction. For over half an hour, he remained there, listening to the creatures of the night howling and croaking.

Only when he felt like he could endure it, he walked back to the manor, wishing the evening would end soon. After everything that had just happened, being among these people didn't feel right. How could they be so festive and joyful when his world had come crumbling down?

Sitting in a chair in a corner of the ballroom, he stared glumly at the couples evolving on the hardwood floors. Being around all those cheering people irritated him.

Except for those few minutes of bliss in his study, this whole evening had been a disaster. As a footman passed near him with a tray, Aiden grabbed a glass of champagne and sipped on it, waiting for the gathering to end. He watched the room, looked at the dancers, observed his family...

His sisters were having fun and dancing, his mother was proving once more to be the most perfect hostess, and his father was mingling. At least the other Langstons were having a great time.

He signaled a footman to bring him another glass, and his gesture attracted the attention of his sister. Annabelle was the oldest of his siblings, almost three years younger than him. With her eyes still on him, she exchanged a few words with her friends and left them to walk in his direction. Aiden sighed, anticipating he'd have to explain his glum mood.

He tried his best to hide it, knowing his sister wouldn't be so easily fooled. She sat down next to him and stretched her legs in front of her, resting her sore feet.

"The entertainment you brought was a great success," she told him. "Everyone keeps talking about her. But somehow, no one seems to know where to find her."

"She left."

"What did you do to her?"

The unfairness of her accusation revolted Aiden, as well as the judgment in her tone. "Why on earth would I be the one to have done something to her?"

"Because I saw the way you looked at her, and I know you can be very persuasive with women."

"I never force anyone, Annie. Stop making it sound like I'm some kind of tyrant."

"Nevertheless," she continued, with a haughty expression, "You made the entertainment go, and over half of the guests, including me, didn't get the chance to have a reading."

"She wasn't really a medium, anyway."

Upon hearing his mumble, his sister smiled as if she just understood something. "So I take it she wasn't really here to propose her services the other day?" Aiden didn't even bother responding with a lie. "She is beautiful. I understand why you and she would—"

"It isn't like that. She isn't like that. We haven't— Wait, you are too young to be talking about such things!"

His sister laughed and laid her temple on his shoulder. "I missed you, idiot. I'm so glad we aren't returning to London in the end."

Aiden jumped in his chair, startling Annabelle. "What do you mean you aren't going back to London?"

"Father decided we wouldn't suffer four days of travel when the Season is so nearly over."

"But you cannot stay here!"

His objection seemed to offend her. "I thought you would be happy to know you wouldn't be left alone again. I guess I was wrong."

Mumbling an apology, Aiden tried to think of a solution. If his family were to stay here, how could he see Amalia for the few days they had left? Still vexed, Annabelle went back to her friends, sulking, while Aiden racked his brain to find a solution.

After what had happened, he couldn't go to her camp. She couldn't come here either. Maybe somewhere near here, on the estate, where they wouldn't be disturbed. His first thought was the lake. It was large enough, and an entire section couldn't be seen from the house, hidden by trees.

It could also be a great opportunity to settle a matter they had going on.

One afternoon, they had argued about the best way to catch fish. She insisted one had to throw the line afar, and fish the first four feet of water, while Aiden maintained it was best to fish vertically near the boat in deeper waters. The argument had grown a little heated, to the point where she'd betted on it with her life, refusing to be wrong about this matter. Ever since, he had wanted to take her on her bet, prove her wrong, and then mercifully spare her life. If the weather allowed it, it would be the perfect opportunity.

The boathouse, where they kept rowboats and various tools, was on the hidden side of the lake, so they could manage not to be discovered. Still, they would have to be discrete. Satisfied with this plan, Aiden sat back and spent the rest of the evening in a slightly better mood.

They would still have a few moments together before their unavoidable separation. And maybe, just maybe, it would be enough to make her change her mind.

God, he hoped it would. He wished it with the entirety of his enamored heart.

A sad piece, with melancholia, longing, and stuff, and somehow Jesus dying on the Youtube video. Not sure there's a reason for that. Stabat Mater, P.77: 1. "Stabat Mater Dolorosa", by Giovanni Battista Pergolesi.