"Your fault —" He'd begun incredulously as he took in her stance. She'd always had a soft strength about her, a presence that drew his attention even when he wasn't searching for it. But — and his eyes had caught the stubborn set of her jaw — he found himself speechless as he listened to her, and he found himself clinging to her words. Perhaps he hadn't overstepped, and he hadn't gone too far. He would never want to put her in any sort of compromising position, but he'd very nearly done so just then. Within the span of exiting the ballroom to entering this parlor fear had begun to grip at his chest that he'd grievously offended her, but everything about her from her posture to her voice said that she had very much welcomed it.

The joy only lasted momentarily, seeing as she had started to apologize. He started towards her, quickly, but stopped himself and halted where he stood. It was only best that he stayed where he was. His thoughts were clear here, much clearer than they would be if he took her in his arms again. "Please," He beseeched, his eyes searching hers. "There's - there's no need to apologize."

But he still had a hard time forming his words, and his hand, which had outstretched towards her as he'd taken a few steps closer to her, now dropped to his side. "If I have any regrets..." He began, begging himself to think straight. "It's that I didn't find you sooner."

---

  

It was as if her words had set him into motion, he started toward her, quickly closing the space - until he abruptly stopped. Malou's body involuntarily had stepped forward slightly, now it leaned, wishing for the return of that motion, that confidence she had seen in his face. The desire to be near her as she wished to be near him. She knew she hadn't imagined that. Even now his hand was reaching toward her's. She longed to place it in his grasp, but he had stopped and she would respect his reason for that. His gaze met her's. It was amazing how much just his gaze could do, immediately her heart began to race again. The words were a balm, candid and kind. They calmed her nerves, reminding her that she had been right to think there had been something.

Malou almost took a step toward him, but then his hand dropped, no longer asking her to come to him. Malou kept herself still, to will herself not to sway forward to him. But his words caught her off guard. Find her? This evening? Or did he mean in general? Did it matter? He regretted not finding her. "You've found me know." Her voice was soft as she tried to reassure him, taking a tentative step forward, with her hand outstretched toward his.

  

---

He watched as she half closed the gap between them, and he ached to be nearer to her, to step forward. Wanted to step forward and bring her into his arms again, to feel her pressed against him. It didn't help that she was reaching out to him, her own expression wanting. He finally gave in, because it was her, and he couldn't find it in himself to reject her. But even as he took her hand in his own, his expression remained fixed on her, dropping slightly as it struck him just how young she was. How bright and strong her life's thread was, and how much his was so tenuous, so fragile under Fate's knife every day he spent in the field.

"I should have been looking sooner, should have been less in my work, and perhaps if I'd just looked up, I might have found you at a time when you deserved me." Younger, and adventurous, like Rosier, though the thought of Rosier with Miss Skovgaard only served to fuel the seed of frustration that had risen in him. And even though he wished he had been less absorbed in his work, he knew that was not possible. It wasn't who he was, and he was willing to venture a guess that it wasn't who she had been either. Both dedicated to their work. Yet despite his words, he drew her into him again, this time much more tenderly than before, only wanting to feel her against him.

---

  

Her heart hitched for a moment as her hand hovered in the air, wondering if she had seriously miscalculated. But then she felt the heat of his hand through her glove, the pressure of his own grip and she squeezed his hand. But there was that look on his face now, worry mixed with regret instead of the calm she had tried to assure him of.

Her brows wrinkled in disagreement as she listened to him, a half whispered objection accompanied by a shake of her head as he spoke, "No." But he drew her in to him, his arms strong around her. For the first time she didn't have to find a strength so few believed she had, his embrace did that for her. Every movement seemed to contradict his words. "You wouldn't be who you are if you hadn't." She whispered into his neck, wondering how something so new could feel so very right. "Please don't think so low of yourself." Malou added, pushing back slightly to force him to look at her. If anything she didn't deserve him for a multitude of reasons, one of which was her own age.

  

---

Even as she spoke, a soft laugh bubbled in his chest as her breath tickled against the skin of his neck. How little time they'd really spent together in the grand scheme of things, yet how well she seemed to know him. It was so peculiar, but he didn't seek to question it. The seed of doubt was still firmly planted in the pit of his stomach, still telling him she deserved someone younger, someone who could give her her own children. But even as the thought of children as a whole struck him, he felt her pull away, and he loosened his grip on her, looking down at her as she stared up him with her blue gaze.

Her words hit him, so softly said but there was steel behind them and it braced him as much as the strongest potion would. His hand slipped from her waist to move back up to press against her cheek, his thumb caressing softly against her skin. "I am only thinking about you." He said truthfully. The Prewetts weren't at the furthest heights of Society, but they were fairly well known and in the public eye (sometimes more than he wished them to be). If even a whisper got out of his involvement with Miss Skovgaard, she would inevitably be targeted by someone, by Witch Weekly or even worse; a fate he wouldn't wish upon anyone, most of all her.

---

  

Malou could not think of a single embrace that had ever done this to her. Bolstered her, comforted her, made her feel so very alive. His gentle fingers on her cheek felt so right and yet they left a trail of fire. She leaned into his hand, letting her eyes shut as she considered his words.

There was something more he wasn't saying, something beyond his own age that weighed upon him. She didn't know how to draw it out of him. So instead Malou took a breathe and met his gaze again. "Can I tell you something?" It was the sort of thing she ought not to say, had it been anyone beyond Mr. Prewett she might never have dared it, "I think you've held my heart for some time now, Mr. Prewett." Her cheeks warmed up again, but she kept her arms around him, letting his presense calm her. "I know I'm not the girl you're family would want for you, I'm too old, I'm not of the right family, I work. " The words tumbled from her lips nervously, as if she would not get them out if she didn't say them in one breathe.

"And yet this -" Malou could not believe the words coming out of her mouth as she placed her hand on his chest again, "Feels right." She was blushing furiously now. "And I know that is so very selfish of me." She admitted, casting her gaze down at Mr. Prewett's chest, pressing against her's.

  

---

She must know people would talk — he certainly wasn't the most eligible bachelor in Society. Indeed, he wasn't sure what the scope of Society was, given the effort he took to keep out of it, but the talk around town at his brother's elopement and the circumstances around that had to have at least reached her in some capacity. And though he fully intended to go about things the proper way, there would inevitably be talk, wouldn't there? And what would she do if it reached her? All this and more raced through his mind as she pressed her cheek into his hand, and he forced himself to focus on her in front of him as she opened her mouth to speak.

This was it then, she would let him know she thought he was right all along, and that there wouldn't possibly be any way for her to accept him, that it wasn't worth enduring whatever inevitable talk rustled throughout their community —

But she didn't. In fact, she said something quite the opposite, and Faustus listened stunned, an overwhelming sense of adoration washing over him as he saw color flood into her cheeks again, heard her declare that her heart was his; that she felt she was too old, and that his family would hardly have chosen her first. At this part, he opened his mouth to stay something, anything, but found himself unable to as he took her in and she continued on as if she wouldn't be able to say them anymore if she didn't say it now.

And then as she glanced back down at the imperceptible space between them, Faustus traced the delicate skin of her jawline with his finger, pausing at her chin to lift it up ever so gently. Despite him having attempted to sketch around what his heart had begun to tell him, Faustus found himself steeling against her reasons. He couldn't deny that his family might have some words — that the idea of him marrying a halfblood wouldn't raise some questions, but in truth, his sister, Fee worked, and so did his cousin Annabelle. He didn't know much of her family, but knew that he would welcome them with open arms if he were so lucky. And so all these things seemed so inconsequential, that there couldn't possibly be anything she would say, barring telling him to leave and never return, that would dissuade him from saying next: "Perhaps it's time we both learn to be a bit more selfish." He laughed softly before gently drawing her to him as he went to press his lips to hers again, firmly this time, more sure than he had been before.

---

  

She was ever aware of each movement he made, the finger trailing her cheek, the gentle tilt of her chin that forced her to meet his eyes. She didn't see rejection in those eyes, no, she would almost say she saw determination in those blue eyes of his.

His words lit butterflies in her heart and she found herself nodding as he leaned down for a kiss. Malou's whole life she had been warned about this. Warned against kisses and touches. But how could something that felt so right be so wrong? She wondered feeling the warm pressure of his lips.

She wasn't sure if she was doing it right, kissing him back, but after a moment she didn't care, she merely pressed herself closer and lost herself to the kiss.

When the kiss ended Malou was short of breathe, her chest taking shallow breathes against her corset, and yet all she could think about was Mr. Prewett, and that kiss, and how very happy she was. A soft smile lifted her lips as she looked up at him. Perhaps being selfish wasn't always a bad thing.

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   Faustus Prewett

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