Unextinguishable

I swerve my head around, in confusion at the disappearance of my carriage. Stopping my heels in their tracks, I turn around to face him and clench the parasol with both hands as though by doing so I could keep a grip on decorum. "Forgive me, if I was not direct enough, but unlike your oh-so-daring self, I care for my life therefore reputation. Take your virtueless self elsewhere."

The man took my rejection with a light heart, without batting his eyelids, staying stubbornly in a refusal to let my words sink in and instead tosses them into the wind. As if it was so trivial he couldn't bother to dwell on it. I could only bottle my distaste for his nonchalance, still in the skin of a smiling woman.

"You can be such a boring woman sometimes. But that is what I like about you, So predictably safe. Stay with me, and I will shoulder that virtue." I shudder. To shoulder a virtue- responsibility? Such a shackling and heavy word yet a familiar one. Thinking back that man was around his height. Do all the tall men think they can shoulder the world on every woman's shoulders?

In the desire to scoff at his pompousness, I almost went as far as putting my hands on my waist. But eventually channel all that furry into the guise of a demure woman, instead twirling my parasol ever so gently, and leaning it backward on my shoulder. An assurance that my decision to refuse is the right path. This is the type of men women should avoid. So bold and devious without a second care of rending a lady's heart and future.

"You expect me to trust you when you toss around promises like cabbages? I thought you were just a gentleman playing the role of a deviant self-righteous vigilante, but it turns out you are a brute to the core. Say, how many women have you left in tears like this?"

For a moment, I wonder if I should give the victims of his wooing some justice by beating him up with my parasol. Then I cast a look at his stature then rescind the thought, as I might be the one to come home with bruises.

Still, I didn't let it scare me into deference. The desire to secure another win for myself coursing through my veins. Scum like this man should be taught to not speak of such nonsense. Otherwise, if a really naïve lady met him, wouldn't her tragic state be partially my fault?

"Breaking and feasting on hearts, you are no better than a leech, Goodman," I say, no longer calling him a gentleman, instead using the address form of any other men, "Go and repent before someone's father beat you to shape."

Highly entertained laughter traveled across the distance, a low chuckle that nearly sound like restrain has been thrown out of the window. I clench my teeth at the mocking, at his arrogance that nobody would beat him for playing with their daughters. The confidence of being wanted. As though he stood on top of the world.

I try to regain his attention and bring back his focus on the conversation by coughing, but I was brushed aside. The feeling of being ignored causes me to stop playing with my parasol. 'Maybe I should just rent someone's carriage and leave this insane man alone.' I muse to myself and is short of heading to the insignia lacking carriage when the man in front of me broke down the joke I couldn't understand.

The reason behind his laughter revealed.

"Your imaginations are hilarious. When did I mention marriage? I simply meant, guarding your reputation by bringing along a witness." The man in front of me seemed on the verge of another fit of laughter, "This way, no one will doubt our relationship as more than business."

A blush immediately graces my cheeks once I realize I had taken the wrong assumption. Right, responsibility could be taken this way too. He definitely said it ambiguously to bait out this response, so young and sly, no wonder he doesn't consider himself a gentleman. The studious gentlemen who relied on the book [etiquette of romance for most esteemed gentlemen] would never claim him as their own.

He actually played with a woman's feeling. This man. No. This brute!

In my embarrassed panic, I defiantly cover my face by lowering the parasol. It is rather unbecoming, but a better option than parading my current state. Without bothering to ask about who the witness would be, I went to inquire about the more puzzling part of his statement.

"Business?"

The man stayed silent, instead pushing my parasol upward to reinitiate eye contact between us, for the first time since our meeting I could peer inside his hood and into his eyes. So luminously ravishing unlike his offensive personality. Brimming with vitality and stretches of sincere beauty. Brushes of amber circularly spreading in the center of his eyes. As if a flame flower has sprouted amidst a sea of watery green.

I fall into a trance admiring his eyes. The slumbering depths. Like a mirage fleeting from my gaze. I stood fixated trying to comprehend him by observation alone. Until the slightest hint of laughter made me stumble two steps back in self-awareness. 'This man is mocking me.' Out of all the things that crossed my mind why was it that possibility, I feel like such a self-centered girl trapped in a bubble of delusions. I do not think I can hold my head up high ever again in front of him.

"Now then, may I intrigue you enough to engage in a win-win deal?"