I almost seconded that 'what?' with my own 'what?'. Surely, Maddie, this could not be the limits of your lying capabilities, could it? 'Battling thieves'?! What happened to those beguiling years of your youth of crafting the most treacherous lies and somehow escaping with only a slap on the wrist?
'I bet a whole year's worth of chocolate that he's going to be repulsed by your answer,' came a ridiculing voice from the depths of my heart, and I think this voice could have very well been a little me with a long, crimson tail, a pair of horns and the most sinister of smiles. Quite charming that would be though...
'Ah, Maddie, snap out of it!' came another voice — this one was much more gentle and less shrewd and artful. I took it to be much more beneficial if I listened to the latter voice.
"Well?" A voice frostier than a millennium-old glacier interrupted my thoughts, making me fix my gaze on that stony figure. I say 'stony' because the man really did seem to have been carved from stone. With such captivating features — flawless indeed, and 'stony' somewhat, like a statue carved by the ancient Greeks — oh, yes! A statue of a Greek god! That's what he was!
I wondered deeply if an ancient God had mistakenly breathed life into his own statue. Oh, the jest!
Eugene cleared his throat noisily. I turned to him, noticing the message in his nervous gaze.
I realized that I had gotten carried away again — darn it! — and I looked back at Mr. Gorgeous. "Er...yes, yes indeed, Mr. Gorgeous! We had been battling thieves! Quite courageously, might I add, but Sir Alastair was an utter chicken, to say the least. However, with an iron heart, I persisted tooth and nail and bravely chased off the black-hearted miscreants! It was a tough battle but I was, nonetheless, triumphant! No need to applaud me; I could have done so much better if I had prevented the two-bit barbarians from causing all that racket," I ranted, with a very pained face as though I had indeed fought the bloodiest of battles and was indeed regretful about my inability to prevent the noise(which I wasn't), all the while shielding little Eugene whom I deliberately portrayed as a damsel in distress.
As I closed the curtains on my vivid narration of that 'terrific ordeal', I finally took the time to consider the reaction. I looked first at Eugene... 'Hmmm...why does he look as though he's choking on a hot potato?'
That wasn't the reaction I was expecting. Where is the gratifying look and the smile of admiration? I crossed my arms atop my chest. Eugene still had that queer expression.
I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but something was amiss. I then looked at Mr. Gorgeous whose face had darkened to such a point, I believe, ink could have dripped from it. "What did you just call me?" He stressed every word, like a judge interrogating the most-wanted criminal of the century. His teeth, I think, were gritted, which made me wonder how we was still able to speak.
'Maddie, it's not the time for that,' came that gentle little voice.
I rubbed my chin thoughtfully. 'What did I call him?' I tried to retrace my words earlier. 'I had called him...Mister...Gorgeous.' My brows furrowed in bafflement, unable to understand what was the problem with calling him 'Mr. Gorgeous'. He 'was' gorgeous, wasn't he?
I couldn't help but scrutinize him once again. My jaw slackened. Could it be that he found it offensive?
Judging from the decreasing temperature in the room, he one hundred and one percent found it offensive. However, that was just unthinkable! I, for one thing, wouldn't find it displeasing at all if I was called Mrs. Beautiful or Miss Lovely or, better, Mrs. Remarkably Excellently Incredibly Attractive. All acronyms are quite valid, by the way.
Therefore, I didn't comprehend the cause of his anger.
Mr. Gorgeous clenched his fists tightly and passed a chilling glare to me. "Name."
"Huh?" I stared back into those placid, dark eyes, befuddled, before stuttering out a reply, "The names of the thieves? Well, I didn't quite get the chance to—"
"No. Your name," he reiterated, and I think he was not one used to repeating himself. Speaking of which, Eugene's face was paler than a white sheet of paper. I almost couldn't recognize him.
"Madison Long," I said, "But you don't need to award me. I—"
"Mr. Alastair, I don't know what you were gaining from bantering with this..." He side-eyed me and finished, derisively, "...individual. But, for your sake, your blunder will be set aside for now. I do not expect a repeat of this; am I clear, Mr. Alastair?"
Eugene cleared his throat, a sliver of hot sweat snaking his fair skin. "Yes, Master Abel," he uttered, saluting like a soldier in response to his squad captain. Yes, Eugene saluted. I rubbed my eyes disbelievingly but, the next moment, I was seeing frost. Said squad captain was looking at me again, his piercing gaze digging a hole into my skull. I froze. When his stony figure approached, I did not move. I couldn't. It was as though my feet had grown roots.
I could only gaze, fear crawling into my heart as he approached, his steps solid and poised. He halted, his face inches from mine. I smiled wryly, hoping my smile looked charming enough to bedazzle him for a moment, so I could make a run for it. Well, surprise, it didn't. He did not even blink. "Mr. Alastair, you're dismissed," the man — whose name, I realized, was Abel(not Mr. Gorgeous, apparently) — said, his gaze fixed on me unblinkingly.
From the corner of my eye, I noticed Eugene portray hesitation for a moment, and a light of hope burnt in me, only to be promptly extinguished. Eugene nodded curtly and strode away into the darkness, without turning back. The two-faced—!
"Miss Long, I would like it if you focused your hateful gaze on the person in front of you rather than the person walking away. We 'are' in the middle of a conversation, aren't we?" A stiff voice sounded. I lifted my wandering gaze and zeroed in on that aloof visage. Now that he was in such close proximity, I noticed the added emotion in his eyes. It wasn't precisely anger and murderous intent—well, those were there too—but there was something else...
I squinted my eyes. "Sir, please forgive me for my insolence, was there something we were discussing? My memory is failing me." And I was certainly not saying this in an attempt to press any more of his buttons. I truly had little idea what we had been discussing.
His gaze darkened, and an ill motive swirled in his stormy gaze. I couldn't tell why, but my unease was acting up again—which was odd. I never got anxious. Never. And yet... Under his cool, calculating gaze, I had a nagging feeling that I was a valid goner.
"Miss Long, looking at your ignorant impudence, it seems I have neglected to introduce myself. My name is Abel Ignatius Blade Donovan," he began suddenly. His name came to me like a bombshell. Not because it was hellishly long(okay, that too), but... Abel? That Abel Ignatius Blade? My eyes widened. Hell's whiskers! I should have run away while I still could! He was continuing, expressionlessly, even before I wrapped my head around his words, "I am the head of the Royal Bureau of Investigation which specializes in apprehending culprits of serious crimes, and, as it seems, I am also the person who is liable to decide your penalty in court, Miss Long...or, should I say...The Mona Lisa?"
My feet were ready to bolt, or dash, or run helter-skelter...I dunno about the specifics, but my feet were ready! Only...
His strong arms held me back and pressed me against the frigid wall. The collision made me bite my lip to stifle the wince of pain lodged in my throat. I looked into those cool, dark eyes—eyes that were now looking down at the biggest art thief in the country. My smile was crooked.
"I don't suppose you can forgive me?"