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36
She could not conceal her shock at the sight of him,
but it was unclear how happy the surprise was. “Niklaus
Mikaelson,” she intoned formally, as if demonstrating a
true society girl’s gift for memory. As if he had made no
real impression on her at all. “I would not have thought to
encounter you here so early in the day.”
Because sunlight was poison to his kind? Or because she
could see the previous night’s excesses written somehow on
his face or his clothing? Knowing that she had bluffed her
way politely through several dances without mentioning
the blood on his mouth, it was difficult to guess what else
she might choose to leave unspoken.
He felt an almost overpowering need to check his coat
for telltale stains or tearing.
“My lady Vivianne,” he replied instead, with what he
knew was a winning smile, “had I known that you would
be here, I would have arrived even earlier so as not to miss
a moment of your company.”
Her answering smile was perfunctory; she seemed
distracted. “That is unnecessary, as recently I can’t seem to
turn around without meeting you.”
Impossibly, she didn’t sound pleased by this coincidence.
Had his first impression on her really been so unremarkable?
It was understandable that the sight of blood might upset a
young woman. But in Klaus’s considerable experience with
women, upsetting them did not tend to make them any less
intrigued by him. Yet Vivianne’s face showed no fear, no