Chapter Text
"How long has it been since your last confession, sister?" A weary old voice called from the other side of the booth.
You took in a breath and bowed your head, "A week, Father."
"So soon you have committed sin?"
"I've had provocation. Temptation, Father."
"Pray, explain."
"My cousin's brother-in-law. I saw him briefly at the wedding but never interacted with him until the day before yesterday. At a dinner hosted by the happy couple, we were seated across from one another and I finally interacted with him."
"What sin have you committed, sister? Lust?"
"I... am uncertain if it is lust or wrath, Father. He is infuriating in his convictions and audacity, yet I could not stop myself from continuing our banter, or argument. He has not left my mind since, either in frustration or interest."
"You feel attraction for this man?"
"I feel some kind of draw, Father, but I cannot explain it. I would like to atone for both sins." You requested, clutching the rosary beads between your fingers.
"Are you certain you have only this to confess? No imaginations or fantasies?"
"No, Father." You confirmed, a flicker of irritation in your chest at the accusation.
"Very well then, three Hail Mary's and you shall be blessed. Recite them with me."
You followed the instruction despite something disturbing your intuition. As the words of the prayer spilled from your lips thoughtlessly, ingrained into your mind so that you could repeat them without effort, you recounted the interaction.
This priest probed more than any others you had ever encountered in confessions before. He spoke strangely, not offering you words of comfort or forgiveness or hope but inquiring further and deeper into the matter. That, seemed familiar to you. Very familiar.
As you concluded the final prayer, you thanked the priest and drew away the curtain to step out. You walked as soundlessly as possible through the cathedral so as not to disturb any of the others inside. Though, you paused at the doorway to peek at the confessional in hopes of seeing the man taking your confession. Just to soothe your mind's unsettled state about the matter.
What you saw was entirely unanticipated. That very man you had spoken of, Victor, stepped out of the other compartment. Dark curls, unruly and brushing his shoulders. An ever-present determined glint in his brown eyes. Red leather gloves reaching to take his case of medical instruments that he'd set aside just a few steps away from the confessional.
Your anger towards him overpowered all other possible sentiment and you stormed out onto the street, resisting the temptation to confront him. The bustle of people going around you and the crowd you swept through only served to fuel your irritation. And you still, technically, hadn't been absolved of your prior sins.
Walking back to your carriage, you demanded to be taken to your cousin's home sharply and seated yourself inside, fuming. The coach was caught off-guard but acted quickly. As scenery passed by the window and the sound of horses' hooves thundering underfoot, your mind played through the scene over again.
He had done it intentionally, that much was clear. And he left as soon as you did. Victor wanted to hear what you had to say, especially when he discovered that it was about himself. You'd given enough details for him to figure out that you were talking about him.
How embarrassing. For you and for Victor. What a violation of your privacy, even more so that it was in a sacred space. Bitterness rose in your heart like bile, wondering how you could possibly face that man at tomorrow's ball. Your cousin's ball, the first she had ever hosted; you would not be allowed to miss it and he would be there for his brother, no doubt.
Victor knew that you thought of him. Yet he did not know that you were aware of him taking your confession. It was all so befuddling. Why would he do such a thing? Had he been following you? Or had he observed you in the church and grown curious? Unable to stop his academic mind from seeking an answer?
Or could he have been malicious in his intent? Did he want to find something shameful to use against you? Was he trying to blackmail or humiliate you? What was his purpose of causing that strange incident? What were you to do now? You leaned back in the seat, abandoning all hope of a decent posture.
The older Frankenstein brother did not turn his attention to many, not at the wedding nor the dinner. He was an educated man, one of great skill and equal arrogance. The way he carried himself announced that he presumed everyone was beneath him and couldn't understand his brilliant thoughts unless they proved themselves to be competent.
He had spoken to you, at length, during the dinner. Your cousin expressed that she knew of this argumentative side of his nature from personal experience and chose to ignore it or silence him with a single line. The approach you had taken was to engage, to return fire and try beating him at his own game.
It was almost thrilling, exchanging words and ideas against his position. You would've argued against anything he said simply for the rush, not even of ideological objection to something he claimed. Victor seemed enthralled by the banter as well, not drawing his eyes away from you for a single moment. You proved a formidable challenger.
After the exchange, the dinner party concluded. You went up to the guest chambers, at your cousin's side. Her husband spoke with his brother below out of earshot, not that you cared what they had to say to one another. Since then, the only time you'd seen Victor was at the cathedral after he deceitfully pretended to be a priest.
You continued to ponder over your interactions with him, trying to find any bit of evidence that could help explain the incident in the confessional. Even lying back in the canopied guest bed, staring up at the dark velvet, your mind was active. A sliver of moonlight shone through the thin gap between drawn curtains.
Then, a theory formed. He had intentionally gone into the confessional to hear you, and you alone. Whether he had been following you before or not, Victor chose to seek a place of hidden proximity to you once he saw you heading towards the booth. He didn't wish to be discovered and wished to know what secrets you possessed.
When he asked you questions in that silly voice, he had a preconceived notion of what your confession was about. Lust was the sin Victor assumed it was immediately upon recognizing that you were talking about him. Perhaps he had enjoyed your intellectual debate and the fire burning brighter with each turn of argument just as much as you had.
It was possible. You couldn't be sure just how likely it was to be truth, though it did explain each of the points in the story. The trouble was what to do now. He knew you thought about him. But he didn't know that you knew he was sitting in the confessional.
You wanted to gain surety in your theory, to test it subtly enough that he would not notice. The ball offered an opportunity, which you would gladly take. If you could tell that he was drawn to you as you were to him, then what would you do? Tell him everything? That seemed anticlimactic.
And what if your theory proved incorrect? You would spend a great deal of time trying to understand the event in any other way. Or perhaps you would question him about it in a confrontation. How could he possibly explain himself?
While the night dragged on, you made a plan. Unable to sleep unless your mind could figure a strategy of approach. You would test him at the ball, observe the way he behaved around you and compare it to his behavior with other ladies. That would give you one answer, then you could either drop the investigation into his intentions and think of how to get him to confess to you... or, you would demand an explanation.
Full skirts swished loudly across the shining marble floors as the orchestra played a lively waltz. A mazurka was scheduled to follow. You sat at the most important table of the room - with the host and hostess. Victor's name card was set at the very same table, sitting beside his brother; you would be across from him yet again.
Elizabeth was dancing with her husband in the center of the ballroom. The brother had yet to arrive. In the meantime, you sipped on champagne from your seat and politely refused any offer to fill your dance card. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but you wanted plenty of vacancies so that Victor could ask you for one regardless of when he eventually appeared.
A gloved hand brushed across the exposed skin at the top of your shoulder and you glanced up to see Victor passing by you to get to his seat, "Pardon my tardiness, Elizabeth's uncle wished to consult me on a very important matter."
"Where is Herr Harlander now? Won't he be joining?"
"He has business to attend to, shared business now." Victor explained.
"Would you be so kind as to elaborate? Or is it a secret?"
"I can tell you elsewhere."
"Ah, in a private location. Like a confession." You smiled, pretending that you knew nothing.
"I suppose so." He cleared his throat. "You must be quite devout for that to be the first example to come to mind."
"I confess as needed. The doors of the church are always open, even to a skeptic like you."
"Indeed, they are." Victor replied more quietly. "Though, I would classify myself not as a skeptic, but as a... as a scientist, wishing to experiment and test the limits of religious belief to prove or disprove them. Existing within them, until I am able to defy them."
"A skeptic." You affirmed.
He chuckled, stepping up from his seat and slowly circling the table until he stood just to the side of your chair. Your eyes saw his waistcoat, then slowly trailed upward to meet his dark ones. Even then, you could feel that your theory was starting to prove itself. When he offered a gloved hand to you, everything fell into place. You had been right, and you felt victorious.
"Would you care to dance with me?"
You narrowed your eyes at him in scrutiny, feigning your thoughts on the matter, "Do scientist-skeptics enjoy dancing? Or are they always far too occupied with mental exercise?"
"I cannot speak for the others, but I do on occasion."
"What's the occasion now?"
"I haven't determined if I am enjoying this particular dance, because you have neither refused nor accepted my offer."
"Then, Victor, I shall accept it only so that you may decide."
Setting your gloved hand in his, you rose to your feet and allowed him to lead you into a vacant space on the dancefloor. The room was illustrious, full of other extravagantly-dressed people. Yet all you saw was spinning candlelight from the pearl-encrusted candelabras around the space, the rest of the world blurring behind Victor.
He was, surprisingly, excellent. His hands remained politely and dutifully in their proper places, and you'd never seen him smile so genuinely for so long. You wished to torment him just a bit, to provoke him into directly revealing his sentiment towards you even though you could easily sense it already.
Especially after the confessional incident, you wanted to seek a little harmless revenge against him. The hand you set over Victor's shoulder slipped down, resting along the muscle of his upper arm. Your eyes were lidded as you looked into his, a mischief glimmering in your gaze as you took in his reactions. When you had a moment to re-set your hands, you placed your palm over his chest.
Victor remained composed, though he clearly took notice of your intentional slips of touch. His arms pulled you in just a bit closer, leaving hardly any space between your noses. The hand he had along your waist reached further to press at your lower back, seeming to guide your movements more and keep you in closer proximity.
When the dance ended, he kissed the back of your hand and you remained stoic. He bowed his head over your wrist as though you were a holy being, then glanced up at you as he rose back to his height. Something serious passed over his features as he looked at you, standing in the middle of the ballroom as a polonaise started to play.
"What is your verdict, baron?" You prompted.
"The most enjoyable partner I've danced with."
"Flattery. It may get you anywhere, but I can distinguish it from sincerity, so it serves you no purpose with me."
Victor tsked, "If only that were true."
You raised a brow, "Am I really the best dance partner you've had? You must not have danced with many different people."
"Indeed, but I've had a great deal of practice. I enjoyed dancing with you greatly enough that I wish to dance with you again presently."
"I will not deprive you." You shrugged nonchalantly, setting your hands into place over his frame again and letting him sweep you into the music.
It came so easily to you, returning Victor's volleys with your own and feeling the tension build without any harm done. The feeling was addictive, even making you desire to continue your playful spats despite the late hour and impropriety of dedicating your attention so wholly upon one guest. Other attendees departed, yet you and him remained strolling through a hallway decorated with gold-framed paintings.
Through the span of the night, you had intentionally prodded at him as planned. Not just dancing or the same kinds of remarks you habitually made towards him. Your gaze did not shy away from staring right up at Victor's visage as though studying him. A touch would intentionally stray from where it was intended to be. Your replies would sometimes veer a bit far into the realm of flirtation.
He made no observed reaction outside of the norm. You felt as though you were the scientist experimenting upon him. If you slipped a hand up along his forearm, would his words or steps stumble? If you gazed up at him in that dreamy way that ladies could all weaponize, would he lock eyes with you or shy away? If you made a double entendre, how would he respond?
In a vacant salle, you seated yourself opposite him over a small, upholstered divan. He leaned over one of the arms of the one he sat upon. You raised your legs, propping them up impolitely over the lacquered table between you two with a brash smile on your lips. Victor's eyes glanced down at your heels then up to your face.
"Have I worn you out with all the dancing?" He inquired, tugging at a pin to loosen the red tie around his neck.
"Only a little. These shoes are not made for comfort, walking tires me." You explained, then tugged your skirt up subtly. "Thank goodness no one else is around to witness."
"Because you aren't using a stool to prop up your feet?"
"That, and the fact that I've exposed part of my legs to you. Facing you, nonetheless. A wrong slip of my posture, and you would find me in a very vulnerable position. Cause for a scandal, really."
"Scandal? My dear, you have known me long enough to know nearly everything in my vicinity approaches scandal. My work alone is controversial even if my title beckons respect."
"Am I already mired in scandal just for being near you, Victor?" You quipped. "Perhaps I should take advantage of this proximity, behave badly out of my own desire and blame it on your wickedness influencing me."
He smiled as his eyes gleamed in interest, "You know I meant it figuratively. And your fortitude of character is as apparent as my nature, so it would not be so simple to convince anyone that you were so weak-willed as to yield to my manipulations unknowingly."
"Perhaps you possess more malintent than I possess steadfastness."
"You insult yourself."
"You compliment me again? What a night this is..."
"I am capable of it when it is accurate to say. I am a scientist, after all."
You narrowed your eyes at him, "Or you view me favorably and your bias skews your perception, thus inhibiting your ability to see me objectively."
"What evidence do you present for your case? Mere suspicion?"
"Wouldn't you like to know." You grinned, lowering your feet and leaning closer to him. "It is true, you cannot deceive me. Even if I ever use it as an excuse to dismiss my own behavior, I observe you more objectively than you observe me, Victor."
"You still have not given me a reason." He reminded you, his voice low and nearly sultry.
You stepped up onto your feet, "Because I do not wish to embarrass you."
With that final remark, you swiftly left him alone in the dark room. Gliding across the polished floors as staff cleaned up the aftermath of the gathering. Your heart was racing from the exchange, gleeful that you were successful in beating him in this battle of wits. You had the upper hand, you had perplexed him this time.
A pleased smile remained on your lips even as you laid in the guest bed, exhaustion finally creeping into your mind and body.
There would be another opportunity to cross paths with Victor in just a few days, when he would display his workspace to his brother. Elizabeth was set to go along, and your cousin would not allow anyone to refuse you if you desired to do the same. Provoking him into confrontation would be your only ambition during the tour.
You dressed for the occasion: thin layers of muslin draping yourself frame with a blood red ribbon around your waist and cinched at your neck. Victor walked everyone through the space, explaining his instruments and what they could be used for. No organic matter in the space yet, only vague examples. There was something dark, complex that he was hiding.
While his brother and sister-in-law explored the space, admiring the diagrams and books along the walls, you went to test Victor's patience. Arms tucked behind your back and gliding over to where he stood beside a sturdy wood table. You leaned over the cleared tabletop, letting your arms nearly rest flat over the top. In that position, you glanced over one shoulder at Victor and smiled impishly.
"What's this table for? You have nothing on it as of yet, it must be a surface for laying something upon... but what?"
"Currently, you are laying upon it." He pointed out, crossing his arms over his middle.
"But what do you intend to have here? Surely, not me." You laughed, smoothing your hands over the polished wood. "Is it for dissection?"
"I did not specify the manner of my work because it has not yet begun, and it is an endeavor some would deem foolish, unholy even."
"I wish to know regardless."
"'Curiosity killed the cat', is that not how the saying goes? It applies here, especially if you are particularly squeamish."
"That is the partial saying. The rest goes 'but knowledge brought it back', so your explanation would relieve any harm it could have caused. And I am not squeamish, I have seen a fair share of blood."
He remained quiet for a moment, his eyes just barely narrowing before he replied: "It is far beyond just blood. No."
You leaned upward, your forearms propping you up and eyes widened beseechingly, "Victor, please?"
First, he groaned and rubbed a hand over his face. Then, he took in a breath, "Later. Without anyone else to overhear."
"Do you swear it?" You smiled, standing at your full height right beside him.
His dark eyes trailed up from the floor, along the barely-there white muslin, to the red velvet around your throat, until they reached your own eyes. The following inhale of his breath was unsteady, like Victor was forcing himself to be calm and measured.
"You swear to never tell a soul?"
"Victor, I'd never betray a secret. Will you please tell me?"
"I... will. Find me after the dinner and I will tell you."
"We have an accord." You announced, offering you hand.
Victor shook it delicately, then clutched his hands together as if trying to store the wisp of your touch over his palms. You almost wanted to laugh at how unfamiliar he seemed to be with a lady's proximity - outside of dancing - and at your success in disquieting his mind.
He cleared his throat, glancing across to his brother and your cousin to ensure they weren't listening.
"Meet me in the library, beside the piano. Bring a candle."
"Yes, baron." You nodded, playing with the red tie around his neck before slipping away and joining your cousin's side.
For just a moment, you wished you could glance back at Victor's reaction. He didn't step away from the table, that much you could hear given the lack of footsteps trailing behind you. You naturally found your way back into the fray, Elizabeth consulting you about which insect she should try to document in her journals next.
She briefly introduced her candidates for selection, describing coloration, shape, and features. You made a selection, though reminded her that it was almost entirely uninformed. The conversation flowed on as you walked through the city's streets, then when everyone had piled into a carriage, and still as her fingers danced over the keys of the piano in her home.
Dinner... you could hardly remember. Your mind was occupied thinking of what Victor's endeavors could be. What impossible task could he be applying himself to? In which ways was this idea forbidden? How would he achieve it? Your hands moved the fork and knife through muscle memory, elegantly dining without paying attention to the act. It didn't help that Victor sat across from you, his eyes alight with a fire and focused on you.
The glint of them told you what was in his mind. That it was just as occupied as yours. That there was much he wished to say to you in this moment. That this was a mere waiting game. Your heart swelled and tightened in thrill while you kept a composed facade. Just a bit longer, then you could slip away and sneak to the library where Victor would be waiting for you.
You arrived in a nightgown, a single candle lighting your way through the hallways that you stuck into an iron holder. Softly, your feet pattered across the floor as you navigated the way to the library. There was a warm glow from within - Victor waiting for you - when you neared the barely-ajar doors. He had taken brandy with his brother while you played at going to bed.
"Hello again." You greeted quietly, your voice carrying through the vast space of the library.
"Hello. Are you certain that you still wish to hear about my gruesome work?" Victor questioned, still not fully believing your insistence upon this matter. "I do not wish to inspire your nightmares."
"You will not." You affirmed, seating yourself in the chair nearest the desk he stood at.
"I must know, why are you so adamant about finding out what it is I plan to do?"
You took in a breath, finding a boldness rise to your throat, "Why were you so adamant in discovering what sin I had to confess?"
His expression morphed between confusion and embarrassment, "What are yo- ? Oh. Ohh, dear. You- H-How did you learn of my...?"
"Snooping?" You offered with a grin. "You are not the most subtle of men. What were you hoping to hear?"
"Nothing, just morbid curiosity."
"You lie."
"It was not appropriate of me."
"I agree. So, tell me about your work since you won't tell me about the confessional."
"I... Good Lord above, why must I...?" Victor groaned, looking away from you for a moment. "I was not anticipating this, having to explain myself to you about... that particular occasion."
"It's alright, I wish to know anyway. About your work, or the confessional, or both."
He weighed the options as he sank into an armchair beside you. Dark eyes stared off distantly as his fingers steepled. A tormented sigh prefaced his response.
"I believe it is no secret to you, or anyone, that we... are similar. We easily find a language with which to engage and it comes very naturally to us. I was struck by you from the moment I observed you and every moment since has confirmed the same result. I embarrassed myself with the... confessional ordeal, but I would do it again to gain proximity to you.
"I wanted to know if there was already someone in your heart, or... if perhaps you had gazed upon me as I had you. From then, I knew I could approach you and you would most likely be interested in an interaction. Forgive me for the deceit."
It was exactly as you suspected. You had caught Victor's eye and it made him behave foolishly in attempts to learn more of you, to get closer to you. Satisfying as it was to learn that you were correct, the problem became wondering what was meant to happen now that he finally admitted it. You wanted to consider the matter logically, though you also wanted to give Victor reassurance.
"I see you as I have before and have suspected that you harbored the same sentiment. Forgive me for having a lackluster and unpolished response, but I have not considered this... outcome. Or rather, what comes after it." You began earnestly. "But I can do my pondering and considering later, I wish only to give you the truth now: that I feel as you do, that same burning and thrilling sensation when we interact."
Relief shone in his dark eyes despite the marble of his other features, "I am... ever so pleased to hear you say it. May I be bold, or would you prefer to retire for the evening and consider the matter?"
Intrigue played upon your face, "You may."
Words did not fall upon your ears after you'd given him permission. Instead, he was bold in his actions: striding forward measuredly so he stood toe-to-toe with you and his gaze taking in every detail of you, before swooping in to deliver an impassioned kiss to your lips. Your heart swelled and thrummed as your eyes closed, surrendering to your body's response.
Victor was restraining himself, that much you could tell. His hands were set just below your shoulders, along your arms, and his fingers tensed lightly as if he wished to grasp you harder. Breaths intermingled with soft moans against your cheeks, his nose pressed beside yours hard enough that you wondered how he wasn't discomforted by the pressure.
You held the sides of his jacket, keeping yourself stable from how swept-off-your-feet you felt. His delicate grasp on your upper arms helped him push you slightly further, not trusting himself to stop and have enough willpower to pull himself away. Deep brown eyes devoured you as he caught his breath through swollen, parted lips.
"You stopped." You remarked, making an effort to sound disappointed.
"It is still necessary to breathe, I'm afraid, for both of us."
You laughed, "I can break free of your hold on me, especially when it is feather-light."
"Intentional. You may know of my sneaking into the confessional to hear you, but you do not know what thoughts have raced through my mind since the moment I laid eyes upon you."
Your brows raised and you circled him slowly, like a panther observing its prey, "Pray, tell me."
"You will not cut out my tongue for saying such salacious things?"
You paused, standing before him again, "I am a lady, but not one to clutch pearls. Confess your thoughts to me, Victor."
Sitting down atop the writing desk and fixing the thin material of your nightgown into place, you waited for the scientist to reveal his innermost fantasies. The flicker of the candlelight beside you reflected the waver of your heartbeat, anticipation building in the pit of your stomach. He folded his hands together and then approached your makeshift seat, setting his palms over your bent knees.
First, he took in a deep breath. Then, a partial sigh that led into a soft confession: "This gown tempts me beyond belief, seeing a hint at your bare form beneath. My hands ache to tear this flimsy fabric open. To have you over this writing desk.
"Or perhaps to sneak into the guest chambers you're staying in to provide you company through the night. Inside the confessional, worshipping you as my God. Out in the garden grounds, between the roses and carnations."
You tilted your head to one side, "My... what an imagination you have, baron. I wonder if your ideas remain just that, ether, or if you act upon them."
Victor came even closer, brushing against your knees and towering over your seated form, "You may find out, but not here. Visit me in my home within the next fortnight."
You set your hands over his chest, "Is that your understanding of courting? Having a respectable, unmarried young lady sneak away to your estate without a chaperone? Imagine the scandal, should anyone discover it."
"Then ensure no one discovers you."
"I cannot guarantee such a thing." You scoffed, running your hands higher up and playing with his hair. "What guarantees do you offer me, Victor?"
His eyes wandered over you, "Funny you ask, my dear."
One of his hands lifted from your knee and reached into his trouser pocket, revealing a band of gold with a sparkling ruby encrusted along its circumference. Your eyes widened, truly in disbelief. All you wanted to do was challenge him and playfully remind him of the limitations you were bound by as a woman. You hadn't anticipated him to be so prepared for this moment.
"I can easily have the ring adjusted to the size of your finger, should you accept."
Your eyes lingered back up to his, "Victor... I- I didn't think- "
"Perhaps that speaks to how well-suited we are, anticipating each other's thoughts and actions."
You eyed the ring, "Tomorrow. I can give you an answer by dinner."
"Your last day here? You would make me the happiest man in one evening, then deprive me of your presence until arrangements can be made?"
"Presumptuous. But yes. Surely you have the patience to wait for my letter."
"Perhaps if I have something to remember you by."
"I'll give you a handkerchief you can weep into, your poor thing." You quipped, your hand reaching for the side of his face. "But for now, I can grant you an incentive."
You leaned up, making yourself taller to meet his height to kiss him yourself this time. Fingers raking through his hair and tugging, using your other hand to pull his free one up to your waist. The faint whimpers and trembling hold of his hands served as further encouragement. Victor so easily fell under your spell, and it made you smile against his lips.
Even if you pushed him away now, you knew in the back of your mind that you'd accept his offer. You hoped for it. Out of all the men you'd ever met in your life, Victor intrigued you most and admired you exactly as you were. So, you stole the ring out of his hand as collateral before dashing down the halls to the guest chambers, Victor racing behind to catch you.