Her time in Hogsmeade was already filling up fast and it was easily a mixture of business and pleasure. For that, she was happy because she was a witch with a fickle mind at times. She thrived on different experiences with different people. And though it was rare for her to have truly close friends, she had many social acquaintances. It was an ideal way of existing, considering some of her darker endeavors.

As she had planned to be in town for a while, she had spread the word to some of the people she enjoyed socializing with, inviting them to call on her at Signature when the mood struck them. As long as she was not out with Sergei, she was eager to entertain.

The staff of Signature was more than adequate at accomodating her impromptu gatherings of friends, socialites and pureblooded elite. They kept her suite stocked with provisions and the dark witch felt just like she was at her beloved Tyen Manor.

Tonight, she wasn't expecting anyone and so she considered preparing for bed early and maybe do some reading. Of course, as soon as she changed into her sleepwear there was a knock at the suite door. She threw a robe on to make herself decent for guests.

She threw open the door, not sure who she was expecting but surprised nonetheless to see Darian Morgan standing there. "Oh!" She allowed the surprise to stay on her face before it morphed into feigned disappointment. "So your betrothed has let you out for the night, has she?" She drawled, making mention of someone they both knew didn't exist. "You best make the most of it before she locks you away again..."

Darian was in an excellent mood to-night, drunk on vim and vigor and maybe a cocktail or two, celebratory, not many really, just enough to fill him with warmth. Bad idea in a three-piece suit, wonderful one for putting a spark in his eyes and a skip in his step. Not that he didn't already have an abundance of both, what with the subject of his visitation tonight being a hard lady to catch but ever-so-worth it. He bounded down the halls of Signature, resisting the urge to pull the waitresses (is that what they were?) in for a waltz. Of course by the time he reached the door of her suite he was sleek and dapper again, the consummate gentlemanly predatory man, cool smirk in place instead of his manic beam. Perhaps Melanthe would dance with him. Darian lived in hope.

When she answered the door he was surprised by her dressing robe; surely it was not that late? He had a terrible sense of time in the evenings, perpetuated by his sunrise retirement. Oh, he was very repentant, but only if she let him see what was under that robe. Otherwise he would just have to be devilish.

"So your betrothed has let you out for the night, has she? You best make the most of it before she locks you away again..."

"I came here, didn't I?" Darian replied with a wink. He leaned against the doorway, Endymion in black and burgundy - hips canted, eyes hooded, won't you please let me in? "My apologies for disturbing you if you were about to retire. Yours seemed an open invitation; I won't even pretend I was just passing by. Melanthe Grumman back in town! Well, that's worth rattling the cage for, isn't it?"

It was easy to see how Darian Morgan could effortlessly charm the pants off anyone who crossed his path. His fair looks and lineage alone probably had a flock of lovely ladies throwing themselves at his feet wherever he went. People with such flimsy whims could lose their heart if they were not careful.

Luckily for Melanthe she was not fickle with her romantic affections. This was helped tremendously by her selfishness -- she detested the idea of sharing on object of desire with so many. Even one was often too much. But, she never minded enjoying the company of someone like Darian -- who she imagined was misunderstood by the endless stream of acquaintances who came in and out of his life. She doubted many took the time to really get to know him beyond his partying and fun loving ways. Perhaps it was Melanthe's darkness that had always wanted to know more about what made him tick.

And she had been patient enough in their prior meetings to let his entourage of partying companions fade away into the shadows until they could sit and converse more seriously. She had not been disappointed by the insight she had gained.

Her brows shot up with his words and his wink. She said nothing at first but instead reached out to touch the lapel of his finely tailored suit -- surely a meticulous creation made by his own hands -- and carefully inspected it. Then, after a moment more, she took hold of his arm, tugging him to her, with her face stopping just inches from his.

"Well then," she murmured with a sly grin. "In that case, you should come in and we can devise a plan to send her to an early grave."

She held him that close to her for another long moment before she finally stepped away. She still held onto his arm and tugged him into her suite, pushing the door closed behind them. "Of course it was an open invitation, dah-ling. I always have time for the likes of you."

Melanthe glanced back at him and now it was time for her to wink.

He leaned into her, letting her manhandle his person (as if he as likely to object), watching her grasp his lapel and stroke it gently. He understood. It was fine fabric, and rarely so admired as it ought to be. But then she took his arm and pulled him close, raising her face to his; his eyes flared and smoldered at her low words and direct gaze. He sauntered in like she had him by the tie instead of the arm, a direct and unstoppable tug.

Melanthe Grumman knew how to play the game, and she played it so well as to make even jaded reprobates like he prick up their ears and follow. There was between them the most delicious tension that Darian had ever experienced, some spine-tingling slick curl of heat deep in his belly and surely in hers. He'd long since learned to go with his impulses, but Melanthe was different. She'd had never given in to his flirtatious advances, had never seemed to have the... time. He could spend hours conversing with his head in her lap and only later remember what he'd meant to have done - oh! She made him feel almost civilized. Good conversation was so rare these days, and someone who could keep up with him.... Darian loved her for it.

"You're too kind," he purred. "But Melanthe, where have you been? I fear you've left me to pine. Again. Your globe-trotting ways will surely mean my death someday." Beneath the light banter was genuine curiosity. Her disappearing acts were so strange for a woman of such high society. Now for instance, it had been weeks if not months since he'd heard from her. He teased her, "So mysterious," as if she had as direct a line to his thoughts as he.

Darian's presence immediately stoked an excitement in the pit of her stomach that so few men managed to ignite. Again, she was picky and it took more than a pretty face to turn her head and secure her affections. But Darian had managed to do that. And despite the length of time since their last encounter, it did not decrease her level of anxious anticipation for what may happen in the present.

Leading him to the nearest sofa, Melanthe strongly encouraged him to take a seat by practically shoving him down and headed over to the bar to make them both drinks. She called out over her shoulder as she went, "Where have I been? You mean you haven't been reading about me in Witch Weekly? I'm disappointed," she said with a pout, which was half obscured by where she stood pouring wine. But the expression surely made its way to her words, even if there was a playful nature added to it.

In truth, no matter her nefarious deeds or questionable connections, Melanthe made a point to be seen in public every so often with those who could hardly be questioned as having an upstanding reputation. Family connections helped her tremendously in achieving her cover.

Two glasses of wine in hand, Melanthe sauntered back to where she had left him. She flashed him a skeptical look. "And left you to pine? Why am I not convinced?" She held one of the glasses out to him and slid onto the sofa close to him. Leaning in, she placed a kiss to his temple and murmured, "Surely you have plenty of companions who have kept you busy where you  have hardly thought about me. No?"

She left him at the sofa, and went to fetch the wine. Darian crossed his legs and stretched his arms luxuriously across the back of the couch, settling in for the long run. "I must have missed those articles," he mused. "Generally I circle them in red ink. I s'pose lately reporters been so taken with Tournament gossip they've neglected their usual society-spotting." He craned his head backwards to catch sight of her at the bar, curls falling away from his high forehead and the strong hard line of his jaw. She'd distracted him from his original point and he made a face at her back. "Don't be coy!" he called, "Paper's no substitute for company and you know it."

"And left you to pine? Why am I not convinced? Surely you have plenty of companions who have kept you busy where you have hardly thought about me. No?"

He glanced slyly sideways, flash of dark eyes as she kissed his brow. "Oh," he murmured, "No. Only you." It was a transparent lie, but spoken so prettily. Darian's gaze as always was disarmingly direct. He grinned at her before raising the wine glass to his lips in a silent toast. To company.