The Unchaste

Shine, Dine and Three glasses of Wine.

A/N: Back to classes but I'll try not to stop updating.
P.S._ If you find ambiguous lines and repeated mistakes, please ignore or inform. I have taken to a mild fever since some hours, writing only semi-sane. No problem.

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A week through the basement incident, Delilah found herself mortally sidestepping any prospect of meeting Lord Richard Winter, his Mistress and even the Russian doctor. She managed dodging encounters with the Lord and Dr. Navrozov but she found herself regularly chancing into Lady Tiffany Riley who seemed to have a penchant for wandering the corridors like a random ghost.

They didn't talk much but Tiffany always convened a smile for Delilah.

However, lately, Delilah became much conscious of the fourth entity she needed to keep away from.

As much far away as the very great cholera.

"A pleasant morning, Dahlia!" George Carson slid onto the seat beside her at the breakfast table scandalizing Delilah not only by what he called her for a name but also by the proximity he chose to slide in. The maids across her gasped, eyeing his right arm that was brushing her left and Miss Janelle watched the man with some displeasure, although; on closer look_ there was a hint of smile too.

"Good morning." Delilah answered tightly. "Can you try and not sit on my lap?"

"Why, yes Dahlia." He shifted less than half of an inch. "Comfortable now?"

Delilah closed her eyes and sighed down at her plate. There was no hope for this man.

"I see you are taken aback by my discovery of your name."

No hope at all. None.

"I confess I am." She took a pensive bite from her bread. "Your perseverance is outstanding. Allow me to inquire, how indeed did you ascertain my name?"

George tugged at his bow tie proudly and Delilah could see how his single smirk had led the girls across the table blushing profusely. "I asked the bell boy. You know, that slim one, who looks like he is now but won't be the next moment."

"I don't recall but..." Delilah fisted her fingers around her fork. "Is that what he told you my name is?"

"Yes, he said Dahlia..." He paused and read her rigid body posture. "Oh stay! No. That's not your name, is it? Not Dahlia, then. I know...Your name is...I think he said...Daliah...Dalliyah...Dayaliah...He said Da..."

"Why don't you go and ask him again, Mr. Carson?" Delilah suggested too sweetly. "Advisably, go with ink and paper this time. Good day."

She left the table and walked out of the kitchen but she had an idea that he would follow and he did.

"Why won't you tell me your name?" He called from behind her, his rushed footsteps echoing the corridor. "No one is ready to tell me. I cannot even charm the girls into spilling it. Come now, what's in the name?"

"My individuality." She answered without looking back. "And it makes me more answerable when someone calls me with my name instead of some flower in the garden."

"What do I call you then?" He asked, falling into steps beside her. "I must call you something."

"No, not quite." Delilah paused giving him a thorough glare. "How about we pretend not being as much of chums as you imply to them we are?"

He pursed her lips as if in contemplation. "Mmm...Nah! I would rather call you Dahlia then. Something is better than nothing,"

"Look." Delilah narrowed her eyes but it didn't intimidate him. "Don't tempt me to stab you through your heart because I will."