December 26th, 1891 — Blackwood Estate

'Well hunted!' she called to the winner, swinging down from the back of her jet black animal with practiced ease.  Her crisp red riding coat tailed with mud from riding through the washes and gullies after their quary. 

'I thought he have you at the end there!' she praised removing her hat, with it's mesh black veil, her cheeks flushed with the exertion of the hunt and the cold Boxing Day air, 'You'll have to show me how you did that last little manover.' the keen horsewoman asked the person who had outfoxed todays fox. 

'My father will want to blood you.' she made a face, she was rather glad her own blooding had taken place years before and that she had hunted on almost every course in england before her debute, now she was blooding only when she was deemed to have taken the fox, which wasn't often as she usually pulled back at the kill, better to let the gentlemen shine in that moment. 

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This outfit but the jacket is This

*Blooding - is where the person who gets the fox, gets some blood annointed on their foreheads the first time they either take part in a hunt on a new course and/or get the fox.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

Yassine had very little experience of fox hunts. He was no native to this country or its customs; had not even been brought up to celebrate Christmas, let alone attended enough of these to know whether this was an ordinary tradition or something special. But he had been here long enough to know the Blackwood name (and to recognise their vivid, red-headed daughter amongst society); he knew how to commit to a competition; and he certainly knew how to ride.

So this had been good honest fun, as it turned out. Yassine had not necessarily expected to keep up with the hounds and the fox on this terrain, but it had gone well, if been more exertion than he’d thought. He swung off his horse as well, clothes and boots streaked with mud.

“It would be my pleasure,” he said to Miss Blackwood who was close by, after merely shrugging at her first comment, as if this was not all new to him and as if he were not remotely surprised. He took off his own hat and raked a hand through his hair, still catching his breath from the end of the chase. 

But Yassine did raise his eyebrows at the next remark. “And is this something for which I should be afraid?” he asked with a bemused smile, though with no apprehension on his face for being ‘blooded’, in spite of its ominous name and his absolute lack of knowledge of the term. (He could not in good conscience remember the last time he had actually been afraid of anything. His worst fear was usually a humiliating quidditch defeat.)

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*colonial stereotyping warning

If mister Bensouda's blood and class - or indeed his general good looks, had not assured him an invitation to the hunt, his prodigious quidditch connections would have done it. It wouldn't have surprised Vera if her father was trying to poach the noteworthy coach for whatever pity team he was sponsoring this year, for he certainly wasn't interested in the Coaches good looks. His pity team were almost certainly in need of someone like Bensouda's intensity to get them back on the straight and narrow - and it was clear from the mud and dirt on his riding boots that he had committed to the hunt of the fox the way he committed his intensity on the field - that hot arab blood* carrying the victory over his more mild mannered English counterparts.

She was taken aback by his comment - it had not occured to her that he may not be aware of what a blooding is, and for a second she balked at the thought that he may refuse or be mortally offended at the idea - didn't some of those foreign people take offense at blood. She knew that there were *Jews who had a thing about the blood of some animals - who could keep track of which ones - perhaps Arabs were the same. 'Em - its when we take a little of the blood of the fox and anoint your forehead and cheeks, it's a mark of honour.' she explained, realising how odd the whole thing sounded even as she said it. Vera gestured to the Gillie who was approaching, holding the suspended corpse of the fox. 'Although if you would be offended sir, I'm sure we can forgo it?' she added hastily.

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

Blooded; perhaps he ought to have guessed, with the very word blood in it, and the way they were holding up the fox as a trophy. His eyes slid from that sight back to Miss Blackwood, who seemed abruptly sheepish about it.

“Well, I hope you do not think me a man so easily offended as that,” Yassine said, a little too cheerfully to take his mock-affront as anything more than a joke. Still, he raised an eyebrow as if to question her perception of him – he had no wish to seem the uptight foreigner forever, whether he lived in a land of godless, wasteful bloodsports or not. Besides, uncertainty did not look so well on Miss Blackwood; she had looked much better confidently poised upon her horse, and her face still only flushed from the sport. So he shot her a wink, partly mocking, part conspiratorial. “Even if your customs are barbaric.”

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She could not help the feeling of relief that flooded her when he joked and winked, nor could she help the laugh that rang in her throat at his accusation of British barberism. She did not like to feel disquieted or in a position that made her less than confident - power was something Ginevra Blackwood thought was incredibly important.

Pleased at least that she had not mortally offended the man her father had been trying to woo, Vera's lips curled into a teasing smile, 'Well we refined English have to get our barbarism out somewhere' she quipped 'other than perhaps the usual society battles - in that I can assure you we are all barbarians'. She removed one of her black leather gloves and drawing a finger over the raw wound on the foxes side, she approached the Quidditch star, the bright red gore trailing over the pale skin of her hand.

'ready?' she purred, meeting his eyes in what would certainly be interpreted as a teasing challenge

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

It was Yassine’s turn to laugh at her answer; she might be the host’s daughter, but she did not seem too offended by his assessment of events. Furthermore... “I’m glad to hear you admit it,” he commented, of her talk of society. “It is tiring when high society pretends it is all innocence.” He spent enough of his time with rougher crowds – a necessity of playing professional sport, but not just that – and enough in society to know few people were as perfect and as proper as they might pretend. It was not in human nature, he thought, to be quite so dull. Besides, a little barbarism from time to time was good for the soul.

So he held her gaze a little too directly – a little too deliberately – as she got close to him, maybe in some unspoken challenge of his own. “Do your worst,” he answered, with the momentary flash of a smirk, falling still for the blood mark – and then, once she had daubed him with it, as unaffected as anyone could be by the sheer oddness of this moment, Yassine raised an eyebrow at her. “How do I look?”

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Vera's tongue poked out between her teeth, pinching her tongue to stop herself from saying something entirely inappropriate. She gave an obviously faux innocent humming response, glancing at him under her lashes. 'My worst?' she said questioned teasingly, 'Oh Mister Bensouda, I doubt even you could handle my worst.' as she stepped close, twirling her wrist in advance to making contact with his face, holding his gaze as directly as he offered it. Ginevra Blackwood was never one to withhold herself from a challenge.

She drew two fingers across his forehead and then down his cheeks, the run down his cheeks almost a caress - almost. 'Positively barbaric Mister Bensouda,' she purred, looking up at him through the veil of her riding hat. 'Positively barbaric.' The hunt was a rare occasion when a lady could be without a chaperone without it being the end of the world or their reputation.

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

He suppressed another smirk at her answer. There was something telling about the way she was looking up at him – and he ought to have moved back now that she had finished painting his face with blood, but he was enjoying their proximity too much to let it die so easily. And they were relatively removed here from the rest of the hunting party – his gaze drifted sideways as if to be sure of it – but taking advantage of that in the plain light of day was probably too barbaric, even for Miss Blackwood. Instead, Yassine merely lifted a hand to toy musingly with the edge of the gauze veil in the way of her face, letting his fingers brush very lightly over it.

“Tell me more about your worst, Miss Blackwood,” Yassine suggested, voice low. “You must know you saying such a thing only makes me more inclined to try.” He did not know how she wanted to be handled, but surely she had meant it as a challenge. (Most debutantes were not much to handle at all, but there was something unusually confident about her that was a little more intriguing.)

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The challenge in his continued proximity was obvious and Ginevra had absolutely no intention of being the first to blink, and instead tipped her head back haughtily to meet his challenge. Her physical interest in Mister Bensouda was matched only by her interest in the fact that he seemed inclined to challenge her. Either by virtue of her status as a debutante or the intimidation of her brother, or family - few

'Perhaps that is my intention Mister Bensouda.' she said, looking up at him through her lashes, 'There is no need for this to be the only hunt of the day*', she glanced up the path, there wasn't a sight of anyone else, when the horn had been sounded to indicate that the fox had been caught she was sure that everyone had returned to the house. Even the old gillie, his job completed, and the corpse of the fox slung over one shoulder, had disappeared through the woods, the fastest path back to the house.

'Or what is your view on how a debutante might commit barbarous behavior*,'

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*Ginny is meant to be good at flirty innuendo - Dante is not and is awkward and the fact that I am married is a miracle.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

She tipped her head up and he moved nearer still, certainly close enough to kiss her if he chose to. He was tempted; but there was the matter of her riding hat, and the blood on his face, and the problem of stopping once they started.

And someone was certain to notice the young hostess’ absence if it was too prolonged, once the rest of the party had gone tramping back. Not that Yassine cared, particularly, for her sake: where the women he usually dallied with were one thing, getting involved with this sort – young ladies with family, reputation, money – might well, if he misjudged a move, ruin him as much as he could ruin her.

He had no intention of being trapped into a trite engagement for a moment’s trouble. Still – “Let it not be said that I do not enjoy the chase,” Yassine said, leaning in, and he slipped a hand about her waist, held it there to see how she might react. It might already be too far – she might be offended, throw it off and storm away, if he had been reading too much into her remarks – but the prospect of a proper English debutante actually meaning what she said was too enticing not to put it to the test.

But better not here. “Perhaps you might give me a tour of the house,” Yassine ‘relented’, as though he did not mean a private tour, preferably of her bedroom. He raised an eyebrow, just a touch, to suggest it. “Later this evening, maybe? I should hate to miss anything.” She could take it or leave it, the offer; he fancied she was quick-witted enough to read between the lines well enough if she wanted to.

(And if she didn’t, she was probably beneath him anyway.)

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This was an interesting turn.

When he put his arm around her she gave a little gasp, a thrilled noise in the back of her throat, her breath hitching as her stomach swooped and there was a delightful pressure and intoxicating feeling in the very pit of her stomach. Ginevra took a shakey breath, a feeling heretofore unknown to the gently raised and sheltered debutante finding a new and vital expression. She had flirted before, skirted propriety but she was far of the reservation at this moment and inclined to go a great deal further.

'I'm sure we can arrange a tour of the house' her voice was low and breathy, 'Perhaps, after hours so as to not disturb your valet.' she managed, her lips felt suddenly parched, but she fought the desire to lick them, feeling the move might be a touch obvious. 'I'm sure there are many intimate parts of the house that would be of great interest to you.' Her hands came to his arms, very much not pushing him away, and everything screaming in her to rip open his shirt and doublet and shirt and indulge in some in flagrante delicto

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

She had gleaned his meaning, then, seemed to have no qualm about it, and he would have been satisfied with that alone – but it was her little breath, that undisguised gasp in her throat, that had done more for him than he had expected. “Oh, I’m very interested,” Yassine agreed, and until now he had been pushing the question simply to see if it would have any effect, from nothing more than mere languid curiosity. Now that her hands were on his arms, though, and his hands on her – he realised he would be sincerely disappointed not to see this through.

So, in spite of the resolution he had made to wait until they were not out in the open, impulse got the better of him. Lifting his free hand, he pulled her veiled hat off her face, out of their way, and caught her mouth with his. The kiss was assured, as confident as any move he ever made, and there was some hunger in it, too... but he was careful to keep the smear of fox blood off her cheeks, and drew back again before long, stepping away deliberately to keep his cool. Just a taste, to whet his appetite; but no more.

“Until later, then,” Yassine said, with the faintest trace of a smirk. Clicking his teeth, he recovered her horse for her and passed over the reins. He could afford to take his time returning to the house, but she really ought to get back before anyone came looking. “But we must not let society miss you.”

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