July 25th, 1893 — London Docklands

Ginevra felt the adrenaline coursing through her veins as the crowd roared around her, celebrating the impressive victory of the Welsh fighter she had placed her bets on. She had taken extra precautions tonight, ensuring her vivid red hair was securely covered by a dark, inconspicuous scarf. The last thing she wanted was for her most distinguishing feature to give her away at this underground bare-knuckle boxing event. Here, secrets were kept, and anonymity was paramount.

As she made her way through the crowd to collect her winnings, her heart skipped a beat when she locked eyes with a familiar face, Mister Bensouda. His connection to her and her family made her pause for a moment, uncertain of how to proceed. Should she acknowledge him? Or should she slip away unnoticed? She desperately tried to read his expression, but the dim lighting, the excitement of the event, and the jostling crowd made it difficult to gauge his thoughts.

Ultimately, she chose to maintain her composure, discreetly pocketing the money handed to her by the bookie. With a calm exterior, she returned to her spot on the bench encircling the boxing ring, hoping that the crowd's energy would help conceal her unease.

As the next match was announced, she tried to focus her attention on the fighters in the ring, allowing herself to be swept up in the raw intensity of the sport. She couldn't help but glance around the ring, trying to spot where Mister Bensouda had ended up.


Elias Grimstone Yassine Bensouda

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

He had half-thought he had imagined her, a mere glimpse of a familiar figure in the crowd; but Yassine was not much in the habit of second guessing himself, so he took it as truth, and decided to follow out on the limb.

And he was right, just as he’d known – it had been some time, but he hadn’t forgotten her face, well remembered the intensity of her gaze. They had met at her hunt; she had been pushing the boundaries even then. But this was an interesting turn.

“Making good money here, are you?” Yassine said in her ear, having dropped into the space next to her as if he had been there all along; as if he owned it. His face held no expression, but the words were smirking just the same. Miss Blackwood, society butterfly, had no need of money, nor expectation to be attending boxing matches as bloodthirsty as this... and what would society say if they could see her here?

She had tried to blend in, obviously. Yassine hadn’t bothered to be discreet – but then, his reputation would be neither burnished nor bruised by this. This was, frankly, par for the course, and he knew a fair few men here. He had even been in the ring before, once or twice.

But Miss Blackwood was a far more interesting sight than anything happening in this fight. He did smirk to himself now, as he added, “I had no idea you were such a rebel.”

Well, he’d had some idea.

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Ginevra's heart skipped a beat when she heard Yassine's voice in her ear, a flush of adrenaline and fear. She had half-expected him to ignore her presence, but there he was, close and teasing. Maintaining her composure, she turned to face him, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in her eyes.

"Why, Mister Bensouda, what a delightful surprise," she replied in a light, teasing tone. "I'm unsurprised that you can't resist a bit of excitement now and then. Neither can I. And as for money, well, it's merely a pleasant consequence of being here."

Her lips curved into a mischievous smile, and she added, "But money isn't the true point of it all, is it? There's something thrilling about stepping into the shadows, away from the prying eyes of high society, and this, primal battle is truly exhilerating." her tone was most effusive and excited as her green eyes flicked back to the two men squaring up to each other for the next round.

She leaned in closer, her voice a whisper, "Tell me, Mister Bensouda, are you planning to reveal my little escapade to the world? I dare say they'd be quite shocked to discover that Miss Blackwood finds underground boxing far more exciting than the mundane toffs swatting at each other in their mother's parlors." She held his gaze looking at him beneath her lashes.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

She didn’t sound worried about being caught here – she was teasing, she was amused, she was extolling the primal thrills of the fight. Exhilarating was the word she’d used.

And now she was wondering if he would spill her secret – and if his pulse had picked up from her look and her leaning in, Yassine didn’t fight it. Here was his fill of exhilaration for the night, then. “Oh, I’m very tempted to,” he countered slowly, quirking a brow as he half-seriously considered it, in spite of his general interest in her. Exposing her for her less demure pursuits amongst all the faint-hearted lilies of society would be entertainment enough to last him a while, and he even thought Miss Blackwood had enough spark in her to survive the controversy, just about.

“How will you convince me not to, I wonder?” he said, holding her gaze in lingering amusement. He shifted a hand across to her pocket where he’d seen her slip away her winnings from her wager earlier as if he might dip into it himself, but it was only a feint; he just rested his hand there for a moment instead, because no one in this audience would care to notice what he did with his hands. “I’m not sure your prize winnings will do.”

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Ginevra met Yassine's gaze with a mix of amusement and anticipation. His desire to meet her inuendo heightened the intensity of the moment, making her heart race in the most delightful way. His words had an edge of seriousness to them, a glint that told her he wasn't entirely joking. But she wasn't one to back down from a challenge.

She allowed her lips to curl into a knowing smile, her eyes never leaving his as she leaned in a fraction closer. The atmosphere around them seemed to shimmer with possibilities. Her hand, as if guided by some invisible force, moved over his, her slim pale fingers tracing a small idle circle on the weathered skin of his hand. A move that was both daring and inviting.

Her voice, a whisper meant for his ears alone, carried a seductive lilt. "Temptation, Mister Bensouda, is a dance that requires partners," she purred, her gaze holding his with an intensity that matched the charged air around them. "You might find that the allure of secrets shared is far more captivating than any sum of money." Her fingers pressed gently against his hand. She could feel his pulse beneath her fingertips, a silent rhythm that echoed the unspoken desires she was toying with.

"Ah, you see, I had a feeling you wouldn't be so easily swayed by material offerings," she replied with a teasing smirk. "But, dear Mister Bensouda, I believe you are a man of discerning tastes. Money is fleeting, but other thrills… now, that's something that can last much longer."

Her gaze held his, her fingers gently caressing the back of his hand. The chaos of the boxing event seemed to fade into the background, leaving only the charged connection between them. It was a game, a dance, a daring flirtation that promised the intoxicating rush of stepping beyond societal norms. And in that moment, Ginevra knew that whatever the outcome, this encounter would remain etched in her memory as a delicious taste of the forbidden.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

And now she was talking about partners, and her hand featherlight and overfamiliar on his. She seemed to know what he wanted well enough. Her confidence was something, indeed; Yassine could hardly even take due credit for corrupting her, when she seemed to glide effortlessly into trouble all by herself.

Never mind this fight, then; it was much the same as the last, and Miss Blackwood was far more appealing to watch. A pity that her red hair was hidden under the scarf she was wearing. Part of her attempt at secrecy, no doubt, but a pity all the same, because that vivid colour was oddly becoming on her.

“So you’re going to try and thrill me, are you?” Yassine murmured, not able to resist the jibe, though he expected she well could. “Tell me, Miss Blackwood,” he added, eyes still fixed on her at the expense of the fight they were supposedly watching. “Where exactly do your family imagine you are tonight?”

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Ginevra's heart thrummed with the rhythm of their verbal sparring, each word exchanged a thrilling step in their playful waltz - the analogy being the only appropriate thing about them. His hand beneath hers, his gaze fixed on her, she felt a rush of exhilaration like downing a glass of strong port too quickly. She was drawn to him like a moth to a flame, a fire she couldn't resist even if she had been inclined to try.

As he jibed about her family's imaginings, she couldn't help but chuckle softly, the sound a mix of amusement and audacity. "Why, my dear Mister Bensouda," she responded, her tone dripping with mischief, "my family believes I am at home, tucked away in bed like all proper young ladies should be at this hour." She let the words linger for a moment. Vera's parents lived in Hogsmeade, but her brother spent most of his time at their London home, where the society was more to his liking, and by that he usually meant there were casino's and clubs where discerning gentlemen could while away their nights spending money and entertaining beautiful women. He was 'meant' to be Vera's 'gaurdian' on these occasions, but they rarely crossed paths, which gave Vera the freedom to do what she liked - like sneak out to boxing matches and flirting shamelessly with the ill-reputed coaches of a certain quidditch team. "But we both know that the night is far too enticing to be wasted on sleep, don't we?"

Her gaze locked with his, a daring challenge that spoke volumes in the unspoken language they were creating between them. She felt his gaze as if it were a physical touch, igniting a fire within her that matched the pulsating energy of the boxing match they were so blissfully ignoring. His question, where her family imagined she was, held a hint of curiosity and danger, a reminder that the world they were navigating was not without its risks.

She leaned in closer, her breath brushing against his ear as her lips curved into a smile "I imagine," she purred, her voice a sultry melody, "that it would be very difficult to thrill you, Mister Bensouda. But I also imagine that the prospect of trying is incredibly exciting, wouldn't you agree?" Her voice was a seductive whisper, a promise that lingered in the air between them.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

She was altogether too enticing for her own good, a dangerous bundle of self-assurance and mischief and boredom. She was a debutante, a familiar figure in society: he ought not toy with her ilk. He didn’t usually – not beyond a little light flirtation, just about toeing the line. But tonight she was unsupervised, and already high on adrenaline, and she was leaning in far too near to resist her. If this was supposed to be a challenge, he hoped she meant it, and didn’t disappoint him now.

“On the contrary,” Yassine said, taking on a low tone as if he were airing disapproval and not fighting a smirk with all he had, “I think we should get you back to bed immediately.” (Whose bed was still in question, but Yassine would be happy to do his gentlemanly duty and escort her out of here himself.)

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Ginevra couldn't help but be drawn further into their little tete a tete. Mr Bensouda's response, laced with a hint of disapproval and the suggestion of a return to her bed, sent a shiver down her spine. His double meaning, biting her lip.

She met his gaze with a look that was equal parts daring and inviting. Her voice, a sultry whisper, carried a hint of mischief. "Well, Mister Bensouda," she began, her lips curving into a sly smile, "you make a very fine point?" Her hand extended towards him, her fingers brushing his ever so lightly as she offered it for him to take. "And I'm sure you will get me exactly where I need to go." she extended her hand to him, a genteel gesture as though preparing to take a turn in the garden during a tea party.

Her gaze held his, an unspoken invitation in her eyes. The world around them seemed to blur, leaving only the charged connection between them. Ginevra was well aware of the risks and the allure of what they were both contemplating, and she found herself unable to resist. The prospect of spending the night with Yassine was a tantalizing adventure she was more than willing to pursue. Their last dalliance had been clumsy, at least on her part, and intoxicating.

Her hand remained extended, her fingers waiting for his touch, a silent invitation. The fight around them seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the allure of the night and the forbidden desires that pulsed through Vera.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

He hadn’t planned for the evening to go this way – but he had never planned for Miss Blackwood’s inclinations to begin with. He took her hand just long enough to pull her up alongside him from the benches – what did it matter about being subtle here, when she was dressed to be anonymous and the boxing crowds scarcely cared? – and then led their way out into the night air. He felt the rush of it on his face and only then realised just how warm he was. Warm with anticipation, undoubtedly – and she hadn’t even begun her quest to thrill him yet.

Well, patience had never been one of his best virtues. Yassine snaked an arm around her waist, grinned at her and disapparated them both. His London lodgings, an elegant townhouse, made an unusual background for all the traditional Moroccan decor – rich colours and wall hangings and sweeping arches, but the house was quiet and dimly lit, the staff having been long abed. He didn’t want her to feel too at home here – he felt strangely unguarded – but one night oughtn’t hurt.

Giving her only a second to catch her breath as they thudded into his main hallway, Yassine pulled off her scarf at last, her hair catching the low light like flames. “Come on then,” he murmured, with one more smirk before he leant in to kiss her. “Buy my silence.”

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Ginevra had never been one to resist a thrilling challenge, and the evening had taken a turn that was far more exciting than she had anticipated. His arm wrapped around her waist, their closeness sending shivers down her spine, and then, with a subtle twist of magic, they were in a different place altogether. The exotic decor lost on her, as her gaze was fixed on her host.

With a sly smile, Ginevra leaned in, her lips meeting his in a passionate kiss. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, fingers lightly grazing the fabric of his clothing. When they parted, she met his gaze with a daring glint in her eyes. "Buy your silence?" she purred, her voice a sultry melody. "Well, Mister Bensouda, I believe it's going to be a night full of delightful negotiations." Her fingers played with the lapel of his coat, then working to pull his cravat off, and pushing his jacket off his shoulders, as she kissed him again.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

“Negotiations?” Yassine echoed, partly to be clever and partly because English was not his first language, and it struck an odd chord to him, her choice of wording. (Maybe he had started the banter, but.) “Is this how you often conduct your business negotiations, then?”

She had negotiated his jacket fairly well off his shoulders, so he wasn’t complaining. His fingers worked at his own waistcoat first, and managed a few buttons of his shirt before he took up the more laborious task of getting her out of her dress. He started with the top-jacket piece of her dress, fingers trailing over the bare skin of her arms once it was discarded, and his mouth tracing down along her jaw and neck. There was still her corset, skirts and chemise to contend with, but first, he said – “Come upstairs.”

This was fine, he didn’t need to worry: it was only fun, sheer mercenary fun – Miss Blackwood would not run home and cry to her father afterwards. She seemed perfectly able to keep a secret, and to keep her emotions out of it.

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Vera flashed a mischievous grin at Yassine, her laughter lacing her words. "Only with you, apparently," she retorted with playful banter, her tone lighthearted and suggestive.

She cast a glance towards the stairs. "Well, I'm not one to refuse a delightful offer." Her garments were more simple than normal - mostly so she could get into and out of them on her own without her maids assistance. The corset was trickier, vanity had kept her tightly corseted, but she was more concerned about relieving him of his clothing than worrying about her own underthings, already working on his suspenders.

Ginevra, caught in the moment and fueled by intrigue, found herself eager for more. She eagerly followed his lead and pulled away long enough to stand on the first few steps of the staircase, before pulling him into another kiss, tugging him up the stairs with her. She knew dimly this was a mistake, but one she had already made - so what was to be lost now.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

Only with you, apparently. He quirked an eyebrow at that playful answer, amused and strangely pleased by it. She knew how to flirt and how to flatter.

And he had told himself he was seducing her, here – he had brought her here, suggested it, had instigated – but by the time she was a few steps above him on the stairs and kissing him again, he felt almost at her mercy. As though he would not quite have been able to protest it if he had tried.

She led them up the stairs and he navigated them from the landing, along the hallway to the bedroom, a hand on her waist to steer them. “So,” he said, low, as he returned to the task at hand with renewed attack, undoing her skirts with impatient hands and fingers now toying at her corset, “should I fancy myself special? Or do you do this with everyone?”

She was full of surprises, and with all her confidence he could believe that she might have gone to bed with half of society’s gentlemen if she chose, charming as she was – but it was a dangerous game for a debutante to play, and perhaps a small part of him did want to think she had made an exception of him. (A foolish desire – ego speaking – even if he was making an unwitting exception for her.)

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She barely registered the decor of his bedroom, her attention having been drawn back to his administrations, his hands on her hips, and her fingers opening the last few buttons of his shirt. She stepped out of her skirts, leaving her in only her corsetry and stockings. She pushed the shirt off his shoulders, kissing up his neck to let her breath tickle his ear as she spoke in a low, throaty whisper, 'I can assure you, I do not make a habit of this particular exception' she murmured, the corners of her lips rose in a smile against his skin, 'besides, no one else has ever challenged me to thrill them more than a bare knuckle fight, and you did promise to put me to bed' she laughed lightly and kissed her way along his throat her hands roving over his bare chest, her body pressed to his.

She could have been offended at the implication, but then, this wasn't the first time she had ended up falling into bed with him, it probably constituted a reasonable question. She placed her hands over his, and guided them to the front clasp of her corset, pulling back far enough to meet his eyes with a challenge, not that she expected him to back down now.

  

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^  Look what Lady did  ^

“Good,” he murmured emphatically, though he hadn’t meant to admit it; but he couldn’t help it, when it sent a surge of pleasure through him to know that his hands and his mouth were not simply tracing paths on her skin that were already well-worn by other people. (It was more risk, though, if anyone found out; if she thought it tied them together by some commitment.)

Still, if she didn’t make a habit of it, then she was nevertheless a fast learner; her assuredness had grown in leaps and bounds since their last encounter, and he had higher hopes still for the rest of tonight. Perhaps he could afford to be a little bolder with her this time. Even in anticipation, he was already too far gone to back down now, so there was only one way to answer her. “I did, didn’t it?” he agreed lightly, meeting her gaze with a grin and unclasping her corset to punctuate the thought. To bed it was, then.

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