[Declan O'Dwyer]

Christmas was always a contentious time for the O'Dwyer family - this year had proven to be no exception. As usual, Declan and his father had clashed.  It was all the blur in his head. The same old tired arguments. He was too bookish, too focused on the business, too thin, too weak, too soft. Declan was sick of hearing about it. As his father's litany had crashed over him, Declan had lost his temper. Wands had been pulled. The evening had ended with broken porcelain and the turkey on the dining room floor. Nothing a wand couldn't fix - or so his mother had kept saying. He'd wanted to smack her for that. Repeating that stupid mantra didn't make it any more true. Plenty of things were broken, but they would take so much more than a wand to fix.

It had been a relief to get back to his Dublin flat after the whole fiasco, except sleep was absolutely out of the question. He apparated to his Belgravia store instead just to put as much physical distance between himself and his family as was humanly possible. If he never saw his father again, it would be too soon. He wanted a distraction, something to take his mind of things. Except there wasn't much to do. The store was closed for the holidays, he didn't have outstanding potion orders and he had no friends to speak of here.

He'd called Penhaligon in St Petersburg via the floo network. They'd talking for a while, and his old friend had sent a bottle of vodka through the open fireplace connection. Drinking to old times, better times, and good things yet to come. It had felt hollow, but Declan had played along. That was until Penhaligon mentioned that he had seen some photographs of Farren Abercrombie in the Daily Prophet. Merlin, was there anybody who did not know about this?!

Declan had been trying to forget, for two weeks now, that his Farren had been seen out and about in town with a handsome blond gentleman. Correction. Just Farren. If she'd been his, there wouldn't have been such photographs, right? Her smile in that one picture. He wished she'd smile like that for him. Except - nothing about them was smiles. It was just awkward.

That ball in Belgravia had been, simply put, disappointing. He'd tried to do everything right, but somehow the evening had felt rather uninspiring. Maybe things had gotten too serious too soon? He didn't really know, told himself he didn't care and that he would get over it - eventually. Apparently now he was the kind of guy who pulled his wand on his father when sufficiently irked and called his friend in Russia to get drunk. Pathetic, pitiful and predictable.

And then there was the matter of the present.

It was this last thought that had finally motivated him to get off his behind and step outside. It felt strange and unreal. London's streets were beautiful at night. As Declan looked around, he felt as if he was noticing it for the first time. Snow had fallen. It was fresh and white for as far as he could see. Everything looked so peaceful and innocent. With its resplendent crescents and squares all decked out in white, Belgravia had taken on an ethereal quality. It felt wholly disconnected from the reality of his life.

The snow squelched under his feet as he made his way to Farren's residence. He'd drop off the Christmas present and then be on his merry way. Out of sight, out of mind. Except, as he got closer to her house, he felt his resolve waning. What if she was out? Worse, what if she was in? He wasn't sure he could handle seeing her without getting ... what exactly? Angry? Emotional? Something. He didn't really want to know. Standing by the stairs outside her property he stared ahead into an empty street.

[Farren Abercrombie]

It was the middle of the night but Farren was busy at work at the little antique writing desk in the sitting room that adjoined her bedroom. Hours ago her maid had come into her room to help her undress, let down her hair, and dress for bed but her turned down bed through the ornate double doors across the room was untouched. When Farren had taken up a job after the death of her husband she hadn't quite accounted for how busy it would be. She'd just assumed her little hobby of a job would fill her days from mid-morning to later afternoon but here she was a quarter to two still going through correspondence.

The house was quiet, her servants had gone to bed hours ago at this point, and she knew that by now the newly arranged security wizard the Rosier's had hired was on patrol, watching the house and it's perimeter.  When Mr. Rosier had paid her a call three weeks earlier to tell her he'd spoken with her Grandfather and agreed to install such a person at the home she'd been shocked. Of course she was very aware of the state of the world. Very aware of the growing political movement sweeping up people just like her, her mother included, but it seemed extreme to hire a security detail for the house. Mr. Rosier explained that Lord Voldemort, the rising right wing pureblood political leader, was becoming ruthless in his recruitment of witches and wizards. She wasn't quite sure why, purebloods were happy to join him so far as she knew. Nevertheless Mr. Rosier had insisted that as a high value social and political target she needed more watching over. So every night a burly ex-auror or some such person reported to a small closet they'd converted into a security office in the basement off the kitchens. As far as she knew he spend all night looking at dark detectors and reading mystery novels.

She'd not noticed her crups rise from beside the fire where they were sleeping and move to the door of the sitting room that led onto the main hallway of the floor. There was a pop and the dogs turned sharply as did she to see her house elf, Priss, standing next to her desk.

"Good lord, whatever are you doing out of bed at this hour Priss?"

The crups whimpered and scratched at the door as they looked between the elf and the door.

"Ma'am, I beg your pardon but there is an incident. You see, Mr. Stoddart has found someone.....lurking on the stoop."

Scowling Farren sat down her quill and turned to face the elf, "I'm sorry....what?"
"Yes. Just five minutes ago or less. He detected a wizard walking down the street and then he approached our home and is stood on the stoop. Mr. Stoddart aparated to the stoop and seized him immediately. Of course he quickly discovered that he was harmless so far as he could tell and is in fact a caller of Mrs. Rosier's."

"A man has come to the house? At this hour? To call on me?" She scowled still at the elf utterly confused.

"Yes Ma'am. It is verified that he is a Mr. Declan O'Dwyer of Dublin, the friend you hosted in the garden in August and attended that ball with in October. Mr. Stoddart checked his wand and checked to make sure it was not another using polyjuice potion, concealment, or that Mr. O'Dwyer was not under the influence of the Imperious Curse."
"Merlin....was that really necessary? It's Declan, I could identify him immediately...."

"He has him downstairs in the kitchen. Mr. Stoddart wants to know if you want to see him or if he should take him home?"

Farren stood slowly from her desk, brow furrowed, it was extremely odd for Declan to just show up here nevermind it was bizarre hours. She'd not seen him since they attended the ball in October. It had been an odd evening. Their prior meeting had been so fun and full of merriment but the public outing at the ball had somehow felt heavy, far from how she'd expected it to go. She'd assumed at the time that he was just uncomfortable in the public eye or that she was too 'on' during such an event and he found her public face off putting. It wasn't something she'd stewed about too long at the time. It was only when weeks went by without him calling on her again that she had started to realize it'd gone more wrong than she'd thought. What exactly it was she still wasn't sure.

"No, have him brought up to see me," she concluded, reaching for the glass of whiskey sitting on the desk. Her elf looked at her skeptically and she knew why. In her satin and sheer organza dressing gown she was not at all suited to receive a male visitor. Though compared to many of the modern fashions she was well covered, the sheer bodice of the gown left nothing to the imagination so far as her figure and the simple black silk slip she had on under the mauve dressing gown was in fact underwear. If anyone outside of the home were to hear that Farren Abercrombie Rosier had received Declan O'Dwyer in her pajamas in her private sitting room just meters from her turned down bed previously shared with her husband it would be a scandal. A much bigger scandal than her being photographed earlier in the week leaving an atelier with a homosexual, half blood, social climbing fashion designer.

But who would tell? Mr. Stoddart was sworn to secrecy. Her servants as well. Declan despised press and attention. So she saw very little risk here and a great deal of leverage. Declan was formal, proper, and nervous. She assumed when he'd come snooping around hours before dawn he hadn't expected to end up in her private sitting room with her in her underwear and a dressing down. If he truly had wanted to pursue something with her as he said nothing would propel it forward like this.

The elf disappeared, back to the kitchens no doubt where Declan was likely being offered tea and a glare from Mr. Stoddart. With her marching orders he would be marched up the stairs back to the main foyer. Up the sweeping staircase to the third floor and marched to the end of the long marble hall lined with Rosier paintings towards her private chambers. He'd be escorted into the sitting room, the open double doors of her bed room directly across from the doors he would enter making it very clear he was in the most private part of the house. Farren waited for him, standing beside the fire, facing the doors, her glass of whiskey and melted ice in hand. She wasn't sure what she was playing at yet but she could put on a little bit of a show to make him come clean about just what he was doing snooping around her house.

Mr. Stoddard entered the room, Declan trailing behind him in the hall, he announced Declan and waited for Farren to dismiss him which she did immediately. The crups surprisingly sat at attention at her feet, perplexed at the late night interruption and unsure if it was safe to leave their mistress unattended. As they laid eyes on Declan though their tails began to wag, their bums barely sticking to the floor they were so excited.

"Declan," Farren said her tone smooth and confident, "I can honestly say I wasn't expecting an ambush tonight but am intrigued nonetheless as to whatever it is that brought you to my door."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

Declan was still caught in his moment of indecision when a rather butch looking fellow pressed his wand into his side. Declan had vaguely noticed the guy creeping up on him but hadn't thought that the other man was actually about to come for him. After all, he was just standing around, minding his own business.

"You don't want to be pointing that at me," Declan said icily. 

He was in no mood for anybody's nonsense tonight. If this creep was spoiling for a fight, he would be sure to give him one. Just because Declan didn't enjoy duelling, didn't mean that he couldn't or that he was bad at it. Quite on the contrary, having grown up the son of an internationally renowned duellist he was quite capable when it came down to it.

He summoned his wand to him from the pocket he kept it in and wrapped his fingers around it quickly. "Now I suggest you back off, before I get unpleasant."

The wizard stated some nonsense about being Mrs Abercrombie-Rosier's newly appointed security detail. Since when did Farren require such measures? Surely, she was capable enough as a witch to hold her own. Well, her family was probably the kind to rather be safe than sorry. After all, she hadn't produced any heirs yet. Oh, what a thought.

Decan half listened as the wizard lectured him about not loitering on Abercrombie-Rosier property and that he was to leave if he didn't have any business here. Declan considered it for a moment, but he had come all the way to drop off Farren's Christmas present. He explained as much to the buffoon in front of him, but apparently, he was having none of it. No, he could not just place it in the mailbox. Apparently, his identity would need to be verified first.

He had no idea how the guy intended to accomplish just that, but mostly out of the desire to not produce a scene in the middle of the night went along with it. He was dragged into the kitchen, where the idiot cast some tests on him to determine that he was not under the influence of the Imperius curse. It was ... laughable.

"Can I see your wand, Sir?" the guy asked and Declan had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He handed over the elder wood and kelpie mane heirloom piece.

"I don't need a wand to cast," he said grumpily. "One scratch on that though and you will regret having laid your hands on it."

Declan didn't usually have a temper, but this absurd and uncivilised behaviour was getting to him.

"Now that this is over and done with can you please just hand the box to the lady of the house? I would rather be on my way."

He got the distinct impression that the gentleman he was faced with did not believe him that he knew Farren. He seemed insistent of wanting to notify her of his presence, perhaps to test if he would back down when threatened with the prospect of coming face to face with the Mistress of the mansion.

Declan just gave him a cold look. Whatever. At this rate she was going to hear about his visit anyway. What did it matter if it was now or in a couple of hours?  It would be supremely awkward and uncomfortable either way. And there was a part of him that was quite determined to stand up to this Stoddard fellow. He wouldn't be talked down to by some security gopher.

The man escorted him up to the third floor, not a part of the house he had been to before. It felt quite intimate with all those family paintings and memories lined up along the walls. Eventually, they stepped into a sitting room, where they came face to face with Farren. Goodness, had they just woken her on his account? Given the hour and her state of dress it seemed likely. Holy mother of Merlin, talk about making a fuss over nothing.

Stoddard was dismissed and Declan found himself gaping at Farren and her two crups. She looked like a goddess or a nymph, taken straight from a painting. He was mad at her, wasn't he? He found it hard to remember for a minute exactly just how he'd felt, thirstily drinking in her beauty, and losing himself in the moment. She was, as she'd always been; to die for. It was easy to picture himself doing certain things with her. Then her voice clipped across the room.

"Well, neither was I," he responded pointedly. "I thought I would drop of your Christmas present when I was accosted by that ruffian that passes as security around here. If he wasn't in your employ, I might have felt compelled to cast a blasting curse to get him off me. The audacity."

"Anyway, please forgive my intrusion. I had no actual plan of coming in at this hour. It's rather late to be calling and I know you prefer to spend your time in the company of others lately, so I wouldn't want to impose."

He set the present down on a low table with a dull thud.

[Farren Abercrombie]

Farren couldn't help but smirk at the way he said neither was he or how he referred to her Auror guard as a ruffian. "Yes, Mr. Stoddart is a new addition to the household. It seems that a great conflict is unfolding in both the Rosier and Abercrombie camps about my political allegiance. Apparently this Lord Voldemort chap is in dire need of well connected socialites to fuel his campaign within the upper echelons of society.  So Grandfather and Mr. Rosier are concerned about his ruffians harassing me. Though when your own mother is one of them I'm not sure how effective private security is."


Her expression softened slightly, it was an honest answer, and one she knew if he put some thought into it he would likely agree with. As ridiculous as it seemed to her there were new rumors daily about this Tom Riddle - Lord Voldemort and his devotees. Muggles had been killed. There was talk about his followers mounting a major political upset in the nearing elections. Many purebloods she knew of had already been seduced to some degree by his politics despite the killings. Absurd though it may be she was somehow a force within society and perhaps that was a valuable thing? "Mr. Stoddart was in the Ministry for many years training Aurors before striking out on his own into private security which is a bit more lucrative with the right types than a government deal. Perhaps interrogating my harmless friends is not exactly his strong suit."


Ned was satisfied enough with her relaxed demeanor and tone to approach Declan, head lowered, his forked tail wiggling so violently the entire backend moved with it. The dog lowered himself to the floor rolling onto his back at Declan's feet waiting for pets. Arching her eyebrow at his shameless begging Farren shook her head, "See, my own dogs are bloody useless, they had to hire me an Auror to keep my own mother out of my house."

It sounded ridiculous because it was. The political situation was increasingly tense by the day but even she felt like Stoddart was going to end up fighting off her own relatives before he ever ran into Tom Riddle.

The way he said she'd preferred other company as of late caught her attention. It snagged on the doubt she'd thought about in weeks past as to why he'd stopped calling on her. He made it sound like she'd rejected him and for a moment she scowled, sucking in her cheeks her face looking fierce.

"Well," she tilted her head almost as if she were shrugging off his complaint, "I do generally prefer to spend time with people that come to call and seek out my companionship."

It was unclear what he was referring to exactly. She spent time with plenty of people. There was no one event in her mind she could immediately recall that he would know of. He neither socialized with her crowd nor made any effort to join the parties and events they frequented.

"As you can see I am more than willing to entertain you when you call. Perhaps you should try calling during more reasonable visiting hours and giving me the courtesy of being able to prepare and dress appropriately?"

The gift was curious. She'd not thought to get him a holiday gift. Then again her staff handled almost all such things, slipping a suggested gift list into her daily morning papers a couple weeks before the holiday to review and amend. Clearly her staff had not included him on that list as he'd been absent since October.

"Thank you though," she added her gaze darting to the box he sat down on her table, "For the gift, not calling on me at 2am, though I suppose 2am is better than never if I'm already awake as is."

Looking over at him she resisted the urge to purse her lips and shrink back into herself wondering why he'd stopped calling. She was not going to let him push her onto her backfoot in her own house at 2am. He'd stopped calling, he could pout about it all he wanted; it was still his own damn fault.

[Declan O'Dwyer]

Mr Stoddard. Farren's explanation of the man's presence made sense, though Declan didn't particularly like any of what he was hearing. Hm, both the Rosier and the Abercrombie families worried? That sounded serious. It also painted a rather disappointing picture of the world and times they lived in. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that this effort to protect Farren was a little farcical. If Lord Voldemort really wished to see her, Declan very much doubted that Mr Stoddard's attempts to prevent it would make much of a difference. Especially given the political allegiance of Farren's mother.

Ah, she agreed with his scepticism. Declan raised an eyebrow and gave her a look as if to say that indeed he knew and understood. "Perhaps," he agreed with her. "You could always use him as a manservant, if nothing else. I do believe you like bossing people around." The expression on his face hard turned vaguely playful. Apparently, the vodka he'd enjoyed earlier had gone straight to his head. Almost as soon as he'd said the words he realised that maybe they were not so appropriate.

Thankfully, his attention was momentarily diverted from Farren as her crup was making his way over to her. Was that Ned or was that Jeff? He hadn't quite gotten the hang of telling those two apart yet. Seeing the belly on offer, Declan crouched down to oblige the animal with a pet. "Hello Ned, or Jeff. Whichever one you are. Yes, yes, I'm happy to see you too." He gave belly rubs and stroked the crup behind the ears. "I'm so glad there is at least someone here who appreciates my company."

Farren, meanwhile, was griping over him not having called in a while. It felt surreal. Given the Bannatyne Ball he'd awkwardly tried to accept that perhaps his affection for her had been a little one-sided. Subsequent news coverage had confirmed it in his mind, and yet here she was sounding like she had missed him and like he somehow had it all wrong. It made his head swim. Was she really saying that anything would be different if only he'd been in touch? He rather wanted to believe it, but she was probably just joking around with him. He'd seen her do this exact same thing countless times. Even back in school she'd enjoyed teasing boys into believing they had a shot with her when in reality it was entirely out of the question. Strangely, it was a quality he liked in her, even if objectively it was probably not a very nice trait.

Declan narrowed his eyes, and suddenly looked up at her with a strange, half-calculated look on his features. Well, two could play that game. Maybe, he should give her a taste of her own medicine, or at least respond in a way that would make her a bit uncomfortable.

"I don't know, Farren. As much as the intrusion at this late hour may not have been intentional, I can't bring myself to regret it. Especially given the state of dress. That sheer fabric is rather beautiful. I dare say I might have to stop by at this time more often to see what else I have been missing out on with you."

He shooed Ned away so he could get back up on his feet. "What's keeping you up this late anyway? Seems like a rather ungodly hour to still be up."

[Farren Abercrombie]

His pithy comment about her seeking other company and bossing people around was starting to fall into place. Of what exactly she wasn't sure why. Her life was mostly work these days. She'd accepted no other invitations from men since their outing at the ball and made no formal public appearances. Pyxis had resumed his duties as her defacto escort to all social events. It was his own fault he'd not called on her after turning in a rather stiff and awkward performance at their first public outing. But she was starting to see where her old friend stood. He was jealous.


"Is that what you want Declan?" she asked arching her eyebrow. The envelope had been pushed open; she might as well keep going. "Would you like me to boss you around too?" Now she was smirking.

"That is Ned....the traitor," she said watching the dog offer his belly to Dec. With him crouching on the floor she dared to step a bit closer to him, casually of course, as if just keeping close enough to continue the conversation. This wouldn't betray the fact that she just wanted to be closer to him, even if he was a total prat. "Don't be so proud of yourself, Ned is a whore, he'd let anyone pet him." she smirked again. Just using vulgar language around him felt fun. Perhaps it was the whiskey, perhaps it was the late hour, mostly though it seemed to be Declan making her feel so impish.

Watching him she felt something between longing and regret. Part of her was almost annoyed he was touching the dog instead of her. He met her gaze with an expression she'd not seen since they were kids. Certainly not one he'd let slip during their rather formal meetings of late.
Not that she hadn't enjoyed his company or thought about his promise to try and seek something more than platonic friendship. She certainly had but it was at the ball when she realized something was amiss in these over produced, almost behaviorally sterilized dates if you could call them that. They'd been trying to impress each other as if they were strangers but strangers they were not. The formality of behavior society had beat into them had veiled their natural, long standing dynamic.

However she was not prepared for what he dished out to her now. It was almost impossible to mask her shock. No man, not even her late husband, had suggested he wanted to show up at her house to find her in various states of undress or worse perhaps. She felt more aroused than offended at his nearly vulgar suggestion. It was exactly what she'd wanted from him in some form at the ball and afterwards when instead he'd just disappeared. A direct suggestion that he felt the same butterflies she did, that he looked at her and thought about kissing her, that when he left her company he went home and thought about her in ways no gentleman should.


He was being a scoundrel. Purposefully pushing her buttons. But she liked it. A lot. Quick on her feet as ever she hardly let the moment slip away. Taking another step closer to him so he could admire her at closer range, close enough that he would now be forced to turn his neck up to see her from where he crouched on the floor. Looking down at him she smirked, "If you're so curious about what you're missing out on with me showing up at ten o'clock when the maid draws my bath might be more illuminating than coming back at two o'clock again. Unless, watching me sleep is what gets you going.," she said in a silky tone. Her gaze matched his and for a moment she stared at him, hoping to see a flicker of what she felt behind his grey eyes.

But she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of seeing her like that, searching his face for more affection and desire than he was willing to openly admit to. So after a moment she forced herself to turn her gaze from him and turned her gaze to the open bedroom door several meters behind her. That in and of itself was more suggestive. Pulling her gaze from his, having just suggested he come view her bathing, to look directly towards her neatly turned down bed. But she did have a purpose beyond vulgar suggestion, right hand extending her wand came flying across the bedroom into the parlor and into her outstretched hand. An elegant flourish and two glasses of fine whiskey over ice appeared on the table next to the gift.

"Work of course," she said simply moving to pick up the glasses. "We are about to launch a new bit in the paper. Much more high profile than we've done before.  Freddie Anderson is a designer who is dressing the most handsome people in London and Paris. In coordination with a French publication we're doing a massive spotlight and multiple page spread of a photo fashion show." She then realized what might be causing his sore spot and the bizarre suggestions that she preferred others now.

Farren was well aware that absent the tailored gowns, stays, boning, and stockings there was almost nothing left to his imagination with only two thin layers of fine silk between him and her bare form. So she moved deliberately, elegantly towards him, holding out the glass of whiskey for him to take.

"It was supposed to be a secret until it hit the newsstands. But the other week some sneaky paparazzi spotted him and I leaving his atelier after a meeting.  I would be upset but Freddie is a darling and if this helps shield him from the unkind chatter about him being a poof, well, seems a small price to pay isn't it? It'd be a shame for his entire career to be ruined over something so trivial compared to his talent."

She was standing but a couple feet from him now. Her expression was smug and satisfied but she seemed happy. Raising her own glass of whiskey towards him she smiled a little. "Should we toast to my humanitarian work shielding homosexuals from ridicule or to you accidentally walking yourself into the scenario you've probably been dreaming about for months?"

[Declan O'Dwyer]

It was on. Farren stepped closer, apparently taking his inappropriate behaviour as a challenge. Declan smiled. It was rather fun to push her buttons and see how she responded. The way she looked at him stole his breath away. Where had this been the last couple of times they'd met? It had been all coy and tame, but this, whatever it was, had a little more grit. His eyes followed her as she looked to the bedroom. Oh, this was bold.

A moment later he realised her purpose was just to prepare a drink, but her little show had made an impact all the same. He found himself unable to look away from her now, drinking her all in. My, she did look rather tempting in this night robe.

She started talking work and he snapped his attention back to her eyes, rather than the rest of her figure. Freddie Anderson, fashion. He thought he'd overheard some ladies talking about the man in his shop, but the name didn't really mean anything to him. To Farren, however, this gent and his work seemed to matter a great deal. He had to be really good then. Declan knew that Farren had always been rather particular and stylish about her wardrobe. If this Freddie had impressed her, he probably was quite exceptional.

A pause, she handed him one of the drinks.

More of an explanation on Freddie followed. She'd been photographed with him. He was not really interested in her. He supposed it fit the set of circumstances he was aware of and he most certainly wanted to believe her, but there was something scratching at his brain warning him to be cautious. She was messing with him, wasn't she? What?! A toast to what he'd been dreaming about for months? He gave her a quizzical expression, raising one eyebrow.

"Only an Englishwoman would add ice to a fine whiskey," he said, dismissing the question she had actually asked him. Surely, having grown up so close to the Scottish border she had to know better than this. Using his wandless magic he fished the ice cube out of the drink holding it mid air for a moment. "If I didn't know you," he teased, "I'd think you were trying to insult me." With an elegant flick of the wrist, he floated the ice cube towards her. For a moment it seemed as though he was about to run it along her clavicle, letting it hover near the bone, before vanishing it with a soft pop.

"I think we should drink to when we'll meet again. Was it 10pm you said?" His uneven eyes met hers in challenge, curious to find out what she would have to say to that.

"And am I invited to the celebration of you attaining sainthood, for rescuing poor homosexuals in need? I mean, it sounds like quite the selfless act. Though, I must say that it rather wounds my ego. I was hoping I'd at least be traded in for an eligible bachelor. Instead, I'm outdone by a fashion designer. That stings."

[Farren Abercrombie]

She smirked, as he teased her about her whiskey preparation. How was she to know how to prepare drinks? That's what her servants did. If she cared about such things she might be wounded he'd insulted her attempt to make him a drink but these things didn't matter. He didn't actually care about the ice he was teasing her with. Looking down at the ice cube, her lashes fluttering downward with her gaze, she wondered how badly he wished he had the nerve to run the ice along her skin until it melted and his fingers slid across her wet skin.

"Scottish heritage or not I am an heiress not a kitchen maid. Do you think I prepare my own drinks under normal circumstances? I could call for a servant if you'd like things to be made more properly but I was rather enjoying entertaining you alone." she was teasing him still. His little ice cube trick didn't ruffle her feathers.

Not missing a beat she lifted her glass for their farce of a toast. As he charged his glass to their next meeting at 10 o'clock she smiled and stepped close enough to him so her outstretched glass could ding against his. "Indeed. 10 o'clock in the evening. I will leave this Floo open for you," she said cooly her blue eyes moving towards the fireplace along the nearest wall. It was incredibly improper. The mere suggestion of leaving a Floo connection open that led to her bedroom was wildly inappropriate. Offering it up in connection with her usual time to bathe was inviting scandal. But at this point she didn't really care. He liked this game. He wanted her and she was quickly realizing that she wanted him.

"Oh I wouldn't say it's a canonization," she retorted,  "Rather just a larger than usual party for the socialite, artsy, fashion-y set. Sadly there will be no Bishops or Popes there to anoint me even if I deserve it."

His position was more obvious than ever but nonetheless ridiculous. "I don't think it's fair to say you've been replaced. That implies that you made advances or efforts I rebuffed.  After the ball there were no flowers, you didn't come to formally call, and you sent me no owls requesting additional meetings. In case you forgot I'm not one of your Irish country girls that swoons when the O'Dwyer heir walks past my market stall. I'm Farren Abercrombie Rosier, I don't chase people and I don't push on doors that aren't left open. So far as I'm concerned you have no one to blame but yourself if you feel replaced. Afterall, I've accepted you now with open arms into a room no man has seen other than my late husband in garments no man has seen other than my late husband. Not even Pyxis is allowed in here. You can't hide behind insecurity about where my opinion lies on you now having been welcomed into my most private and personal space."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

She'd leave the Floo connection open? 10pm? Nobody had been in her quarters before safe her husband?

Farren's flirting seemed to cause two reactions at the same time. There was a part of him that felt quite flattered to have caught her attention. It adamantly insisted that he should take things further and see where the night would lead them. There was another, smaller part of him grappling with quite complex emotion. Did she really like him better when he was lewd and crass? Not only was that quite unexpected, but on some level also quite unwelcome. And yet his heart was beating faster and he could feel the blood pulsing in his veins.

His traitorous body insisted he go along with it, even if the rest of him was unconvinced. Up until now, he'd always thought about Farren as a future wife. He'd made it a point to treat her properly and respectfully, making sure that he never stepped out of line. He'd avoided any hint of innuendo. His thoughts had been preoccupied with marriage and finding a person he felt a genuine connection to. The more carnal nature of such relationships had faded into the background for him. He knew fine he wasn't the kind of man that women found particularly enticing. His preferences and emotional desires conflicted with the accepted norms of society.

Standing before her, in this charged situation, his mind still reeling from his jealous episode, he felt he finally saw clearly. He'd been projecting into her, hadn't he? Imagined he was seeing things that weren't really there. She just wanted a little fun, and why not? Sometimes, you couldn't have everything and a taste would have to be enough. He decided to enjoy it while it lasted, rather than trying to make them into something they were clearly not.

"Oh," Declan said with a little smirk. "Now, I understand. I'm supposed to pursue." He wasn't sure what compelled him into talking openly. Usually, his repression held him back from discussing the nature of things. Maybe, he'd really had rather too much of Master Penhaligon's vodka, or maybe it was the fact that she had just given carte blanche to do or say whatever he desired. The idea she could look at him that way, see him in that light was strange and new to him. Exhilarating. A little bit wrong. Maybe fun? He wasn't sure.

There was a part of his mind that was telling him to stop, but it couldn't curb the momentum of his instinct. He was free falling, just letting his things happen without trying to assert his usually quite tight control on them. "I'd always assumed you'd rather just take what you wanted," he teased her. He took an infinitesimally small step forward, holding her gaze for just a moment. "Thought I was dealing with a bold and confident woman."

He took another step forward, while counting the seconds in his mind. He'd decided to give her a moment to back down, just in case she changed her mind. Finding she was standing her ground, perhaps even daring him, he placed his hands on her waist, slowly pulling her towards him. He gently brushed her hair aside, before placing a light kiss on the side of her neck. "But if you'd rather be ravished, well, I shall see what I can do."

[Farren Abercrombie]

Her eyebrow arched, how could there be any question in his mind that he was supposed pursue her? Hadn't he said quite plainly that he wanted to see if there was something serious between them? She thought that his disappearance after the ball was a rather harsh but clear signal that his aspirations to potentially wed her had disappeared. What else was it all to mean if not that? Now that she thought about it again no man had ever just stopped calling. Not that she'd allowed many to call apart from Clive, but surely if she had, they'd have sent the contents of every flower shop on Diagon Alley the morning after a first public outing. "Isn't that typical? That when a man says he wants a serious relationship with a woman he pursues her? That's how these things are supposed to work."


His assumption was not surprising, everyone assumed she took and did what she wanted. Often she did. However this was entirely different. When they'd reconnected he'd jolted her emotionally. She'd never thought she would reunite with him and she'd never assumed someone she genuinely liked would want to marry her potentially. It was archaic and perhaps counter intuitive to how she outwardly presented but when it came to such matters she still very much felt like she was that same clueless, powerless, 21 year old girl who had greeted Clive Rosier into her sitting room for tea in Vienna and been engaged three weeks later.


It knocked her down a peg. As he stepped forward towards her, she felt her confidence waiver. "I never have to take anything. Most things I wanted are handed to me without question," she said her voice almost breathy, "Knowing that no one ever denies you what you want does tend to make one bold and confident." Her eyes were locked on his, her heart hammering so violently in her chest she thought she was becoming light headed. "But I was still raised how we were raised. I was still a quiet, submissive, obedient little Mrs. Rosier when it came down to it. You of all people should know my confidence is at least partially an act. That I'm not nearly as adventurous as I appear."

He stepped closer yet and she felt herself nearly swoon as he slid his hands around her waist. Declan O'Dwyer of all people was sending her. Most the men in London under 40 had tried to get close to her since Clive's death. Most of them she'd ignored. She'd never thought about Declan in that regard, it wasn't like she'd been waiting for him and pushing other men aside as she waited but now as her frame pressed into his she wondered if that was what the fates had dictated. Farren knew he was not what she'd ever imagined as her white knight, not the kind of man her family would ever want her with, and he was not the kind of man the press would be generous with. He was quiet and awkward much of the time. He was stiff and rather dull amongst the social set. People found him odd in both appearance and demeanor. But as he pulled her into him, his hands sliding confidently around her waist, she realized she didn't care.


Her breath caught in her chest as he pushed her hair out of the way and leaned into her. His lips were soft and warm, as he pressed them against her pulse she couldn't help but let her eyes fall closed. How many times had she looked at those lips during all these years? Thousands surely? She'd always found his mouth so alluring. This was a tease. Rather be ravished? Rather? Opening her eyes slowly she looked up at him searching his face for a hint of how sincere his comment was. She did want him to ravish her. It had been so long since a man had touched her. So long since she'd been kissed. It was only human nature to want it. But he made it sound like being ravished and being pursued were mutually exclusive.


"Rather?" she whispered softly. "Can a woman not have both?" Tenderly she reached up to his face, cupping his face gently turning his gaze back to hers. She didn't know what the clever, smooth move was here. Her heart was hammering in her chest, her head was light, and she was letting her weight fall into him to support her taking at least one stress off her body that seemed so confused. "I was so disappointed when you didn't call," she gasped softly her wall coming down so quickly it surprised even her.

"I thought you'd decided you didn't want me," she pursed her lips, swallowing the anxious lump in her throat. Slowly she pushed her left hand into his hair watching his face intently as she spoke her voice almost trembling, "I do want to be ravished, if you were a legilimens, you might be scandalized by the things in my mind when you're near me." A hint of a smile pulled at the corners of her lips, "How badly I want you to kiss me. How often I think of your lips against my skin as you speak."

Hesitantly she reached down and took his hand from his waist into her own and gingerly she guided his hand to her chest. Placing his hand over her heart she flattened his palm and fingers against her chest so he could feel how madly her heart was pounding. It was inappropriate, his fingertips brushing the chiffon collar of her robe, his palm pressed against the bare skin of her chest. If she wasn't light headed before she was now.

"Don't you feel it though?" she asked softly, "How my heart beats wildly when you're close to me? It's like this always when you're near. Even when I seem cool and collected. Even when we are doing nothing but chatting, it won't stop. So as much as I long to be ravished I'm rather certain that my fickle heart would not be content with just a ravishing. I need more than that. I thought that was what you wanted from me? More than that, more than friends, more than we'd had with others...." she sighed, her gaze dropping to his lips for a moment as her confidence wavered. "If I have no other option left on the table with you and you promise to be a gentleman about it, I will settle for being ravished. But if you're still interested, I'd very much like to have both. The ravishing and the pursuit of something more. There is no one else who has been given such an offer because there is no one else who makes my heart burst when he is near. You've not been replaced, nor will you be, unless you tell me it is done and your disposition has truly changed."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

"And you take me for typical?" Declan asked softly. He was still holding her close, having no intention of letting her slip his grasp. If anything, his grip on her waist firmed up around the narrowest part, holding her steadily, as if to assert that he had no intention of backing down.

As her words and demeanour softened he found himself caught by surprise. Of course, he knew that Farren was not as bold and fearless as she let on and, yes, he'd been aware that she could be quite insecure, but he'd not expected it in this moment. She was always teasing and pushing the boundaries, how was it that she'd just melted from a little peck? Suddenly she was cupping his face and he saw a new, quite tender side to her. She seemed to be searching for something in his eyes, quite what she was looking for he wasn't sure of.

As she leaned into him for support his mind was trying to make sense of what had been said. What was she talking about? Could a bold and assertive woman also be pursued? He supposed it wasn't mutually exclusive. Then she confessed to being disappointed when he didn't call. What? He felt confused. How? He wasn't even sure that she liked him as more than a friend, though perhaps the moment they'd just shared was a bit of an indication. Declan didn't know if he wanted to trust her, but maybe there was a spark after all. He'd felt it before, and then he had thought it was gone and now it was reasserting itself with little regard for the havoc it wreaked on his heart.

Apparently, the rabbit hole went deeper. Her hand tangled in his hair as she told him that she had felt unsure of his intentions. How strange. He thought he had been perfectly clear on those and that it had been her who wasn't interested. He took a breath, trying to arrange the perfect response, but she kept speaking. She was burning for him? She wanted to be ravished? He'd only been half teasing me half serious before. The intensity of her confessions rather took him by storm. Suddenly, feeling just a little unsteady he was glad she was leaning into him, not witnessing his confused expression. Just what was happening here tonight? Was she drunk? She hadn't seemed that far gone. Was she confusing him with somebody else? She had to be.

He realised in that moment that he had been quite foolish. He'd put her up on a pedestal and looked up to her, perhaps almost expecting her to remain stoic and indifferent. Here she was, more of less offering herself up to him and he wasn't quite sure he knew what to do with it yet. That's what he'd wanted all along. She asked him for his attentions tonight as well as something more serious as if these two things were in some sort of conflict with each other. Just where had she gotten the notion from that these things were in conflict? Had they been talking past each other?

His hand resting on her heart he could feel it almost leaping out of her chest. "In theory, you can have almost anything you wish for, at least, if you are brave enough. And I'm almost always a gentleman, Farren, but I don't think tonight is one of those occasions. Because, as far as I know, gentlemen don't do this." He ever so carefully disentangled his hand so he could push the fabric of her night gown off her shoulders. He was quite careful with it, not wanting the garment to fall and expose her fully. His interest, for now, was just her clavicle and the curve of her neck. His fingers trailed lightly along the shape of the bone.

Burying his other hand in her hair, he gently tilted her head to the side, planting a soft trail of kissing along the now exposed stretch of her neck and onto her shoulder. "And should you find you want more than this," he told her in-between his little touches, "then perhaps you should just take it. I don't hand myself over to anybody without question, as you put it a moment ago. Not even you."

[Farren Abercrombie]

As his fingers trailed over her skin, pushing the shoulder of her dressing gown and slip aside to expose her shoulder she felt things she'd not felt for many months. A rush of excitement, arousal, lust. His hand in her hair she had to physically stop herself from gasping as his lips pressed against her skin. Her mind was racing. Had she gone mad? Alone, in her bedroom parlor, not even half dressed, at two in the morning, with a man who was kissing her body? It was the kind of thing that would result in her parents forcing him to wed her at wand point if they were to find out. Was it the thrill of the moment or Declan that was making her swoon? Both, surely.

What he said didn't make much sense to her. If she were to want more than this? Hadn't she just said she wanted to be ravaged and courted? What was unclear about that? If those weren't marching orders what was she supposed to do? Why was he so bloody complicated?

Her gaze fluttered to his as she considered him. Was that what she really wanted? Did he just want her to announce it to him without waiting for him to do so? Honestly it was all very confusing. Perhaps things had changed since she was engaged and she was terribly out of the loop. It seemed highly unlikely but anything was possible. "Just take it?" she asked softly as she turned over what he wanted her to do.

Alas she had no idea what he wanted. It was frustrating. "O'Dwyer," she said her tone terse, "I just told you everything," Looking up at him her gaze was almost stern now. "But if you want me to take what I want then I suppose I will but don't expect this to be the norm."

Perhaps this was the bold and confident woman he wanted and expected now. It made her uncomfortable but she was growing tired of him being so vague and opaque when she was very clearly laying things out in an abnormally vulnerable way.

"We will court. You seem to want that and despite disappearing without a trace and making no effort to see me these last several weeks I am somehow still interested. So we will court. You will be the perfect gentleman in such things. Flowers, notes, formal calls, all that normal stuff to satisfy custom and our relations as much as we can. In the meantime our activities in private can be considerably less formal and less gentlemanly, within reason, though as much as I enjoy this I am rather open to even more unbecoming behavior than this."

Her brow twitched as if to ask him if he understood the terms of this arrangement. "Is that what you wanted? Bold and confident woman taking what she wants?" It was a rhetorical question and she lifted her free hand to cup the side of his face once again. "Shall I continue to take what I want then?"

Leaning in slowly she moved in towards his lips, her nose brushing his she gently pressed her lips to his. She stepped closer to him yet so that her body was flattened against his, so close that her thigh had to rest between his own to allow her to press her body so close to his. There was just enough time for him to pull back before she gently pulled his face into her and kissed him deeply.

[Declan O'Dwyer]

His kisses and teasing were pushing her to take action. Of course there was a part of him that had hoped for this, but her reaction still came very much unexpected. She was taking a leap of faith for him and it was the most amazing and breathtaking thing he could think of. Looking at her with soft admiration he listened intently as she spelled out the terms of his surrender. A deeply pleased smile settled into his features. Notes, flowers, formal calls. She wanted romance and it seemed something a little more scandalous too. A breathy 'as you wish' escaped his lips, his tone having taken on quite a sensual quality.

It was easy to tell that this was new ground for her. Her nerves were evident. She looked at him questioningly and he met her gaze dead on, feeling quite confident and sure of himself. "There's no need to be shy with me," he told her simply. "I know you." That, and he loved her.

The strange thing was, his mind had tried to picture this moment and had gone through a million different variations. None of them had been anything like this. While nervous and tentative and unsure, it was real and that mere fact blew his mind. Here he was standing in front of the most stunning witch in the entire country, being told that he was very much hers and very much wanted. How had that happened?

Suddenly she was so impossibly close it made his head swim. Her hands touched his face, gently pulling him forward. His eyes fell shut as she kissed him, a soft gasp escaping his lips. He remained passive for a moment before his arms wrapped around her quite tightly, locking her into place, unable to pull back. When he started returning her kiss, he did so ever softly, carefully grazing her lips in a way that was barely there, but not shyly. In fact, anything but. The way Declan kissed was marked by a sense of slow and reverent deliberation, taking his time to truly savour every second.

He pulled back for a moment to let her catch her breath, before kissing her again, more deeply and longingly. If he'd let her claim him a moment ago, this kiss was his way of asserting back some amount of authority. If he was hers, then she was very much his. His fingers found their way into her hair, pulling her into a position he found pleasing and that would leave her quite breathless. He continued the onslaught until he felt as though his lungs were on fire and he had no choice but to pull back.

He eased his hold on her, giving her a soft look. Declan felt elated. Charged. Ready to take on the world. Maybe, also a little bit bad, knowing he had probably confused her and owed her an answer or two. Usually, he found those hard to give, but the moment was so sweet and tender that it was less of a struggle to be emotionally open with her and not just slide his guards back into place.

"My beautiful Farren," he said to her softly, "you are amazing." He paused and gave her a little grin. "Now, you can't tell me this wasn't worth being bold for. You might have to get used to it."

[Farren Abercrombie]

As exciting as it all was. Her heart racing, his lips on hers, his hold on her so tight and dominating, she found her mind wandering. These feelings were new, surprising, almost unidentifiable as they washed over her. It was so thrilling and alluring it was distracting. She tried to push her thoughts away and focus only on the way his lips made hers tingle and the pleasurable tension of him pulling on her hair gently. But there it was, floating in her mind still.

Had she ever felt this before? Had she ever been so frank with a man? Had she ever been driven to such honesty? Such vulnerability? Such lust? What did all of this mean? Was this what it was supposed to feel like? Now she wasn't sure. She'd just demanded this man court her but now was unsure what she was supposed to feel. Was it this? Her body wanted him, that she was sure of, but had she rushed this in the heat of the moment?

By the time he eased his grip she was lost in the whirl or her mind and the rush of her hormones. Instantly she wanted him to grasp her tightly again. To control her body, to take liberties with her body, she felt rather like an animal in his grip. But she knew it would be wise to slow down and process things for a moment before she gave into her hormones and allowed him to go too far.

Sighing, trying to catch her breath she let her forehead rest against his. She smiled when he called her beautiful, everyone told her she was beautiful, but this was different. It felt better at least coming from him. But she was still unsure if she'd just rushed a massive decision for both of them. Without his lips pressed against her things were slightly less fuzzy but not much.

"Maybe," she said softly when he said she might have to get used to being bold. Her insecurities about the last three minutes were coming up, she could feel it. "Perhaps I was too bold? I assume this means you gladly consent to my demands? You have not actually affirmed your agreement or desire for this arrangement verbally. I would prefer you did so I can hear it plainly and know where you stand on no uncertain terms."

Lifting her head from his she let her hand slowly slide from his cheek to his shoulder, her finger tips trailing lazily along the line of his collar and the seams of his jacket. She was still close but far enough that he would be able to clearly see the wheels turning in her head as she backtracked through her brazen conquest of him. "I feel rather unsure of how things are supposed to be if I'm frank. Are we supposed to feel like this? All nervous and weird but also like I want you to do unspeakable things to me?" Her cheeks flushed and her eyes darted from his to the drinks they'd discarded on the small table next to the gift that had prompted all of this.


The nerves were getting the best of her but she found comfort in him being so close. Already she could feel herself giving into instincts she'd either never had or never noticed before. Again she stepped into his frame, letting her body press gently into his as her chin found a place to rest on his shoulder, her temple against his cheek. There were so many questions floating around in her mind she wasn't even sure where to start. Farren needed ample confirmation that her affections and feelings were supported and reciprocated  and that she wasn't forcing him into something but she also wanted Declan who was ever so slightly more unconventional than her to tell her how this was going to work.

A courtship outside the blessing and direction of their families was unorthodox even if it was almost 1970. Though the O'Dwyers were slightly more liberal than the Abercrombies she assumed that they would be less than thrilled at his choice. Even if the families had no public qualms or standing grievances there were plenty of other grounds for both to object over. First of all going it alone without them would enrage her family and likely his. Families like theirs viewed them as fine breeding stock as much as they were children.  She assumed the O'Dwyers would not be thrilled Declan had selected an English glamour puss for a potential wife instead of a homely but land holding Irish farm girl or some sort. Her mother and Grandmother would be absolutely disappointed that she had chosen him over some kind of English Adonis. Then there would be the resounding disappointment on both sides of the politics of the other family. All of that on top of their vastly different takes on society, press, and use of their power within those spaces. It was surely going to be a complicated affair of events she assumed.


"How is this going to go then? Last time I was in a courtship everyone told me what to do, where to go, how to act, what to wear.....I know it's silly but I have no idea how to do this without the stage direction of our families. Is this that kind of courtship or are we doing like the mudbloods and....what do they call it? Dating? Please, tell me what you see happening here and then kiss me again so that I can enjoy it without all these small anxieties competing with the way your lips feel on my skin for attention in my mind."

[Declan O'Dwyer]

The moment he let go, there was room for doubt to enter the picture. Strangely enough, it wasn't him struggling this time, but rather her. He hadn't seen that coming, even if she had warned him mere moments ago. She wasn't always confident. Of course. But how exactly had his kiss left her with any doubt on the matter? He rather thought he'd made his feelings and intentions perfectly clear.

He was a little surprised she wanted him to spell it all out to her, but he could easily oblige her on this. What was even more surprising was her desire for rules and structure. He'd have thought after half a lifetime of pureblood customs being foisted on her she'd enjoy having a break. After all, it were usually the women who had to deal with regressive and oppressive traditions curtailing their freedom. He raised an eyebrow at her words, waiting for her to finish speaking before giving her his response.

"Farren," he tried to reassure her gently. "You know me and have known me for years. I don't play games. If I hadn't meant it, I would have never guided you down this path to begin with. Of course I want you. Of course I'm yours. Probably have been for some time. You just didn't notice." A little smile played around his lips and he placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I've always wanted you. I just convinced myself you wouldn't feel the same way."

It was a strange relief to actually say it. He'd kept it bottled up for so long it was liberating to just own it and put it all out there in the open. "I'm perhaps more untraditional than you give me credit for. I don't care what my family wants or how they expect us to do things. It's our lives. If we're to spend the rest of our time together, don't we deserve some say in the matter? I'm not going to be told how and when to see you."

His eyes met hers. "The only orders on this I'll take gladly are yours. You deserve to get what you want. Above all, I'd want for you to be happy and in love. As for me, well, I want to be certain that I am wanted as I am, not for my money or connections, not for politics, but for who I am. I... don't take me wrong, I love my family and our culture... but I won't tolerate my future wife and I being treated as pawns in one of these games."

His expression had grown more and more serious, but was starting to soften again. "I always intended to marry for love." He didn't care if that made him a rebel or perhaps naive. "I guess I should tell you that it's not my nature to bend others to my will. So if you want me, I need you to be bold and brave. I want to be told what it is you want, so I have a fighting chance in making it all come true. And I suppose you should know that I am the happiest when I know I've made you happy. So take all you want. I'll gladly give."

Following her initial request as outlined, he leaned in for another kiss. This time the touch of his lips was light and teasing, just grazing her lips, but refusing to let out the passion that was building up inside of him just yet.