Temptation in Crimson

Sebastian's carriage waited in the narrow alley behind Genevieve's house, shrouded in shadow. The lamps had been dimmed, and the horses stood quietly, as if aware of the clandestine nature of the evening. Sebastian leaned against the door, arms crossed, his patience thinning by the second.

At last, the back door creaked open, and Amelia emerged, her figure hidden beneath a heavy cloak. The hood obscured most of her face, leaving only the soft outline of her lips visible beneath the flickering light. Genevieve stood behind her, smirking.

"Try not to stare too much, Sebastian," Genevieve called in a singsong voice. "She's almost unrecognizable, but we wouldn't want you making a scene before you even get there."

"I'll manage," Sebastian muttered, offering his hand as Amelia approached.

She stepped into the carriage without a word, her fingers barely grazing his. The door shut firmly behind her, and the carriage lurched forward. Inside, the dimness pressed in, leaving only the faint outlines of their forms.

Sebastian glanced at her cloaked figure. "It's best you say as little as possible tonight. You'll be a mistress from the countryside, new to London, inexperienced. If you stumble, it'll be more believable."

Amelia's voice, rich with amusement, broke through the dark. "So I am to be ignorant and quiet. How delightful."

Sebastian's mouth twitched, but he refrained from replying. It was safer that way.

The carriage slowed outside the back entrance of The Frisky Duchess, and Sebastian stepped out first. The street was alive with flickering lanterns and low murmurs. He scanned the area before offering his hand to Amelia once more.

Her grip tightened briefly as she descended, still cloaked, still hidden.

Inside, the warmth of the gaming hell enveloped them, a stark contrast to the cool night air. Laughter and the clinking of glasses filled the space, while masked patrons moved fluidly through the room. The air was heavy with perfume and smoke.

Sebastian guided her toward the cloakroom, where the attendant swiftly retrieved their outerwear with practiced efficiency.

As Amelia unfastened the clasp at her neck, the heavy cloak slid from her shoulders into the attendant's waiting hands. She turned and gave Sebastian his first full look.

Sebastian's breath caught. The transformation was startling, her hair, now darker and pinned high, framed her face in a way that made her eyes appear sharper, more pronounced. The gown, daring in its plunging cut, sculpted her figure with bold precision, he had been aware that she had a lovely figure, but her previous well-worn shapeless dresses managed to hide most of her curves. Even in the dim light, the crimson stain of her lips demanded attention, a sharp contrast against the dark fabric. The ensemble treads a very fine line, respectable enough to pass scrutiny, yet every detail whispered of temptation and sin.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe.

Amelia arched a brow, catching his stare. "Satisfied, Lord Allendale? Am I wholly believable to not be me?" A surge of power that came with holding his attention struck her swiftly. She wanted to savor it, to tuck this moment away for the days when she felt helpless, felt invisible. If only she could bottle the way Sebastian's eyes trailed over her, dark and unreadable, tracing every curve as if committing them to memory.

Sebastian cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away. "It'll do."

Before Amelia could respond, two men approached glasses in hand. Sebastian stiffened as they glanced at Amelia with open appreciation.

"Well, well, Sinclair," one drawled. "And who's this gem on your arm tonight? New acquaintance?"

"From the countryside," Sebastian said curtly, stepping slightly in front of her. "Move along."

The men exchanged amused glances, lingering longer than necessary.

Amelia, clearly enjoying herself, leaned in just enough to catch their attention. Her lashes fluttered as she offered a sweet, practiced smile. Maggie had taught her well, the art of speaking volumes without uttering more than a few words.

"I'm afraid I'm terribly new to London. I do hope I'm making a good impression. Lord Allendale wasn't quite sure I was up to snuff, not like the last one." Her voice trailed off delicately, her gaze lifting to Sebastian with a soft, adoring glimmer that sent a ripple of tension through him.

He could only stare.

"Oh, with a face like that, who cares what comes out of your mouth?" The taller of the two men grinned, his eyes unabashedly raking over Amelia. "Why not take off the mask and let us decide for ourselves?"

Sebastian's grip on restraint thinned to a fraying thread. He wasn't sure what infuriated him more, Amelia's boldness, the way she delivered each word like honey or the men who openly ogled her. Worse still was the realization that he had done the very same thing just moments ago.

Sebastian's hand closed around hers, firm but not painful, as he led her away. His jaw was tight, and Amelia could practically feel the tension radiating from him. She smiled.

"That was unnecessary," he muttered.

Amelia's eyes sparkled with mischief. "I was making sure my act was believable. I do believe you were the one who said my mouth was only for retorts. But it seems like others might have a different idea." 

Sebastian couldn't be sure if Amelia understood what she was saying or it was just a poor choice of words. He also wondered if his own brain was taking this too far. Sebastian decided not to answer, but the stiffness in his shoulders betrayed his thoughts. As they wove deeper into the crowd, Amelia felt the shift, the unspoken awareness crackling between them. And she loved it. 

For all his grumbling, Sebastian had yet to let go of her arm.