Schemes vs. Seduction

Chapter One: The fine art of being over-protective

Bleach; Ichihime AU Regency England

Word Count: 1481

Warning: none

Disclaimer: all characters herein are the property of Kubo Tite.

*My contribution to this year's FLOL Writing Challenge*

I collaborated with the lovely and talented Child of the Ashes on this project. She created a beautiful piece of art that complements this story perfectly. It can be found here (please remove the spaces): http:/ child-of-the-ashes. deviantart. com/ art/ FLOL-Fanwork-Challenge-253302134

Thank you, Child of the Ashes; it was a pleasure working with you.

~o0o~

Snapping his pocket watch closed, Ichigo threw in his hand before giving up his seat to a young buck watching the ongoing game. He nodded across the table to his friend, letting him know he was off to greener pastures and company more amiable than those present. Renji shook his head and tossed a chip on the pile, smirking. After three months of rusticating in the country, any man would be apt to search out sweeter company than that found in the stuffy card room.

Stopping in the doorway to the packed ballroom, Ichigo, Lord Kurosaki, the only son of Isshin and Masaki Kurosaki and heir to the Earldom of Blackpoint, straightened his pattern waistcoat and scowled at the tightly packed bodies between him and his escape. He had done his duty and showed up. Some meddlesome dowager would undoubtedly inform his mother tomorrow over tea that he was unpleasant as always and didn't stand up for even a single dance. True. However, his mother hadn't asked him to dance, only to simply attend. And he had done so.

Now, he could leave. But first…

As was habit for him, Ichigo withdrew to a spot hidden from the room at large but one that still afforded him a clear view of the packed dance floor and scanned the crowd, searching. He couldn't leave without first seeing that a certain someone was present and accounted for. He frowned when he instead spotted another familiar face standing uncharacteristically alone at the edge of the floor.

"Why aren't you dancing?"

Starting at the gruff voice coming from behind her shoulder, Rukia Kuchiki, sister of the Marquise of Rotterwood, snapped her fan closed and lifted her chin as Ichigo stepped into the minuscule open space at her side. "I'm still waiting for someone to ask me."

"Not me I hope?" His mouth curved down at the corners, horrified at the thought of dancing in this crush.

"Heavens no, not you." she muttered scathingly, hiding an unladylike snort behind her painted fan. "You're the last person I'd wish to dance with. No offense, but your dark scowl would have these timid young misses fainting dead away. What a tedious pain that would be."

Ichigo glanced down at the top of her head. Her short black hair was styled in a nimbus of curls that surrounded her delicate face and her unfussy high waisted gown of primrose-yellow silk complimented her without overwhelming her petite frame. A beautiful woman like her shouldn't have to linger at the fringes of the dance floor alone. "He's in the card room playing Loo if you'd like me to flush him out."

Rukia tensed. "Thank you, but no. He knows where I am. Once he realizes my brother has already left for the evening, he'll find me himself." She looked pointedly up at him, "Without any interference from you."

Shrugging inwardly, Ichigo returned to looking over the crowd. If he could just find who he was looking for, then he could leave with a clear conscience. Impatient with his search, his long fingers, clad in formal white gloves, threaded through his bright orange hair, destroying his long-suffering valet's earlier work of taming the unruly locks.

From the corner of his eye, a flash of bright peacock blue skirts caught his attention and his eyes unerringly lifted to the vexing white lace cap covering an unmistakable mass of russet colored curls. There she was. Watching her dip and turn in step with the music, he relaxed until she turned once more and he saw her face. Her mobile mouth was curved up in delight, but her eyes weren't smiling.

His expression automatically hardened. "What's wrong with Orihime?"

His abysmally short companion stood on tiptoe to see, tilting her head this way and that before giving him an odd look. "Nothing's wrong. She's smiling and dancing, obviously having a wonderful time."

"I wouldn't go that far. She's holding herself stiffly and there's something about her eyes …"

"Being critical, are we?" she murmured acerbically and nodded pleasantly in greeting to a passing matron before continuing. "While you may not see Orihime as attractive, other men-"

"Stop trying to put words in my mouth; of course I find her attractive."

She looked at him doubtfully. "One would never know to see you two together. You seem more like siblings, with you playing the part of overprotective brother."

He ignored her comment. It was one he'd heard many times before, even if it wasn't true. Ichigo wasn't trying to replace Orihime's late brother by any stretch of the imagination; they were just simply very close. Over the years, they've had to defend their unique relationship to many close-minded people who didn't believe a man and a woman could actually be friends. Thankfully, hardly anyone gave it a second thought when the two of them were seen together anymore. There was nothing objectionable about their conduct so they were left to carry on in their own fashion without censure.

"You'll have to excuse me, I'm expected elsewhere." Ichigo finally said after giving one last look in Orihime's direction. He'd call on her first thing tomorrow, just to be certain everything was all right and nothing untoward cropped up while he was away in the country overseeing his new property.

Rukia's indigo eyes sparkled with curiosity and she asked with husky laugh, "A prior engagement with a woman, perhaps?"

He straightened his cuffs with a practiced move and scowled. "You shouldn't ask such a thing."

"I don't see why not." She shrugged her shoulders unrepentantly before pressing for an answer. "So, is it?"

Absorbed with watching Orihime's partner waltz her down the room in line with the other dancers, or more specifically, he was watching her partner's hand …one that was drifting lower than what was proper.

Nudged from his brown study by a well-placed elbow, Ichigo glanced at Rukia blankly.

Twisting her lips in aggravation, she pointedly reminded him of her query. "Is your appointment with a woman?"

Clenching his jaw, Ichigo held back the words he would have said if they were alone. A more nosey and tenacious woman he'd never met. It was a good thing they were such good friends. He mused while grinding his teeth when Rukia arched a finely drawn brow, clearly drawing her own conclusion.

"I'll take that as a yes." She frowned and turned back to the face the dancers. "Your mother would rather you focus your considerable energies on finding your own wife than playing with the bored ones littering the ton."

He blew out a breath, not wanting to hear anything more she might have to say on that particular subject. Listening to his mother drop subtle –and some not so subtle- hints was more than enough for him. No one ever wanted to disappoint Masaki Kurosaki, least of all him. However, Ichigo just wasn't ready to be caught in the parson's mousetrap just yet.

Ready to abandon this conversation before it strayed further –and it was already improper enough- Ichigo murmured a hasty, "Good night, Rukia." And dipped his head in farewell before turning to thread his way through the over-dressed, over-perfumed, and overly self-important crush of bodies.

The music ended, hindering his progress even more as the dancers returned to mingle along the already packed edges of the room. Hearing his name, he glanced back in irritation, brows furrowed. His annoyance was short lived when he saw Orihime, her pristine white glove cutting an arc through the air as she waved. Smiling widely, her brown eyes shone happily at catching him before he left, not caring in the least about the scandalized looks sent her way.

That was Orihime for you. Eccentric extraordinaire. The daughter of an earl, a self-proclaimed spinster, financially independent, an unashamed bluestocking, and a patroness of the Foundling Hospital in Bloomsbury –as well as a frequent volunteer. She was an anomaly among the ton. Nonetheless, from the loose copper curls piled haphazardly on top of her head to the tips of her beaded dancing slippers, Ichigo adored his friend just the way she was. She was like a breath of fresh air in the stuffy world of theirs. And he hoped she never changed.

Unbeknownst to Ichigo, a crooked smile replaced his normal scowl as his eyes moved over her familiar face. He shook his head in amusement before nodding in return and her smile grew.

There it was. The smile he was looking for.

As he made his way up the stairs after finally making good on his escape, Ichigo assumed he must have been worried over nothing. Orihime was the same as always. Nothing's changed.

He should have known better though, and listened to his instincts. Because things never really stay the same. Change was inevitable. And Ichigo Kurosaki's well-ordered life was about to be shaken from its very foundations.

~o0o~

A/N: I hope you enjoyed the first part of this story. It will be a lighthearted -and none too serious- romp through Regency England with, at the very most, ten smallish chapters.

Thanks so much for reading. ~Rairakku