Poison or Protect
Page 18
He was headed back up, passing through the main entranceway towards the grand staircase, when a voice nearly had him jumping out of his skin. And he was a large man; it took a big jump to get away from that much skin.
“Why, Captain, what are you doing out and about at such an hour?” A soft female voice, clipped, pristine.
How could a woman with such white skin be so invisible? He held his candle aloft.
Lady Villentia moved into the light. She still wore her dark blue dress. The watered silk was made for nighttime; it folded into shadow. She had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring at him, as if it were not more suspicious for her to be awake, about, and still dressed.
“Have you na slept at all?” he found himself asking, worried. Was she ill? Or was she going to kill someone? He considered. It was late. Plenty of time to have killed someone already.
“I sleep very little. Why are you awake?”
“Hungry.”
A huff of suppressed laughter. “Of course you are. How silly of me. Hunting more dainty sandwiches?” She seemed obsessed that he liked the little ones. As if she enjoyed seeing him indulge in something incongruous.
“I canna deny I was looking. I like them in triangles, without their crusts. Sadly, none left. I made shift with somewhat less dainty. What are you hunting, lass?” She was hardly after killing the duke, not downstairs.
“Just checking up on a few things.”
“Things?”
“You’ll think it a girlish fancy, but I like to know all doors and windows are secured before I take to my room. Perhaps I’m of a nervous inclination.”
“I verra much doubt that, Lady Villentia. You’ve enemies so bold, they’d follow you here and invade a duke’s house party?”
“My dear captain, did I say they were my enemies?”
Gavin felt a sudden surge of joy. Were they on the same side? Had she been charged with protecting the duke as well? He’d never heard her spoken of in a defensive capacity, but society always glorified the bad and forgot the good. Still, he was not so green as to give his own position away. “You’re thinking someone is after Jack?”
She blinked at that, uncrossing her arms. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her white perfection. He remembered childhood tales of the sídhe, Fair Folk, and thought for one fanciful moment she was sent to lure him into madness.
“Mr Jackson in danger? Why would I think that?” She did not dissemble or attempt to hide her capabilities with false modesty.
“You’ve been watching him carefully.”
“Poor Captain Ruthven, are you jealous?”
“Verra.”
She sighed. “Come with me while I continue my rounds. I’m weary of talking in the hallway like little sneaks.”
“Are we na sneaks?”
“Yes, but you, at least, are not little. Snuff out that candle, do.” She walked away without bothering to see if he would follow.
He blew out the candle and followed, of course.
She moved without the stiffness that had imbued her whole body in polite company. A vampire’s grace. But her features had none of the unearthly beauty of that set. She might seem fairy-kind, but she was human. Nay, she moves like a warrior. She rolled each step across the ball of her foot, silent, those boots of hers softer than they ought to be. Kidskin, like her gloves. Who buys kid leather boots? Expensive taste, for they would split after only a few wearings.
She tested the latch of the drawing room window. The big one. It had never yet been opened for fear of rain, yet she checked it.
“You have no reputation as a bodyguard, Lady Villentia.”
“Too true. I am ill suited to the task. I would rather be set to kill than to protect. A great deal easier, don’t you find?”
“I wouldna know.” He swallowed his shock at her directness.
“No? I thought you saw action, Captain. My mistake.”
“’Tis na quite the same.”
“Killing is killing. Does it matter if it is done in battle or bedroom, so long as it is by your hand?”
“I…” He stuttered.
She paused over the latch of the next window, finding it suddenly fascinating. “Do they wake you in the night – the dead?”
“Sometimes. You?”
“Not so often as I think they should. But then, I knew them all well enough to know they ought to die. You did not have that luxury.”
“You pity me a soldier’s ignorance?”
“Do you require my pity?”
“Nay. Should you like a boost?”
“What?”
He had shocked her with his offer, so reminiscent of their conversation earlier that day. Have I really only known her a day? “To check the transom?”
She looked up. “No. If I needed help up, so would he.”
“You believe he is alone?”
“I don’t think I could fit through that transom, and in my experience, most assassins are bigger than I.”
“Suit yourself.” So, it was an assassin she warded against. Relief flowed through him. They must be on the same side, protecting the duke. Which meant she was using Jack as a decoy. Or Jack was the reason the duke thought she was there.
Should I say somewhat?
He accompanied her through the library, sitting room, dining room, gallery, music room, conservatory, billiard room, and finally the ballroom. She checked every window and door large enough to admit a man.
“The servants’ entrances?”
“Why, Captain, what are you doing out and about at such an hour?” A soft female voice, clipped, pristine.
How could a woman with such white skin be so invisible? He held his candle aloft.
Lady Villentia moved into the light. She still wore her dark blue dress. The watered silk was made for nighttime; it folded into shadow. She had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring at him, as if it were not more suspicious for her to be awake, about, and still dressed.
“Have you na slept at all?” he found himself asking, worried. Was she ill? Or was she going to kill someone? He considered. It was late. Plenty of time to have killed someone already.
“I sleep very little. Why are you awake?”
“Hungry.”
A huff of suppressed laughter. “Of course you are. How silly of me. Hunting more dainty sandwiches?” She seemed obsessed that he liked the little ones. As if she enjoyed seeing him indulge in something incongruous.
“I canna deny I was looking. I like them in triangles, without their crusts. Sadly, none left. I made shift with somewhat less dainty. What are you hunting, lass?” She was hardly after killing the duke, not downstairs.
“Just checking up on a few things.”
“Things?”
“You’ll think it a girlish fancy, but I like to know all doors and windows are secured before I take to my room. Perhaps I’m of a nervous inclination.”
“I verra much doubt that, Lady Villentia. You’ve enemies so bold, they’d follow you here and invade a duke’s house party?”
“My dear captain, did I say they were my enemies?”
Gavin felt a sudden surge of joy. Were they on the same side? Had she been charged with protecting the duke as well? He’d never heard her spoken of in a defensive capacity, but society always glorified the bad and forgot the good. Still, he was not so green as to give his own position away. “You’re thinking someone is after Jack?”
She blinked at that, uncrossing her arms. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her white perfection. He remembered childhood tales of the sídhe, Fair Folk, and thought for one fanciful moment she was sent to lure him into madness.
“Mr Jackson in danger? Why would I think that?” She did not dissemble or attempt to hide her capabilities with false modesty.
“You’ve been watching him carefully.”
“Poor Captain Ruthven, are you jealous?”
“Verra.”
She sighed. “Come with me while I continue my rounds. I’m weary of talking in the hallway like little sneaks.”
“Are we na sneaks?”
“Yes, but you, at least, are not little. Snuff out that candle, do.” She walked away without bothering to see if he would follow.
He blew out the candle and followed, of course.
She moved without the stiffness that had imbued her whole body in polite company. A vampire’s grace. But her features had none of the unearthly beauty of that set. She might seem fairy-kind, but she was human. Nay, she moves like a warrior. She rolled each step across the ball of her foot, silent, those boots of hers softer than they ought to be. Kidskin, like her gloves. Who buys kid leather boots? Expensive taste, for they would split after only a few wearings.
She tested the latch of the drawing room window. The big one. It had never yet been opened for fear of rain, yet she checked it.
“You have no reputation as a bodyguard, Lady Villentia.”
“Too true. I am ill suited to the task. I would rather be set to kill than to protect. A great deal easier, don’t you find?”
“I wouldna know.” He swallowed his shock at her directness.
“No? I thought you saw action, Captain. My mistake.”
“’Tis na quite the same.”
“Killing is killing. Does it matter if it is done in battle or bedroom, so long as it is by your hand?”
“I…” He stuttered.
She paused over the latch of the next window, finding it suddenly fascinating. “Do they wake you in the night – the dead?”
“Sometimes. You?”
“Not so often as I think they should. But then, I knew them all well enough to know they ought to die. You did not have that luxury.”
“You pity me a soldier’s ignorance?”
“Do you require my pity?”
“Nay. Should you like a boost?”
“What?”
He had shocked her with his offer, so reminiscent of their conversation earlier that day. Have I really only known her a day? “To check the transom?”
She looked up. “No. If I needed help up, so would he.”
“You believe he is alone?”
“I don’t think I could fit through that transom, and in my experience, most assassins are bigger than I.”
“Suit yourself.” So, it was an assassin she warded against. Relief flowed through him. They must be on the same side, protecting the duke. Which meant she was using Jack as a decoy. Or Jack was the reason the duke thought she was there.
Should I say somewhat?
He accompanied her through the library, sitting room, dining room, gallery, music room, conservatory, billiard room, and finally the ballroom. She checked every window and door large enough to admit a man.
“The servants’ entrances?”
