Poison or Protect
Page 40
“Do you? Do you really? Did you enjoy it?”
He paused, sitting up, rubbing his wrists where the cravats had bit into his flesh. She remembered how he had rubbed her back the night before, to relieve the press of corset lacings. So much care in him, in his touch. “Sometimes, maybe. The heat of battle can be a place of passion, in its way. I was good at killing, too. ’Tis hard to turn aside from a skill at which one excels, no matter how civilization perceives that skill.”
Oh, thought Preshea on a moment of wonder, he does understand. “But it’s all I’m good at.”
“Now, lass, I’m thinking that’s a wee falsehood. What we just did, you’re verra good at that.”
“Well.” Preshea was shocked to feel herself blush. “It’s not a skill I should care to market.”
“I hope not. What need have you, anyroad?” He seemed quite perplexed.
“You do not feel useless, having resigned your commission? Having given over your only talent?”
“’Tis not my only talent, either.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her lasciviously.
The conversation was not permitted to continue. Two voices commenced screaming down the hall.
* * *
Gavin cursed the interruption. He’d actually been getting somewhere with Preshea. She was not closing him off with her beliefs about herself; the ghosts haunting her words had been silent.
“What the devil!” He grabbed up the poker from the fire and made for the door.
“Put on your banyan.” Her voice interrupted his mad dash. Firm and cool and competent, like that of his major.
Instinctively, the soldier took over and he followed her order.
Preshea peeked out the door while he did so.
“Some kind of dramatic happening in the family wing, outside Lady Flo’s room. Oh, dear, I do hope Miss Pagril wasn’t even more foolish than last night.”
He folded over the front of the banyan. “What’s this?”
“They’re lovers. You didn’t realize?”
Gavin wasn’t too surprised. “I saw the intimacy. Didna think it was consummated. That’s possible, between women? Remarkable.” Gavin considered how such an undertaking might work, thrusting his feet into slippers.
“You’re the one with the wicked tongue.”
Gavin’s imagination soared. “Weel, yes. I take your point. Have you?”
Preshea gave him an exasperated look. “No. But while my own experience is limited, I have benefited somewhat from the expertise of others.”
“What?”
“Books, Gavin, dear. I read.”
“Oh.”
“Now do hurry. I can hardly be the first out of your room, now, can I?”
During the course of the conversation, Preshea had donned her dressing gown and slippers. She pulled back and coiled her hair in such a way that, although dressed exactly as she had been when she first entered his room, instead of sensual, she looked demure. It was in the way she held herself, the set of her shoulders, the expression on her face. Truly, his lass was amazing.
“Leave the door ajar when you go.”
He marched out, leaving the door behind him slightly open.
Everyone was awake, including a few of the servants.
Gavin strode down the hallway, clutching the poker, and looking as threatening as possible.
The hubbub was indeed centered on Lady Flo’s room. The titular occupant was in hysterics on her bed, wrapped in copious blankets.
Miss Pagril was fully dressed, thank heavens, and sitting nearby, clutching Lady Flo’s hand and glaring out the window. It was one of those upper rooms that had a large oriel window. It jutted out over the rear garden, providing a most desirable view.
The window was open to the cold night, and looming just outside was the Snodgrove private dirigible. Jack, paralyzed with horror, was half-in and half-out of the thing.
He had a piccolo in one hand and a lobster in the other.
The Duchess of Snodgrove stood near her younger daughter, having a protracted bout of hysterics.
The duke was pacing about – calling for the constabulary, his steward, the local magistrate, his scrivener, the town butcher, his favorite hound, and anyone else he could think of in any position of authority.
Lord and Lady Blingchester hovered in the doorway, eyes avid. “Gone off his crumpet, he has!” said the one to the other.
Lord Lionel was trying to calm his father.
Miss Leeton was tucked into a different corner of the room, clutching a sobbing Lady Violet, patting at her in a consoling manner. The actress’s eyes were bright with appreciation for the drama.
Gavin marched in and took control of the situation. Putting his poker to one side, he sent the butler off for smelling salts and sherry.
“Jack! Get yourself and that ridiculous craft out of here. What are you thinking?”
“I only wished to serenade Lady Vi!”
“Chose the wrong window, did you?”
“They’re rather difficult to distinguish from the outside when floating.”
“Why the piccolo?” Gavin couldn’t help but ask.
“It’s the only instrument I play.”
Gavin tried not to stare at the lobster. He decided not to inquire further. Whatever Jack’s reasoning, best to accept that crustaceans were necessary to his view of the world.
“Jack, you daft idiot, shove off.” Gavin loved Jack for his easygoing nature and big heart. He was truly the most loyal of friends. But the man could get right barmy notions in his head.
He paused, sitting up, rubbing his wrists where the cravats had bit into his flesh. She remembered how he had rubbed her back the night before, to relieve the press of corset lacings. So much care in him, in his touch. “Sometimes, maybe. The heat of battle can be a place of passion, in its way. I was good at killing, too. ’Tis hard to turn aside from a skill at which one excels, no matter how civilization perceives that skill.”
Oh, thought Preshea on a moment of wonder, he does understand. “But it’s all I’m good at.”
“Now, lass, I’m thinking that’s a wee falsehood. What we just did, you’re verra good at that.”
“Well.” Preshea was shocked to feel herself blush. “It’s not a skill I should care to market.”
“I hope not. What need have you, anyroad?” He seemed quite perplexed.
“You do not feel useless, having resigned your commission? Having given over your only talent?”
“’Tis not my only talent, either.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her lasciviously.
The conversation was not permitted to continue. Two voices commenced screaming down the hall.
* * *
Gavin cursed the interruption. He’d actually been getting somewhere with Preshea. She was not closing him off with her beliefs about herself; the ghosts haunting her words had been silent.
“What the devil!” He grabbed up the poker from the fire and made for the door.
“Put on your banyan.” Her voice interrupted his mad dash. Firm and cool and competent, like that of his major.
Instinctively, the soldier took over and he followed her order.
Preshea peeked out the door while he did so.
“Some kind of dramatic happening in the family wing, outside Lady Flo’s room. Oh, dear, I do hope Miss Pagril wasn’t even more foolish than last night.”
He folded over the front of the banyan. “What’s this?”
“They’re lovers. You didn’t realize?”
Gavin wasn’t too surprised. “I saw the intimacy. Didna think it was consummated. That’s possible, between women? Remarkable.” Gavin considered how such an undertaking might work, thrusting his feet into slippers.
“You’re the one with the wicked tongue.”
Gavin’s imagination soared. “Weel, yes. I take your point. Have you?”
Preshea gave him an exasperated look. “No. But while my own experience is limited, I have benefited somewhat from the expertise of others.”
“What?”
“Books, Gavin, dear. I read.”
“Oh.”
“Now do hurry. I can hardly be the first out of your room, now, can I?”
During the course of the conversation, Preshea had donned her dressing gown and slippers. She pulled back and coiled her hair in such a way that, although dressed exactly as she had been when she first entered his room, instead of sensual, she looked demure. It was in the way she held herself, the set of her shoulders, the expression on her face. Truly, his lass was amazing.
“Leave the door ajar when you go.”
He marched out, leaving the door behind him slightly open.
Everyone was awake, including a few of the servants.
Gavin strode down the hallway, clutching the poker, and looking as threatening as possible.
The hubbub was indeed centered on Lady Flo’s room. The titular occupant was in hysterics on her bed, wrapped in copious blankets.
Miss Pagril was fully dressed, thank heavens, and sitting nearby, clutching Lady Flo’s hand and glaring out the window. It was one of those upper rooms that had a large oriel window. It jutted out over the rear garden, providing a most desirable view.
The window was open to the cold night, and looming just outside was the Snodgrove private dirigible. Jack, paralyzed with horror, was half-in and half-out of the thing.
He had a piccolo in one hand and a lobster in the other.
The Duchess of Snodgrove stood near her younger daughter, having a protracted bout of hysterics.
The duke was pacing about – calling for the constabulary, his steward, the local magistrate, his scrivener, the town butcher, his favorite hound, and anyone else he could think of in any position of authority.
Lord and Lady Blingchester hovered in the doorway, eyes avid. “Gone off his crumpet, he has!” said the one to the other.
Lord Lionel was trying to calm his father.
Miss Leeton was tucked into a different corner of the room, clutching a sobbing Lady Violet, patting at her in a consoling manner. The actress’s eyes were bright with appreciation for the drama.
Gavin marched in and took control of the situation. Putting his poker to one side, he sent the butler off for smelling salts and sherry.
“Jack! Get yourself and that ridiculous craft out of here. What are you thinking?”
“I only wished to serenade Lady Vi!”
“Chose the wrong window, did you?”
“They’re rather difficult to distinguish from the outside when floating.”
“Why the piccolo?” Gavin couldn’t help but ask.
“It’s the only instrument I play.”
Gavin tried not to stare at the lobster. He decided not to inquire further. Whatever Jack’s reasoning, best to accept that crustaceans were necessary to his view of the world.
“Jack, you daft idiot, shove off.” Gavin loved Jack for his easygoing nature and big heart. He was truly the most loyal of friends. But the man could get right barmy notions in his head.
