But the house party would end, and they would go their separate ways, and she would never see him again unless she chose. And he would never see her again unless she chose, because disappearing was also one of her skills.
She left the bed, reaching for her dressing gown. “So, tomorrow night?” I’m weak in the face of massive Scotsmen. Or at least this one.
“I’m na giving over my banyan, lass.”
She met his mock seriousness with her own. Good, tonight they would not talk about matters of the past or the heart.
“As if I would ask such a thing. Although I am glad you gave over the beard.”
“Mawkins will be suspicious.”
“I suggest you shave before supper. Perhaps that will allay his concerns.”
“You’re a devious creature.”
“You have no idea.”
“You secured the house before you came to me?” He reached for her hand, dangling at her side, and stroked her wrist with his callused thumb.
“Of course. Formerly Connie sends her regards. I believe she has a tendre for you.”
“Poor lassie, to die so young.”
“Still thinks we are engaged, wants to know when we’ll be telling her family.”
“Aye? When will we?”
“Please don’t.”
“Lass, I want this clear – I’d apply for the position of fifth husband, if you’d permit.”
“Oh, yes? Here I thought you desired a long and happy life.”
“Aye, lass, but I’d as soon a shorter one with you than a longer one without.”
“Careful what you wish for.”
“Lass—”
“No, don’t spoil this. Don’t make me remind you.”
“Remind me of what?”
Preshea took a breath. She had so hoped for a few more nights together. “It’s not lies, what they say about me. I’ve killed, and I was glad to do it, and it was easy. I should do it again if necessary. I’m good at it.”
“Dinna think my soldiering was all larking about in foreign lands. I’ll wager I’m a better shot with that little revolver than you are, and as like to kill more people with it. What matters that I did it all open-like, under sanction of queen and country? ’Tis still killing. I know how you feel.”
“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.
The butler appeared with several glasses of sherry.
Gavin took one for himself and pressed another on the duke. “Drink that, Your Grace. Do you good.”
At this
juncture, Preshea appeared. She had on a black velvet robe over her dressing gown. It had a scalloped hem and was collared in fur, making her entirely too regal for a lass who’d recently been writhing with pleasure atop him. Or perhaps that was the source of her regality.
She looked down her nose at everyone. Which she did very nicely, wearing her most Lady Villentia face. It was better than a dousing of cold water over the entire company.
“Must you create such a racket? Some of us are trying to sleep. What on earth is going on?” Of course, she knew exactly what was happening; she’d arranged everything. Gavin could see it now – the little hints she dropped in conversation, the way she influenced Jack. Her goal all along, to see his friend make a fool of himself. Not that Jack needed a great deal of help in that regard, but still…
Gavin stared at her in horror.
She caught his expression and her own stuttered. Then, if possible, she became even haughtier.
She turned away from him. “Everyone, do calm down. This is not a crisis. Mr Jackson has made a little mistake in his courtship technique. Perhaps, Lady Violet, this action has convinced you, one way or another?”
“It has certainly convinced me!” cried the Duke of Snodgrove.
Preshea hurried to him and said something in his ear in the guise of lifting a glass of sherry from the tray nearby. He snapped his mouth shut.
She moved to the distraught Lady Violet. The young lady managed to stop sobbing with the aid of the sherry. “Lady Violet?” Preshea pressed.
Gavin didn’t want to watch. Why was she bothering? Jack was ruined; she need not nail his coffin closed with her wiles.
“Yes, quite right.” Lady Violet hiccoughed.
Preshea chivvied her forward. Gavin wanted to cry at her cruelty. At Jack’s poor sad face.
Preshea patted the girl’s back gently. Lady Violet raised her head. “Mr Jackson, I’m sorry if anything I’ve said encouraged you into such rash action. Please understand that I could never marry you. You are too bold for someone as timid as I. This kind of behavior, it is too much!”
“But Lady Violet!” Jack cried, impassioned. He tried to step out of the dirigible and through the window. The aircraft bobbed and Jack went flying back into the gondola. The lobster, on the other hand, made it through the window perfectly well and, emboldened by liberty, scuttled under the bed.
Lady Flo, Miss Pagril, and the duchess all shrieked. The duchess jumped onto the bed, joining the younger girls.
Gavin sighed and instructed the footmen to go find a butterfly net, come back, and catch the darned thing.
Lady Violet sucked in a breath and walked to the oriel window. “There is no understanding between us, Mr Jackson. Please accept my decision gracefully.”
Jack’s head reappeared. He waved the piccolo in distress. “Lady Vi! I beg you.”
“No. You are not for me.”
“Please.”
“You are brash. And… you cannot waltz!”
“You cut me to the very quick!” Jack pressed the piccolo to his forehead.
Gavin winced in empathy and exasperation. Where did the lad come up with such sentimental blether? I must keep him from reading romantic novels.
“We do not suit. You have no genuine interest in botany!” Lady Violet practically yelled her final conclusion. This was the biggest sin of them all.
Jack hung his head. “That, I cannot deny. Very well, my dear Lady Vi. I shall never recover from this heartbreak, never, but I bow to your wishes.” Said bow brought Jack’s head into the bowels of the dirigible and out of view.
“Thank heavens. Now, can we all get some sleep?” Preshea would not allow Jack any further dramatic moments.
Of course, it took them considerable time to get the dirigible to float down. No one, not even Jack, could determine how he’d managed to safely fly the darned thing up there. Finally, the helmsman was roused, and through some precarious maneuvering, he attained the gondola and floated Jack to safety.
Everyone else dispersed (except the lobster, who refused to leave the safety of the bed, footmen with butterfly nets notwithstanding). Eventually, Lady Flo said, quite crossly, that so long as he didn’t snore, the crustacean might stay until morning. Poor creature, hadn’t he too suffered enough for one evening?
“It’s a good thing Jane was in your room, Lady Flo, or you should be ruined! A single man at your window like that.” Lady Blingchester’s tone said she rather hoped for ruination, if only for the delightful scandal.
“Yes, dear, why were you here?” the duchess responded.
Gavin was heading out to find his disgraced friend. He heard Preshea say, “Oh, didn’t I hear you talking at dinner, Lady Flo, about a headache? No doubt Miss Pagril was bringing you a restorative.”
Poor Preshea, she could not help but meddle.
* * *
Jack was eager to leave early the next morning. Without his friend, Gavin had no excuse for staying. The duke was in safe hands with Preshea, and he would report as much to Major Channing. He’d relay what he knew of the rifleman and find out why the werewolf had doubled down on protection. If, indeed, it was he.
Lady Villentia did not wake to see them off. Knowing her assignment was to protect the duke, he must assume her destruction of his friend’s prospective engagement was mere spite. He could not deny it hurt. Why bother with such an idiot as Jack? It wasted her talent to be so petty. He was disappointed. Although, sadly, not surprised.
So, Gavin found himself folded into a first class compartment, heading back to London on the morning train. Jack slumped, dejected, opposite.
Gavin was feeling equally dejected and not inclined to talk.
Jack was not so reticent. “I’m all suffering and dashed hopes.”
“You brought it on yourself. Why anyone might think a dirigible, a piccolo, and a lobster should advance his suit is beyond me.”
“I was desperate. I was losing her favor.”
“And with that one act, ensured its absence forever.”
“Don’t be harsh, Ruthven, old chum. I’m already cut up, tortured by a broken heart.”
“Jack, you gyte, a piccolo!”
“Do you play?”
“Na my instrument of choice.” He thought of Preshea’s smooth white skin under his big hands.
“It has a certain peeping wistfulness.”
“If you must be daft, I’d as lief you wallowed in silence.”
“Callous sod. You’ve a heart of stone, never to understand my pain.”
“Never.” Gavin turned away, for once his spirit not particularly uplifted by his friend’s absurd banter.
Gavin couldn’t blame Preshea. He’d known it was her nature to be cruel; he simply hadn’t realized she was also petty. He wanted to know why. Why continue to goad poor Jack when he’d done himself over? Why bother? Why not a little compassion, if not for Jack, then for the sake of his friendship? She’d not given Gavin the chance to ask. He would have accepted any lie she offered, so as not to believe any worse of her character.
Instead, she had let him leave thinking ill of her. Not even tried. She doesn’t want me. Gavin wallowed, too.
* * *
Preshea watched them depart. She hadn’t slept. Her big Scotsman followed his friend out of Bickerstung Manor with those long, confident strides. His back was soldier-straight; a top hat hid his thick hair so she could not see what color it had decided to be this morning.
His face, when he realized what I’d done. Would he ever forgive her for humiliating a friend so? Likely not. And I am too proud to ask. So, I’ve destroyed any chance I might have had to continue our liaison. Presuming I wished to.
The carriage trundled away. They had elected, wisely, not to use the dirigible to return to the train station.
God, yes, I wish to. I never got to see what he could do kneeling before me while I stayed standing. We never tried other positions, other touches.
Certainly, this was nothing but lust. Lust driven by a profound curi
osity and pursuit of a joy she’d never before known. She wanted Gavin because she feared she might never again know the sensations he incurred.
Unlikely that I would approach any other man. Preshea hated to admit why, even to herself. But she was ruthless with internal truth. One had to be if one’s outer life was all lies. Another man would not be Gavin. Would not understand how much I need quiet stillness. Would not have big hands, gentle and undemanding. My mountain of a Scotsman with a tongue that is only wicked without words.
You’re pathetic, Preshea Buss. Pull yourself together.
* * *
The house party concluded with no further excitement. The Fenians did not try again. More’s the pity; she could have used a distraction. They saved their wrath, as it turned out, for a Hyde Park rally some weeks later.
Preshea traveled back to London with the rest of the party. The Snodgrove party was returning to town. Lady Flo was to come out this season. The Blingchesters also intended to present their niece. There was shopping to do.
Miss Pagril and Lady Flo surprised Preshea by insisting she share their train carriage. The Bicker-Harrows and Blingchesters took one first-class compartment. Preshea could not fit in with them, and the duke would be safe enough at speed. Thus her choice was to travel with Miss Leeton, Lord Lionel, and Lady Violet, or with the younger girls. She assented to Miss Pagril’s demanding her company, as she couldn’t tolerate the idea of Lady Violet’s unhappy face the entire trip to London.
She had chosen wisely. The conversation was light and comfortable. While never mentioned overtly, the two young ladies were grateful to Preshea for keeping their secret. Any harsh words were apparently forgotten. She was forgiven all for having concocted the headache excuse.
Travel to London took several hours, their train being of the regional variety that stopped at every inconsequential town. The young ladies didn’t seem to mind Preshea’s company, so long as her barbs were dulled and mostly not directed at them. They even laughed a few times. Preshea, strangely exhausted, found it easier to be kind. For a change.
As they pulled into London, Miss Pagril clasped Preshea’s hand. “Dear Lady Villentia, I do hope we will see you at some of the upcoming social events? I know we are not your typical acquaintance, but perhaps you will make an exception?”
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