D2D_Poison or Protect

by Gail Carriger

  “My dear child, it is I who am not appropriate society for you. You would do better not to know me when we meet in public. I will not take it amiss.”

  Lady Flo was crestfallen. “We could never do that to a friend!”

  Preshea was startled. She had never really had a friend before. And here were two, choosing her. Only out of desperation that I keep their secret, surely.

  “You needn’t worry. I shan’t tell anyone anything.” What benefit would I reap from wrecking the lives of these two young lovers? The world will be hard enough on them. Anything I add would only be needless cruelty. Unless, of course, I stay friendly, keep an eye on them, cut others down who mean them harm.

  I’m getting soft in my old age. But she liked the idea. It would be a challenge.

  Miss Pagril still pressed her hand. “Oh, we know that now. You aren’t morally opposed and you genuinely don’t seem to care.”

  Preshea pursed her lips. That was true enough. “Nevertheless, association with me will do neither of you any good.”

  “But it already has. We’ve learned so much.” Miss Pagril would not be moved.

  “How to waltz,” suggested Lady Flo.

  “How to sneak about without being caught.”

  “Now, Miss Pagril, there is a great deal more than my one-sentence explanation regarding misuse of candlelight.”

  “So, you must teach us.” Miss Pagril’s eyes danced.

  Preshea sighed. Were she a better person, she would be neatly trapped by such enthusiasm. Then again, Miss Pagril did have a certain aptitude, although she was a bit old to start training now. Preshea’s former finishing school no longer existed. It might be fun to teach someone what I know.

  “Oh, very well, invite me to tea sometime, Miss Pagril, if your aunt will allow it. We shall test your mettle and go from there.”

  When the young ladies departed the carriage at the station, they were smiling.

  Preshea arranged to share a cab with the Snodgrove party and saw the duke safely ensconced in his townhouse. No guns were fired, although she was twitchy during the entire ride and kept a hand to the weight of her revolver just in case.

  Making her final farewells on the stoop, Preshea recognized a group of dandies cavorting on a street corner nearby. Lord Akeldama’s vanguard. She nodded to them as she passed, now alone in the cab. They hooted in a boisterous manner. As they should.

  Her own house felt lean and empty in a way it never had before. It was her fourth husband’s town residence, fashionable thirty years before, when he was in his prime. She’d never bothered to update it, since she didn’t host parties and was frequently away. She kept a minimal staff, daytime servants only, whom she paid well for their discretion and her privacy.

  The parlourmaid opened the door without comment. She was a strapping young thing, imported from the country, as Preshea preferred ability over appearance. The maid brought up her bags while her housekeeper paid the driver.

  Preshea’s dinner was waiting and she sat down to eat alone.

  “I’ve a cold roast set aside for your supper, milady. Will there be anything else?” The housekeeper was an elderly Irishwoman, bespectacled and mostly deaf, but picky about accounts (a trait Preshea valued almost as much as her deafness).

  “No, thank you, and tell the others they may go. I should like to be by myself this evening.”

  And so she was.

  An envelope was waiting on her bed. She turned it over in her hands. Inside, the file was exactly as she remembered, with all the papers there as promised. She’d no concern that someone had broken into her chambers. She never kept anything of value in her home, and she’d none of her servants trained as guards. Preshea had long since realized that if she kept little of worth around her, few came hunting.

  She stood for a time holding her father’s fate, weighing it thoughtfully. Then, decisive, she addressed it to the Mooring Standard and put it out for the parlourmaid to post first thing. She set another letter atop it, directed to an obscure house in a posh part of town, asking if she might call an hour after sundown.

  * * *

  Lord Akeldama received Preshea in his drawing room this time. He wore a black velvet swallowtail coat over a silver and black striped waistcoat with inordinately tight silver knee britches. His hair, long despite current fashion, was queued back. The outfit was more modern than the ones he usually affected. But then, she had long since noticed, he tended to dress with more restraint when he was meeting with her.

  Perhaps he is attempting to encourage sympathy by reflecting my own style back at me?

  “You’ve read today’s Standard?” she asked without greeting.

  “Indeed I have, star of the heavens. You look lovely tonight – I do adore you in red.”

  She did not require a compliment, so she did not acknowledge it. She was well aware that her crimson evening gown was heavenly; it had cost the moon, after all.

  “So, we are done now?” Her tone was not kind.

  The vampire rolled his eyes at her abruptness. “The duke, as I understand it, is safely back in London. The situation with his daughter satisfactorily settled. I must own to some surprise that you felt the need to visit me at all. Surely, you know the matter was settled the moment you returned to town with him still alive.”

  “It was an easy assignment. You will not require my services again? I have a feeling the Second Reform Act will pass.”

  “Even I cannot control the masses. But yes, we are done. I shall miss you, my sparkling ruby.”

  “You have always enjoyed collecting pretty things.”

  He inclined his head. “The time may come again when I have something you want, and you can do something I need.”

  Preshea puffed out her cheeks. “And if I wish to retire?”

  The vampire blinked. For the first time in their association, he looked genuinely startled. “How peculiar. Do you think that likely? You are not so old, my jewel. Or are you? I lose track of mortal time so easily.”

  The old fangs wasn’t pulling one over on Preshea. No doubt he knew her age, likely to the month.

  Preshea didn’t trust Lord Akeldama. She recognized a fellow predator, and she recognized that this one could best her. She did not like to be in the inferior position. But she did respect him.

  Suddenly, she burned with a need to ask him to explain everything: the working of men’s hearts (or at least that of one Scotsman) and her own confused feelings. Why had he left her, and why had she allowed it?

  The vampire would know. He had everything. All the wealth he needed, any information he craved, avenues of manipulation, and immeasurable power. And he had time to use it, all the time in the world.

  “Lord Akeldama, may I ask you an impertinent question?”

  “Gracious, my diamond girl. How exciting. I adore impertinent questions. Ask away!”

  “What would you do, if you were I and had only the one life to live?”

  “As if I should remember what it was like to be mortal? Preposterous. You know what I did. I chose not to live it at all. I chose to step outside of time.” For one shocking moment, a slight twitch of his eyelid, and Preshea thought he might regret that choice. A vampire, regret immortality? Surely not.

  “I find myself at an impasse.” She decided to explain a little. In case he really didn’t understand her plight. “I’ve served my indenture, relatively untroubled. Thank you for that. I’ve gained through the experience modest wealth and standing. I’ve no need to ply the trade for which I was trained, although I am good at it. The days stretch out before me with little to occupy them.”

  “Go shopping,” he said promptly.

  “Yes, I was considering Paris.” A dig there, at a man who was trapped forever within a mile or so radius of his London home.

  “Touché.” He followed her exactly. “Travel, then, star of the night. Travel.”

  “Is that what you would do?”

  “It’s what I did. I was a great traveler before I grew my fangs
. Trotted over most of the known world. Of course, it wasn’t as big back then.” He gave one of those tight vampire smiles, showing no teeth, meaning no insult.

  “And was that enough?” Preshea wasn’t certain what she wanted out of this conversation. Actually, she was, but wasn’t sure why it had to be Lord Akeldama. I want him to tell me to go to Gavin. Why is it an ancient vampire with a predilection for spying whose judgment I need? What is Lord Akeldama to me? An old master. An old monster. Certainly not a friend. Why do I require him to tell me what I already know?

  Because he is old. Because if he tells me to do it, it’s as close as I may come to the wisdom of the ages. Because he has made the same choice a thousand times. I have seen him do it. I only need to know if it was also right when he was mortal.

  The vampire was frowning – eyes serious, unblemished forehead creased only slightly. “What do you need me to say, little jewel? I am one for riddles as a general rule, but I do not like to be confused by mortal waffling.”

  “Did you love them all? I mean really love them?”

  “My darling drones?”

  “Yes.”

  “Every single one.”

  “And before there were drones. When you were traveling the known world. Did you love him?” For there must have been a him, even then. Not matter how long ago then was.

  He froze; all light and feeling fled his face, leaving him truly corpselike. Which he was, of course – only, normally Lord Akeldama didn’t actually look it.

  “Very much.” His gaze focused on some ghost no one else would ever see and no one but he remembered.

  “And would you do that again, if you had the chance?”

  “Without question.” He looked pained, but in the way of vampires. For all his hurt was so long ago and so desiccated by history that it had become bloodless – aching, no doubt, but bloodless.

  His focus returned to her, and in one of those lightning movements, almost too fast for the human eye to follow, he was sitting next to her on the settee, her small hand in his cold one.

  “Listen to me, my deadly little pearl. Choose love. Always choose love. If the decision is between love and anything else, choose love.”

  “And if he hurts me?”

  “It is worth it.”

  “And if I hurt him?”

  “My dear, you know hundreds of ways to kill a man. Simply ensure that you put him out of his misery quickly.”

  Preshea did not ask him to be serious; Lord Akeldama had clearly used up all his seriousness for one evening. She was lucky to have gotten even that much out of him. Also, she understood what he was really saying. It was Gavin’s right to take the risk of being hurt, just as it was hers.

  So, I will see if he would like the opportunity.

  * * *

  Gavin returned home after a night of unsatisfactory cards and disappointing company. Mawkins dismissed, he turned towards his bed.

  There she sat, cross-legged, as if she had always been there. She was wearing some diaphanous garment that made her look part angel, part seductress.

  “Holy hell, lass, where in God’s name did you spring from!” He sloshed his glass of claret.

  “Language.”

  “You truly are some mythic creature.”

  She only smiled. “Come to bed, Gavin.”

  “Am I dreaming? I must be dreaming.”

  She patted the pillow next to her, waiting.

  “How did you find me?”

  She shook her head a tiny bit at him, raising her eyebrows. “You do remember what I do for work, don’t you?”

  Gavin decided perhaps he would not open his mouth again until he had his brain in order. So, he stripped – he’d been about to do that anyway. He set aside the claret. He’d found, since returning to London, that he needed the wine more than before. Now his ghosts were more often Preshea-shaped than not, and they visited more frequently. And yet there she sat, apparently in the flesh.

  He climbed in under the covers, as though she weren’t there.

  She unfolded and snuggled down under the blankets too, turning to face him, propping her cheek on one hand. She stared at him from only a few inches away.

  “Scruffy. You didn’t shave this evening?”

  “I dinna know you were coming. You dinna send word.” She still smells of peaches.

  “I wanted to surprise you.”

  “Consider me surprised. And bearded.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So you should be. Beards are fair inconvenient when combined with my preferred pastime. I assume that’s what you’re here about?”

  “Not about that.”

  He stopped ribbing her in favor of real answers. “It’s been three weeks, lass! How could you let me go like that?” He let her feel his hurt. He’d thought her gone forever, but he’d remained in London. London! During the season! He’d stayed in a place he hated on the slim chance that she would come looking. And now he was profoundly, bone-meltingly relieved that she had. Not to mention angry that it had taken her so long. And –

  “I’m sorry about Mr Jackson.”

  “Jack? What does Jack have to do with it?”

  “I set him up – the dirigible and the piccolo. It was a contract, too. I was there for both. Jack at the duke’s behest, and the duke at—”

  “Na the werewolves. They dinna know you’d been set to watch like me.”

  “You were there for them?”

  He nodded.

  She gave back in kind. “I was there for the vampires. Jack was a necessary casualty. I hope he wasn’t too hurt?”

  “Hang Jack! He’s a woolen-headed dolt. He’s already gone and fallen in love again. Some American heiress.”

  Preshea laughed. “So, you’re angry I let you leave without saying anything? What did you want me to say?”

  She ran a fingertip around his jaw, as if testing the scratch of his nightly beard. It would scrape her thighs. Weel, she deserves it. I’ll find a nice cooling cloth for after, make certain she doesna get too red… What am I thinking? She left me in misery for weeks and here I’m worrying about her thighs. Of course I am. Gavin sighed; he wasn’t even angry with her. Because she is here, with me.

  He answered her question. “I wanted you to ask me to stay. Even though I couldna. I wanted you to offer to continue our liaison.”

  “Only that?”

  I wanted you to say you loved me. But there was no way he was going to scare her off with that.

  “Lass, I read about your father, in the papers.”

  “How did you know he’s my father?”

  “Preshea Buss.” She winced and he hurried on. “I called in my favor with the werewolves of the War Office soon as I returned. They’ve a wee file on you, verra wee. Had all your names, though. Weel, all the public ones. Was it your doing, then, ‘the humiliation of Mr Buss’?” He quoted the headline.

  “Quite the scandal. He’s fled to Australia, did you know? Won’t ever be able to practice business here again.” He’d sold shoddy materials to a dirigible manufacturer. People had died when the airship exploded. Lord Akeldama had acquired the company articles, and Preshea’s father was culpable without question.

  “Are you tainted by association, lass?”

  She shrugged, still caressing his face. “Not hardly. It’s been years since I carried his name. We never appeared in public together.”

  “You’re staying in London, then?” He was disappointed. If she were escaping scandal, she might wish to come with him back to the rolling, endless green of his beloved Scotland.

  She grinned, a real smile that crept all the way into those remarkable eyes. “Actually, I believe I should like to travel.”

  “The season has only just begun.”

  “Second Reform Act has people restless. There could be riots. I’ve no need to stay in town.”

  “Season would give you the opportunity to catch another husband. You’re out of mourning.”

  “What would I do with another husband?”r />
  “You might pick one you actually loved for a change.”

  “You applying for the position?”

  Startled, Gavin reached for her hand and held it between his, stopping the caresses.

  “Am I in with a chance?”

  She broke the moment. At least, he thought that was what she was doing. “I had an interesting conversation with a vampire recently.”

  “Oh, aye?”

  “He said something very wise.”

  “Vampires are known to do that, on occasion.”

  “He said I should choose love.”

  Gavin stopped breathing. He could do nothing but stare at her – small white face, slight up-tilt to the nose, bluest of blue eyes, all polished perfection. “Did he, now?”

  “Although I’m sure he wouldn’t approve of the beard.”

  Gavin sat up and yelled, “Mawkins! Get your scrawny arse in here!”

  Preshea hit him with a tiny fist. “Don’t be an idiot!”

  The valet’s head appeared around the door. “Sir?” He didn’t even blink at Preshea’s presence. She hid under the coverlet. Gavin was given to wonder if Mawkins hadn’t a hand in letting her into the room in the first place. Crafty devil.

  “My lass here would see me shaved.”

  “Now, sir?”

  Preshea’s head popped back up. She pressed her mouth against Gavin’s ear. In front of his valet! Gavin blushed a little, although the situation was entirely of his own making.

  She whispered, “We can test out the beard. Perhaps if I am standing, it will not prickle quite so much?”

  “Thank you, Mawkins, that will be all.”

  “Sir.” Mawkins left promptly. He was grinning like a madman.

  Gavin lifted her and rolled so she rested atop him. Her full length pressed along his. “Love, is it?”

  “Aye.” She mocked his accent and then added, “And?” Her voice almost trembled.

  He could have teased her more, but he never would be the kind of man to let a lady suffer. Especially not this one. “Silly lass. ’Course I love you. Wouldna dare not to.” He liked knowing she could kill him. There was probably something wrong with that, but since her ability wasn’t going away, he’d rather enjoy it than not. He didn’t tell her, though. A surprise for later.