Imprudence (7 page)

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Although that would be my largest endeavour.”

Although Rue conceded that a tea-cosy cover would indeed go much better with the rest of engineering, she wasn't giving him any quarter. “If you won't tell me what that tank contraption does, you're going to have to make a case for keeping it.”

Quesnel blinked at her. It was wildly unfair to have wasted such pretty violet eyes on a man.

Rue crossed her arms. This plumped up her breasts, straining the muslin of the neckline.

The violet eyes fairly goggled.

I do love this dress
,
thought Rue.
At least it's proving he's not completely indifferent.
“Go on, persuade me.”

“I don't know what to say,
mon petite chou
, except that I really do think we may need it. It's for the preservation of specimens.”

“You think we'll be collecting samples in the near future, do you?”

“Of a kind.”

At least she'd rung
some
information out of him. “What makes you believe, Mr Lefoux, that you are still part of my crew?”

Quesnel frowned. “Now,
chérie
, I didn't take you for one of those kinds of girls.”

“What kind?”

“Spiteful in response to rejection.”

Rue bit down on a gasp of pain.
How dare he!
“So it
was
rejection. Thank you for making your position clear. You could have
said
before you went to Egypt that you'd rather not be the one in charge of my education. I'm not desperate!”

“Of course you're not! You're stunning, exasperating, and occasionally overwhelming.
And
quite enthusiastic in twisting my meaning. When did I reject you? I thought this was you turning me out onto the streets. Did you not just roust me?”

“Mr Lefoux, you signed on to my crew knowing that it was for
one
mission. I assumed, given your disappearance and lack of communication since India, that our business arrangement had terminated. You must understand, under those circumstances, that you secretly installing a
specimen tank in my hold
comes as somewhat of a surprise!”

Rue's voice had steadily risen. However, it was only on that last line that she realised they had an audience. A croquet match was paused in play to watch a lady of the realm yell roundly at her apparent paramour. At which juncture “specimen tank in my hold” took on an entirely euphemistic meaning. Rue's face burned.

Quesnel stayed calm. “Oh, no, my darling girl, certainly not! I've no intention of abandoning my position as long as you wish me to stay. I love
The
Spotted Custard
. She's a marvellous ship. Besides, if you're assuming I'm leaving, why not the Tunstells as well? They only agreed to one trip, but they aren't going anywhere.”

He gestured behind her to where Percy, Primrose, and several decklings stood watching the show, rather as if they were Wimbledon spectators.

Rue was getting flustered. She wasn't certain what they were talking about any more: Quesnel's position under her as chief engineer… or some other amorphous position the details of which – who was under whom – had yet to be determined.

He took her hand. Just like Quesnel to play to an audience. He knew she now couldn't do anything dramatic, like slap him. “I'm sorry I had to leave unexpectedly. I'm sorry about the tank in the hold but I assure you it's necessary and explainable. Just not right
now
. Later? Tonight even, in private? Please, Rue, trust me.”

His hand was warm and strong – and shaking a little bit. His eyes were big compelling pansies of promise and Rue found it all exceedingly annoying. How dare he actually be upset about this, and how dare she worry about his feelings when her own were at risk. And she was in the right!

“I'm sure you can, but right now I'll settle for what you and Percy were arguing about.”

Quesnel's winning smile faded.

Rue pursed her lips. “I will get the whole story from the decklings, you realise? You were arguing in public, loudly.”

Quesnel sighed. “I might, just possibly, have published a paper with the Royal Society about the discovery of the weremonkeys.”

“First?”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Without including Percy as co-author?”

“I shared with Mrs Featherstonehaugh. But, no, not with Professor Tunstell.”

“No wonder he's angry with you. That's incalculably rude.”

“I did think he had already published with the Board of Associated Supernatural Studies or I would have included him. Without a doubt I would.”

“Whose name was first?” Rue raised a hand. “No, don't answer that. I do not want to get involved. Academics!”

Percy was livid because Quesnel had scooped his discovery. And it wasn't even Quesnel's field. He was an inventor. He was supposed to report on new things he had
created
not
found
. Frankly, the entirety of the Rights of Discovery and Reportage should have gone to Mrs Featherstonehaugh. Although it was difficult for a lady to be taken seriously in these matters. Nevertheless, if Quesnel was going to co-author any paper on weremonkeys, he ought to have included Percy.

“For a smart man, Mr Lefoux, you can be an insensitive blighter.” Rue was not one for crass language unless the occasion warranted it.

Quesnel was taken aback.

Rue prodded him in the chest with two fingers. “You know what your character flaw is, Mr Lefoux?” The way she said his name made it sound like an insult. “You are not meant to be taken seriously, and yet you will go about seriously mucking about in everyone else's lives.”

Quesnel's eyes narrowed. “That's rich coming from you.”

Rue sucked in a breath. Her scalp prickled and her eyes stung. “You're absolutely right. Neither of us should be taken seriously. And how can we build any kind of relationship on that?”

“Are we still talking about my being your chief engineer?” A smile teased about his lips.

Rue decided that her only means of keeping herself from getting hurt by this man was
not
to take him at all seriously. She took a deep breath, leaned forward, and kissed him softly, right on those still-smiling lips. In front of half of London.

Quesnel blinked at her.

Ha
,
thought Rue,
mull that one over, you little traitor.
“You think you're so good with people, Quesnel, but you're better off with the machines. You owe Percy an apology.”

Quesnel looked surprised and then petulant.

“We will figure out what you owe me later.” Rue said that to see if she could get his expression to change.

It did, to one of wariness mixed with anticipation. Good. He didn't deserve to be in control.

Quesnel wasn't one to stay confused. Before she could turn and walk back up the gangplank, knowing that her dress looked even better from behind, he snaked out an arm and pulled her in.

This time he kissed her and it was not so sweet, instead quite scalding. Rue gasped a protest into his mouth. She supposed one ought to close one's eyes, but she kept hers open, yellow staring into violet.
A violet Cyclops, this close up
. It was a good kiss. She liked everything about it – the warm taste of him, the steady arm, the smell of machine oil and fresh lime. She would have melted against him except for that stupid corset. She could feel the heat of his hand on her waist all the way through the layers.

There was a roaring in her ears, which did confuse her a little. After all, Quesnel had kissed her before. And while it was quite wonderful, for he was a superb kisser, it hadn't caused auditory hallucinations in the past.
Aha
,
thought Rue.
That must be
actual
roaring. Who's roaring at us?

Something large and hairy yanked Quesnel away and pushed him back. Quesnel looked dazed by their kiss. Although it could have been the fact that standing between them was Rue's very angry father. Her birth father, mind you, the werewolf, Lord Maccon.

Rue adored her Paw but he did operate mainly on emotion. Today, he was looking rough. He was an Alpha and old, thus one of the few werewolves who could withstand full sunlight. But under the soft afternoon glow, he did not look healthy. There were lines carved into his face and his salted dark hair was limp. He was scruffy, not uncommon since he slept the day through touching Mother, which meant he was mortal enough to grow a beard. But Lady Maccon usually stayed around so he could shave it off after. Rue's mother was not fond of beards.

“Good afternoon, Paw.” Rue spoke calmly. “Where have you been?”

Lord Maccon watched her out of glassy yellow eyes, so like her own.
Well, except for the glassy bit.
He turned his head to glare at Quesnel, teeth bared.

The inventor was trying to look unruffled. But Lord Maccon was very large and, even in sunlight, very strong. Quesnel, while fit, was nowhere near his fighting weight. Rue wouldn't put it past her chief engineer to be armed with silver, possibly several iterations thereof, but she hoped he wasn't inclined to permanently damage her father.

It was an odd thought, that Paw might need protection. But he did look most unwell.

“Paw.” Rue put a gentling hand to his arm. It was full daylight so she could touch him without hairy repercussions. For while her mother's power worked under sunlight, Rue's did not. As a little girl, she'd always loved it when Paw was awake during the day. He gave the best hugs. “What's wrong?”

He stayed distracted, growling at Quesnel.

Rue's beloved Paw was, as her mother often put it, only barely civilised. Yet this was a bit much, even for him. Not that it was odd for an aristocratic father to become agitated at finding his only daughter in a clinch with a commoner on a croquet green. But Lord Maccon was looking, and there was no politer way of putting it,
not in control
.

“Paw, I wasn't in danger. Mr Lefoux and I have an understanding.”
Well
, she corrected the little lie in her head,
I understand that he is no longer to be taken seriously and that I should keep my heart out of it. And I also understand
that I might as well keep trying to seduce him because a man who kisses that well has got to be good at more than kissing.
Rue's curiosity, it should be pointed out at this juncture, had got her into more scrapes than it ought. She should know better. But there was that kiss.

Lord Maccon didn't move. Just kept growling. Rue shifted into panic. This was different. He was already over the edge. Whatever cliff it was that tumbled werewolves into animal, he had fallen to the bottom of it.

Rue spoke carefully, trying to pull him back to her with the firmness of her voice. “Paw, are you able to speak?”

He didn't answer, simply stared at Quesnel. Had it been night, he would most certainly be a wolf. But the sun kept him human. Well, human-
looking
.

“Don't run,” Rue advised her chief engineer. “He'll only chase.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Quesnel sounded as though he, too, might be losing the ability to speak.

“Are you tarnished?”

Quesnel inclined his head.

“Can you pull? Slowly?”

Quesnel moved with liquid grace, reaching with his right hand to scrunch back the cuff on his left arm. This revealed a dart emitter on his wrist. He made a tapping flick to load it, no doubt with silver. Not big enough to do serious damage, but if applied to the right area it could certainly slow a werewolf down.

Rue let out a shaky breath and returned her focus to her father.

“Paw, look at me. Please.”

He didn't move.

Instinct, this is all instinct. I have to play on that.

She gave Quesnel a wink to let him know she wasn't serious and then gave a small whimpering sigh. “Oh.” She put a hand to her head in the manner of Aunt Ivy. “I feel faint. I feel dizzy.” She stumbled slightly to one side.

And he was there, big arms scooping her up. So reassuring, usually, Paw carrying her like she was a child again, but his grip was too tight.

Rue tried a light touch to his bristled cheek. Finally, their eyes met. Yellow-to-yellow, grave and worried to glassy and… absent.

Rue could think of only one thing that might help this situation – Lady Maccon. “Where's Mother, Paw? Where's your wife?”

Lord Maccon twitched, maybe hearing her, maybe not.

Rue tamped down on the realisation that the London Pack had been drunk and out of control last night, not for some bumbling adorable werewolf reason, but because their Alpha was out of control.

“Alexia, where is she?”
Instinct
, Rue instructed herself,
activate instinct.
“I'm fine, Paw. Everything is well. You need to find your wife. She needs you.”
You need her.

Alphas who lost their control went mad. They were put down like dogs, for the good of society. Her Paw was, more than ever before, a walking corpse.

Something Rue said went in and stuck.

Lord Maccon blinked and for one second he was back – her big gruff softy of a Paw. “Rue? What are you doing—?”

She took that moment of lucidity and ran with it. “Paw, find Mother. You
must
find Mother. Now.”

He tilted his head at her. “But?”

“I'm safe.” She did not mention Quesnel. He was standing as still as could be, dart pointed, barely breathing. No need to remind Paw of what he had interrupted; it may have sent him back to that place of the glassy eyes.

“I'm a modern woman, remember? Dama trained me.”

Paw sneered automatically. “That vampire.”

That was good. That was a normal reaction. “But, Paw, I think Mother needs you now. You should go to her.”

He blinked again, like a small sleep-addled child. “Alexia? I should?”

“Yes, at once. Please?”