D2D_Poison or Protect (17 page)

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 curiosity 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?”

“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.