D2D_Poison or Protect (8 page)

“Why, Captain, what are you doing out and about at such an hour?” A soft female voice, clipped, pristine.

How could a woman with such white skin be so invisible? He held his candle aloft.

Lady Villentia moved into the light. She still wore her dark blue dress. The watered silk was made for nighttime; it folded into shadow. She had her arms crossed over her chest and was glaring at him, as if it were not more suspicious for her to be awake, about, and still dressed.

“Have you na slept at all?” he found himself asking, worried. Was she ill? Or was she going to kill someone? He considered. It was late. Plenty of time to have killed someone already.

“I sleep very little. Why are you awake?”

“Hungry.”

A huff of suppressed laughter. “Of course you are. How silly of me. Hunting more dainty sandwiches?” She seemed obsessed that he liked the little ones. As if she enjoyed seeing him indulge in something incongruous.

“I canna deny I was looking. I like them in triangles, without their crusts. Sadly, none left. I made shift with somewhat less dainty. What are you hunting, lass?” She was hardly after killing the duke, not downstairs.

“Just checking up on a few things.”

“Things?”

“You’ll think it a girlish fancy, but I like to know all doors and windows are secured before I take to my room. Perhaps I’m of a nervous inclination.”

“I verra much doubt that, Lady Villentia. You’ve enemies so bold, they’d follow you here and invade a duke’s house party?”

“My dear captain, did I say they were
my
enemies?”

Gavin felt a sudden surge of joy. Were they on the same side? Had she been charged with protecting the duke as well? He’d never heard her spoken of in a defensive capacity, but society always glorified the bad and forgot the good. Still, he was not so green as to give his own position away. “You’re thinking someone is after Jack?”

She blinked at that, uncrossing her arms. The candlelight cast a warm glow over her white perfection. He remembered childhood tales of the sídhe, Fair Folk, and thought for one fanciful moment she was sent to lure him into madness.

“Mr Jackson in danger? Why would I think that?” She did not dissemble or attempt to hide her capabilities with false modesty.

“You’ve been watching him carefully.”

“Poor Captain Ruthven, are you jealous?”

“Verra.”

She sighed. “Come with me while I continue my rounds. I’m weary of talking in the hallway like little sneaks.”

“Are we na sneaks?”

“Yes, but you, at least, are not little. Snuff out that candle, do.” She walked away without bothering to see if he would follow.

He blew out the candle and followed, of course.

She moved without the stiffness that had imbued her whole body in polite company.
A vampire’s grace.
But her features had none of the unearthly beauty of that set. She might seem fairy-kind, but she was human.
Nay, she moves like a warrior.
She rolled each step across the ball of her foot, silent, those boots of hers softer than they ought to be. Kidskin, like her gloves.
Who buys kid leather boots?
Expensive taste, for they would split after only a few wearings.

She tested the latch of the drawing room window. The big one. It had never yet been opened for fear of rain, yet she checked it.

“You have no reputation as a bodyguard, Lady Villentia.”

“Too true. I am ill suited to the task. I would rather be set to kill than to protect. A great deal easier, don’t you find?”

“I wouldna know.” He swallowed his shock at her directness.

“No? I thought you saw action,
Captain
. My mistake.”

“’Tis na quite the same.”

“Killing is killing. Does it matter if it is done in battle or bedroom, so long as it is by your hand?”

“I…” He stuttered.

She paused over the latch of the next window, finding it suddenly fascinating. “Do they wake you in the night – the dead?”

“Sometimes. You?”

“Not so often as I think they should. But then, I knew them all well enough to know they ought to die. You did not have that luxury.”

“You pity me a soldier’s ignorance?”

“Do you require my pity?”

“Nay. Should you like a boost?”

“What?”

He had shocked her with his offer, so reminiscent of their conversation earlier that day.
Have I really only known her a day?
“To check the transom?”

She looked up. “No. If I needed help up, so would he.”

“You believe he is alone?”

“I don’t think I could fit through that transom, and in my experience, most assassins are bigger than I.”

“Suit yourself.” So, it
was
an assassin she warded against. Relief flowed through him. They must be on the same side, protecting the duke. Which meant she was using Jack as a decoy. Or Jack was the reason the duke thought she was there.

Should I say somewhat?

He accompanied her through the library, sitting room, dining room, gallery, music room, conservatory, billiard room, and finally the ballroom. She checked every window and door large enough to admit a man.

“The servants’ entrances?”

“Done while you were snacking.”

He blushed to think that she’d observed him at his meal. “I didna see you.”

“You were not meant to.”

“Are
all
the stories about you true, Lady Villentia?”

She frowned. “All the ones that matter, I suppose. Why? Are you curious about anything in particular? Like most ladies, I dearly love to talk about myself.”

It was an opening, and she so rarely gave one that Gavin was almost at a loss what to do with it. He shifted closer to her, but not so close as to be a threat. It was more that he wished to know if she were warm flesh or made of ice. “They say you’ve a poison you spread on your lips. That to kiss you would be deadly.”

“What rot – how could I keep from poisoning myself?”

“I would take the risk, even if it were true.”

She moved in against him then, fast and unexpected. As though she knew he would not try first.

* * *

He was wearing a banyan.

A banyan, for goodness’ sake.

Even Preshea’s father, notorious for his old-fashioned ideals, had given over such antiquated nightwear.

I will not think of my father now.

Preshea supposed the good captain had not realized it, but the darn thing was slipping. Had been slipping all along – slowly opening down the front as they padded about the house together.
And why did I invite him to join me? Because I want him to see me as deadly? Because I want him to know and be proud of all my abilities, not simply the tricks I show polite society? Or because I want to see if a glimpse of truth will frighten him away?

The banyan was open enough to show all his neck and throat, thick and strong. It exposed his jugular, so vulnerable, and his collarbone, so fragile, even on a man of his size. She could see a sprinkling of chest hair.

“Are you wearing anything under that quaint old robe of yours?” she questioned idly, crowding into his warmth.

“Nay, lass, but I’m thinking…” He trailed off, for she had touched his neck – a feathering of fingertips at the suprasternal notch. His Adam’s apple, just above, bobbed as he swallowed.

“You’re not cold?” Her voice stayed calm.

His caught a little. “Nay.”

Preshea liked that she could make him nervous. He stood there, so big, and yet entirely at her mercy. More than he realized, for there was a tiny blade up her right sleeve. She could snap it out easily, with a flick of the wrist. She didn’t, but it felt good knowing he was defenseless under her touch – innocent.

“
Leannan sìth
, I’m at your mercy,” he breathed.

How had he known?
She almost jerked away, but now it had become a test of her mettle. She increased the pressure of her fingers. “What does it mean,
leannan sìth
?”

“Fair Folk. Pale from living underground – beautiful, lethal. Occasionally, they send forth a lass so bonnie, she inspires mortal men to greatness or despair. I’m thinking you’re one of them.”

“Are they powerful?” Preshea stroked a single nail along his neck, as if it were the path of a blade.

“Verra. They drive most men mad.”

Preshea felt a funny pang at that statement, but she kept the banter light. She moved her hand then and tried to bracket his neck with it, as if to strangle him. She couldn’t, of course; her hand was too small (with neither the strength nor the span). In fact, it was a less deadly place for her hand to rest, as she could no longer flick out her knife. But to him it would feel more threatening.

She knew because she felt him swallow again, under her palm.

“I shall try to keep you sane, Captain Ruthven.”

“Will you be kissing me now?” he wondered.

“Should you like it if I did?”

“Verra much.”

She stood on her tiptoes and braced one hand on his shoulder, the other on his wide chest.

He bent down. He had to; even on her toes she wasn’t tall enough. He waited, though, for her to begin. How did he know how much she needed that patience? How important it was for him not to be just another man who wanted to consume her?

She kissed him. Softly, mouth closed. He kept his closed, too, lips relaxed. He held himself still, as if she were a skittish wild creature who might dash back underground to her fairy kingdom.
Ridiculous man
.

She pulled back.

He did not grab. He did not mash his mouth to hers in an excess of passion.

It was glorious.

“Weel, then.” He breathed out the words. His eyes gleamed as he examined her face. She could see it even in the dark, but it was not avarice. It was bubbles of joy, as in a glass of champagne. He was pleased. He liked what she had done.

Preshea felt oddly proud. An academic achievement, like the first time she had mixed the perfect dose of arsenic. She wanted to give him something as a reward for his restraint, for surprising her.

“It’s my first kiss, you see? Don’t look so disbelieving. I know what you think – four husbands. I should say instead that it is my first kiss freely given. Thank you for not demanding more.”

He tilted his head.

She noticed then that his hands were on her back. Not fierce or rough, simply there, keeping her balanced. Comforting.

“I shall kiss you again now. To ensure I have the way of it.” Preshea suited her actions to words, reckless with surprise at herself.

He let her, of course.

But the
of course
was not because he wanted her, although there was little doubt of that. She felt it against her stomach as she rested flush against him. No, the
of course
was because she was beginning to get the impression he would let her do most anything she liked to him. Not because he was frightened of her, but because it was his nature.

This character flaw was a window of opportunity she should exploit… professionally. But instead, she found herself moving restlessly against him, kissing him deeply – with no ulterior purpose but to find out if his lips really were that soft.

They were and they parted slightly under hers, an invitation, should she choose to take it. Nothing more – no press of slavering tongue, no pull of hands. He did not even rub his hardness against her, although he must be desperate to do so. All her husbands had.

She pulled back and, in the spirit of being daring, asked him to explain. “You are not unaffected. Do you hold yourself in check because you think I will fly away like a startled bird? Or are you lazy about this kind of thing and prefer the lady does all the work?”

She felt his rumble of amusement, for her one hand was pressed against his naked chest. Surprised, she realized she had entwined her fingers in the soft hair there.

He let the laugh puff out. “Neither. I hold back for love of waiting. Na so I might charge in later – dinna mistake my meaning. When you are ready to tell me what you wish, I will give it to you. Simple as that. Dinna fret – I work hard if you put me to the task, Lady Villentia.”

Preshea’s grin was only slightly carnal. She loved his answer. A realization that turned her cold with fear. She dropped her hands and broke the moment. Horribly confused. What a terrifying – and tempting – man.

“Don’t be silly, Captain. I believe at this juncture you may call me by my Christian name.”

“I dinna know it, lass.”

“Nor I yours.”

“Gavin. Tis na all that much, but it was my father’s and it suits me well enough.”

She allowed a tiny smile. “It does that. I am Preshea.”

He grinned, a bright joyful thing. “Preshea. Perfect.”

* * *

It was perfect. She was perfect.

How had she known that it had to be she who kissed him?

Why bother with how she knew – she knew and she’d done it. And it was perfect.
And I was her first.
He smiled at that glimmer of susceptibility.

He wondered where they would go next. Would she invite him to her room? No, too soon, if ever. She was afraid, although not of him, not really. She was frightened of something he represented. Not one to admit to that, she might become cruel in recompense.

A challenge, but a bonnie one.
Fortunately, Gavin was equal to a courtship where he could not demand with all the self-righteousness endemic to his sex. He preferred coaxing over insisting. He was optimistic – she evidently wanted him. Her breath had hitched and she had caressed him without realizing it. And she had kissed him a second time. He’d thought he would only warrant one before she fled. But there had been another, as if she were testing his resilience and her control over him. Glorious.

And, better still, she had not yet fled.
Strong stuff in this wee warrior.

“I do not think this is the done thing, for you two to be here in such a way.” The voice was unexpected, querulous and breathy with no breath at all.

They had forgotten that there was one member of the Bicker-Harrow family guaranteed to be awake at this hour, with nothing better to do than drift about, looking for trouble.

“Formerly Connie.” Preshea pulled away.