D2D_Poison or Protect (3 page)

“What a
charming
compliment. However, I would never presume. Lady Villentia values her freedom. She has certainly earned it.”

“Flat on her back.”

Ah. A man who believes in performance piety.

“Now, now. No call for vulgarity. Isn’t that the
exact
skill you wish activated on your behalf?”

She heard a sharp clink. A glass set down hard on a tabletop. The visitor had taken claret after all. “I did not think I would have to woo her.”

“Out of practice, are we? Don’t you worry, my boy, I am
never
out of practice with wooing. And in this instance, I am moved –
quite
moved – by your plight.” Condescension entered the vampire’s tone. “You may even find her demands
pleasurable
.”

The visitor sputtered.

Preshea decided that she was going to enjoy this. Whatever Lord Akeldama’s friend wanted, he wanted it badly enough to deal with two very tricky devils.

“Of course, there is always the possibility” —the vampire was like a fussy eater, picking at his meal— “she may find
your
troubles unworthy.”

“This is an affair of great distress.”

“To you.”

“My family is—”

“Yes,
yes
. Well regarded, pillars of the community, must avoid all appearance of moral turpitude.”

The conversation was becoming dull.
So
,
perhaps I should provide proof of my skills.
Preshea pulled a sharp silver pin from the end of one sleeve. Good for encouraging werewolves to see her point of view, particularly when applied to delicate areas of the body. She pricked the back of her wrist.

Would it be enough?

“But wait. What blood from yonder mortal drips?” Lord Akeldama misquoted. “Perhaps we were hasty in our assessment of the lady’s tardiness.”

He drew back the curtain.

Preshea allowed a humorless smile to spread over the tinted perfection of her lips.

“Ah, my
precious
gem.” The vampire held out a hand, his fingers white.

Preshea was not afraid of vampires. Or at least, not this one. Monsters came in all shapes and sizes, and very few of them were actually supernatural.

She took his hand and gave him her full weight. He stood her up effortlessly. That was always fun. “Lord Akeldama, I was enjoying your view.”

“Not so fine as it might be.”

“But sir, the road is very street-like and the conversation scintillating.”

He smiled, tight-lipped, showing no fang and no threat. “No need to be flippant, my pearl.” He escorted her forward.

His visitor was older, with a linear face. Frown lines marred his wide forehead. More lines were grooved into his sallow cheeks, running along his nose down to the sides of his mouth. He had a full head of grey hair brushed up at the front, and trailing muttonchops. It looked as if a frustrated painter had smeared him downwards.

“May I introduce you to—”

The man held up a hand. “No names, please, until we have an agreement.”

Preshea made her voice sweet. “How ungallant. You know practically everything about me. So, I am at a disadvantage.”

The man took her small hand, offered naked of its glove. “Lady Villentia, I doubt that is possible.”

Preshea looked to Lord Akeldama. “Flattery? I like him already.”

She did not like him, although Preshea ordinarily preferred elderly men. They were so set in their ways that they only saw what they wished to see. This meant she could get away with murder. Literally. But this one was frozen solid, and none of his lines were from smiling. His clothes were somber and his neck-cloth tight with Biblical starch. He was lousy with virtuous living and the kind of Christian goodness that delights in self-sacrifice. She would not be able to win easily with him. His rectitude was as much a weapon as her looks, and they both knew it.

No wonder he was loath to employ her.

He dropped her hand a little too soon.

She drew it back to her skirt and wiped it with infinite subtlety and exactly enough motion so that he could not fail to notice.

The lines about his nose deepened.

Thus we understand each other.

“Shall we?” Lord Akeldama gestured to three chairs clustered about an unlit fire.

Preshea walked over and swept her skirts to exactly the correct drape as she sat. She kept her neck long, tilting her head to show her complexion to advantage. No man would ever be allowed to forget her beauty. Especially one she didn’t like.

She directed her gaze to the vampire, because this visitor would hate to be ignored. “You’re right, of course – I was bored or I shouldn’t have come. So, why
have
I come?”

“This gentleman has a conundrum.”

“A not uncommon failing among gentlemen.”

That drove the man to speak his purpose at last. “My daughter has conceived of an ill match.”

“A fortune hunter? How embarrassing, but hardly unique.” Preshea made a show of binding her bleeding wrist with a handkerchief.

“I wish you to disabuse her of this notion.”

Preshea turned to Lord Akeldama. “Surely, you can find something more worthy of my skills?”

“Unhappy that you won’t get to kill anyone, my
ruby
?”

Preshea tightened the knot about her wrist by pulling one end with her hand and the other with her teeth. “Matters of the heart are so dull. Death is
never
dull, except when it is one’s own.”

The visiting lord looked away, disgusted by her tiny show of violence.

Good, I can’t allow him to think me tame.
“Why should I bother, my lords? Give me good reason if you want the pot sweet and the lady eager.”

The vampire looked her over. “I believe you already have one
excellent
reason – you are intrigued despite yourself.”

The lord straightened. “But she just said...”

“I am not intrigued by the daughter’s ill choices, but by the father’s desperation.”

“Ah.” The visitor slumped back.

Preshea looked him over. “Saintly Duke Snodgrove. I did not think yours was a family prone to scandal.”
Why allow your daughter to entertain a predator? Has she been trapped into an arrangement?

“You know who I am?”

Preshea tilted her head. “His Grace forgets, information is my trade and I’m a merchant of renown. We may not dance in the same circles, but your sketch has appeared in many papers.
Punch
is not always flattering. But somewhat accurate, as it turns out.”

Before he objected, Preshea continued. “I’ve heard much of your philanthropy. A nobleman who advocates for the deserving poor. You entrance me.” She leaned forward, knowing this caused the swell of her breasts to rise above the neckline of her gown. A show of force, Preshea-style.

For the first time, she saw fear in the duke’s eyes. “I’m a happily married man.”

No man is that happily married.

“And I’m not currently looking for a fifth husband. But one wonders what can be so awful about this fortune hunter that you, my lord, are driven to take congress with a woman like myself. I am, one might say, the very opposite of the deserving poor.” She leaned back.

He took a grateful breath.

She followed up her advantage. “Here was I, thinking you magnanimous towards the lower orders. Yet your generosity does not extend to your own daughter’s suitor? How hypocritical.”

“What do you
want
?” He flushed, a slash of color on those gaunt cheeks.

“Besides a reason?”

“Besides that.”

Preshea frowned. What did she want? After four marriages, and four deaths, she had everything in life a woman might desire: titled position, swollen coffers, the freedom to travel, and a world that accepted her because it was afraid of her.

“I suppose it is somewhat satisfying to know that even you, Your Grace, nicest man in London, have a dark underbelly of corruption.”

The man in question stood and began to pace. “I protect my family, Lady Villentia. Something with which you’ve little experience, no doubt. Do you know how many children God has taken from me? Four. And my dear Constance only recently.”

What God has taken, no fortune hunter may covet?
“My condolences.”

“We did not lose her entirely. She went ghost.”

“Felicitations on your family’s unbirth, then, Your Grace.”

He inclined his head and continued with the living. “Violet is my oldest and perhaps I coddle her overmuch. She’s a good gel, fond of gardening. She doesn’t know what rottenness may manifest in men and I don’t wish her to know. I want him gone in such a way that she will not pine, but instead will feel his leaving for the better. Their parting must not originate with me. I could not stand her resentment.”

Preshea had his measure then.
A man who prefers to be the hero to his family and his country.

Still, she had nothing better to do. “It has been a long time since I meddled in anyone else’s romance. This could be diverting, but your reason, Your Grace, is not
my
reason. You still have not told me how I benefit.”

“What do you want?” He asked again.

Preshea lowered her eyelashes, enjoying the rush of power. Nothing gave her more pleasure than a man of substance at her mercy. “I’ll take it as a debt owed. You’re a political force – there may come a time when I need a legislative favor.”

Lord Akeldama laughed, a fractured tinkling. “There you have it. The sword of Damocles hanging over your head. She asks very
little
.”

Preshea gave a genuine smile. “My
dear
Lord Akeldama, you are well aware that swords were never my preferred weapon.” She paused, rearranging her plans for the spring. She had thought to go to Paris to visit a favorite shop that specialized in deadly accessories. That could wait. “So, my lords, where is this evil fortune hunter and how will I be integrated into his society?”

“You should enjoy this, my
sapphire
. His Grace is hosting a
house party
.”

Preshea inclined her head. “I do love a house party – all those ill-contained sentiments and simmering resentments. Not to mention a restricted timeframe. It makes for a lovely challenge.” She frowned of a sudden. “A ghost, you said? The family maintains remourning for the duration of her resurrection?”

The Duke of Snodgrove looked proud. “Indeed. You have never…?”

Preshea sneered. “None of my husbands did themselves the honor. I’ve always had to wear deep mourning for the full two years. You are still in weeds?” Custom dictated that the family of a ghost need only wear half-mourning through to the poltergeist stage. Preshea was politely asking after the condition of the household ghost. To throw a house party with a ghost gone to poltergeist would be madness, though entertaining madness.

“She is doing well, all her parts still in place.”

“You keep her in state?” Preshea wasn’t squeamish. She didn’t mind ghosts about, but the recent custom of keeping the companion body on display in the conservatory could get smelly.

The duke wrinkled his nose. “No, we buried her deep and well sealed in the back garden. She haunts the rear of the house.”

“Then you won’t take offense if I request my chambers be outside of tether distance?” Preshea did not like unwanted visitors in her boudoir, particularly not the undead.

“My
jewel
, of course you require privacy.” Lord Akeldama’s tone was knowing.

Preshea did not dignify that with a response. As if she would welcome a man to her bed outside the requirements of matrimony. “Now, I have questions about the other players in your drama.”

The Duke of Snodgrove sputtered. “I’m due back at my club.”

“You could prepare a leaflet for me on your family and friends, but what I need to know is best not written down.”

“Very well.” The duke resumed his seat. “The man...”

Preshea held up a hand. “I find it is not the things a gentleman notices that are important to a lady of my accomplishments.”

Annoyed, the Duke of Snodgrove allowed her to lead.

Preshea began by asking after the ladies of his household and the female guests. They would be the greater challenge. Men, even men who preferred congress with other men, were easily bewitched. The first because she might make them want her, and the second because she might make them respect her. Women felt little but jealousy and mistrust for Lady Villentia. She could frighten young ladies into obeying her with a few sharp words, but matrons were difficult.
Lord save us all from married women with consequence to protect.

After discussing the ladies, Preshea ascertained the duke’s views on his male guests. Finally, she asked about her target, the fortune hunter, Mr Jackson.

“An attractive, cheerful chap, disposed to be engaging, but lacking in funds, title, or brains.”

“Then why do you receive him?”

“He is still a gentleman and a Tory! His father was once a friend, more’s the pity. Gambled away his fortune and killed himself with drink. Young Jackson is not so bad, but hasn’t two farthings to rub together and is foolish about the little that’s left. Not right for my girl.”

“I see. Very well. Is there anyone else attending whom you’ve failed to mention?”

The duke sniffed. “Mr Jackson brings along his friend, Captain Ruthven. A Scotsman, if you can stomach it. I don’t know why young Jackson feels the need to foist such a creature upon us, but Violet claims he is amiable and no threat to any of the ladies.”

Preshea tilted her head. “He is not inclined?”

His Grace looked startled and then horrified. “Oh, no, not that.” He gave a side-eye glance at the vampire (who looked amused) and hurried quickly on. “He is simply not the type who seeks a title and he has no need to marry for pecuniary advancement.”

“He’s holding?”

“Just so.”

“Unusual, a soldier of independent means. But not a rake?”

“Not so I’ve heard. And I am not so devoted a father that I believe my girls likely to attract a man for any other reason. They’re plain, solid creatures, good souls, but not... well... you know.”

Preshea followed his meaning. “How came this Ruthven by his fortune?”