Imprudence (18 page)

After everyone else had gone to bed, Rue received Quesnel at the door to the captain's quarters wearing the pretty silk robe that she'd conveniently forgotten to return to Tasherit.

Quesnel was delighted. “You noticed how much I liked it?”

She nodded, nervous. “I thought that it would make things easier.”
And give me a little control over the situation.

Rue wasn't even aware she had linked her hands together until Quesnel placed his palm gently on top of them.

“
Chérie
, I wish to be very clear with you. This is not a rejection. I absolutely adore that robe. You are shaped in every way exactly as a woman ought to be shaped and someday soon I will strip it off you and convince you of this fact. But not now.”

Rue felt the hot blush of shame. What was she doing, chucking herself at him like some wanton street hussy?

“No,” he said, “stop it. What did I
just
say? This is nothing to do with you. It is my control I'm concerned about as you are inexperienced. This must be good for you. I have to make it good for you.” He shook his head.

He is nervous, too? How adorable.
Rue gave him a little nudge with her shoulder.

“I don't want to skip too far ahead. You cannot be expected to speak French in full sentences, having only learned a few words.”

Rue took a shallow breath. “That does make sense. Nothing of an intrusive nature right away?” She gave his trousers a suggestive glance.

Quesnel chuckled, but not in a nasty way. “Shall we leave that for a week so you don't fret overmuch?”

Rue was both disappointed and profoundly relieved. “Oh, that would be nice. Not that I am rejecting you!” She wanted to take equal care of his feelings. “And I don't wish to restrict spontaneity, but I should like…”

“A reprieve from the unknown? Don't wind yourself up about it. And to that end, I have something for you.”

“A book? How thoughtful.”
How mundane.
It was something Percy would do, and so out of character. She glared at the volume in confusion. It was a plain cloth thing, dark green in colour, not very big. It was certainly something she could read quickly. It looked to include a number of etchings – they darkened the edges of near half the leaves.

“That book is your first lesson. I would like you to read it,
chérie
. Mark the bits you like and the ones that confuse you, and we are going to talk about it. Really talk. Teasing talk, of course, that seems easiest for us, but I want you to read and ask questions. Please?”

She went to flip it open.

“Not in the hallway,
mon petite chou
. I bid you good night.”

“Don't I even get a kiss?”

“Not in that robe you don't, far too dangerous.”

Rue giggled. He really did like it. And her. He liked the way she looked, curves and odd tawny eyes, and all.

“Enjoy the book. Pleasant dreams.”

Rue couldn't deny a pang as she closed the door. Primrose was right to accuse her of all too readily charging into the unknown. Even when heading into the aetherosphere, one charted currents and followed a course. Perhaps that's what this volume was meant to be – a travel guide.

She flipped it open.

“Oh dear me,” said Rue into the silence of her empty quarters.

It was a very informative evening, as it turned out.

T
hey arrived in Egypt before Quesnel's week's delay was over. Not that Quesnel avoided Rue. One morning, after days of increased teasing, he finally followed her into her quarters once everyone else was abed and declared it kisses time – no tongue, no hands.

Rue discovered she enjoyed having her neck kissed. And lower down. Quesnel clearly felt the same. They stopped at the waist but the book had reliably informed her that they could keep going. Since Quesnel had indicated he would welcome questions, she asked him about that.

He said he'd show her but that it would be necessary for the next lesson to be slightly delayed. He'd require twenty minutes in his own quarters first, and then they could proceed without, as he put it, containment problems. After the book, Rue had a tolerably good idea what he meant.

The next session, twenty minutes later than normal, they worked on kissing further.

It was about the best wheeze Rue had ever enjoyed, which she told Quesnel, because he ought to know these things, too. He was flustered by her praise.

He slid back from her. They were sitting on the bed. Not under the covers. He had declared that, unless they were cold, lessons were better conducted with the gas on low, grey light filtering in through the porthole, and everything out in the open – for the sake of a superior education.

Rue was still fully dressed, although she had opted for a tea-gown: better ease of access. Quesnel was stripped down to his trousers, because, as he explained, he was prepared for her to do most of the kissing this evening.

He jumped off the bed and removed the last of his clothing. He gritted his teeth and blushed, more self-conscious than the werewolves of Rue's acquaintance. Perhaps this was more an obligation rather than a pleasure?

“You don't have to.” Rue didn't want him to feel forced.

“It's only a little embarrassment. You've seen pictures. It's time for you to do a little of that exploring you're so fond of.”

“Goodie!” Rue clapped her hands only a tiny bit.

He grinned. “Standing or lying down?”

Rue pursed her lips and wandered over to him, letting her gaze and then her hands drift.

She wasn't taken with the idea of kneeling at his feet. The book was fond of depicting this dynamic but Rue had decided early on that it didn't appeal. She informed Quesnel of this.

He seemed oddly pleased. “Not that I don't think we can try it eventually – you shouldn't rule anything completely out – but I agree it's a little servile.”

“Exactly!” replied Rue. “I'm a lady. We don't kneel.” Since she had one hand on his posterior at the time in a completely unladylike manner, this comment came off as hilarious to the both of them.

“To the bed!” Quesnel lay back, utterly nude and looking only a little uncomfortable under Rue's interested gaze. He put both hands behind his head, as though they needed to be trapped there.

“Lady Prudence, I am at your disposal.”

“Are we still on the only kissing part of the lesson plan?”

“For this, I think you should be allowed to do your worst. Hopefully matters won't get too ungovernable.”

“Is that why?” Rue gestured, indicating that, unlike their previous encounters, not all of him was interested in these proceedings.

“Yes. Plus, I'm a little cold.”

“A challenge.” Rue was hesitant at first, using only a few fingers. She experimented with pressure, curious about the different textures of his skin. Unlike the werewolf uncles, Quesnel had very little hair on his chest, only a sprinkling that arrowed in and trailed lower down. Rue followed it, stopping when he sucked in his breath.

“Too rough?”

“Just ticklish.”

All in all, it proved a most enjoyable evening.

Quesnel's prior preparations notwithstanding, Rue got to see about everything a girl could wish to see – a
most
instructive experience.

When he left her, it must have been almost noon, and they both were anticipating very little sleep.

It was entirely worth it.

“Tomorrow,” Quesnel said, kissing her into slumber, “it's your turn.” He let himself quietly out.

Rue didn't say, “Oh, goodie,” this time. But she certainly thought it.

Rue convinced herself that this was her version of an airship captain's amusing dalliance – piratical in nature. When she was a retired adventuress, she would look back upon this as the romantic indiscretion of her pillaging youth. She was resolute in her commitment to avoiding deep sentiment, knowing that Quesnel was an irreverent butterfly apt to flit off to a new colourful flower at any shift in the breeze. For example, she was painfully cognisant of the fact that he left her after each encounter. When Rue finally slept, it was always alone.

While Rue and Quesnel occupied their time with each other, Primrose spent the grey in philanthropic pursuits, teaching the sooties and decklings to read. Spoo and Virgil took up gambling. Primrose put a stopper on that right quick, but not before Virgil owed Spoo most of his worldly goods. Lady Maccon discovered Percy's library and Footnote and took to both like a werewolf to venison. Percy mooched about the deck, displaced by Lady Maccon, or intent on avoiding literary temptation, or both. The destitute Virgil divided his time between assisting Primrose in her educational endeavours, running errands for Lady Maccon, and chasing after Percy with misplaced accessories.

They were near to leaving the aetherosphere when the idyllic journey became much less idyllic.

It was Rue's own fault. She went to engineering to consult Quesnel without ascertaining that he'd be there. When it turned out he wasn't, she was faced with Aggie. Rue couldn't very well turn around and leave without talking to anyone.

“Miss Phinkerlington?”

Aggie finished assisting one of the sooties with a boiler fill before brushing her hands down her shirtfront ostentatiously and approaching Rue.

“Captain?” The tone implied some level of incompetence on Rue's part.

“How are the coal bunkers? When we puff down, I've plans to refuel immediately, but I'd like to know we could get in and out on what we have if necessary.”

“Expecting a less than enthusiastic reception, are we?”

“No. The troubles of the eighties are long settled. I simply wish to know if we're desperate.”

Aggie chewed a fingernail, which – considering the state of her hands – revolted Rue. “We'll be fine to get down and back up, but we'd need a way station right quick after. Wouldn't be able to get to grey again without strain.”

Rue nodded. “I appreciate your assessment.”

“Hardly see as how you need come all the way down to ask. Could've used the tube.”

Rue was ruffled. “It's only polite to come in person. I find the blow horn unfriendly, don't you?”

“No.”

“Oh.”

“Here I was thinking our little miss captain was chasing tail. Fraternising with the hired help and checking up on the peons.” Aggie's freckles looked militant.

“I
beg
your pardon!” That was too far. “You don't like me much, do you, Miss Phinkerlington?”

“Not used to it, are you? High up-and-up miss toff-lofty who got herself a ship because her vampire daddy likes to give her big toys. You ain't earned one splinter of this beauty and everyone knows it.”

That stung. Rue was afraid Aggie was right. She didn't deserve
The
Spotted Custard
. She hadn't developed into much of a captain yet, but she was doing her best. It didn't help that Aggie kept undermining her authority.

Rue considered it quite an achievement that she did not flare into a temper, instead dousing her tongue with honey. “I
am
sorry you feel that way, Miss Phinkerlington. I assure you I'm well aware of the privilege of my position and I'm trying to do a good job. Did you have any constructive criticism or are you simply jealous?” She shouldn't have added that last bit. Of course she shouldn't. She should have been the better man… well, woman.

Aggie always had a rosy face because of the boiler heat, but at that she went bright red. “You” – she punctuated her words with a sharp puffs of angry breath – “are a spoiled little madam who no more belongs in charge of an airship than I belong as dance master to a dachshund.”

Rue was so arrested by the idea of Aggie in a dancing costume, she almost laughed. But this was a serious matter of insubordination. Aggie was an invaluable member of Quesnel's team but should be dismissed for this kind of talk. Or would that be Rue behaving exactly like the spoiled girl Aggie accused her of being?

“Are you testing me, Miss Phinkerlington?” This was, in its way, an excellent challenge to her abilities as captain. Perhaps that was what Aggie was after.

“As if everything is about you.”

Rue frowned. There had to be something more personal to this dislike. Was Aggie jealous of Rue's relationship with Quesnel? Rue didn't dare ask, because if Aggie weren't aware, the very question would expose Rue to further ridicule.

At that moment, the object of her thoughts rustled up. “Ladies?”

Rue gestured at him in a measuring way. “Miss Phinkerlington here was elucidating my innumerable deficiencies.”

“Oh, Aggie.” Quesnel's tone conveyed disappointment.

Aggie crossed her muscled arms over her chest. “She gets us in the soup all too often, charging in without any thought to the fact that we must go along with her.”

Rue winced. She did have a propensity to enthusiastically drag her ship – and crew – off to goodness knows where. Egypt, for example. “Isn't that why you signed on, for the adventure?”

“No. I wanted a job. Just as all the greasers and sooties did.”

“Do I not pay you well enough? Are you threatening a lockout?” Rue pressed.
Am I ignoring my people, not being a proper caretaker?
“Mr Lefoux should have said something!”

Quesnel stepped in. “Nothing like that, Lady Captain. Aggie here is a rabid member of the Amalgamated Society of Engineers. She's fixated on you as the ideal representation of all that is wrong with the idle aristocracy.”

Rue was further confused. “I'm an idle aristocrat? Oh dear.”

Aggie was not mollified. “You and your mother. Frittering away your position in society without any attempt to effect change.”

“I have a position that can effect change?” Rue supposed Aggie's wrath didn't extend to Paw because his work with BUR was publicly known. Or perhaps it wasn't done to verbally abuse a man in a state of preservation. “What kind of change?”

“Useless, utterly useless.” Aggie cast her hands up to the heavens and stormed away.

Rue turned to Quesnel. “Am I really that horrible?”

“Of course not. Perhaps I made a mistake in keeping Aggie on when she dislikes you so.”

“It's most aggravating. I wouldn't mind if I'd done something to earn such ire, but I'm sure we never met before she came aboard. I've been perfectly civil to her since. I know I'm not the best captain, but I did think I was making some improvement.”