Manners & Mutiny
Page 42

“You chose this dress,” Sophronia objected.
“Bunter!” said Dimity.
“I’ll be quick, I promise.” Sophronia was not worried about being overheard, as everyone was now inside at tea.
“Yes, I understand that’s part of the strumpet’s profession.” Even Dimity could be crass on occasion.
Sophronia tried not to laugh. “Just keep him knitting!”
“Thank you for your sage advice.” Dimity snorted loudly enough for Sophronia to hear, even on the ground. Or perhaps she imagined it, because she knew Dimity would snort.
Sophronia turned in Soap’s arms to look shyly up into his dark eyes. “You can put me down now.”
“No.” His smile was wide and his teeth were still startlingly white, but immortality had given them points where most humans had none.
Sophronia had always loved Soap’s smile, but now it was more predatory than comforting. Fortunately, the twinkle in his eyes was the same.
“Please?”
Soap pretended to consider her request and finally set her gently on her feet.
Sophronia took a moment to put herself in order, touching her hair and untucking and smoothing down her skirts.
Soap’s eyes widened into saucers at the cut of her gown. She swore she could hear his breath hitch. It was ridiculously satisfying. Then, annoyed with herself and the dress, she wrapped the shawl tightly ’round her chest. I’m supposed to be putting a stop to Soap’s romantic notions, not be charmed that he finds me attractive.
Caught up in reprimanding herself, she gave a startled squeak as he snatched her up into his arms once more, unbalancing and kissing her. No hesitation, no tentative touches, a full deep hungry kiss. It left her breathless and discombobulated, and even angrier at the dress.
“Soap, we really shouldn’t.” Sophronia pushed herself away.
Soap was panting a little. She was secretly delighted to find that he was just as affected as she. It would be horrible to be the only one.
“I thought, after what happened when I died, that you loved me.”
Sophronia winced and looked down at her hands. How to say anything to that without lies or heartbreak?
“Oh, I forgot. It makes you uncomfortable, doesn’t it? To talk of feelings. Romance.” Soap brightened.
Sophronia took the coward’s way out and switched topics. “What are you doing here? Is the dewan with you? Are you all right? Is he all right? Has something happened with the Pickleman situation?”
Soap answered, ticking questions off with his fingers. “I came because I wanted to see you. The dewan is not with me. I’m well. He’s well. The Pick—”
“Wait, he’s not here? But Soap, tomorrow is full moon!”
“I know that.”
“But you’re newly made! You can’t be parted from him at such a time, can you?”
“I’m tired of being attached to his apron strings.” Soap looked more out of temper than he should over such a sensible comment. She was only thinking of his safety. He was almost growling.
“Oh, sweet heaven. You’re not supposed to be here, are you? You came without permission. And you’re not yet in control of shift. How could you be so stupid? Where were you sleeping all day? You must have traveled to get here last night. Who guarded you?”
A small figure materialized out of the shadows and put up his hand. No, her hand. “Um, that would be me.” Vieve.
Sophronia turned her ire on the young inventor. “Do you know what an insane risk he’s taking?”
“Don’t get all grumpy with me, termagant. What was I to do? He turned up, it was dawn, I couldn’t very well send him packing after sunup, now could I? Even I know a young werewolf can get seriously damaged under such circumstances. So I stuck him in the bathhouse.”
“What?”
Vieve shrugged in that very French way of hers. “It’s a boys’ school. The bathhouse is rarely used. Then I figured you two could have your smooch, disgusting, by the way”—Sophronia supposed Vieve was too young to think of romance as anything but revolting—“and we could pack him off tonight none the worse for it.”
“Oh, did you?”
“Yoo-hoo, don’t I have a say in this conversation?” Soap had calmed while they bickered.
Sophronia turned on him. “Exactly why are you here now? And don’t prattle on about not being able to stay away from me. If that’s your real reason, you had better come up with an alternative or I shall box your ears, werewolf or no.”
Soap took a breath. “The Picklemen have one or more intelligencers infiltrating your school tonight. Disguised as Bunson’s students.”
“Impossible. Surely the professors would spot new boys.”
“They’ve been vouched for by a wealthy patron.”
“But why would the Picklemen want to attend our New Year’s party? It only a tea.”
“The dewan thinks it’s to gather information of some kind, that it’s not very important.”
Sophronia nodded. “You disagree with him?”
Soap went oddly flat. “A pup does not disagree with his Alpha. Not if he wants to escape discipline.”
Sophronia looked from him to Vieve. “What do they hope to accomplish?”
Vieve said, “They could be after a piece of technology, something of my aunt’s, perhaps. She’s not always”—a pause while she considered word options—“ safe in her inventions.”