To try to raise their spirits, Quesnel told them all about the working of the elephant head. Unfortunately, no one was quite as excited as he about engineering. Still, it was nice of him to try.
Tired, dusty, sore, and overly hot, they finally returned to The Spotted Custard.
Percy immediately made for his room to begin reading. “Percy,” instructed Rue, “do concentrate on the Rakshasas and how they relate to the agreement. This issue may become life-threatening by the time the sun sets. Please, don’t get distracted.”
Percy took offence. “Me? I never get distracted.”
No one dignified that with an answer.
Prim retreated to her chambers to soak her sore feet in rose water, repair her hair, and admire her newly acquired fabrics.
Quesnel paused before going to his rooms.
Rue was too sunburned and grumpy to hope for another kiss.
Apparently, he felt the same, for he only gave her a long look. Or possibly he still hadn’t decided if he wanted to be her tutor in matters of romance.
“You are unharmed from the incident with the flowers, chérie?”
“Only my pride. Thank you.”
“If you’re a true sundowner, where is your royal gun?” Quesnel asked, offended on her behalf.
Rue arched an eyebrow. “Good question. I shall bring it up with my family as soon as I get home.”
“In the meantime, would you consider some form of projectile weapon? For my peace of mind, mon petit chou?”
Rue said, “The difficulty is in how to keep it with me if I change shape.”
“Rue.” He almost growled her name.
“Fine,” said Rue. “I’ll consider it.”
“That’s all I ask.” With which he made to leave.
Rue forestalled him, “And have you been considering my offer? It’s nothing important, you do realise? It was only a thought.”
He actually winced at that, which hurt in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Rue had thought she had presented him with an opportunity, but perhaps he saw it as a burden. Perhaps he had always seen her as nothing more than a meaningless flirtation and now she had placed him in an awkward position, as her chief engineer.
But his charm returned in an instant. “It is a gift, mon petit chou, and it is important.”
Rue stumbled on, “But if it’s too much a bother, I could seek elsewhere.”
Quesnel’s face shuttered over. “You must do as you see fit, chérie.” Which, of course, was no answer at all. He gave her a small bow and retreated to his own quarters without even trying to touch her.
Rue thought she saw a flicker of movement in the doorway of Percy’s room but wasn’t certain. Percy would already be occupied with his research. Perhaps Virgil was being nosy? Hard to keep one’s business private on an airship. She and Quesnel would have to be more careful about assignations in future.
Rue caught herself out with that. Future assignations indeed! He hasn’t even considered my terms. He had taken Prim’s arm as they walked that morning. And he’d been very taken by Miss Sekhmet. Clearly, she had overblown his flirting, and her own appeal.
He must be regretting last night’s embrace. In which case, Rue was back to square one as far as romance was concerned. It was a lot more painful than she had anticipated, rejection.
Rue retired to her room to stare up at the ceiling and, in order to not dwell on a certain flirtatious French engineer, tried to think about who might have a grudge against Indian vampires. Which was the problem with vampires – almost everyone had a grudge against them.
CHAPTER TEN
VANARA
Rue was wearing an old-fashioned skirt of lilac satin, mismatched to a bodice of burgundy velvet with elaborate beadwork about the neck. It was heavy for the weather and hugely inappropriate to Rue’s rank.
“Goodness, chérie, you look like a lady of the night,” was Quesnel’s assessment. But his eyes were delighted and not at all critical as he took in her very well-emphasised figure.
Rue tilted her black velvet hat at him. Three seasons old when there had been a blessedly brief fad for sewing small gears to hatbands. “Do I really? Excellent!”
“Prudence Maccon Akeldama!” was Prim’s opinion, rendered in a very high voice. “Is that rouge? On your lips? And your cheeks! And what on earth do you think you are wearing?” She looked as if she might faint.
Quesnel said, “I think it’s delightfully flattering.”
“It’s certainly rather tight.” Rue was trying not to breathe too deeply for fear of the seams bursting.
Percy said, “Suspiciously accurate, as these things go, if you ask me.”
Prim responded to her brother. “No one did ask. And I’m shocked you would know.”
Rue was further delighted. She twirled. She’d even left her hair down. It felt very wicked. “Is it possible I have a bad case of the spotted crumpet?”
Quesnel laughed. “The worst.”
“I think we are ready to depart then.” Rue and Quesnel turned to leave.
“This is a terrible idea,” said Prim. Not for the first time.
“I agreed that Quesnel could come along only if you stopped questioning my judgement,” responded Rue. Also not for the first time.
Before Prim could say anything more, Rue left the ship.
Quesnel followed, chuckling.
It was dark as they marched towards the werewolf barracks. It was the barracks that accounted for Rue’s attire. Only one type of woman visited a soldier’s den after hours. Rue tried to sashay in a manner she though such women might walk. This was not a role she felt comfortable in; she wasn’t familiar with the nuances. She tried for movements and expressions that would appear worldly, but from Quesnel’s ill-disguised grin she wasn’t doing very well.
Tired, dusty, sore, and overly hot, they finally returned to The Spotted Custard.
Percy immediately made for his room to begin reading. “Percy,” instructed Rue, “do concentrate on the Rakshasas and how they relate to the agreement. This issue may become life-threatening by the time the sun sets. Please, don’t get distracted.”
Percy took offence. “Me? I never get distracted.”
No one dignified that with an answer.
Prim retreated to her chambers to soak her sore feet in rose water, repair her hair, and admire her newly acquired fabrics.
Quesnel paused before going to his rooms.
Rue was too sunburned and grumpy to hope for another kiss.
Apparently, he felt the same, for he only gave her a long look. Or possibly he still hadn’t decided if he wanted to be her tutor in matters of romance.
“You are unharmed from the incident with the flowers, chérie?”
“Only my pride. Thank you.”
“If you’re a true sundowner, where is your royal gun?” Quesnel asked, offended on her behalf.
Rue arched an eyebrow. “Good question. I shall bring it up with my family as soon as I get home.”
“In the meantime, would you consider some form of projectile weapon? For my peace of mind, mon petit chou?”
Rue said, “The difficulty is in how to keep it with me if I change shape.”
“Rue.” He almost growled her name.
“Fine,” said Rue. “I’ll consider it.”
“That’s all I ask.” With which he made to leave.
Rue forestalled him, “And have you been considering my offer? It’s nothing important, you do realise? It was only a thought.”
He actually winced at that, which hurt in a way she hadn’t anticipated. Rue had thought she had presented him with an opportunity, but perhaps he saw it as a burden. Perhaps he had always seen her as nothing more than a meaningless flirtation and now she had placed him in an awkward position, as her chief engineer.
But his charm returned in an instant. “It is a gift, mon petit chou, and it is important.”
Rue stumbled on, “But if it’s too much a bother, I could seek elsewhere.”
Quesnel’s face shuttered over. “You must do as you see fit, chérie.” Which, of course, was no answer at all. He gave her a small bow and retreated to his own quarters without even trying to touch her.
Rue thought she saw a flicker of movement in the doorway of Percy’s room but wasn’t certain. Percy would already be occupied with his research. Perhaps Virgil was being nosy? Hard to keep one’s business private on an airship. She and Quesnel would have to be more careful about assignations in future.
Rue caught herself out with that. Future assignations indeed! He hasn’t even considered my terms. He had taken Prim’s arm as they walked that morning. And he’d been very taken by Miss Sekhmet. Clearly, she had overblown his flirting, and her own appeal.
He must be regretting last night’s embrace. In which case, Rue was back to square one as far as romance was concerned. It was a lot more painful than she had anticipated, rejection.
Rue retired to her room to stare up at the ceiling and, in order to not dwell on a certain flirtatious French engineer, tried to think about who might have a grudge against Indian vampires. Which was the problem with vampires – almost everyone had a grudge against them.
CHAPTER TEN
VANARA
Rue was wearing an old-fashioned skirt of lilac satin, mismatched to a bodice of burgundy velvet with elaborate beadwork about the neck. It was heavy for the weather and hugely inappropriate to Rue’s rank.
“Goodness, chérie, you look like a lady of the night,” was Quesnel’s assessment. But his eyes were delighted and not at all critical as he took in her very well-emphasised figure.
Rue tilted her black velvet hat at him. Three seasons old when there had been a blessedly brief fad for sewing small gears to hatbands. “Do I really? Excellent!”
“Prudence Maccon Akeldama!” was Prim’s opinion, rendered in a very high voice. “Is that rouge? On your lips? And your cheeks! And what on earth do you think you are wearing?” She looked as if she might faint.
Quesnel said, “I think it’s delightfully flattering.”
“It’s certainly rather tight.” Rue was trying not to breathe too deeply for fear of the seams bursting.
Percy said, “Suspiciously accurate, as these things go, if you ask me.”
Prim responded to her brother. “No one did ask. And I’m shocked you would know.”
Rue was further delighted. She twirled. She’d even left her hair down. It felt very wicked. “Is it possible I have a bad case of the spotted crumpet?”
Quesnel laughed. “The worst.”
“I think we are ready to depart then.” Rue and Quesnel turned to leave.
“This is a terrible idea,” said Prim. Not for the first time.
“I agreed that Quesnel could come along only if you stopped questioning my judgement,” responded Rue. Also not for the first time.
Before Prim could say anything more, Rue left the ship.
Quesnel followed, chuckling.
It was dark as they marched towards the werewolf barracks. It was the barracks that accounted for Rue’s attire. Only one type of woman visited a soldier’s den after hours. Rue tried to sashay in a manner she though such women might walk. This was not a role she felt comfortable in; she wasn’t familiar with the nuances. She tried for movements and expressions that would appear worldly, but from Quesnel’s ill-disguised grin she wasn’t doing very well.
