Imprudence (The Custard Protocol #2)(15)

I guess he’s back, then. Rue stared up at the ceiling and tried to decide how she felt about this. It’s nice that he’s safe but I’m still irritated with him. And so is Percy, which is not so different from normal. She attempted to think of the right greeting for her erstwhile lover. It should be an irreverent quip, something casual and unruffled; she wouldn’t want to look like she cared.

The crest of rising and falling tones above her suggested that the argument was likely to continue. It was, she realised, also occurring in public, in front of the decklings and the repair crew. If we are really lucky, we will also have an audience of respectable croquet players witnessing my navigator and chief engineer’s verbal fisticuffs.

Rue bopped out of bed and – knowing it was shameful – spent an inordinate amount of time on her toilette. She even laced on a corset as tight as she was able without a maid, over a silk combination and petticoats, merely because of how small it made her waist look. Quesnel’s presence provoked her into looking her best, anticipating the revenge of showing him a modicum of what he could no longer have.

Not until he adequately explained himself at least.

Rue’s best day dress was white with black dots and black lace trim. It was a simple cut with decidedly old-fashioned sleeves, tight from shoulder to wrist, and a low square neckline over a muslin tuck. The muslin was filmy enough to show hints of her generous cleavage, which was about as much as one could show for daytime without being labelled a strumpet. Rue wasn’t above using her assets for nefarious purposes.

She elected not to turn up her hair. It was one of her best features – thick and wavy like her mother’s but with a few reddish honey tones in the full sun. She felt justified in leaving it down having been recently awoken from repose. This being her airship, and her home, she was in her right to appear in a relaxed state. Although, loose hair was pushing matters.

She might have taken a little too long. For when she paused at the top of the stairs to pinch some colour into her cheeks, the voices on deck had fallen silent.

She pushed open the hatch and climbed out, to find Percy with a tremendous frown on his face slumped over the helm consulting a greaser about repairs.

Quesnel was striding down the gangplank. Quesnel striding made for a lovely sight, but it was hardly fair of him to leave when she had put so much effort into looking good enough for him to regret having left before! It would not do to holler at him; that would ruin the dignity of her position. So Rue clattered down the gangplank after him. She moved as fast as her tightly laced stays would allow, instantly regretting having worn them.

She grabbed his arm just as he jumped to the ground.

Quesnel whirled to face her, hand up as if to strike, and she wondered if he thought her Percy. Had the animosity between them became so bad he would hit the man? Percy was a frightful bother, nobody denied that, but to strike another gentleman invited social retribution. Or was Quesnel on edge because he knew criminals were after his new kit in the boiler room?

Quesnel’s violet eyes widened; then the lines on his face smoothed and he smiled.

“Chérie! How lovely.”

“Leaving again so soon, Mr Lefoux? Is this to become a custom?”

“Most certainly not. How could I even contemplate abandoning such loveliness!”

“And yet you had no difficulty back in India.”

“Duty and friendship called me away. Although, I must say, that dress would have made the move nigh on impossible. Is it new?” Quesnel Lefoux was one of the biggest flirts in London. He was also an inventor. Which confused people no end. Generally the academic set took after Percy, being prickly and not adept at grappling with the mundane intellect of the masses. Not Quesnel. Quesnel had a well-earned reputation with the ladies and a certain casual breeziness of manner he was only permitted because he was French and a commoner.

That said, he was certainly not the most agreeable man Rue knew. Lord Akeldama and at least four of his drones outpaced her blond engineer easily. Having been raised by such collective expert charmers, Rue would have been very wary of Quesnel if he were the most agreeable man she knew. She liked that his flirting had an honest bent to it. Quesnel flirted because he genuinely appreciated women, and Rue in particular. Rue had to give him credit for excellent taste.

“Don’t you dare change the subject. Where have you been?” She lowered her voice. “I was promised ravishment. Do I look ravished to you?”

Quesnel positively baulked. Rue was being too blunt.

Pleased, she let him stew in embarrassed silence.

He opened his mouth a few times. It was a very nice mouth, good for kissing, but currently he did slightly resemble a kipper.

“You were saying?” Rue prodded.

“What are you doing here?” blurted Quesnel.

“Mr Lefoux, this is actually my airship, if you’ll recall? Although that fact seems to have escaped your notice.”

Quesnel collected himself. “I understood you to be staying with your parents while you were in town. Putting our arrangement, as it were, temporarily on hold. Don’t you have to be with them right now?”

Rue narrowed her eyes. Avoiding me, is he? “Oh, did you think that? And how long have you been in town yourself, Mr Lefoux?”

He looked guilty. “A little while.” Which meant he could have been around for days and been purposefully avoiding her. He may even have brought the tank to the Custard himself!