Imprudence (17 page)

He tasted of tea, which was no bad thing. Rue adored tea. His lips were warm and gentle at first. It was nice, but nothing new. They had done this before.

He drew back. “So, kissing.”

Rue nodded. “I feel as if I have got the way of that particular lesson.”

“Oh, do you?”

Rue went up on her toes and kissed him. She imitated his actions, nibbled a little, delighted by the way his breathing changed slightly.

“Well?”

He nodded, looking like a professor assessing exams. “Very good. But there is more than one kind of kissing.”

“Show me,” Rue commanded.

“This is the French variation.”

It started the same but then there was a flick of tongue against the seam of her mouth. Rue found this, frankly, unseemly.
How am I expected to react?
His thumb came up to lightly press her chin down. Her mouth opened. His tongue took instant advantage, tasting her with a slow exploration.

He drew back. “Well?”

Was that a hint of nervousness?

Rue considered. She didn't want to hurt his feelings. Some parts of her body liked it, for she felt warm and languid, as if after a hot bath, but intellectually she wasn't convinced.

“The French really are centred on taste, aren't they?”

Quesnel laughed.

Rue was game. “May I try, or is it a thing that gentlemen do to ladies?”

Quesnel grinned. “I should have said at the start. Anything I do to you, you are more than welcome to do to me.”

“
Anything
at all?”

“Yes. Anything.”

Rue's mind raced. “Right, then, let's see.”

She leaned forward and took over the kiss again. He opened his mouth willingly at the first hesitant touch of her tongue. She swept it in. She didn't want to be sloppy, but that appeared challenging when tongues were involved.

Halfway through, she decided she liked it, despite the sloppiness. So, she thought, did he. He shifted against her, the whole length of his body in contact with hers. His seemed to be changing shape in a rather indelicate area.

Rue drew back. “What's… ?”

Quesnel blushed scarlet. If he was going to blush, surely he'd have done so before now?

Rue wasn't completely ignorant. Hoping to relieve his distress, she said, “Isn't that supposed to happen?”

Which made him laugh. “Perhaps not quite so quickly and at the breakfast table, but yes.”

Rue grinned, rather proud. She herself was not unaffected. There was a curious tingling, and a sort of anxious sensation that, as far as she could tell, would require more kissing to allay.

She moved in for more. Clearly the French were on to something. This time both their tongues were involved.
Utterly delightful.
Rue found herself squirming against him, enjoying the muscles she could feel through the fabric of her red dress, her own hands full of trouser-covered flesh and then…

He stopped.

Rue worried that she had done something wrong. She gathered her wits. He was breathing as roughly as she was.

“I must say,
chérie
, you're an awfully quick study.”

“I've always been an enthusiastic student of new experiences.”

Quesnel pulled himself together. “That's the problem with these kinds of lessons – you can use them against me.”

“I see that now.” Rue was delighted by this revelation. Quesnel had handed her a weapon. She did love to have leverage in any given situation.

“Just as I said,
trouble
.”

The door to the stateroom banged open and they sprang apart. Rue self-consciously smoothed the wrinkles out of the bodice of her dress. Quesnel smoothed the wrinkles out of the back of his trousers.

Oh
,
thought Rue,
did I do that? Oops.

Lady Maccon marched into the room. She gave them a suspicious glance but did not say anything, merely piling a plate high with giblet pie, eggs, potted shrimp, stewed tomatoes, and kippered salmon. Lady Maccon had been accused of many things but being a feeble eater wasn't one of them.

Quesnel said, “Good evening, Lady Maccon.”

“Mr Lefoux.”

“Mother.”

“Infant.”

The salutations thus established, Quesnel retrieved his hat from a nearby stand and popped it on his head. “I'm off, Captain, unless you need me for anything further?”

Rue stifled a smile, realising that now nearly anything he said would sound euphemistic. Perhaps it always had and she simply hadn't known to realise.

“Nothing else, Mr Lefoux. Thank you. Perhaps we will discuss the matter in greater depth later tonight?”

Quesnel choked only slightly, recovered with aplomb, and flashed a dimpled smile at her before leaving the room.

Rue hoped that her mother wouldn't notice the rumpled state of his trousers. No doubt she would guess what they were up to if she did – or was that
down
to?

Lady Maccon made no trouser-based comment, only ate her breakfast.

Rue, conscious of the formalities, poured her mother tea and watched her shovel in the comestibles in awkward silence.

Breakfast eaten and a fourth cup of tea swilled, Lady Maccon cleared her throat, disturbing the now oppressive quiet.

“Precautionary arts,” she began, slightly too loudly.

Then she commenced to lecture Rue in a voice curdled by acute embarrassment.

Afterwards, Rue could recall something about rinsing out the cavity with vinegar, French letters, and little hats made of sponge fitted inside one's delicate parts. It was mostly incomprehensible and quite possibly the most humiliating experience of Rue's entire life.

Floating the grey was largely uneventful. Once
The
Spotted Custard
hooked into the right current, there wasn't much for anyone to do. Primrose bustled around, ensuring everyone's comfort. Spoo, Virgil, and the decklings played tiddlywinks. Percy mooched about abovedecks, avoiding the temptation of reading and not happy about it. Rue couldn't get over how amusing it was that he was refusing to
read
during float because he had
read
a pamphlet that warned of its dangers. It was so very circular. Lady Maccon marched about sticking her generous nose into anything in which it might be stuck. She wanted to know how the decklings operated, and navigation, and the Gatling gun, and the rigging, and the tea hamper. They humoured her, even the tea hamper. A replacement, mind you, the original one having died gloriously in battle.

Below them in her room, Tasherit slumbered. Below her in their lair, Quesnel, Aggie, and the engineering team tended the boilers, maintaining a steady heat.

At luncheon, Quesnel flirted with Rue, and she flirted happily back. Lady Maccon and Percy ignored them. Primrose made disapproving noises. Rue dragged her off for a private consultation in the stateroom. They left Lady Maccon in charge. Rue did wonder, horrified, if the gentlemen might be on the receiving end of another one of Mother's precautionary arts lectures.

Surely even Lady Maccon wouldn't go that far?
Well, if she wants to, she will. I can't stop her. Might as well get it over with.

In the stateroom, Rue flopped into a chair dramatically so that Primrose would ask her what was wrong. Primrose, obligingly, asked.

“Quesnel and I have decided to proceed with our involvement.”

Prim's eyes widened. “You have? Are you engaged?”

“Not
that
kind of involvement.”

“Prudence Akeldama, you're a loose skirt!”

Rue didn't take offence. If the skirt fit, might as well loose it. “Maybe a little. Except that I'm not doing this for money. When all is said and done, as captain I pay Quesnel… rather well.”

Primrose fanned herself vigorously. “There is no call for the vulgar mention of pecuniary advancement.”

“Quite right.”

“I don't understand. If you aren't engaged and don't wish to be, what are you doing this for?”

Rue smiled. “I always wanted to learn French.”

“Rue!”

“It's quite enjoyable, Prim. Haven't you ever been curious? Don't you want to know what all the fuss is about?”

“Not particularly.”

“Haven't any of various beaux kissed you?”

“Several! I'm not
that
old-fashioned.”

“And?”

Primrose was perturbed. Suddenly she was the one being questioned. “It was nice enough.”

“Nice?
Nice
she says.”

“What's wrong with
nice
?”

Rue leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “It was wonderful, Prim. Much better than nice. I adore kissing him. I should like to do it as often as possible.”

Primrose was crestfallen. “Is that how one is meant to react?”

“I don't know, but it certainly feels right.”

“Then I must be doing it wrong.”

“Or Quesnel is particularly good at it.”

“He certainly has experience.”

Rue grinned. “I've decided that's not a bad thing. I should like to be worldly, and he has agreed to educate me. I've already learned a great deal about kissing. Did you know there is a tongue-in version?”

Primrose reared back. “How revolting.”

“I thought so, too, at first, but it turned out to be quite lovely.”

Prim was floored beyond speech.

Rue prattled on, hands flapping. “
And
I have discovered I enjoy a well-formed posterior. It's very nice to have something to grab on to, you know, when coping with tongues.”

Primrose whispered, “Rue, that's a perfectly shocking thing to say!” Her voice was low and trembling.

“But it's true! And isn't that delicious fun? To be fully twenty-one years old and learning new things about one's preferences that one never even knew before?”

“No,” squeaked Primrose, “that's awful. I prefer knowing my own mind and keeping it as it is! Thank you very much. I do not want to be surprised by bottoms!”

Rue couldn't stop. For some reason, the sheer depth of Prim's outrage only encouraged her. “Well, let me tell you, it's a
delightful
sensation. I recommend bottoms at every opportunity.”

With which both girls dissolved into slightly hysterical giggles.

After catching their breath, they got themselves fresh tea.

“To be quite serious, Rue,” said Prim, in an attempt to divert her friend from any more squeezing confessions, “you're toying with that man's emotions.”

“I'm certainly toying with his bottom.”

“Stop it.” One of the reasons Primrose was Rue's best friend in the whole wide world was because she spoke her mind when called upon to do so.

“We've agreed that it's only for larks, Prim. I swear it. He'll stay loyal for the duration but that's all. It will end with both of us mighty bucked up. That's the plan.”

“It's a stupid plan.”

“That's rich, coming from you.” Rue became defensive.

“Pardon me?”

Rue said, “You avoid Tasherit because you like her. And I don't mean in a friendship manner. I mean in a
French
manner.”

Primrose gasped. “You've spent too much time with Lord Akeldama.”

“Exactly.”

Primrose pursed her lips. “I will confess to finding Miss Sekhmet unsettling. But that is because she persists in wooing me. I don't know how to react. She doesn't respect my engagement at all.”

“Has she kissed you?”

Primrose sucked in her breath. “No.”

Is that part of the problem?
Rue wondered.
Do you want her to kiss you? S
he didn't ask. Prim's character was nothing like Rue's. Primrose hadn't the same reckless curiosity and enthusiasm for the unknown.

“Rue, you cannot expect me to be as forthright with my secrets as you are with yours.”

Rue put a hand to her friend's shoulder. “I respect that. But I am here if you wish to talk, no details required. And I won't judge preferences.”

“No, not you. You never judge. It's both naïve and sweet. And likely to get you into trouble. If this dalliance gets out, others will judge you. Unmarried lady aristocrats aren't supposed to dally. Not with common engineers, even famous inventor-type common engineers. He's one step up from
an artist
.”

“That's part of the fun.”

“Does your mother know?”

“Yes, curse it. Oh, Primrose, it was beastly. She gave me a
lecture
– on tiny sponge hats and vinegary measures a lady takes to prevent being inconvenienced.”

Prim's face went pale and her mouth softened in sympathy. “Oh, Rue, how
awful
for you.”

“It was quite the most unpleasant thing
ever
.”