Defy or Defend

by Gail Carriger

  “Reminds me of my brother.” He stopped her fingers around the metal, squeezed gently. He was usually the twitchy one. Somehow, though, this made him feel calm, her being nervous about his reactions – he didn’t mind telling her of his past. She’d never judge. She wasn’t remotely like that. She’d judge a man’s throw pillows, but not his family.

  “You have a brother? That’s not in your records. Sisters, yes, but no brother.” Her eyes were earnest.

  “You’ve read my records. Of course you have.” Cris felt that funny lump at the base of his throat that always materialized when he thought of Tristan. “He died.”

  “Oh, how sad. I am sorry. Was it an accident?”

  It was not a comfortable matter for him to explain. But suddenly it seemed important that she know. Because it was part of what made him a safety, part of what made him so comfortable around Bertie and Mrs Bagley and their eccentric relationships, even vampires. Part of what made him... him.

  “Not precisely. I adored him, actually. The world was not so kind. Our father was a brute to the poor kid.” Cris had tried to protect Tristan. Tried so hard. But he was only a kid himself, Tristan’s elder by only a year and a half, and his father had been so big and so angry all the time.

  “Oh! Oh. He was exactly like Justice then? Women’s clothes and everything?”

  Cris nodded. “And terribly fragile.” He felt his lips twisting, so he pressed them together as hard as he could, trying to battle the lump in his throat into submission. “He did love it so. All the frills and lace. He was so happy to have sisters. He’s the youngest, you see, after me. Or he was. They used to dress him up like a doll. Before we were told off for it.” He let himself feel the fondness. The love that was the foundation of the lump. Tristan had been the sweetest child in the world. Always helping the maids, or the cooks, always willing to fuss with a sister’s hair. He loved to be given household tasks, arranging the flowers or setting the table. Used to follow Cris around like a little puppy when Cris was home from Eton, sit next to him, rest his head on Crispin’s shoulder.

  Dimity moved even closer to him, placed a tentative hand on his thigh, pushed warm satin and lemon scent against his discomfort. He let himself hope that, if she knew how much he wanted it, she’d climb right into his lap. It made the lump hurt more that she understood his need for touch right now.

  “Now the sisters are always trying to marry me off. I think they’re afraid I might turn out like him.” He leaned into her strength.

  “Oh, but you’re, you know...” She gestured with her chin, up and down, still close. “You. Not at all, uh... frail?”

  He felt himself give a shaky smile. “Not like that. Not worried that I’m after their stockings and fans either. He hanged himself, you see.”

  Dimity shuddered against him. Gave a sad little whimper. “Oh, I’m so sorry, how awful.”

  “It was a long time ago now.”

  She looked up at him, close and fierce. “It never stops hurting, though, does it? They say it will, but it’s always there. You don’t stop missing the people you loved. Maybe you can heal from losing things, but not people. They take a bit of your soul with them and that’s not a wound that ever mends completely. It’s not a ghost, but the absence of one.”

  She wrested one little hand free of his grip. He hadn’t even realized he’d done that – taken both her hands and the key into his.

  She touched his cheek, soft and sure. Her mouth firmed. “I won’t let anything bad happen to Justice, I promise. I mean, he’s immortal, so that’s not so much of a concern. But I’ll get him settled and happy. I’ll get them all that way. You see if I don’t. Despite themselves.” She paused then. “Except Mr Theris. He’s on his own. My teacher used to say there are some people who simply can’t be taught. I think he’s one of them. But he can be relocated.” Her eyes gleamed.

  Strangely, this did reassure Crispin. Helped a bit. Reminded him there was work to do and that they were in this together.

  “And here I was meant to be consoling you.”

  Dimity sniffed and stuck her pert little nose in the air. “Not the first time a man has been tempted by my buttons. Certainly won’t be the last, I’ll warrant.”

  That reminded him he was annoyed at Mr Theris, which was so much easier than being sad, so he grabbed on to it. “I wish it were the last.”

  “Do you? What a nice thing to say. I suspect I’d have to give up Honey Beeing for that to be the case.” She rested her head on his upper arm.

  “Have you considered it? Not that I don’t think you’re a wonderful intelligencer.” He wanted to hope, but hardly dared.

  “I know I’m good, but do I even like it anymore?” Her thumb caressed the seam of his stupid striped exercise suit. They were angled towards each other now where they sat on the bed.

  “Do you?” He focused on the wistfulness in her eyes. Did she want more excitement, or less? Did she want something entirely different?

  “Not really. I like the bit where I get to pick out wallpaper and order people to make things beautiful. I like the bit where I can tidy up messy lives and enforce contentment.”

  “You could be a grande dame of high society and still do all of that.” He felt a kind of roar in his ears, blood rushing – hope.

  “Yes, I could, couldn’t I? I considered it. Arranging a wealthy, highly situated husband for myself. Maybe even a kind and decent one, who’d actually love me. Does that seem trite?” She looked away as if she were ashamed of having small dreams. But her one hand, holding the key, remained clasped in his. “This wasn’t what I wanted originally, did you know? Espionage. It was simply that my parents insisted and now all my dearest friends do it and they love it so. I thought I could help and serve my country and be useful. I have the training. I’m pretty good at certain missions. So why not? And now I’m rather stuck.”

  “So busy fixing others’ lives, you forgot about your own?” He wasn’t wealthy or highly situated but he thought he’d be very good at loving her, if he were given a chance.

  She sniffed. “Well, possibly. And what about you? Are you happy being safety to silly girls, with no silly girl of your own? What’s your excuse?”

  “Tristan, I suppose. Trying to improve matters. And my father – stopping men like him. Over and over, simply stopping them. I think, both you and I, we want to make the world better for others. You want them happy. I want them safe.”

  “We both ended up a little lonely, though, as a result. I think I did, anyway.” She sounded so sad and she was still so close. But with the memory of horrible Mr Theris still fresh in Crispin’s mind, he didn’t, wouldn’t, do anything to break the surety she found in his presence.

  It seemed she was not so reluctant. “I feel safe with you, have I ever said as much? Does that help? I mean to say, I know you grump at me and you think me frivolous.”

  “I think you’re wonderful.”

  But she was getting started on one of her chatterings. “I am, of course. Frivolous, I mean. Because I really do think the right pair of gloves could save the world, if applied properly. But I’m also well aware gloves don’t solve everything, not even the right pair. So it might not be such a reassuring thing, coming from me. But I’m not playing with you, I’m really not. I haven’t batted my lashes in your direction even once. Not intentionally. Because you are kind, and I think you might be good and decent too. So I wouldn’t do that to you. You know that, right? I don’t want you to be one of the men manipulated by the Honey Bee. Do you see?”

  “Yes, Sparkles, I see.” And the rushing hope in his ears crashed over him, and he went from yearning for something he thought he’d never have, to wanting what was right there, sitting next to him.

  “Oh well, good. Uh, quite.” She paused. “Would you kiss me then, sometime? If you liked? Or I could kiss you. So long as you didn’t think it was me being too much Honey Bee? Only I’ve rarely got that far and I don’t think I’m very good at it, so I�
��d prefer it if you started.”

  Cris understood, then, what her fear was. What kept her dancing about him, unsure. She had no idea how to cope with inadequacy. He, on the other hand, felt that way most of the time around her. But in this matter, at least, he had the upper hand. He left her holding the key and cupped her face with both hands, stilling her mouth with his – soft and brief and sweet, like sipping nectar.

  “You’re you and you’re also the Honey Bee, and I like them both.”

  “Oh really? That’s good, that’s very good, isn’t it? Kiss me again?”

  So he did.

  Dimity had been kissed properly at last. He was good at it too, and she was pleased to have found herself an expert on the matter. She wasn’t one to begrudge his experience, especially when she was the one to benefit from it. They’d done nothing more than kiss, sweet but sure, because Cris needed to change and go find a locksmith, and she needed to supervise tradesfolk, flatter vampires, and pretend to paint more frolicking cows.

  Just before sunrise, when they eventually sought their bed, Sir Crispin touched her at last. More than simply a kiss, this time.

  Dimity was delighted that he took the chance, finally. As if she hadn’t been trying to get him to do something similar since the very first night, silly man. His wide hands were gentle, and more reassuring than anything, simply tucking her close to him. He did nothing more than smooth down her back, stroking over the chemisette and petticoat that she had to wear – because Justice hadn’t returned her peignoir.

  “Honestly, it’s one thing to borrow a lady’s nightgown to enact a theatrical woodland love story. I mean, what lady of sentiment wouldn’t loan out her night-rail for such use? But it’s quite another not to return it afterwards.” She said this in mock affront, feeling the tingle that his stroking hands left behind and trying to work up the courage to do some exploring of her own.

  “I’m afraid it got rather torn and muddy, returned or not.” He turned his head into her hair. He was always touching it, eager to brush it for her, eager to inhale the scent. She was flattered. She’d always been rather proud of her hair, having grown it herself, as it were.

  “Well, I hope it gets a good cleaning, then.” She finally marshalled enough courage to run her hand over his chest, the thin fabric of his shirt doing little to hide the texture of the chest hair underneath, the warmth, the firm bumps of ribs and swells of muscle.

  “What you have on now is lovely, with less material.” Crispin’s voice was a rumble of appreciation as his hand curved around her waist, pressing the loose material of the chemisette against her. An odd sensation – no one had ever really touched her there before. Her skin tingled slightly, pinpricked by pleasure.

  “Is that good?” She let her hand trail down to his stomach, which clenched under it.

  “Possibly too good, Sparkles. I’m a gentleman.” He put his hand atop hers to stop its wandering any farther down. While she really wanted to explore farther, she was also a little relieved he’d stopped her.

  “Yes, but could we kiss more?” That was something she already knew she loved.

  “Lying down in bed together? That would test my control something fierce. Just stay here against me.”

  “But more would be nice.” She could still tease, couldn’t she? He had said he liked both Dimity and the Honey Bee.

  “Hum.” He rumbled in amusement under her cheek. “Yes, it would. But perhaps when we aren’t on a mission, infiltrating a vampire hive?”

  “You’re sure?” That was a week and a half away! An awfully long time to wait. Especially as she was feeling flushed and aching in a way that she was certain he could fix.

  “Not at all. I would love to ravish you.”

  “You would? How delightful.” That was very good information to have. “I’ve waited a long time to be ravished by a tuppenny knight.”

  “A what?” he rumbled, half in amusement, half offence.

  Dimity giggled. “I once told my true friends – you’ll meet them some day, I promise – I once told them, even though we were training to kill things at the time, that all I really wanted was marriage and maybe children with some tuppenny knight. You know, a gentleman of only modest means and minimal importance. Like you.”

  “I thought you wanted wealth and social standing?”

  “Oh no, I said I thought I could be a society dragon, if I wanted it. But honestly? Simply a tuppenny knight. Perhaps one inclined towards politics. Then I could throw political soirees.” These were half-formed dreams, inconsequential. But he would be good at politics and it was another way to help people, another way to keep them safe.

  He did not stop stroking her, which seemed a good sign. “Tuppenny knight, hm? I don’t know exactly how I feel about that. Somehow I feel I’ve just been both insulted and complimented.”

  “It’s decidedly a compliment. Gentlemen of gross means and maximum importance are utterly intolerable.”

  “So I, then, I’m that knight – that wish you told your true friends?”

  Dimity breathed into courage. “Yes,” she whispered.

  “Is that a proposal, Sparkles?”

  Dimity’s breath caught. Was it? Did she really want that small, slight future – with him? Oh, yes. She really, really did. But was she allowed such a gift? Did she get to have her childhood dream, those funny flippant hopes of youth? Had she earned the right to leave intelligence behind? Could she be that lucky? Could anyone?

  It was dangerous to hope for such a thing, but Dimity knew danger. “Would you be interested, if it were?”

  He kissed the top of her head. She wished it were lower down, but she wasn’t going to press. Not when they’d already had one epiphany tonight. At least he didn’t seem repulsed by the banality of her imagined future.

  “It sounds absolutely lovely.” He brushed his chin through her hair. His face had been made rough by the passing of hours and it caught on the fine strands.

  “Excellent,” said Dimity, flushed with heat and victory. “But fix the hive first?”

  “Yes, Sparkles, hive first.” He settled then, relaxed and still against her. Still as he so rarely was, even in sleep – warm and reassuring.

  Dimity dozed off, thinking about the fact that he’d been calling her Sparkles for years. She’d thought it was a criticism – of the way she chattered and her propensity for bright colors and shiny jewelry. But now she suspected that it had been an endearment all along.

  The next evening, just prior to sunset, Dimity awoke refreshed and ready to make the most of a new night. She was dressed and out of bed before Crispin, but not out of any sense of discomfort or awkwardness. In fact, she felt a new sensation of proprietary closeness towards the man.

  Her knight. Hers.

  She watched him with open and obvious interest when he got out of bed and stretched in his nightshirt, lean muscles and legs on display. He gave her a cheeky grin as he walked into the dressing room to conduct his ablutions, and she turned to blatantly admire his calves.

  She’d decided, at some point while they slept, that she would touch him if she liked. He seemed reluctant to take the initial approach, but eager enough once he was certain of her positive reception. Something held him back. Too much a gentleman, or too afraid of giving offence. So, she would touch him first and often. He seemed delighted to let this happen.

  She asked, of course, when he returned to the bedroom, pulling on his waistcoat. Asked if it might be all right, since they weren’t going to do anything more than kiss, not yet anyway, if she could maybe pet him a bit?

  He replied, with a grave face, trying to hide a smile, that he thought he was man enough to withstand it.

  She said this was excellent and that he should do the same. At which his face fell and he muttered something about buttons and Mr Theris, and his father (who apparently was quite the rake and took advantage of very young ladies). Dimity impressed upon him that this was an entirely different matter. And that
Cris was no rake and could fiddle with her buttons anytime they were alone, as much as he liked.

  He said he wasn’t that kind of chap.

  She said she certainly hoped he was!

  Then he said, yes, he was the kind of chap who wanted to see beyond the buttons, so to speak, but only if she really wanted that.

  She stood up from the vanity, her hair done, and offered to undo the buttons herself, right then and there, to prove her point. She was wearing a golden brown dress with a great deal of cream fringe this evening, and a suite of gold and pearl jewelry, which boasted metallic fringe on the brooch, earrings, and hair comb. The dress had tiny buttons all down the front, and she meant what she’d said about them, too.

  He took one big step towards her and lifted her up, and cuddled her close, and kissed all over her face with little soft pecks. She giggled like a mad thing.

  After that they were both breathing hard, and she could feel all of him against her in ways she’d heard of, and read of, but never really experienced. She wiggled a bit, experimentally. And he groaned into her neck.

  “Good,” she said, pleased with herself and her newfound knowledge, and the certain power this gave her over him. Pleased in a way that was probably a little bit too much Honey Bee. But honestly, a lady liked to know she could interest the gentleman of her affections in all ways – upstairs and downstairs, so to speak.

  At least Dimity liked to. Because she was that kind of lady. She wanted carnal relations to be good and work well between them. Her true friend Sophronia had told her of such things and what to expect and why it was important. And Sophronia should know, since she’d been sinfully enamoured of, and sharing a bed with, an entirely inappropriate and perfectly wonderful man for many years.

  Cris put her down.

  “You have excellent control,” said Dimity, looking him over – all over, feeling hungry for something not sustenance.

  “Not so excellent that I can withstand your looking at me like that.”

  “I’m going to test it,” she vowed. Feeling very brave and having been given permission, she reached for his gentleman’s parts, and cupped him there, softly and carefully.