Imprudence

by Gail Carriger

  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? She 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.”

  After everyone else had gone to bed, Rue received Quesnel at the door to the captain’s quarters wearing the pretty silk robe that she’d conveniently forgotten to return to Tasherit.

  Quesnel was delighted. “You noticed how much I liked it?”

  She nodded, nervous. “I thought that it would make things easier.” And give me a little control over the situation.

  Rue wasn’t even aware she had linked her hands together until Quesnel placed his palm gently on top of them.

  “Chérie, I wish to be very clear with you. This is not a rejection. I absolutely adore that robe. You are shaped in every way exactly as a woman ought to be shaped and someday soon I will strip it off you and convince you of this fact. But not now.”

  Rue felt the hot blush of shame. What was she doing, chucking herself at him like some wanton street hussy?

  “No,” he said, “stop it. What did I just say? This is nothing to do with you. It is my control I’m concerned about as you are inexperienced. This must be good for you. I have to make it good for you.” He shook his head.

  He is nervous, too? How adorable. Rue gave him a little nudge with her shoulder.

  “I don’t want to skip too far ahead. You cannot be expected to speak French in full sentences, having only learned a few words.”

  Rue took a shallow breath. “That does make sense. Nothing of an intrusive nature right away?” She gave his trousers a suggestive glance.

  Quesnel chuckled, but not in a nasty way. “Shall we leave that for a week so you don’t fret overmuch?”

  Rue was both disappointed and profoundly relieved. “Oh, that would be nice. Not that I am rejecting you!” She wanted to take equal care of his feelings. “And I don’t wish to restrict spontaneity, but I should like…”

  “A reprieve from the unknown? Don’t wind yourself up about it. And to that end, I have something for you.”

  “A book? How thoughtful.” How mundane. It was something Percy would do, and so out of character. She glared at the volume in confusion. It was a plain cloth thing, dark green in colour, not very big. It was certainly something she could read quickly. It looked to include a number of etchings – they darkened the edges of near half the leaves.

  “That book is your first lesson. I would like you to read it, chérie. Mark the bits you like and the ones that confuse you, and we are going to talk about it. Really talk. Teasing talk, of course, that seems easiest for us, but I want you to read and ask questions. Please?”

  She went to flip it open.

  “Not in the hallway, mon petite chou. I bid you good night.”

  “Don’t I even get a kiss?”

  “Not in that robe you don’t, far too dangerous.”

  Rue giggled. He really did like it. And her. He liked the way she looked, curves and odd tawny eyes, and all.

  “Enjoy the book. Pleasant dreams.”

  Rue couldn’t deny a pang as she closed the door. Primrose was right to accuse her of all too readily charging into the unknown. Even when heading into the aetherosphere, one charted currents and followed a course. Perhaps that’s what this volume was meant to be – a travel guide.

  She flipped it open.

  “Oh dear me,” said Rue into the silence of her empty quarters.

  It was a very informative evening, as it turned out.

  NINE

  In Which Freckles Go on the Rampage

  They arrived in Egypt before Quesnel’s week’s delay was over. Not that Quesnel avoided Rue. One morning, after days of increased teasing, he finally followed her into her quarters once everyone else was abed and declared it kisses time – no tongue, no hands.

  Rue discovered she enjoyed having her neck kissed. And lower down. Quesnel clearly felt the same. They stopped at the waist but the book had reliably informed her that they could keep going. Since Quesnel had indicated he would welcome questions, she asked him about that.

  He said he’d show her but that it would be necessary for the next lesson to be slightly delayed. He’d require twenty minutes in his own quarters first, and then they could proceed without, as he put it, containment problems. After the book, Rue had a tolerably good idea what he meant.

  The next session, twenty minutes later than normal, they worked on kissing further.

  It was about the best wheeze Rue had ever enjoyed, which she told Quesnel, because he ought to know these things, too. He was flustered by her praise.

  He slid back from her. They were sitting on the bed. Not under the covers. He had declared that, unless they were cold, lessons were better conducted with the gas on low, grey light filtering in through the porthole, and everything out in the open – for the sake of a superior education.

  Rue was still fully dressed, although she had opted for a tea-gown: better ease of access. Quesnel was stripped down to his trousers, because, as he explained, he was prepared for her to do most of the kissing this evening.

  He jumped off the bed and removed the last of his clothing. He gritted his teeth and blushed, more self-conscious than the werewolves of Rue’s acquaintance. Perhaps this was more an obligation rather than a pleasure?

  “You don’t have to.” Rue didn’t want him to feel forced.

  “It’s only a little embarrassment. You’ve seen pictures. It’s time for you to do a little of that exploring you’re so fond of.”

  “Goodie!” Rue clapped her hands only a tiny bit.

  He grinned. “Standing or lying down?”

  Rue pursed her lips and wandered over to him, letting her gaze and then her hands drift.

  She wasn’t taken with the idea of kneeling at his feet. The book was fond of depicting this dynamic but Rue had decided early on
that it didn’t appeal. She informed Quesnel of this.

  He seemed oddly pleased. “Not that I don’t think we can try it eventually – you shouldn’t rule anything completely out – but I agree it’s a little servile.”

  “Exactly!” replied Rue. “I’m a lady. We don’t kneel.” Since she had one hand on his posterior at the time in a completely unladylike manner, this comment came off as hilarious to the both of them.

  “To the bed!” Quesnel lay back, utterly nude and looking only a little uncomfortable under Rue’s interested gaze. He put both hands behind his head, as though they needed to be trapped there.

  “Lady Prudence, I am at your disposal.”

  “Are we still on the only kissing part of the lesson plan?”

  “For this, I think you should be allowed to do your worst. Hopefully matters won’t get too ungovernable.”

  “Is that why?” Rue gestured, indicating that, unlike their previous encounters, not all of him was interested in these proceedings.

  “Yes. Plus, I’m a little cold.”

  “A challenge.” Rue was hesitant at first, using only a few fingers. She experimented with pressure, curious about the different textures of his skin. Unlike the werewolf uncles, Quesnel had very little hair on his chest, only a sprinkling that arrowed in and trailed lower down. Rue followed it, stopping when he sucked in his breath.

  “Too rough?”

  “Just ticklish.”

  All in all, it proved a most enjoyable evening.

  Quesnel’s prior preparations notwithstanding, Rue got to see about everything a girl could wish to see – a most instructive experience.

  When he left her, it must have been almost noon, and they both were anticipating very little sleep.

  It was entirely worth it.

  “Tomorrow,” Quesnel said, kissing her into slumber, “it’s your turn.” He let himself quietly out.

  Rue didn’t say, “Oh, goodie,” this time. But she certainly thought it.

  Rue convinced herself that this was her version of an airship captain’s amusing dalliance – piratical in nature. When she was a retired adventuress, she would look back upon this as the romantic indiscretion of her pillaging youth. She was resolute in her commitment to avoiding deep sentiment, knowing that Quesnel was an irreverent butterfly apt to flit off to a new colourful flower at any shift in the breeze. For example, she was painfully cognisant of the fact that he left her after each encounter. When Rue finally slept, it was always alone.