Rue shook her head. “I think it’s most likely Paw overreacting. I bet he heard about the kidnapping, fears the worst, and pressured the Shadow Council into granting me permission to exterminate supernaturals. Or Mother thinks I’m going to accidentally kill a immortal and wants to reduce her paperwork.”
“How did we go from tea to death so quickly?” wondered Quesnel.
“Sometimes,” said Prim darkly, “there is a very fine line between the two.”
“There’s no we!” insisted Rue. “This is my responsibility. I’ve been given the role. Dama obviously doesn’t trust any other agents here in India.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” said Prim firmly. “Of course there’s a we. Now, shall we do some collective cogitation? What did everyone learn at the party about this kidnapping?”
It was a great deal later on in the evening before they retired.
Rue was surprised to find, when she went to open the door to her captain’s quarters, that Quesnel had followed her from the stateroom. She hoped the other two hadn’t seen.
“You aren’t going to take this sundowner burden to heart, are you, chérie?”
Rue looked into his violet eyes, her own yellow ones twinkling. “It is a sacred duty.”
“Are you this flippant about everything?”
“That’s rich coming from you.” Rue only then realised he was being serious, or trying to be. Quesnel didn’t wear serious very well. It looked ill-fitting on him – his mercurial face was pinched and his eyes sombre.
He said, “Dealing out death changes a person. I should not wish to see you so very altered and…” He trailed off.
Rue wondered what he might have said. “How would you know what death does?” she asked, not unkindly.
“I’ve been around it all my life. You know I was partly raised by my great-aunt when I was younger?”
“Yes?” Rue encouraged. She knew very little about Quesnel’s childhood. When they’d first met, he was already at university.
“A ghost.”
“Oh. So you watched her fade to poltergeist?”
“I did.”
“But you have not killed anyone yourself?”
A quick flash of his old charming grin. “Not as far as I know. Perhaps in matters of the heart.”
Rue made the only promise she could. “I will do my best not to use this power, but if we are going after this kidnapped woman and the Rakshasas do have her…”
“You would do it?”
Rue tried to be serious. She wasn’t all that good at it either. It probably looked worse on her than it did on Quesnel. “I believe I could kill one of them, if I had to. He was very rude.”
“Yet they are vampires, and you were raised by a vampire. You would have more trouble than most, I think.” Still so serious.
Rue wanted to tell him to stop. This conversation was making her uncomfortable. “Perhaps that’s why the Shadow Council decided to grant me sundowner status. They knew I would struggle with death dealing – morally as well as physically.”
“I cannot believe your mother would allow such a burden.”
Rue stiffened. She may not always get along with her mother but she would not have her maligned. “My mother knows her responsibility to queen and country. She would not have permitted the conference of sundowner status if she didn’t think I could handle the repercussions.” Perhaps that was part of Rue’s own ready acceptance: Mother is actually treating me like an adult.
“Indeed? And has she ever been a sundowner?”
“No, only a licensed exorcist. But Paw’s held the title since he became head of BUR.”
“And how has your father handled the repercussions?” Quesnel wondered.
Rue considered this question. Really considered it for the first time in her life. She had always known that her adored Paw was one of the few men in Britain authorised to hunt and kill vampires and werewolves as needed. But she’d never thought much about how he felt about that, nor indeed how the rest of the supernatural community might regard him as a result. It must be lonely. That Rue could understand. Her three parents had tried hard to bring her up without spoiling her overmuch, but Rue knew she was unique in the world. There weren’t even historical records of metanaturals, only rumour and hearsay. It was an odd kind of loneliness, like being the last of a dying race. Would she be further ostracised if she killed as well?
“Paw is Paw – things mostly roll off him. How else could he survive marriage to my mother?” she answered at last.
Quesnel cradled her face in his hands. “Don’t accept sundowner status, chérie. You can say no.”
Rue shook her head against his touch. “All three of my parents serve the crown with grace and integrity. If the Shadow Council trusts me with this, I will accept the responsibility. It is an odd birthright, but it’s mine. Besides, why do you care?”
Quesnel lowered his hands. “You are amazingly frustrating. Has anyone ever told you that?”
“Frequently. It’s part of my charm.”
Quesnel turned all French on her in an instant. His eyes back to twinkling. “Very well, mon petit chou, I think I should kiss you now, before you are corrupted by circumstances beyond our control.”
“Very melodramatic of you. And yet here I find it is you who is bent on my corruption.” Rue tilted her head, as if considering an offer of new gloves. Inside she was properly thrilled. They shouldn’t, of course, but Rue had never had a real kiss from someone she actually liked. And she suspected Quesnel might be pretty good at it.
She closed her eyes. “Very well then, do your damnedest.”
Quesnel, as it transpired, was a good kisser. All those fancy ladies, Rue supposed. Not that she had much fodder with which to build comparisons. But she certainly enjoyed it. His lips were warm and firm, but not too firm. Halfway through she could feel him smile in the creasing of his cheek against hers. Only Quesnel, she thought, would have the temerity to smile during an embrace.
His arms were gentle around her, strong enough to know she was supported, but not so tight as to feel confining. His hands curled about her waist, warm and strong. He took his time, exploring her lips with his, and eventually her body with those hands. He’s rather wicked, thought Rue happily.
Rue was a believer in experts. She felt it was always best to identify the expert and trust their abilities in the matters of shoe leather or embroidery work or opera singing. Quesnel had the reputation as an expert in the matter of seduction, so Rue committed herself utterly to his expertise. She supposed that made him a rake, but a good one.
She tried tentatively to imitate some of his actions. She was worried about being thought inferior in the matter of intimate relations. Or worse, prudish. Rue took seriously a statement Primrose once made in admiration when they were ten that Rue was “always game for a lark”.
Rue found she was battling Quesnel’s lips for dominance and was not sure about that. But she did enjoy running her own hands over his warm back, exploring the indented line of his spine and even – greatly daring – trailing her fingertips down to his posterior.
At which juncture Quesnel stopped kissing her.
Rue was disappointed.
“That’s more than enough of that,” he said. His voice was a little raspy and his accent stronger than normal.
“Oh, is it? Just when I thought I might be grasping the way of things. Did I bungle it? I haven’t had much practice.”
“Oh, chérie, I assure you you did very well indeed.”
“I did?”
“Hidden talents.” His violet eyes positively sparkled.
Rue was chuffed. “Marvellous. I always wanted to be good at something.”