The Tragedy of the Colors
And so it proved to be the case.
By the end of their first week at the Nottingham Hive, Lord Kirby had begun to carry around his automated chamois in a special holster that Justice found for him while out shopping with Dimity. Lord Kirby treated the chamois more as a kind of pet than an actual functioning tool, patting it affectionately from the sash he now wore about his robes.
Crispin made this observation to Dimity.
Dimity instantly sent Cris out about town to enquire after puppies – Corgi puppies in particular. Everyone knew Corgis were a good dog breed for the supernatural set.
By Sunday, a big-eared, short-coupled, enthusiastic Corgi puppy was suddenly in their midst. The puppy spent a good deal of time tripping everyone up as they went about their decorating tasks and leaving hair on positively everything, especially the black velvet. No doubt this was part of Dimity’s intent in acquiring him – Corgis and velvet were incompatible. The little chap was so patently adorable that no one minded – they simply paused to pet him and tell him how marvelous he was. He had a tendency to stare deeply into one’s eyes and then roll over given the slightest sign of affection. Lord Kirby was instantly enamored, and named the puppy The Tragedy of the Commons, as if he were a racing steed instead of a dog. This got rather quickly shortened to Trudge. Cris even saw Mr Theris sneak the puppy treats on more than one occasion.
As the house came to colorful life about them, Cris began to notice other changes Dimity had wrought as well.
Justice left off the piratical white shirts, and started wearing colorful silken robes, long skirts, and eventually, with a mix of delight and self-consciousness, a becoming blue day dress.
No one batted an eye. Vampires were known to be eccentric. In fact, Justice looked so much like a vampire queen, Cris thought (with amusement, mind you) that agents coming in fresh to Budgy Hall knowing it had vampires in residence would get mighty confused. The Nottingham Hive now apparently boasted two female vampires, and when had that ever happened? Never. Not in the history of hives.
Not that any of them had seen the actual hive queen yet. Crispin wondered if this was Dimity’s secondary solution. If the baroness remained sane but refused ever to appear above ground again, Justice could simply be the de facto queen, and no one would really be the wiser.
Cris wondered if that would work.
When asked directly, Dimity said she’d consider it, and she would ask Justice how he felt about female pronouns. They left it at that for the time being. With the threat of death and BUR intervention riding on the reappearance of the baroness, that had to be the priority. Besides, BUR could be right in its extreme measures – if the queen remained below, there was a good chance the hive would slide back into Goth the moment Dimity left.
On the bright side, after a week Lord Finbar had improved considerably. He’d given over the romantics and was reading some of the more modern poets. He was also exploring transcendentalism. His jackets were still black velvet and drooping, but he’d started to branch out in the area of cravats. With Rosie’s gentle encouragement, he’d been persuaded into a blood-red satin fluff. Dimity said she had high hopes that jewel tones were in his immediate future.
Cinjin Theris proved the most challenging. Despite being the recipient of playbills lauding the delights of the stages of London, he remained stubbornly in Nottingham. Dimity said she’d hoped he would leave of his own volition – finding himself on the losing end of hive control, the road to theatrical fame might seem an easier goal.
Eventually Dimity suggested that Cris try applying some pressure, Mr Theris being the type of man never to trust a woman in any way.
Cris caught the actor one evening reciting a piece of Shakespeare to the new kitchen staff. Cris was impressed despite himself. The man did have a genuine talent for the stage. Crispin spent a good hour convincing Theris that he should at least visit London, simply to experience some small amount of its dramaturgic wonders and expose directors to his manifold talents. Cris was as flattering as he could be to a man he abhorred.
“But my lady, the baroness! Her needs must be met,” protested the drone, emphasising that he alone was responsible for delivering nibbly shepherdesses to the vampire queen.
Cris shrugged. “My wife will take care of it.”
Mr Theris evaluated him. “Send you to do it, will she?”
Cris was wearing his new dancing costume. It was plain and gray, but still tight, and looked almost like the attire Arctic explorers donned under their suits for warmth.
Mr Theris curled a lip. “She’d like your looks. Except, of course, that she doesn’t like any kind of change, so she might also engage in a bout of histrionics.”
Cris nodded gravely. “But you need to think of your own career. She doesn’t value you as an actor, clearly. Has she ever even asked you to perform for her?”
“Well, no, now that you mention it.”
“You are owed your patronage dues as drone too, do you know that? Ethically and legally.”
“It’s not like I feed her.” His voice was petulant. Clearly, he got the queen her shepherdesses on sufferance. Cris wondered if this was part of his obsession with controlling the hive. Had the queen stopped sucking from his neck after her retreat, thus irreparably damaging his confidence in his role as her drone and his place in the hive?
“Well there, you see? She’ll be fine if you go down to visit London.”
“And the others? Lord Finbar and Lord Kirby occasionally sip from me.”
“Lord Finbar has Rosie now. And I believe Lord Kirby and the carpenter are coming to an arrangement. You will be missed, of course, but the hive should be fine for a short while.” Cris wanted to emphasize that Theris’s control over the hive was slipping, and that he had other options, without his feeling too threatened.
The arrogant fellow did seem to be considering the proposition.
Cris sweetened the pot. “It seems such a shame to deprive London of your skills. You could simply... find out.”
“I suppose a few days away couldn’t hurt.”
Crispin went in for the kill. “I’m giving you a letter of introduction to an acquaintance of mine, Lord Akeldama. Perhaps you’ve heard of him?”
“Who hasn’t? Nottingham isn’t the ends of the earth, you know. He funds half the plays in the West End, and even an opera or two.” The actor’s tone was one of extreme avarice.
“So, you realize what he can do for you? He could buy your contract off this hive, either to be his drone or to put you on the stage as his new favored star.”
“Interesting prospect.” Theris narrowed his eyes. No doubt he knew what Crispin was trying to do – get him away from the Nottingham hive. But if the results were to his advantage, he was the kind of man to take until there was nothing left to give.
“Isn’t it, though?” Crispin had reservations about Theris’s character, but they were the kinds of flaws that a vampire like Lord Akeldama might enjoy taking advantage of. Plus, the drone really was a very good actor, and Lord Akeldama was also an extensive patron of the theatre, morals or no morals. It might indeed work out positively for all concerned.
Dimity could not be more pleased by her successes over the course of their first week. She was generally best at this kind of mission, but never before had she had one more exactly suited to her particular talents. She thought it might be time to approach the queen soon – setting the stage to advantage first, of course.
Really, she found herself thinking more than once, why hasn’t the War Office had me work with vampires before? Perhaps I should have taken a job with BUR from the get-go.
Now that she had managed to lift the three hive members out of their collective doldrums, Dimity was really rather enjoying their company. Lord Kirby, in particular, was a reluctant charmer. He never smiled, of course, but there was something pleasing about the intensity of his adoration for mahogany, and something sweet about the way he glowered while shaking a finger in reprimand at Trudge. The Corgi, of course, only licked the cool finger and went about his doggie business trailing the enamoured Lord Kirby after him.
Lord Kirby even complimented Dimity on her modernizing Budgy Hall. He was the only one to notice that more gas lighting had been installed. The old metal runners in the halls had been ripped up too, the ones for the mechanicals that no longer existed. Dimity updated the flooring and then put down colorful new Persian rugs to match the wallpaper. Lord Kirby said they were lovely and soft and wouldn’t Justice appreciate them under his bare feet as he wafted about?
Dimity was growing rather fond of Lord Kirby.
While Mr Theris was still around to act as escort, Dimity did her best to open a line of communication with the hive queen by sending in her human nibbles clutching Parisian fashion plates. She also began to include fabric samples. Both those to match the new dress designs offered in the plates, and the fabrics that Dimity was using to redecorate above stairs. To the samples she pinned little encouraging notes and personal thoughts. She went so far as to create her own lace Valentine’s cards to act as a bastion of communication. It was, she felt, appropriate to her role as artist, too. She found a vibrant teal, about which she wrote:
From the brief glimpse I had of your loveliness, Baroness, this would suit your complexion beautifully. Although, of course, it can hardly do it justice.
She sent that fabric swatch on three consecutive evenings, with her compliments every single time.
Nothing came in reply from the baroness, not even a Valentine’s card, but the vampire queen was keeping all the fabric samples and fashion plates. Dimity thought that was a good sign.
Then, finally, after Sir Crispin had given him a good long talking-to, Mr Theris left for London. Dimity returned from running errands to find him and his letter of introduction gone, and the milkmaid from the first night standing forlornly on the stoop. Cris was unavailable, escorting Justice on a shopping trip and Gantry encounter. Justice had been sticking close to the hive of late, thank goodness, as it put less strain on his tether. The vampire also obviously enjoyed having Cris act as chaperon and audience to his grand affaire d’amour du jour.
“Oh, good evening,” said Dimity to the milkmaid. “Are you up for nibble a second time? I didn’t think she liked to repeat a meal. Variety being the spice of blood, and all that.”
“She doesn’t,” said the pretty young woman. “At least, that’s what I was told. But I liked her so much. She was so very gentle with me, not like one of the lads at all. And I thought, if I cleaned up really well, and wore my Sunday best, I might get a second chance. I’d be a very good snack, I would. Not try anything. Not try to stay. It’s only, she seemed so unhappy, and I thought I might help with that. Cheer her up a bit.”
“I think you’d best come in,” said Dimity. “We need to talk.”
And, after they’d had their talk, Dimity escorted Betsy (because of course that was her name) down to Baroness Ermondy. Dimity used her key (annoyed that Theris hadn’t left his behind – clearly the man wanted even the hive queen to suffer in his absence), sent the young lady inside armed with fashion, and lurked about to see what might happen. She didn’t go inside herself, not yet. Timing was everything with vampires – because they had so much time to work with, they respected only the best manipulation of suspense.
There was some yelling, as she’d warned Betsy there might be. But Betsy was made of stern stuff, and clearly knew what she wanted. Eventually, whatever normally happened behind the locked cave door between vampire queen and human nibble, happened.
Betsy emerged looking euphoric, and punctured, but not so pale as some of the others before her. Her neck had been wrapped in a pretty little scarf, with no blood visible, so Dimity didn’t feel faint at all. And this was another good sign, that the baroness had given the girl a gift.
Betsy’s grin was huge and artless. “She wants to see me again! She says I’m good in an epistemological crisis. I don’t know what that means but it sounds wonderful. She says, send more fashion plates next time. She says, feed me steak and kidney pie and give me a place here because she’d like it if I were around more. Oh, and she gave me a Valentine’s card of instructions to pass along as proof. I’m not sure what that means, but it sounds important.”
Dimity took the card and opened it. Carry on, was all it said.
Dimity gave Betsy a big smile. “You, Betsy darling, are a miracle worker. Now, come along, let’s get you that pie, and some steamed spinach too, I think. And I believe you ought to meet our parlormaid, Rosie. You two will get along famously.”
It turned out Rosie and Betsy knew each other of old, both coming from the nearby village of Beeston. They could not have been more delighted by their reunion, if the excessive squealing that commenced was any sign.
Dimity, who dearly loved a good squeal, made them all tea in the kitchen and felt very pleased with herself.
Crispin took Justice firmly in hand – in an older brother kind of way. Odd, given the vampire was so much older than he, but Justice did so remind Cris of Tristan, he couldn’t help himself.
There would be no more dramatic running through the woods – it stretched tethers too far and ruined night-rails. All trysts would be chaperoned forthwith. Cris told Justice kindly that she needed to value herself more. (Justice had decided that she preferred the feminine, when all was said and done.) Didn’t Justice deserve to be courted properly? Cris thought so. Dimity added that she thought Justice should make Gantry work a little harder for her affection. Flowers, at the very least. A few nice bits of jewelry weren’t to be sneezed at either!
Justice hadn’t even known to request such things.
“You have all the power, young lady. Don’t let him take advantage,” said Cris, getting into the role and loving the way Justice glowed every time she was addressed as young lady. She’d never had such a thing in life, so Cris would address her correctly in afterlife. These things were important, a courtesy that took nothing from his own consequence. Dimity, of course, had impressed upon Cris that a formal and legitimate courtship would appeal more to the man’s parents. If Gantry and Justice were perceived to be seriously in love and not engaged in a childish passion, drone status was a more likely outcome (once Justice’s vampiric state was revealed). Still, if they dangled marriage with the wealthy ward of an eccentric baroness, surely no country gentry could refuse to permit courtship, at least?
Justice, of course, didn’t want to be formal, legitimate, or sensible. She wanted a grand passion. Crispin was determined she should have it all.
Dimity was determined to see her in blue. Fortunately, it transpired that when the entire field of actual dresses was available to her, Justice was willing to try all colors. More than willing.
In fact, Cris had to hold her back when they went shopping. They started with only two tea dresses, four day dresses, two (additional) nightgowns, one visiting dress (because really, how often did a vampire pay calls?), two dinner dresses, and a ball gown. No, Cris did not think a promenade gown was necessary, as promenading was for sunny hours. While he devoutly believed that Justice was wonderful and could cut a swath with the best of them, going out in broad daylight was still death to a vampire.
Justice conceded this last.
Six days after placing the order, about halfway through their second week at the hive, Justice’s dresses arrived.
The young vampire was incandescent with delight. They were all to the very latest standards, which meant they were tighter and narrower and beginning to lift into a bustle at the back. Dimity explained that this cut was far more suitable to Justice’s small frame than the larger hoops and wider sleeves of last season.
The new gowns were also all the colors of the rainbow. One of the day dresses was even yellow. Justice, of course, looked stunning in all of them.
Cris made certain to tell her so as she modeled them for him and Dimity, one after another. She was still as deathly pale as could be, but now this came off as tragically lovely rather than sickly.
Dimity said with true admiration that dark-eyed brunettes had all the luck where color was concerned. “Justice, darling, I’m convinced that Gantry’s parents will be delighted with you. You’re a positive vision of innocent aristocratic appeal.”
Crispin had worried a bit, but Justice had assured him that Gantry liked her in whatever she wore, and whatever pronouns were applied, so long as she was still Justice at heart. Crispin applauded the fellow for his adaptability, and began to think Dimity was right about Gantry. He was more than the bumbling countrified squire’s son he appeared to be. And he genuinely adored Justice.
After the dresses had all been admired and discussed, Cris asked Justice (in a lovely pink ballgown) to dance. Dimity played, and Justice had the first of many lessons in how to follow on the dance floor. It was fun and amusing for all concerned.
Their deadline was looming. They’d only four more days before BUR showed up and ruined everything. Dimity probably wasn’t as worried about it as she should be. In fact, she found herself dwelling more and more on the closed-door arrangement.
Sir Crispin was proving a tough nut to crack. He was remarkably stoic at bedtime, despite his obvious interest. Dimity had progressed from kissing his mouth to his neck and shoulders, and touching him most places, except where she really wanted to touch. It was simply that she wasn’t sure how to do it right. She didn’t want to hurt him at all. She knew men were delicate in that area. Of course she did, as a good deal of her training with regard to the male anatomy facilitated disabling its functionality, not improving it.
“Justice,” she asked finally, late one night when she and the vampire were alone together sorting ribbons, “might I ask an indelicate question? My husband and I... That is, I have some concerns, you know, in the bedroom.” She whispered the last bit.
“Oh no, dear, no, I can’t join you. I’m devoted to Gantry alone, you see? Perhaps Lord Kirby...”
Dimity squeaked. “Oh no, not that, it’s more me, I think. I’m not sure what I’m about when I’m, um, about his manly bits – you see?”
“Oh, my sweet summer muffin! How tragic. And I suppose you can’t simply ask him, can you? Because he’s like Gantry used to be, all serious and disciplined, with a stiff upper lip and a public school education.”
Dimity considered. “I could ask him, I suppose. Does that normally work, with gentlemen?”
“In my experience, most assuredly. The only thing more delightful than the act of conjugal bliss is talking about it first. And since every man is different in his preferences, it is better to inquire after them.”
Dimity blinked. “Really?”
The vampire nodded. “Absolutely. And you take my word for it, darling. I’m nearly fifty years old, don’t tell. But I should know.”
Dimity nodded back gravely. “Oh, Justice, I’m so glad we are friends now and that you have given up stealing my nightgowns and running though forests.”
“It was only the once. But I admit, in retrospect, it was a tad extreme. I can’t believe your husband witnessed it all. How embarrassing. I had no other way to run free with my dreams and passions, you see?”
Dimity did see. And what she saw was that Justice had been delighted by every aspect of that evening early on in their visit, including the fact that there had been an audience for the entire thing. Still, Dimity could be gracious in victory. “Well, I’m delighted that your dreams have turned a touch more practical and therefore more achievable.”
Justice’s pouty face turned tragic. “Do you think my Gantry’s parents will ever come around?”
“I have an idea about that.”
“I worry sometimes – should he become my drone? It’s so confining for poor Gantry. I don’t want to hold him back from his ambitions. Humans need to be free. Go to London, enjoy the clubs, marry, have children, eat garlic. That sort of thing.”
Justice was being over-dramatic and ridiculous, of course. Many sought drone status – the lure of possible immortality alone was enough. But also, the patronage and the lighter workload made it a tremendously appealing career prospect. But Justice did so love an emotional wallow on occasion.
Dimity considered the scene Sir Crispin had described to her, of Gantry and Justice under the oak tree. “And he desires those things, does he? He wants to leave you? Doesn’t want to stay and be yours? Doesn’t adore everything about you?”
“Well...”
“Justice, darling, I believe he shares your desires, I really do. Has he ever mentioned the need for such things as marriage, children, or a steady diet of garlic?”
“Well, no, not exactly. He’s always said how much he would like to be my drone. But perhaps he is only telling me what I wish to hear.”
“I think you’re making additional histrionic art for yourself. Has he ever lied to you before?”
“Well, noooo.” Justice waved her hands about, floating and expressive, trailing the ruffles of her teal twilled silk day gown.
“There, you see? And don’t worry about his parents. I shall bring them ’round.”
And so, with Dimity’s gentle encouragement, Gantry was at last invited to visit Budgy Hall by Lord Finbar (in lieu of the baroness).
Of course, grumpy and not sure who it was, Lord Kirby nearly had the door barred against him. Dimity sighed in frustration, acknowledging that some regressive behavior was to be expected.
“Really, Lord Kirby!” Dimity reproached him as she reopened the door. “He brought flowers. Honestly, how can you turn away any man bearing daffodils? Good afternoon, sir. You must be Mr Ogdon-Loppes? Charmed to meet you. I’m Mrs Carefull. Do come in. Your lady love and I have become great friends.”
Gantry only nodded and blushed incredibly red. He already had a ruddy complexion, so this did him no favors, but he looked earnest enough. “Where is my angel?”
“She’s coming down now.”
Justice did love to make an entrance. So down she came, descending the stairs in a lilac muslin gown from a new Italian designer. It was trimmed in cream lace and had a scalloped hem and a modest train. The vampire positively glowed in it. She’d curled her hair, but left it loose. Even Dimity could not persuade Justice to put up her hair. “No dear, no,” the vampire had explained, “it represents my free spirit. I must have it down.”
Gantry gasped and let the daffodils fall from his hands, scattering yellow and bright green around his feet.
Justice floated to him.
Gantry swept the vampire up into his arms. “Oh, my own, my love, how I have missed you.”
“Gantry, light of my life, you’re here. Oh, you are here at last...”
Patently, Crispin had not had as much of a leavening effect as they’d hoped. Well, Rome wasn’t built in a day.
“My parents, they are unmoved and unmoving,” intoned Gantry.
“Oh, Gantry, you suffer so for me. How you suffer!”
The man shook his head. “They are intellectuals. I confuse them with my concupiscence. We confuse them. Our love, our dedication, they do not understand such grand passion. They are so cold and cerebral, too caught up in their stupid books!”
Dimity left them to it when they commenced an embrace in the hall that involved Justice bent back over Gantry’s arm, both of them crushing daffodils underfoot. It was a good thing the new rugs were out for cleaning at the moment.
Lord Kirby said gloomily to her, “That mortal will break our little dove’s heart, he will. You mark my words.”
Dimity snorted at him and twiddled with the cluster brooch at her throat. “Don’t be ridiculous, my dear Lord Kirby, he will do no such thing. I would never allow it. Oh, see there! Please stop Trudge, that dog will eat the daffodils. I’m convinced that can’t possibly be good for him.”
Lord Kirby went to rescue the puppy, who really was only snuffling at the fallen flowers, but the vampire needed a distraction.
Dimity went to write a letter to her brother. She hadn’t really wanted to deploy him. He was never very cooperative when she did. But it was becoming increasingly clear that Pillover would be necessary. And soon.
It was getting on to the end of their second week at the hive. Cris wrote to Bertie to beg for one additional week and could he convince BUR to, if not delay, at least not take drastic action right away. He emphasised that everything was going swimmingly. No doubt Dimity was also making her reports and begging for an extension. They were neither of them certain they would get any more time, so they entered a state of mutual tension. Every knock at the hive door could be a sundowner, or a team from the stabbing constabulary – or both – sent to eliminate the hive. Crispin wasn’t certain what he would do under those circumstances. Would he turn traitor and warn the hive, help them to hide below with their queen? Barricade the cellar door? Would he fight for his new friends against those better trained than himself? Would Dimity? The idea of anyone killing Justice was too horrible to contemplate! Or even poor old Kirby, or grumpy old Finbar. It was unthinkable.
Obviously, he was considering fighting his own government, because his brain was coming up with battle plans. Oh, but he would give anything not to be put into the position of having to choose!
On the bright side, things were poodling along nicely now that Mr Theris was away in London. There had been no word from him or Lord Akeldama. Cris decided one of two things had happened – they’d fallen deeply in love or Akeldama had killed him on sight. Either one was an actable outcome.
Lord Finbar began making noises about enlarging and then opening up the hive’s library to the public. The vampire muttered at midnight tea that the “American Emerson fellow had some very interesting stances on the education of the lower orders.” This Finbar took to mean humans (as opposed to the poor). “Although it could also mean werewolves – they are, you know... lower. To the ground, at the very least. But I don’t know that I could stand a pack about the place. They do smell so.”
Dimity looked so pleased when he said this (about opening the library, not the pack being stinky), that Crispin knew it had all been her idea. For some reason she also insisted that Finbar read the latest Catullus translations, which she happened to have in one of her trunks. Cris wasn’t sure about the reasoning behind that. Catullus could be difficult on even the most stable individuals, but Dimity had done so well so far that he wouldn’t second-guess her now. There must be some good reason for foisting Catullus upon a vampire.
The company for midnight tea had grown considerably smaller over the two weeks, as most of the overhaul of Budgy Hall was now completed. It comprised Lord Finbar and his faithful Rosie. Without the hive queen above stairs, Rosie could not officially become a drone, but everyone knew she was headed in that direction. Betsy also joined them most nights. They’d subtly shifted the baroness’s feeding time to after tea, so that Betsy might be well fortified for her duties. Dimity and Cris were there too, of course, and Lord Kirby and at least one of the lingering tradesfolk. Lord Kirby kept finding more things for them to do, especially the carpenter. Finally, Justice made up the last of the party, and Gantry too, most evenings now. Lord Kirby had stopped glaring at him when it became clear that Gantry adored dogs, and Trudge in particular. Gantry kept calling the Corgi his short-coupled little chap in tones of great affection, and wondering if he might take him hunting sometime. “I’ll wager you could find me a downed pheasant, couldn’t you? There’s a good hound!”
Cris would never accuse the assembly of being cheerful or even pleasant. Finbar still waffled on about poetry, and Kirby still frowned at everything and everyone, and Justice and Gantry still made limpid eyes at each other and waxed purple in prose. But it was certainly more tolerable than it had been initially, and really, what more could you ask of a vampire hive than tolerable?
Budgy Hall was spectacular (at least its receiving rooms). Dimity not only embraced color – it turned out she had excellent taste and a good eye to go with it. While her own personal preferences in attire could best be described as ostentatious, she’d managed elegance with the hive house. It was still showy, but she stuck to deep jewel tones and metallics throughout, with cream as a unifying counter-color. In the end this resulted in a harmonious series of rooms that might grace any grand house in London, even that of Lord Akeldama himself (although with fewer naked cherubs). Cris had never visited Lord Akeldama, but everyone knew about the cherubs.
Cris was extremely impressed with Dimity’s results and he told her so.
“Why, didn’t you know, darling? I’m very, very good at my job.”
She was getting more daring with him too. And he was having a rather difficult time holding out against her at bedtime. He was also beginning to forget why he kept trying.
For one thing, she took it as settled that he would brush out her hair every night. He’d taken it on as a sacred duty and mild torture. Nothing could be more sensual than sliding the bristles through and touching the soft mass of her honey curls, the scent of lemon wafting up. The sensation in his fingertips as they caressed the smooth skin of her cheeks and neck was almost euphoric.
Despite the hair brushing, he’d been doing well at resisting, and then she switched tactics and began asking him questions while they prepared for bed. Rather explicit questions.
“I was talking with Justice earlier.”
“Were you indeed? Is there a shawl in a new shade of blue that needs acquiring?”
“Don’t be mean. Justice in blue has changed everything! Gantry is properly courting her now.”
“Yes, indeed. So, no shawls, then?”
“No. Sex. We were talking about sex.”
Cris stopped brushing her hair in shock. What a very crude word. “We were? I thought we were talking about shawls.”
Her shoulders were tense. “Not us. Justice and I were discussing carnal relations. You see, I was trying to inquire after doing it properly, since you obviously won’t start the thing up and therefore I must, but I’m not sure quite how to go about it. So then I thought, what ho! I’ve a new vampire friend to call upon. After all, Justice has decades of experience and seems inclined to play various possible roles in the bedroom and therefore she should know all about what’s what.”
“Uh,” said Cris, lost, feeling hot about the ears and aroused by interest and embarrassment. He resumed brushing.
She turned and took the brush away from him, putting it on a chair next to her side of the bed. She was crimson-faced, but she also had that glint in her eyes that suggested this was a matter as serious as the right color brocade cushion, and she would not be gainsaid.
She took a deep breath and then spoke fast and all at once, practically without pause. “Here’s what I don’t know. How should you like to be touched, you know, down there? Hard or soft? Is it like a cooked sausage or an uncooked one? Do I hold firm like a cricket bat, or am I gentle, like a cat’s tail? Do I tug, or swirl about? Is it up and down or side to side or sort of squeezing? I suspect what I need is some kind of primary instruction manual or guidebook – you know, like we get before a mission in a foreign city. Would you write one up for me? Would that work? I want you to be comfortable.”
Cris couldn’t help it, she was so earnest, and so eager, and so sweet.
“Oh, Sparkles, you’ve been giving this a not inconsiderable amount of thought, haven’t you?”
“For a very, very long time. One only really learns by doing, of course, but you’ve taken ages to come around to me, Sir Crispin. I don’t want to mess it all up now that I’ve finally caught your interest.”
“Silly Sparkles, you’ve always had my interest.”
“You frown because you love me?”
“Exactly.”
“So?”
“Cooked sausage, up and down, halfway between cat’s tail and cricket bat. With something to make it smooth, like oil or face cream.”
“Face cream? Really? No one has ever mentioned face cream. If I were very good and went slowly, would you let me touch?”
Cris officially gave up at that juncture. Raised the white flag of surrender and everything. Well, raised something, that’s certain. He was trying to protect his own virtue when clearly, he hadn’t any. How was he expected to hold out, and why was he bothering to keep doing so?
He was going to marry this woman anyway – she’d already pronounced it. And, as far as he was concerned, it would happen as soon as he could rustle up the necessary paperwork. All those contacts he’d cultivated over his years in the War Office were about to come in very handy indeed.
He might as well let her have at.
So he stripped down entirely, not embarrassed at all, because he’d been cavorting about in bathing costumes for a fortnight anyway, so she knew all. In fact, practically all of Nottingham had seen practically all of Sir Crispin, so who was he to mind full nudity?
Dimity’s eyes were wide and awed and covetous. “Ooooh, you have hair in strange places.”
He lay back, put his hands behind his head on the pillow, and looked up at her. He took a moment to be pleased the chimneys were now clean and they had a cheerful fire in the grate. He did want to put on a good showing.
“You know,” said Dimity, as if she were realizing it and saying it at the same time, which was rarely a safe tactic, “the only time you’re ever still is like this, alone with me.”
“You’re the only thing I’ve ever wanted to stop moving for.”
“Oh. Goodness. Look at you.” Her gaze was hungry and running all over him. He’d never had anyone look at him like this before – as if he were entirely worthy and wanted, as if he were needed and necessary.
He thought he would simply lie there and she would be shy and retiring and cautiously tentative and they’d see where things went. Her touch would likely be too light and do no more than tickle. She probably would not even think to use her mouth and she’d have to be gently coaxed into everything.
He was entirely wrong about all of it.
Afterwards, when they lay hot and sticky and panting, he realized his Sparkles had magic hands and he hoped she’d surmised that her tuppenny knight had a magic tongue.
“There’s more, isn’t there?” Her body was supine, gracefully curved by relaxation. Her eyes were big and bright and glorious.
“Mmm,” he replied, feeling weighted into bonelessness and heavy-lidded.
She rolled over him and drew lazy patterns in the spend lying white and sticky on his abdomen. Not at all squeamish, it turned out, his lady love. He was incredibly grateful to discover that blood was the only bodily fluid that made her faint.
“I want to try all of it,” she said, sucking a finger and making an interested face.
“Mmm,” he said, only dozing off a little.
“Don’t fall asleep yet. This is serious.”
The sun was up and the new curtains kept most of it out, but he could still see the rose flush on her skin. She was smooth all over, it turned out, and perfectly shaped, all softly curved, exactly as he’d always imagined. Honey-colored curls. Honey-flavored skin. Honey-flavored everything.
He licked his lips and felt himself stir again. “I’m listening.”
“It’ll be us now, I’ve decided. This is us now. We’re not going back to the way it was before, when you thought you should resist me. And Justice can have all my nightgowns, even the new ones.”
“Marvelous idea.”
“And even when we’re done here, sometimes you’ll wear a dancing costume only for me.”
“Just for you.” His sleep contentment turned to utter pleasure, to be so completely wanted. What more could he possibly need?
“Even the striped one, because I know you don’t like it, but it’s very tight and the white stripes are sort of see-through in places and—”
“Yes, Sparkles, even the stripy one.”
“And we can do more of this tomorrow? I want to try licking you all over until you spend in my mouth. And I want to, you know, go riding... the fun way.”
“Both in one night?” he squeaked, opening his eyes in surprise.
“Is that not possible? You see, I have much to learn.”
He grumbled at her something about his needing to learn things too, since she made the best noises he’d ever heard while in the throes of pleasure and he wanted to collect them all, over and over again.
“Promise?” she said, a whisper of longing tickling his chest hair.
“Promise,” he replied.
And he wasn’t sure what it was he’d just promised her, but it didn’t really matter, because he would give it to her anyway, whatever she wanted.