Reticence (The Custard Protocol #4)

by Gail Carriger

Lady Kingair puffed on her cigar. “Honestly, I dinna know why she pretends to be retired.” “Pretends to be retired from what, exactly?” Percy pried. “Being a tricky bit of baggage.” The Alpha gave a toothy grin.

Percy could dance rather well, of course, it was simply that he didn’t want to and he had a reputation to maintain. Besides, one must cease upon any excuse to step on a vampire’s toes, for the sake of humanity. Percy was, in the end, a man of principle.

“Oh, Tiddles, but surely every young lady wants a nice husband and her own adorable little babies. I mean to say, you two and your dear departed father were the most cherished blossoms in the garden of my mortal existence.” “Well, this particular young lady wants herself a nice werecat wife, so there! Besides, Rue is going to loan me hers as much as I like.” “Loan you her husband?” Mother blinked. Percy snorted tea. Prim glared at him. “Fat lot of good you are.” Percy wisely buried his nose in his cup to hide his smile.

Whom she loves dinna impact me in any particular way. Why should I mind?” “Because society, as a general rule, minds.” “Considering society has done me no favours as a woman in a man’s profession, society can go hang itself.”

Percy was struck by a flight of fancy, imaging Arsenic in his lap, with Footnote on top of both of them. A tangle of limbs and books and cat and comfort. He was startled by the depth of his own yearning.

Percy understood the mechanics of courting, of course. One ought to write a lady sonnets, send her flowers, and purchase the odd trinket or two. But the only flowers aboard the Custard were the potted sunflowers to help cleanse the aether of malignant humours They ought not to be cut and presented to doctors. Besides, Percy had never understood the notion of gifting the dead sexual organs of a plant to females. It seemed oddly threatening.

Here, my lovely peahen, I have brought you a bottle of castor oil. Please come sit in a chair with me in my library and don’t talk too much and when you do speak, say something smart? If we’re lucky the cat will sit on top of us.

He supposed it was for him to pursue further intimacy, being the gentleman in this equation. But Percy was entirely unsure how to go about that. He might need to actually talk to his sister on the subject. Primrose had, after all, successfully courted a woman herself. He couldn’t bear that idea, so decided to ask Rodrigo’s opinion instead. After all, he was an Italian, weren’t Italian men supposed to be the best lovers in all the world? “You must woo her with the tongue,” was Rodrigo’s disgustingly crude advice. “I beg your pardon!” “Bah! You English. So stiff.” That gave Percy even more graphic ideas. “I say, that’s going too far.” Rodrigo snorted. “Seduce her. Love her. Kisses! You talk and talk and talk and talk. Too much talk. More kisses.” So much for Rodrigo’s advice.

That was what Spoo liked about Virgil, he only pretended to be proper. Underneath it he was delightfully ruthless. The best sorts were, in Spoo’s experience, ruthless. One had to be, if one wanted to accomplish things in this world.

Miss Prim may look like a silly fluff muffin, but secretly Spoo thought she was a bit of a bruiser. Something in Miss Prim’s expression conveyed this to the soldier and he backed away from Anitra.

Percy sighed and looked around for a weapon. He loathed fisticuffs, but those were his friends and if fighting was the only option… A gun would be best. Guns, of course, were a coward’s choice but he was a remarkably good shot. And a bit of a coward.