She might have taken a little too long. For when she paused at the top of the stairs to pinch some colour into her cheeks, the voices on deck had fallen silent.

She pushed open the hatch and climbed out, to find Percy with a tremendous frown on his face slumped over the helm consulting a greaser about repairs.

Quesnel was striding down the gangplank. Quesnel striding made for a lovely sight, but it was hardly fair of him to leave when she had put so much effort into looking good enough for him to regret having left before! It would not do to holler at him; that would ruin the dignity of her position. So Rue clattered down the gangplank after him. She moved as fast as her tightly laced stays would allow, instantly regretting having worn them.

She grabbed his arm just as he jumped to the ground.

Quesnel whirled to face her, hand up as if to strike, and she wondered if he thought her Percy. Had the animosity between them became so bad he would hit the man? Percy was a frightful bother, nobody denied that, but to strike another gentleman invited social retribution. Or was Quesnel on edge because he knew criminals were after his new kit in the boiler room?

Quesnel’s violet eyes widened; then the lines on his face smoothed and he smiled.

“Chérie! How lovely.”

“Leaving again so soon, Mr Lefoux? Is this to become a custom?”

“Most certainly not. How could I even contemplate abandoning such loveliness!”

“And yet you had no difficulty back in India.”

“Duty and friendship called me away. Although, I must say, that dress would have made the move nigh on impossible. Is it new?” Quesnel Lefoux was one of the biggest flirts in London. He was also an inventor. Which confused people no end. Generally the academic set took after Percy, being prickly and not adept at grappling with the mundane intellect of the masses. Not Quesnel. Quesnel had a well-earned reputation with the ladies and a certain casual breeziness of manner he was only permitted because he was French and a commoner.

That said, he was certainly not the most agreeable man Rue knew. Lord Akeldama and at least four of his drones outpaced her blond engineer easily. Having been raised by such collective expert charmers, Rue would have been very wary of Quesnel if he were the most agreeable man she knew. She liked that his flirting had an honest bent to it. Quesnel flirted because he genuinely appreciated women, and Rue in particular. Rue had to give him credit for excellent taste.

“Don’t you dare change the subject. Where have you been?” She lowered her voice. “I was promised ravishment. Do I look ravished to you?”

Quesnel positively baulked. Rue was being too blunt.

Pleased, she let him stew in embarrassed silence.

He opened his mouth a few times. It was a very nice mouth, good for kissing, but currently he did slightly resemble a kipper.

“You were saying?” Rue prodded.

“What are you doing here?” blurted Quesnel.

“Mr Lefoux, this is actually my airship, if you’ll recall? Although that fact seems to have escaped your notice.”

Quesnel collected himself. “I understood you to be staying with your parents while you were in town. Putting our arrangement, as it were, temporarily on hold. Don’t you have to be with them right now?”

Rue narrowed her eyes. Avoiding me, is he? “Oh, did you think that? And how long have you been in town yourself, Mr Lefoux?”

He looked guilty. “A little while.” Which meant he could have been around for days and been purposefully avoiding her. He may even have brought the tank to the Custard himself!

“Lovely.” Rue pulled her shoulders back and applied her décolletage. “While I must say that this wasn’t the education I asked for, I suppose you are giving me a good one. Nice to know where I stand.”

“You stand very well.”

Rue narrowed her eyes.

Quesnel’s sweet boyish face fell. “Oh, now, Rue, it’s not you I was avoiding. It’s—”

“Percy?”

“—more complicated than that. Besides, I could hardly come calling while you’re enfolded in an overabundance of parental concern.”

“So now you’re ashamed of me? Marvellous.” Rue was feeling legitimately hurt. She had thought she and Quesnel had an understanding. But lo there he stood looking tanned and fit, his blond hair flopping over his forehead in that extremely annoying way that made her want to push it back and she didn’t understand anything.

“Of course not, chérie! I’m terrified of your parents. I highly doubt they would approve of any lessons likely to take place between you and I.” He gave her a winning smile.

Rue would wager good money that Quesnel and his mother, Madame Lefoux, were the only two people in London not terrified of her parents. Why did he feel he must lie? She had thought that their friendship was at least based on honesty. She wouldn’t have been so frank with him about matters of the boudoir, otherwise.

“Oh, I don’t think that’s an accurate statement, Mr Lefoux.” Quesnel didn’t fill her pause with protestations, so Rue continued. “Fine, well, I guess that ended before it started.”

Quesnel instantly protested. “Chérie—”

Rue rolled right over him and his moronic little pet names that she liked so much. “Never mind, let’s get on to more important matters. What are you stashing in my boiler room? What does it do? And who is trying to steal it?”

Quesnel blinked. “Just something I picked up. It might come in useful.”