The Dark Duke- Nine

Disclaimer: I do not own DBZ, or the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Warnings: Cussing, some sexual thoughts

A/N: I love my reviewers. I love my readers--even just seeing that little view count go up has me smiling--so even if you never review, thank you for just reading.

And for my reviewers, you make me a better writer, and I cannot thank you enough for that.

Chapter Nine: The Secret Office

      Vegeta had left.
      
      He had left.
      
      He had left her.
      
      He had left her without even the thought of seeing her, of speaking to her, of saying good-bye to her.
      
      Bulma was pissed--not only because Vegeta had left her, but also because she cared that he had left her.
       
      He had been under the very same roof as her (she was sure of this, for at least one day they were under the same roof, and though she had not seen him their first day in Saiyan Hall, she knew he had to be here at some point at the same time as her), and she had mattered so little to him that he had not even bothered, at any time before he had left, to seek her out, or to wave in her direction, or to even just look at her, before he had gotten on his horse and ridden off...somewhere.
      
      Well, she actually had quite a good idea where he was, as she had snooped through his desk...well not snooped through desk...she had been looking for paper (that was her story and she was sticking to it), when she had discovered a stack of papers from Basil T. Gardening, and become engrossed in them...
      
      But that was beside the point at the moment--Vegeta had left, and he had left without saying where he was going. She also had a pretty good idea of what he was doing because of said engrossing letters from Basil T. Gardening--but still, a whole month?!
      
       Maybe Vegeta was actually off doing...whatever it was...Duke's did. Checking on one of his numerous estates? Going to the towns he basically owned and checking on the tenants who lived there? Giving the king invaluable advice on where to invest his monies? Leading parliament in lively arguments about how the rich could get richer, while the poor got poorer? In reality, she knew he could be doing any of these things, as she was now extremely well versed in what was expected of the British Peerage.

Bulma had learned more about what exactly Duke's and Viscounts, and Earls, and Marquis', and even Baron's, did with their titles, lands and money, in the past month than she had ever really wanted too. Though Bulma had suffered through many a lesson on manners, politeness, and etiquette in the past, she had never suffered through one with a British teacher--and possibly the most unpleasant British teacher on etiquette on the whole of the isle. Bulma could just imagine the Duchess finding great pleasure in finding the sternest, least humorous, most polished teacher there could be to submit Bulma and Goku to hours and hours of torturous lessons with.

Oh Goku...poor Goku. If Bulma was suffering in these lessons, than Goku was somewhere between the seventh and eighth circles of hell during these lessons. The tutor, Mr. Shu, merely held contempt for having to teach Bulma etiquette as he recognized she knew more than she let on (especially as Bulma's pride would not let her act dumb beyond the first time he showed her something), but when it came to the Viscount Vegetasei, Mr. Shu was always ready to explode with impatience. Not that Goku was not learning...he just was learning as fast as Goku could, if that made sense.

For instance, the British system of how to address men and women with titles--it was confusing for Bulma, let alone Goku. To people Goku had just met he was Viscount or Lord Vegetasei, to those more comfortable he could be Vegetasei or Vegeta (his Ôreal' last name), but only to those who he was related could he be called Kakarrot. And when Goku had been foolish enough to ask when he could be called Goku or Mr. Briefs, that had earned him a hard wrapping against the knuckles with Mr. Shu's stick.

That was why, even though she detested the lessons above all else, and wished nothing more than to get out of them, and recognized Mr. Shu as nothing more than an incompetent bully, Bulma did not abandon her brother to the lessons. She even helped Goku practice everything an extra hour or so everyday, trying to rub off some of her polish off, onto him. She would have given him more time, but Goku was loath to give up his training with Krillin, especially as it was the one thing the dowager did not criticize Goku about.

When not in lessons, Bulma had too much time with her mother getting ready for the upcoming London season. There had been shops--more shops than Bulma had ever wanted to go to in such a short amount of time, which was humorous in a not-so-funny way, as Bulma usually loved shopping. But they seemed to be spending an inordinate amount of time at seamstresses', milliner's, cobbler's, glove-makers--and a whole host of other shops that specialized in one tiny thing that only added to Bulma's headache as her mother instructed over and over again that Bulma needed the most up-to-date fashion's, and needed to set the trend for the upcoming season.

      Mrs. Briefs had not only accepted that Bulma wanted to marry an English lord--she had whole-heartedly embraced it, telling Bulma that she was going to walk away from this season with the most eligible bachelor there would be to find in all of England. Bulma did not have the heart to tell her mother that she was pretty sure the most eligible bachelor was in fact the single Duke of Vegetasei, especially as she was not sure if Bunny Briefs would understand that Bulma would NEVER, EVER marry Vegeta. The last thing she needed was her mother to pick up some foolhardy venture to see her daughter married off to the man who was haunting her thoughts way more than was necessary.  
      
      Her mother, when not shopping, was often off to so-and-so's house, who she had known since she was a child, or had met at her first (and only) season, catching up on the Ton's gossip. Which she would than impart to her family every afternoon at tea, rather than at supper, the only other time they would gather as a family, since the dowager was always present at supper-time--usually just to scowl at the Briefs family on the whole.
      
      It was the only time in the day they were forced to be in her presence, and, Bulma had quickly realized the dowager was not one of those crotchety elderly people who really grew on someone once they were acquainted. Behind the dowager's vulture-like (ape-like? Bulma had never really decided) exterior, did not beat a heart of gold. Bulma was starting to question whether the dowager actually had a heart...

Time not spent shopping, or in lessons, was consumed with the plans Bulma had been working on ever since she had been on the Saiyan Lady. She was not sure when the idea had become anything more than half-baked, but recently she had completely thrown herself into the idea of adding steam engines to ships.

      She knew it was somewhat preposterous, as steam-power was still rather new, untested, and generally only used for smaller things, such as in mills, or the Briefs factories, but she saw no reason it could not be applied to putting engines in ships. The Briefs had been using steam power in new and innovative ways for years, and she only now questioned why they had never dreamed bigger and better than the simple turning of a gear.

Since her father was extremely busy updating all of the Vegetasei factories, and land holdings with the latest technology, Bulma worked by herself on this--which suited her just fine. Especially as, on her third day here, she had found the perfect room to do her experiments in. It was small, and windowless, which was exactly the privacy she needed as she worked on such hush-hush innovations. Though they were not in New York, her father had taught Bulma from a young age that there were always industry spies who were trying to steal her family's secrets, so she was always at her upmost guard before new technology was introduced to the public on the whole.

Not only that, but she was one hundred percent sure that no one else in the family, not even the dowager, knew about the room, and so Bulma was afforded hours of privacy there. If her family ever questioned where she was, they never asked her, though she was sure she could get away with saying she was working in one of the sitting rooms. No, not that one, the other one. No--the other, other one. Really, it served her purposes quite well that this house had more rooms than one knew what to do with. It made it a sight bit easier to avoid the dowager, along with everyone else, while she lost herself in working.

Which usually worked to her advantage, this being alone and such--except for moments like this, that were becoming more and more frequent as the month passed. Her thoughts were consumed with that spiky-haired life-changer--especially as she had not spoken to him since he had kissed her.  

Truly, what kind of gentleman was he?
      
      To kiss a girl, than to flee from his very own home to avoid her?
      
      But what stung Bulma the most was the idea that he had not even fled from her. Vegeta had left without seeing her, without saying a word to her--maybe the truth of it was that he had not even thought of her. She was probably nothing more than just another girl who he had happened to kiss. He had seemed to like the kiss while he had been doing it, but he was a warm-blooded male--as she had learned from her experience with that idiot, Yamcha, it was possible to feel desire for multiple girls at the same time, without holding real feelings for some (or all) of them. Truly, if she had not been on the receiving end of such a steamy kiss from Vegeta, Bulma would not have believed such a cold blooded male, could invoke such hot feelings.
      
      It did not mean Vegeta wanted her, though--hell, they were on a ship where she was the only eligible female. She just happened to be in the right place at the right time--he surely felt nothing for her like desire, especially as he indicated that he thought her as intelligent as a leaf. Plus, someone like the Duke of Vegetasei surely had a string of mistresses, and would find nothing of kissing some American girl.

The thought of Vegeta with some other woman, though, caused Bulma to feel slightly queasy, and a host of other unpleasant emotions--but she had learned to ignore these unwanted feelings. In fact, she found herself not thinking of him at all. Well, hardly ever. Well only once or twice...a day. But how was this her fault? She was living in his home--of course she was going to think about him!

      It seemed that even though Vegeta was not physically here, his presence was everywhere around her. It was looking down at her in the portrait gallery, as his ancestors and forbearer's all stood, unsmiling, starring at her, when she passed through the room. It was in the way his grandmother lifted a brow, sardonically, when she was not pleased, an expression so like Vegeta's Bulma always felt an odd pang when the older woman did it. It was in the very smell of things whenever she passed his ducal office. And it was especially here in this office, where his handwriting covered notes, pictures, and maps that surrounded her.

Bulma had to admit that she chose this room not only for its privacy, but simply because she felt comforted knowing she was working in what was Vegeta's private space. She might not like the man (desire did not change one's base opinion of someone she found), but something about being in his office, avoiding his grandmother...well it was comforting. For reasons she refused to investigate.

Bulma sorely longed to see the real Vegeta again--not the regal and cold looking portrait that stared down at her from said portrait gallery. Not that she could explain why. She had just known that when she was with him, her whole being went into overdrive, her mind thinking of its quickest retorts, her heart hammering from anger and excitement, her body thrumming to life with fire, passion and desire for him. Since he had left, she had felt rather...empty. She had not known him long, but she was already starting to realize that everything had changed since she had met him, and not just her life...but her very self as well...

Bulma frowned into her now lukewarm coffee, and sighed, putting it down, getting back to her latest round of formulations. She was just picking up her pencil to scratch out an experiment that had not gone according to plan (how was she to know that pure oxygen would be quite so...erm...flammable), when she heard an odd click that caught her attention.

Just as she was putting the papers down, the seamless door to the office, accessible on this side only by a door handle which she saw no reason to lock, pushed open, and there, as if summoned by her errant thoughts, was Vegeta.

Her mouth went dry, her heart pounding, her body buzzing to life as she took him in. He was every bit as handsome as she remembered, and though he looked tired, beleaguered truly might be a better word, Bulma's mind went blank as she took him in greedily. It had been over a month, and she drank him in like a cool glass of lemonade on a hot summer day.  

      She did a once over, taking in the all-black outfit he was wearing (the black breeches hugging his legs just so that she could not help but shiver as she imagined his thighs pressed against her own once again), before she settled in on his face, where, she was almost glad to note, his mouth hung open with surprise, his handsome dark brows drawn downward as he took her in. She did not have to be a genius to figure out that he was surprised to see her there.  

Bulma had so much she wanted to ask him. She wanted to know where he had been, what he had been doing, what he had been thinking when he had kissed her. Her mouth popped open, and, before she could think, she spoke with over a months worth of longing and desire as she finally asked: "Vegeta, you were in the navy, were you not?"

~~&~~

Vegeta was still in a foul mood. A month since he had last been to Saiyan Hall, having left in the blackest of moods, and here he was coming back, still in the blackest of moods. Not that Vegeta was the sort of man who often was in a good mood, in fact his normal state of awareness seemed to hover more towards bad mood than good mood, but nothing like this. His whole life, it seemed, was crumbling around him.

Nothing was going right, nothing was going to plan--not since he had gone to America to get his cousin. He had expected that to be painless, for the American who had never known about their true heritage to be extremely grateful for everything Vegeta was giving him--a title, land, money, holdings. A new life. But no--Kakarrot had proven himself to be completely unbreakable and unwilling to do just what Vegeta wanted. Sure he was here, but so was the rest of his goddamn Ôreal' family.  

On top of that Vegeta found himself, for the first time ever, coming back from a job handed to him from Basil completely empty handed. He had only planned on spending a week or so in Paris, but he had spent the last damn month traipsing Paris, and the whole of France, looking for a whisper, a hint, a clue of just who Zhelonie was--but nothing. Not a damn thing. It seemed as if the man was nothing more than an idea put to paper. A dangerous idea put to paper that seemed to give more secrets to the Russian empire about the British than any living man could have.

Vegeta had thrown himself completely into his task, but it was all for naught--he finally was forced to come home when he realized it was running close to the beginning of the season, and he was not prepared to deal with the kind of life-long lecturing and nagging he would endure from the dowager if he was not their for the grand coming out ball they were having for Kakarrot in just under a week. Since he was forced to leave with nothing, Vegeta was in the foulest mood he could ever remember having been in.

But, if he was being honest with himself (which, he realized, he did not like doing particularly of late), the reason for his black mood, the blackest of moods he had ever been in, was because of the American heiress that took up way too much of his thoughts. She haunted him. She haunted him in a way no other woman had done before, and what was more, she teased him, tempted him, and oddest of all, distracted him from his job.

He had never been distracted from his job before.

But then again, he had never known Bulma Briefs before.

He had hoped that the last month, when he had thrown himself into his work, she would become nothing but a faded memory, his lust for her diminishing just enough so that when he finally came home and was forced to see her, she would mean nothing to him. Absolutely nothing.

Time had had the opposite effect, Vegeta had been disgusted to learn.

Every time he sat outside of a French nobleman's castle, or in a Parisian bar, or, just once, thankfully, in the sewer beneath a factory, waiting for so-and-so to appear so Vegeta could learn some information, she had come to him. Completely unbidden of course. He would see her, perfectly in his mind, her milky white skin, her shiny blue hair, those ruby red lips that begged to be kissed, and those delicious curves that seemed to haunt him most of all--and he would lose complete track of whoever he was trying to follow, or miss the vital piece of information he had been eavesdropping for.  

His desire for her had become an enormous monkey on his back, following him around wherever he went. When he saw a beautiful French woman, he would feel a flash of desire--not for that particular woman, but because seeing any beautiful woman had him thinking of Bulma. After his disastrous attempt with the Widow to rid his desire of Bulma on another woman, he had not even attempted again, as he knew that if the beautiful Widow could not tempt him, no woman other than Bulma would do.

Which was not a bright prospect.

So now, here he was, sneaking in the back entrance to his damn own home, avoiding the dowager and the Briefs, in an incredibly horrible mood. Even Nappa, who was used to seeing Vegeta at his worst, had seemed incredulous at just how bad of a mood his employer was in. Not that Nappa's opinion mattered, but seeing as Nappa had been there for almost all of the last month with Vegeta, he had born the brunt of his anger, and if Vegeta was a different man, he might feel guilty for how he had treated his long time companion. But he was not, so he did not.  

Vegeta pushed his thoughts from his mind, though, as he focused, with a single-minded tenacity, on getting to his inner office, where he could have a modicum of privacy and quiet. He ignored all servants as he made his way to the office, and none were foolish enough to stop him, especially as they caught the look on his face. As he entered his office, though, he was almost distracted from getting to his private room when he realized something in his office was off.

      He froze, taking a look around, noticing nothing was particularly amiss, but just that the air felt...different. Changed, one could say. It did not seem as dark or oppressive in here as it usually did, but for the life of him Vegeta could not say why. His hackles were up, but since he could not see anything truly being different, Vegeta shrugged, and continued to the hidden doorway opening it quickly, swinging the door wide.  

The second he was in his inner office, though, the reason for why the air was so different became abundantly clear as he stared right into the eyes of the woman he had been desperately trying to get out of his mind for the last month. His whole body froze, his mouth dropping open, as he took her in, shock with seeing her here, in this room, racing with desire through his body, as he hurriedly absorbed all of her, like this would be the last chance he would ever have to look at her. Her pale face bore dark smudges and lines under the eyes, bespeaking her tiredness, and her blue hair was sticking every which way out of her bun, as if she kept running her hands through her hair, while she had a charcoal smudge on her cheek--but she was the most goddamn stunning woman he had ever seen.

Even though she was wearing one of those practical day gowns women seemed to own in spades this century, that showed absolutely nothing to him, Vegeta's eyes were drawn to her form, and he suppressed a shudder as he saw the swell of her breasts, plumped up the ledge of the table she was currently stretching over. Though Vegeta was aware that he should be questioning how she found this room, and just what in the hell she was doing in here, he found himself utterly uncaring as the urges that had been running through him since he had first seen her had won out. Just take her. Just go to her. NOW.

Vegeta obeyed, crossing the room in long strides, and without thought, pulled her up to him, his mouth finding hers as he had desperately been needing to do for the past... well, ever since he met her, it seemed. She responded, at first, with a squeak, but then her body softened as well as her lips, and she responded to him eagerly, her hands coming around his neck, as she let out a sigh. He used that opportunity to sweep his tongue deep into her mouth, probing, conquering, as she moaned, arching her back, pushing her body further into his, that simple gesture blatant with invitation.

Vegeta let out a loud groan, as he broke the soul sucking kiss for just long enough to sweep his arms across the desk, papers, pencils, cups, and other auxiliary supplies crashed to the floor, as Vegeta grabbed Bulma, laying her flat on the desk. He absorbed the sight of her--her blue hair billowing around her, her eyes hooded and dark with desire, her lips plump from his kisses. She gave him a coy smile, then crooked one finger to him--that was all the enticement he needed. He pulled her back up to him for another soul-sucking kiss, as he used his hand to free himself from his pants. Once that was accomplished, he took her skirts, drawing them up, until the material no longer covered her milky, smooth legs, fumbling for the tie of her strays.

Once he got that undone, Vegeta poised himself, ready to thrust into her, when she pulled back, her blue eyes large, as she looked at him, said his name, and asked...and asked...

"...you were in the Navy, were you not?"

Vegeta was instantly drawn from the extremely charged fantasy he had just been having, feeling uncomposed for the first time since he had been a very young child. It had been so real, touching her, kissing her, feeling her--and his body had reacted accordingly.

      He could only stare at Bulma for a long moment, unsure of why she was so unaffected with seeing him. The first thing he had done upon seeing her was have an intense fantasy--he was beyond hard at this moment, and the bloody woman was asking him about his time in the navy?!

Vegeta gaped at her for a moment as she blinked at him, innocently, and he forced his thoughts to go to more neutral places. She had caught him unawares--in many ways. First, she had been here, here in his most private of places. Second, that fantasy he had just had about her had been too real, and was unnerving him. And thirdly--how the hell did she know about his time in the navy? No one in the Ton knew where he had disappeared too, or that he had been a commanding officer in the Navy under an assumed name.

      So Vegeta forced himself to focus, back to the here and now, looking around the room waiting until his blood cooled, before he faced her, his black eyes as empty as the rest of his facial expression as he responded with the stock answer he had for just this question, "I don't know what you are referring too. As the ducal heir, I would not have been allowed in the navy--especially as it was the Vegetasei dukedom I was to inherit."

Bulma rolled her eyes at him, sighing, leaning back in the chair, denying him the view of her plumped up breasts, as she muttered, "oh please. You think men don't gossip like women do? My brother told me that he had heard from someone on your ship that you used an assumed name and entered as a scrub. No one was even aware you were the Vegetasei heir."

Vegeta felt his mouth wanting to gape open at her again, though he kept it closed this time--just how did she know that? What else did this woman know about him? Anything else he had kept hidden from the rest of the Ton that she already knew? His eyes flashed around the room, and saw that there was nothing particularly glaringly screaming that this was an undercover spies room. It could just be the room of a man who closely followed the news, and maybe in their spare time had theories about war and war criminals...no way she could figure out his other secret.

      Even if the room itself was quite hidden away. Maybe she just assumed he really liked his privacy. Which he did. Which was why her presence, and her utterly inane questions were angering him more than they should have.

But Bulma had already moved on from his denial and his discomposure, and was looking at him, eagerly, "so you were in the navy, yes?"

Vegeta forced himself to stand tall, glaring at her as he crossed his arms, trying to summon all the poise he had ever had as he disdainfully evaded, "what does this have to do with anything?"

Bulma sighed, pushing her hair back, forcing another piece to draw free from her bun. Vegeta was distracted, again, when he saw the freed strand lightly bounce as it unraveled down her shoulder, past her front, curling over the tip of her breast. His mouth went dry as it settled just where his lips wanted to be, but she did not notice a thing as she flicked the piece of hair over her shoulder as if it was nothing. Vegeta, on the other hand, was gaping--he had never been jealous of a piece of hair before, but... goddammit--she was speaking again.

      Once again her voice cut into his sexual thoughts, as she matter of factly pointed out, "because I don't know anyone else here who would know ships as well as you do, and I want your opinion on something I'm creating to make ships go faster."

That caught Vegeta's attention, fully stamping his lust out for the moment as he spoke slowly, his incredulity making him disparaging, "make ships go faster? What the hell are you talking about?"

Bulma stood, smiling at Vegeta, aware that her heart was hammering too damn fast for the kind of conversation they were currently having. Before he had responded to her first question about him being in the navy, the temperature in the room had gone up by quite a few degrees when Bulma had noticed how Vegeta was staring at her--as if he was a starving man and she was a five-course dinner. She had almost wanted to give herself up to him on a serving tray--though she had not a clue where that foolish fantasy had come from. Still, something about the way those dark eyes focused on her...well...

But now, as she approached him with her plans, she saw him eyeing her as if she was something distasteful he had swallowed, and no feelings of desire arose in her (well other than the ones she was already used to). That did not faze her though, as she was well used to men giving her that stare the first time they heard her speak about technology. Something about her being a female, and an heiress on top of that, usually gave people the impression that she was as airheaded as her mother seemed to be. She was not going to lie--the satisfaction she got at proving to be much smarter than people assumed--well, it gave her a delicious little thrill.  

      Here and now, though, Bulma suddenly wanted to prove to Vegeta, no, needed to prove to Vegeta, that she was not just another vapid heiress--for reasons other than that wanted thrill. She handed him her steam engine plans, finding her voice, "I'm not sure how much you know about steam power, even though my father is currently outfitting all of your factories with it, but I was thinking of applying it to larger ships. How this would work would be..."

As Bulma spoke, showing Vegeta more and more sketches, she felt her heart expanding as she talked about her work. Vegeta did not say much, looking at her sketches, only answering her questions about ships when she point blank asked him something. She could not tell what he was thinking, but it did not matter as the scientist in her was in full swing mode as she asked him all of those questions she had been planning to ask a harbormaster or ship-maker. Bulma lost sight of Vegeta as a man, only seeing him as a fount of information. She asked him question, ignoring the thump of her heart, the heat of his body, so close to hers, the beguiling scent that she would always recognize as his own...

Finally, when Bulma was satisfied with the answers she had gotten from him, she smiled up at him, her smile not even faltering as she saw the dark glare he was currently giving her. "Thanks Vegeta, you have no idea how useful these will be for what I'm doing."

Vegeta only stared, and she moved back to the desk, trying to ignore him, as he finally stepped further into the room, his eyes watching her carefully as she shuffled some papers around the desk, "how did you find this room?"

Bulma looked up at him, preoccupied with thoughts of her new plans, "hmm?"

He moved further into the room, and Bulma tried to suppress the warmth she felt running through her body as he glided closer and closer to her, his voice low, full of warning, "this room--it is my private study--so how did you find it? I know you were not allowed in the ducal office."

Bulma smirked at him, knowing with the Duke, the best offense was a defense. "No one told me this room was off limits," exactly, she left off--as it had beyond clear that this room was not to be trespassed by any of the other members of the household on her first afternoon here.  

He glared at her, his face thunderous, as if he knew that she was not being one hundred percent honest, as he muttered, "well than someone should get fired."

Bulma shook her head, amused at his anger. "Don't blame the staff. I'm naturally curious, it was only a matter of time before I found this room," and all of your secrets, she silently added. Bulma put a hand on her hip as she looked him square in the eyes, "plus the book you have for a latch could not be more obvious."

Vegeta could not stop his mouth from opening this time, before he forced it closed, looking at her, hoping his anger was conveyed, so she could clearly understand how pissed he was, "I don't know what you mean."

Bulma rolled those blue eyes that were as beguiling as the rest of her, pushing her hair back, setting another delicious tendril free, though he was unable to follow its progress as closely as he would like, as her amused voice caught his attention, "oh please. Pride and Prejudice? I did not take you for a romance reader."

Vegeta glared at her, his mind whirling. When he had picked that book, it had been because he had assumed it would only be men coming in this office, and they would not look twice at the popular romance novel of the day. He had never anticipated women being in his ducal office. Dammit--he was going to have to change the book now...something even more innocuous...A Brief History of Prussia?

Bulma ignored his glare though, pushing some papers around, before her face lit up as she came upon a stack, "oh--I forgot to tell you."

He looked at her, unable to deal with her sudden change of conversation, as Vegeta was not even a hundred percent sure what he was supposed to be feeling about this woman being in his office. Half of him was beyond furious that she would dare enter his private space--while the other half kept telling him that they were currently in this room, alone, with no one the wiser. But he kept his composure as he answered her expectant declaration, "oh?"

Bulma held up a folder, and Vegeta forced himself to look away, trying to show how uninterested he was in what she was saying, "yeah--whoever translated this note got a few adverbs wrong." She scoffed as she flipped through the papers in her hands, shaking her head as she found the one she was looking for, "their Russian is elementary at best."

Vegeta, who had been disdainfully flicking some lint off of his dusty jacket, froze at the use of her word ÔRussian,' his eyes darting to where she was holding out his secret correspondence from Basil. She was not only holding the last note he had received from Basil--but it seemed as if his whole folder on Zhelonie, as well as the rest of his correspondence from Basil, was now being perused by the woman. Rather than panic, as Vegeta was never one to panic, he just tried to affect the air of a debonair peer, shrugging his shoulders "what do you mean? That's just my gardening bill."

Bulma looked at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief, as she lifted the rest of his correspondence with Basil that dated from the last few years. She waved it in his face, as evidence, as she incredulously spoke to him, "oh please Vegeta, the code was not that hard to break. All these letters about flowers--as if a man like you would be that involved about what gets planted in your gardens. If you wanted to make the notes more conspicuous, you should have picked something about ships, or pugilism, or fencing, or anything you would actually be interested in."

Vegeta said nothing, only feeling his blood pressure rise, as he gritted out, "I am an avid gardener--you should not presume to know me!"

      Bulma's eyebrow only raised higher, somehow, her disbelief clear in her voice, "oh really? Name one variety of flower that is in your garden."
      
      Vegeta smirked at her, triumphant, about to answer her, when she cut him off before he could even draw breath, "besides rose that is."
      
      Vegeta's smirk faltered, and he frowned, as he stared into those wide blue eyes, trying to remember the name of a flower, any flower, at that moment, "daisies."
      
      Bulma scoffed, "as if. Vegeta--you do know those are considered a weed--and a common flower at that. There is no way there are daisies in your garden." Damn--she had him there. But she was not done, "now stop trying to act the fool--it does not suit you." She gave him a shrug and sly smile, "just accept the fact that I know you are a spy."
      
      Vegeta's immediate response was to leap across the table, shaking her nonchalance at saying she knew he was a spy. No one, besides Nappa that was, knew he was a spy. And she was just acting as if it was an accepted fact! Rather than contradict her notion of him being a spy, though, as she had already trapped him twice today, and he knew his wits were not as sharp as they needed to be to do intellectual battle with this woman, he only asked her, between clenched teeth, "what do you mean the note was mistranslated?"

Bulma blinked at him, seemingly surprised by his lack of denial of the fact that she had just called him a spy, before she looked down at the notes in her hands, "oh--right. Well the person who translated this for you said it says: ÔAgent Zhelonie is being reactivated in Paris to spy on England.' Well like I said, they got their adverbs wrong."

Vegeta stared at her, his impatience growing. How the hell was he supposed to know if they got their adverbs wrong? It was not as if Russian was a common language that was taught in England. He managed to get out, "you are trying to tell me that you know Russian?"

Bulma blinked at him, almost owlishly as she said, "of course." As if it was as simple as that, Vegeta thought. But she was not done, as she continued, "I also know Arabic, Spanish, French, Chinese, Italian, Latin, German, Greek, and some smatterings of Japanese."

Vegeta only stared at her, unbelieving, his brain having a hard time grasping the fact just how smart this...this...woman...truly was. When she had been showing him her plans for the ship, he could not believe at the accuracy of her drawings, or the ingenuity behind her plans. If she had not been the one explaining things to him, sketching right in front of him, altering her formula's according to what he had told her--he would never have believed a mere woman could do so much. And now she told him she spoke almost ten foreign languages?

Vegeta hated to admit it--especially about her--but he was impressed.

Not that he was ever going to let her know that. Now that he saw no reason to doubt her mastery of the Russian language, he, almost nonchalantly if he did say so himself, asked her, "so what does the real message say?"

Bulma looked down at the original Russian note, translating quickly as she spoke, "Agent Zhelonie to be reactivated from Paris, to go to England, to spy." She looked up, her eyes gleaming with triumph as Vegeta felt all the color leave his face, "you were in Paris this past month, looking for him, weren't you?"

Vegeta said nothing, but his stony silence was enough for Bulma as she triumphantly pumped her fist to the ceiling, "I knew it! This room, the notes everywhere, the folders you keep on different people and countries--you work for the War Offices, don't you? You are a spy, aren't you?!"

Vegeta's face got even stonier, if that was possible, as he gritted out between clenched teeth, "I don't know to what you are referring to."

Bulma rolled her eyes, "oh please." When he said nothing, she shrugged, "fine--don't tell me. Keep it your secret, though I'm not sure why you would not think I would figure this out--I am a genius and all." And modest too, Vegeta thought, as Bulma continued, thrusting the note back to Vegeta, "just make sure to tell Basil...who I'm sure it not your boss, but is in fact your Ôgardener,'" air quotes used to show just how much Bulma did not believe him, though Vegeta thought it was a tad bit overdone, as she continued, "that the note is wrong and that Zhelonie...," she looked down at the note, frowning, catching his attention, as she muttered to herself, "which is actually Russian for green, don't know how I didn't catch that earlier, oh well," she looked back up, catching Vegeta with those blue eyes, "just tell Basil, that you should be looking for Agent Green in England, not Paris." She thoughtfully stroked her chin, thinking, as she continued, "you should probably stick to London, since I can't imagine much state secrets going on outside of the capital." She shrugged again, putting the note down on the desk, as she winked at him, giving him a surprising smile, "but what would I know? I'm just a dumb girl, right? And you are most definitely not a spy, right?"

Vegeta, who was having a hell of a time keeping up with Bulma, felt his cheeks grow warm (he hated being caught off guard!) as he realized just how close she was to what he had actually been thinking of her intelligence and sex, and was about to give her a scathing reply in the negatory, when he heard the sounds of footsteps approaching his outer office, his grandmother's cane and voice loud as she yelled, "WHERE THE HELL IS MY GRANDSON?!"

Vegeta and Bulma's eyes locked for a second, before they both looked to the secret doorway, which Vegeta had not closed upon entering the room. If the dowager entered his ducal office right now, she would know about this secret office--something neither one of them wanted to happen.

At the same time, both leapt to action, running to the bookcase door. Vegeta got there a hair of a second faster than Bulma, and right as he heard the outer office door open, he slammed it shut, not noticing that Bulma's fingers were in the way, and she let out a dismayed yell as he caught her fingers right in the doorjamb.

Vegeta, unconcerned of hurting her (the door was made of light wood, and while he knew it stung, she had not broken any fingers), but caring of the sound she was making, grabbed her, pulling her back to his front, as he covered her mouth with a large hand, as she let out a soft oomph, at being pulled to him so quickly, all of the air leaving her lungs. Bulma was still for only a moment, before she began to struggle against the imprisonment of his hand, and so his other arm went around her waist, trapping her to him like a steel band, letting her know he had no intention of letting her go as long as there were people on the other side of the now shut secret doorway.

      She was a loud person in general, and though she had done much to prove she was not a complete idiot this afternoon, Vegeta did not trust her to keep her mouth shut with his grandmother only a few feet away. She might be smart enough to work out that he was a spy, but that did not mean she could be as subtle as a spy. He was starting to realize that when it came to Bulma Briefs, subtlety was a lost art.    

As voices began to float through the door they were pressed against, Vegeta missed just what was being said, as it became clear that the dowager had not seen the secret door open, as they were not currently being besieged by her, demanding that they open the door. Rather than sag in relief, though, Vegeta's body became more taut with anticipation, as he realized just what sort of position he had gotten himself in to.

      His arm was wrapped just right underneath the curve of Bulma's breasts, and with her pressed so closely to him, he could feel every single curve of her. If he spread the fingers of his hand even an inch--he would be touching the underside of her soft (and delectable looking) bosom. Her luscious backside, which he had truly not been admiring enough, he realized as it pressed right into him, was flush against a part of his anatomy that was stirring to life, and Vegeta was suddenly the one biting back a moan as she gave an experimental wiggle, trying to free herself.

If she did that just one more time, Vegeta realized, he would not be held accountable for his actions. Especially as his earlier fantasy of ravishing her soundly on his desk began to look more and more...appetizing.

If only he could decide whether or not he wanted her to move against him, just one more time, so he would have a reason to pull her even further to him, silencing her in more enticing ways than just holding her.

Though, since he was being honest with himself, the answer was unequivocally yes.

Dammit--he knew there was a reason he hated being honest with himself.

~~&~~
A/N: I can't seem to go too long without having Bulma and Vegeta actually interacting, can I? Well that's because they're amazingly fun to write for, and though I know we can't immediately stick them together and have them be all happily ever after (where would be the fun in that?!) I can't go too long without them bickering.

Also, big-ups to the person who gave me more than enough information about steam power to turn this chapter into an actual lesson on how steam power works--and sorry that it did not make the cut. If I was bored hearing about it, you guys were going to be bored reading about it...