Professor Lyall looked at the Frenchwoman’s intimate clasp on Lady Maccon’s hand. “You intend to volunteer yourself as companion, Madame Lefoux?” He was thinking about the fact that all the machines in the contrivance chamber had been shut down and tidied away.
Lady Maccon approved. “Excellent. I was hoping you would agree to accompany me, Genevieve. You have the necessary contacts in Europe, do you not?”
The inventor nodded. “I have already put some thought into possible escape routes.” She shifted her attention back to Lyall. “Did you think you could leave the Woolsey Pack for that long?”
“Woolsey is used to being split. We are one of the few packs that do it regularly, in order to satisfy both military and BUR obligations. But, no, you are right. I cannot leave at this juncture. The situation is most delicate.”
Madame Lefoux brought a hand to her face hurriedly and pretended to cough but could not quite hide the snicker. “Obviously, you cannot abandon Lord Maccon in his current… state.”
“State? My repulsive husband is in a ‘state’? Good! He jolly well should be.”
Professor Lyall felt like he might be betraying his Alpha somewhat but couldn’t help admitting, “He is practically inhaling formaldehyde in an effort to stay inebriated.”
Lady Maccon’s smug expression became suddenly alarmed.
“Don’t concern yourself,” Lyall hastened to reassure her. “It cannot harm him, not seriously, but it is certainly doing a bang-up job of keeping him utterly incapacitated in the meantime.”
“Concerned.” Lady Maccon turned away to fiddle with the hatbox, which had been working its way toward the edge of the table. “Who’s concerned?”
Professor Lyall moved hurriedly on. “He is, simply put, not acting the Alpha. Woolsey is a tough pack to hold steady at the best of times, restless members, and too much political clout not to be a tempting prospect for opportunistic loners. I shall need to stay here and safeguard the earl’s interests.”
Lady Maccon nodded. “Of course you must stay. I’m certain Genevieve and I can manage.”
The inventor looked hopefully at Professor Lyall. “I’d be obliged if you could find the time to look after my lab while I am away.”
The Beta was pleased to be asked. “I would be honored.”
“If you could stop by of an evening to check for intruders and ensure a couple of the more delicate machines remain oiled and maintained? I’ll provide you with a list.”
Tunstell perked up at this point in the conversation. “I’m convinced my wife would be thrilled to oversee the day-to-day operations of your hat shop, if you would like, Madame Lefoux.”
The Frenchwoman looked utterly horrified at the very idea.
Professor Lyall could just imagine it: Ivy, in charge of a whole roomful of hats. Such a thing could only bring about disaster and mayhem, like putting a cat in charge of a cage full of pigeons—a turquoise brocade cat with very unusual ideas about the coloration and arrangement of pigeon feathers.
Lady Maccon rubbed her hands together. “That was one of the reasons I invited you here, Tunstell.”
Madame Lefoux gave Alexia a very appraising look. “I suppose it would be better if some semblance of normal business operations continued while I was away. It would be best if the vampires did not know exactly
“She’d be unconditionally thrilled.” The redhead’s broad grin was back in place.
“I was half afraid you would say that.” Madame Lefoux gave a rueful little smile.
“Vampires? Did you say vampires?” Lady Maccon’s brain suddenly caught up with the second part of the conversation.
Lyall nodded. “We believe that, now that your delicate condition is public information, the vampires are going to try and—not to put too fine a point on it—kill you.”
Lady Maccon arched her eyebrows. “Through the judicious application of malicious ladybugs, perhaps?”
“Come again?”
“Ladybugs?” Tunstell perked up. “I am rather fond of ladybugs. They are so delightfully hemispherical.”
“Not of these you wouldn’t be.” Lady Maccon detailed her recent ladybug encounter and the fact that she had only just narrowly escaped being pronged with an antennae. “This has not been a very pleasant day so far,” she concluded, “all things considered.”
“Did you manage to capture one for closer examination?” asked Madame Lefoux.
“What do you think is in the hatbox?”
Madame Lefoux’s eyes began to sparkle.
Professor Lyall, being the only immortal present, took it upon himself to actually open the hatbox.
The Frenchwoman reached inside and lifted out the large ticking bug, its little legs wiggling in protest. She examined it with interest through the magnification lens. “Very fine craftsmanship! Very fine, indeed. I wonder if there is a maker’s mark.” She flipped the mechanical over.
The creature emitted a very high-pitched whirring noise.
It exploded with a loud bang, showering them with bits of red lacquer and clockwork parts.
Alexia jumped slightly, but recovered quickly enough. After the type of morning she’d had, what was one little explosion added to the mix? She sneered at the resulting mess.
Professor Lyall sneezed as a cloud of greasy particulates tickled his sensitive werewolf nose. “That is vampires for you. What they cannot suck dry they explode.”
Floote began cleaning up the disarray.
“Pity,” said Madame Lefoux.
Professor Lyall gave the Frenchwoman a suspicious look.
The inventor raised both of her hands defensively. “Not my craftsmanship, I assure you. I do not deal in”—a sudden dimpled grin spread over her face—“coccinellids.”
“I think you had better explain why you’re blaming the vampires, Professor.” Alexia brought the matter back to hand and gave her husband’s Beta a very hard look.
Professor Lyall did explain, starting with his deductions about the poisoning, the missing journal, and the kidnapping attempt, and moving on to his belief that now that Lady Maccon’s pregnancy was in print, and she was no longer officially under the Woolsey Pack’s protection, such incidents were only likely to increase in both frequency and ferocity.
“We think it has something to do with the child.” Madame Lefoux took Alexia’s elbow softly in hand, trying to steer her in the direction of the overturned barrel.
Alexia resisted, instead turning to Professor Lyall, her throat tight with pent-up emotion. “So you believe me? You believe that this infant-inconvenience is Conall’s?”
He nodded.
“‘Infant-inconvenience’?” whispered Tunstell to Floote.
Floote remained impassive.
“Do you know something Conall does not?” Alexia’s heart leapt with the possibility of exoneration.
Sadly, the Beta shook his head.
Hope dissipated. “Funny that you should trust me more than my own husband.” Alexia sat down heavily on the barrel and scrubbed at her eyes with her knuckles.
“He has never acted reasonably where you are concerned.”
Lady Maccon nodded, her mouth tight. “That does not excuse his behavior.” Her face felt stiff, as though it were made of wax. An image that brought back some very uncomfortable memories.
“No, it does not,” Professor Lyall agreed with her.
Alexia wished he wouldn’t be so nice—it drove her pathetically close to actual wallowing. “And the only
