Blameless

could not be allowed to continue to be ridiculous out of mere stubbornness.

“You aren’t fooling any of us.”

Lord Maccon resisted admission of guilt even as he crumbled like the metaphorical cracker. “But I turned her out.”

“Yes, you did, and wasn’t that an idiotic thing to do?”

“Possibly.”

“Because?” Professor Lyall crossed his arms and dangled the key to his Alpha’s cell temptingly from one fingertip.

“Because there is no way she would have canoodled with another man, not my Alexia.”

“And?”

“And the child must be mine.” The earl paused. “Good gracious me, can you imagine that, becoming a father at my age?” This was followed by another much longer pause. “She is never going to forgive me for this, is she?”

Professor Lyall had no mercy. “I wouldn’t. But then I have never precisely been in her situation before.”

“I should hope not, or there’s a prodigious deal regarding your personage about which I was previously unaware.”

“Now is not the time for jocularity, my lord.”

Lord Maccon sobered. “Insufferable woman. Couldn’t she have at least stayed around and argued with me more on the subject? Did she have to cut and run like that?”

“You do recall what you said to her? What you called her?”

Lord Maccon’s wide, pleasant face became painfully white and drawn as he went mentally back to a certain castle in Scotland. “I’d just as soon not remember, thank you.”

“Are you going to behave yourself now?” Professor Lyall continued to wave the key. “Stay off the formaldehyde?”

“I suppose I must. I’ve drunk it all, anyway.”

Professor Lyall let his Alpha out of the cell and then spent a few minutes fussing about the earl’s shirt and cravat, tidying up the mauling Lord Maccon had inflicted while attempting to clothe himself.

The earl withstood the grooming manfully, knowing it for what it was: Lyall’s unspoken sympathy. Then he batted his Beta away. Lord Maccon was, when all was said and done, a wolf of action.

“So, what do I have to do to win her back? How do I convince her to come home?”

“You are forgetting that, given your treatment of her, she may not want to come home.”

“Then I shall make her forgive me!” Lord Maccon’s voice, while commanding, was also anguished.

“I do not believe that is quite how forgiveness works, my lord.”

“Well?”

“You remember that groveling business we once discussed during your initial courtship of the young lady?”

“Not that again.”

“Oh, no, not precisely. I was thinking, given her flight from London and the generally slanderous gossip that has resulted and permeated the society papers ever since, that public groveling is called for under such circumstances.”

“What? No, I absolutely refuse.”

“Oh, I don’t believe you have a choice, my lord. A letter to the Morning Post would be best, a retraction of sorts. In it you should explain that this was all a horrible misunderstanding. Hail the child as a modern miracle. Claim you had the help of some scientist or other in its conception. How about using that MacDougall fellow? He owes us a favor, doesn’t he, from that incident with the automaton? And he is an American; he won’t protest the resulting attention.”

“You have given this much thought, haven’t you, Randolph?”

“Someone had to. You, apparently, were not putting thought very high up on your list of priorities for the past few weeks.”

“Enough. I still outrank you.”

Professor Lyall reflected he may have, just possibly, pushed his Alpha a little much with that last statement, but he held his ground.

“Now, where is my greatcoat? And where is Rumpet?” Lord Maccon threw his head back. “Rumpet!” he roared, bounding up the steps.

“Sir?” The butler met him at the top of the staircase. “You yelled?”

“Send a man into town to book passage on the next possible channel crossing. It’s probably first thing in the morning. And from there a French train to the Italian border.” He turned to look at Lyall, who made his own more sedate way up the stairs from the dungeon. “That is where she has gone, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but how did you—?”

“Because that is where I would have gone.” He turned back to the butler. “Should take me a little over a day to cross France. I shall run the border tomorrow night in wolf skin and hang the consequences. Oh, and—”

This time it was Professor Lyall’s turn to interrupt. “Belay that order, Rumpet.”

Lord Maccon turned around to growl at his Beta. “Now what? I shall go by the Post on my way out of town, get them to print a public apology. She is very likely in danger, Randolph, not to mention pregnant. I cannot possibly win her back by dawdling around London.”

Professor Lyall took a deep breath. He should have known having Lord Maccon in full possession of his faculties might result in rash action. “It is more than just the regular papers. The vampires have been mudslinging and slandering your wife’s character in the popular press, accusing her of all manner of indiscretions, and unless I miss my guess, it all has to do with Alexia’s pregnancy. The vampires are not happy about it, my lord, not happy at all.”

“Nasty little bloodsuckers. I shall set them to rights. Why haven’t Lord Akeldama and his boys been able to counteract the gossip? And why hasn’t Lord Akeldama explained away my wife’s pregnancy, for that matter? I bet he knows. He is quite the little know-it-all. May even be Edict Keeper, unless I miss my guess.”

“That is the other problem: he has disappeared along with all of his drones. Apparently, they are off searching for something the potentate stole. I have been trying to find out what and why and where, but it has been a tad hectic recently. Both BUR and the pack keep interfering. Not to mention the fact that the vampires really aren’t saying anything of interest. Why, if it weren’t for Mrs. Tunstell and the hat shop, I might not even know the little I do.”

“Hat shop? Mrs. Tunstell?” Lord Maccon blinked at this diatribe from his normally quietly competent Beta. “You mean Ivy Hisselpenny? That Mrs. Tunstell? What hat shop?”

But his Beta was on a verbal flyaway and unwilling to pause. “What with you constantly sloshed and Channing gone, I am at my wit’s end. I really am. You, my lord, cannot simply dash off to Italy. You have responsibilities here.”

Lord Maccon frowned. “Ah, yes, Channing. I forgot about him.”

“Oh, yes? I didn’t think that was possible. Some people have all the luck.”

Lord Maccon caved. Truth be told he was rather worried to see his unflappable Randolph so, well, flapped. “Oh, very well, I shall give you three nights help sorting out this mess you have gotten us into, and then I’m off.”

Professor Lyall emitted the sigh of the long-suffering but knew it was the closest he was likely to get to victory with Lord Maccon and counted his blessings. Then he gently but firmly put his Alpha to work.

“Rumpet,” he addressed the frozen and confused butler, “call the carriage. We are going into the city for the night.”

Lord Maccon turned to Professor Lyall as the two made their way through the hallway, collecting their greatcoats on the way.

“Any other news I should be made aware of, Randolph?”

Professor Lyall frowned. “Only that Miss Wibbley has become engaged.”

“Should that information mean something to me?”