Together the two women entered the party.
The house itself had not changed from when Alexia visited it that first time. Inside, it was far more luxurious than its exterior suggested, although all displays of prosperity were tasteful, without a hint of vulgarity. Persian carpets still lay thick and soft, in coordinating shades of deep red, their patterns subtle, but they were difficult to see as so many top boots and evening slippers trod over them. Striking paintings still hung on the walls, masterworks ranging from contemporary abstract pieces to one relaxed, porcelain-skinned lady that could only be by Titian. But Alexia only knew they were there because she had seen them before; this time as she wended her way through the throng, coiffured comb-outs and flowered headdresses obscured her view. The lavish mahogany furniture was actually being sat upon, and the many stone statues of Roman senators and Egyptian gods had become nothing more than stony members of the milling throng.
“My goodness me,” yelled Alexia at her escort over the loud chatter. “This is quite the crush.”
The actress nodded enthusiastically. “The countess is supposed to make a very important announcement this evening. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, accepted her invitation.”
“Announcement, what kind of?.?.?.??”
But Miss Dair’s attention was back to pushing their way through the throng.
One or two people recognized Alexia—heads tilted in her direction, faces perplexed. “Lady Maccon?” came the confused acknowledgment of her presence, accompanied by small nods. She could hear the gossipmongers whirling away like so many steam engines gearing up to explode. What was the wife of an Alpha werewolf doing there? And so far along in her pregnancy. And alone! On full moon!
As they pressed on, Alexia became aware of a presence shadowing them through the crowd. Just as a tall, thin man accosted Miss Dair from the front, a person behind them cleared his throat.
Lady Maccon turned to find herself face-to-face with a nondescript gentleman, so nondescript in countenance as to be challenging to describe. His hair was just this side of brown, and his eyes just that side of blue, combined with an arrangement of other features neither striking nor interesting. He wore unremarkable but stylish clothing, all of which suggested a level of premeditated obscurity that reminded her irresistibly of Professor Lyall.
“Your Grace,” she said warily in greeting.
The Duke of Hematol did not smile, but that might have been because he did not wish to show her his fangs just yet. “Lady Maccon, what an unexpected pleasure.”
Alexia glanced at Miss Dair, who was engaging in a hushed and rather forceful conversation with Dr. Caedes, another member of Countess Nadasdy’s inner circle. He was a tall, thin vampire who Alexia always thought looked like a parasol without its fabric cover, all points and sharp angles. He unfolded rather than walked. He did not look pleased.
The duke was more subtle and better able to hide his feelings over Lady Maccon’s unanticipated presence. Alexia wondered where Lord Ambrose, the last member of this little band, was stashed. Probably near the countess, as he acted as her praetoriani. At a party as crowded as this, the queen would want her pet bodyguard as close as possible.
“We did not expect you on this particular night, Lady Maccon. We had assumed you would be assisting your husband with his”—a calculated pause—“disability.”
Alexia narrowed her eyes and fished about in her reticule, coming up with the required card. “I have an invitation.”
“Of course you do.”
“It is most urgent I speak with your mistress immediately. I have some vital information to impart.”
“Tell it to me.”
Alexia put on her most superior Lady Macconish expression and looked him up and down. “I think not.”
The vampire stood his ground.
He was not a very large man. Alexia figured if push came to shove, she could probably take him on even in her current state. Being soulless had its uses. She removed her gloves.
He watched this movement with concerned interest.
“No need for that, Lady Maccon.” If he was as much like Professor Lyall as Alexia believed, physical conflict would not be his preferred solution to any given confrontation. He looked up toward the storklike doctor and gestured sharply with his chin. The other vampire reacted with supernatural swiftness, grabbing Miss Dair’s arm and melting away into the crowd, leaving Lady Maccon with a new, far less attractive, escort.
“It really is most vital that I see her as soon as possible. She may be in grave danger.” Alexia left her gloves off and tried to impress upon the vampire her urgency without being too threatening.
The duke smiled. His fangs were small and sharp, barely present, as subtle as the rest of his projected image. “You mortals are always in a hurry.”
Lady Maccon gritted her teeth. “This time it is in your best interest—really, it is.”
The duke looked at her closely. “Very well, come with me.”
He led her through the crowd, which thinned as they left the main hallway that serviced the drawing room, parlors, dining hall, and receiving area. They rounded a corner into a part of the house Alexia loved, the museum of machinery, where the history of human innovation was displayed with as much care as the marble statuary and oil paintings of the public areas. The duke moved at a sedate pace, too sedate for Alexia, who, even pregnant and knowing she was going beyond the bounds of proper etiquette, pushed past him. She scuttled by the very first steam engine ever built and then past the model of the Babbage Engine with barely a glance to spare for either feat of human ingenuity.