The Beta looked over at the child with a flash of academic interest but no real surprise. “She isn’t? I thought preternaturals always breed true.”
“Apparently not.”
“Well, that is good news. However, and I do hate to interrupt the blessed event, but, my lord, we have several difficulties at the moment that could very much use your attention. Do you think we might repair to a more hospitable venue?”
Lord Maccon crouched over his wife and nuzzled her neck gently. “My dear?”
Alexia stroked his hair back from the temple with her free hand. “I’ll give it a try. I would dearly love to be in my own bed.”
Lady Maccon had to hold on to both her newborn child and Biffy as Lord Maccon carried her and Professor Lyall carried Biffy back up to the castle. At which juncture Conall declared that Woolsey smelled rotten.
Professor Lyall opened his mouth to explain but caught a sharp look from Alexia. So he refrained.
Predicting that his Alpha would find out soon enough on his own, the Beta carried Biffy down to a cell, tended to the pup’s still-angry burns with a pat of butter, and chivied him in with the Duke of Hematol as the best of a bad lot of options.
Upstairs it was decided that Madame Lefoux should also be locked up.
“Put her into the one next to the countess and Quesnel,” suggested Lady Maccon snidely to her confused husband. “Now, there will be an interesting conversation come nightfall.”
“The countess? Countess who?”
Alexia contemplated letting Quesnel out—after all, the boy hadn’t done anything wrong—but from previous experience, she saw no reason why having him underfoot might improve matters. Quesnel was an agent of chaos even at the best of times, and life was busy enough without his help. Plus, she suspected the best thing for him at the moment was some time with his maman.
“But I just delivered your child!” protested Madame Lefoux.
“And very grateful I am, too, Genevieve.” Alexia was always one to give credit where it was due. “However, you rampaged through the streets of London in a massive octopus, and you are going to have to pay for your crimes.”
“Preternaturals!” exclaimed the Frenchwoman, disgusted.
“At least this way you are near your boy. He was terribly upset by the attack,” yelled Lady Maccon as her husband hauled the struggling inventor away.
Which was when Lord Maccon discovered the reason behind the funny smell. He had a hive of vampires living in his castle.
He came back upstairs fit to be pickled. “Wife!”
Lady Maccon had vanished.
“Floote!”
“She’s gone upstairs, sir. To your chambers.”
“Of course she has.”
Lord Maccon stormed upstairs to find his wife abed, the babe asleep in the crook of one arm. The child had already proved herself perfectly capable of sleeping through both her mother’s and her father’s vocal exertions. A very good survival trait, thought Alexia, wincing as Conall clomped into the room.
“There are vampires in my dungeon!”
“Yes, well, where else was I supposed to stash them?”
“The countess swarmed?” The earl leaped to the only possible conclusion. “And you invited them in? Here?”
Alexia nodded.
“Great. Wonderful! Brilliant.”
Lady Maccon sighed, a kind of sad, quiet noise that calmed Lord Maccon where her yelling would only have aggravated matters. “I can explain.”
Conall came to kneel next to the bed, his anger dissipated by her uncharacteristic meekness. His wife must be very tired.
“Very well, explain.”
Alexia relayed the events of the night, and by the time she reached the concluding pack-versus-octomaton battle, she was yawning hugely.
“What are we going to do now?” wondered her husband. Even saying it, Alexia could tell from his defeated expression that he was already facing up to the truth—for better or worse, Woolsey Castle now belonged to the Westminster Hive. Or rather, the Woolsey Hive.
Alexia saw him blink back tears and felt her heart clench. She hadn’t meant to make such a grave error in judgment, but the deed was done. Her own eyes stung in sympathy.
He nodded. “I rather loved this old place, buttresses and all. But it hasna been my home all that long. I can break from it. The rest of the pack, they are going to be difficult. Ach, my poor pack. I’ve nae served them verra well these last few months.”
“Oh, Conall, it’s not your fault! Please don’t worry. I’ll think of something. I always do.” Alexia wanted to find a solution right then and there just to wipe that horrible expression of disappointment off her husband’s sweet face, but she could hardly keep her eyes open.
The earl bent and pressed a kiss to his wife’s lips and then to his daughter’s little forehead. Alexia suspected he was contemplating going back downstairs to check in with Lyall, as there was still a lot to be done that afternoon.
“Come to bed,” said his wife.
“You two ladies do look verra peaceful. Perhaps just a little kip.”
“Lyall has both Floote and Rumpet helping him. They could run the empire, those three, if they felt like it.”
Lord Maccon chuckled and crawled in on Alexia’s other side, settling his big body down into the feather mattress.
Alexia sighed contentedly and nestled against him, curled about the baby.
He snuffled once at the nape of her neck. “We need to find a name for the wee one.”