Miss Tarabotti's mouth fell open. “This cannot possibly be good. Was anyone grievously injured? Have you caught the culprits? Was anything of value stolen?”
Lord Maccon sighed. Trust Miss Tarabotti to get straight to the meat of the issue. He answered her questions in order. “Not seriously. No. And mostly rove vampire and loner wolf files. Some of the more detailed research documentation also vanished, and...” He looked upset, pursing his lips.
Miss Tarabotti was worried more by his expression than by his words. She had never seen the earl with a look of such worry on his face. “And?” she prompted, sitting forward anxiously.
“Your files.”
“Ah.” She leaned back.
“Lyall returned to the office to check on something or other, even though I had ordered him home to bed, only to find all those on duty insensate.”
“Good gracious, how?”
“Well, there was not a mark on them, but they were quite solidly asleep. He checked the office and found it ransacked and those certain records stolen. That was when he came to alert me here. I verified his information, although, by the time I arrived, everyone was awake once more.”
“Chloroform?” suggested Alexia.
The earl nodded. “That does seem to be the case. He said a lingering scent was on the air. It would have taken quite a considerable amount of it too. Few have access to such a quantity of the chemical. I have all available agents tracking major scientific and medical institutions for any recent orders for large shipments of chloroform, but my resources are always taxed at full moon.”
Alexia looked thoughtful. “There are a number of such organizations around London these days, are there not?”
Lord Maccon shifted toward her, his eyes soft caramel and affectionate. “You can see that there is further concern for your safety? Before, we could assume that they did not know exactly what you were, they thought you just an interfering daylighter. Now they know you are a preternatural, and they know it means you can neutralize the supernatural. They will want to dissect you and understand this.”
Lord Maccon hoped to impress upon Miss Tarabotti the full range of the danger. She could be very stubborn over these kinds of things. Tonight, being full moon, neither he nor his pack could keep watch over her. He trusted his other BUR agents, even the vampires, but they were not pack, and a werewolf could not help whom he trusted most. That would always be pack. But no were-wolf could guard on full moon—all the human parts of them vanished in the space of one night. In fact, he himself should not even be outside right now. He should be home safe and asleep, with his claviger handlers keeping an eye on everything. Especially, he realized, he should not be around Alexia Tarabotti, whom, like it or not, his carnal urges had taken an overly proprietary interest in. There was a reason werewolf couples were locked in the same cell together on full moon. Everyone else had to take solitary vigil in bestial form, vicious and relentless, but passion was passion and could be channeled into more pleasurable and slightly less violent pursuits, so long as the female was equally cursed and so able to survive the experience. How, he wondered, would it be to weather the moon in human form, held there by the touch of a preternatural lover? What an experience that would be. His baser instincts urged such musings on, driven by the damnable neckline of Miss Tarabotti's dress.
Lord Maccon picked up the paisley shawl and shoved it at Alexia's chest area. “Put that back on,” he ordered gruffly.
Miss Tarabotti, instead of taking offense, smiled serenely, lifted the garment from his grasp, and placed it carefully behind her and out of his reach.
She turned back and, greatly daring, took one of his large rough hands in both of hers.
“You are worried for my safety, which is sweet, but your guards were most efficacious last night. I have no doubt they will be equally competent this evening.”
He nodded. He did not withdraw his hand from her tentative touch but turned it to curl about hers. “They reported the incident to me just before dawn.”
Alexia shivered. “Do you know who he is?”
“He who?” asked the earl, sounding like a donkey. Absentmindedly, he ran his thumb over her wrist in a reassuring caress.
“The wax-faced man,” said Miss Tarabotti, eyes glazed with memory and fear.
“No. Not human, not supernatural, not preternatural,” he said. “A medical experiment gone astray, perhaps? He is filled with blood.”
She was startled. “How would you know such a thing?”
He explained. “The fight, at the carriage? When they tried to abduct you. I bit him; do you not recall?” She nodded, remembering the way the earl had only changed his head into wolf form and how he had wiped the blood from his face onto his sleeve.
One shapely male lip curled in disgust. “That meat was not fresh.”
Alexia shuddered. No, not fresh. She did not like to think of the wax man and his compatriots having her personal information. She knew Lord Maccon would do his best to see her protected. And, of course, last night had proved that these mysterious enemies knew where to find her, so nothing had fundamentally changed with the theft of the BUR papers. But now that the wax-faced man and the shadowed man with his chloroform handkerchief knew she was soulless, Miss Tarabotti felt somehow terribly exposed.
“I know this will not please you,” she said, “but I have decided to call on Lord Akeldama this evening while my family is out. Do not worry. I will make certain your guards can follow me. I am convinced LordAkeldama's residence is extremely secure.”