“No, thank you kindly. Perhaps at some future date?”
“Not the whole killing thing, I hope? I should like to put that well behind us.”
Lord Ambrose actually smiled. “No, Lady Maccon, the port. After all, you are taking a house in town. You will be in our territory now, won’t you?”
Alexia blanched. Westminster Hive did hold sway over the most fashionable parts of London. “Why, yes, I suppose I will.”
Lord Ambrose’s smile became less friendly. “I will bid you good evening, then, Lady Maccon.”
With that, he let himself out of the carriage, tossed her parasol in, and vanished into the night. Mere moments later, Lord Maccon, looking none the worse for his porcupine-herding activities, let himself back inside and unceremoniously swept Alexia into his arms. He was naked, of course, and Alexia had no time to reprimand him for not changing out of his clothing before he shifted form. Yet another jacket ruined.
“Where were we?” he rumbled into her ear before nibbling on it. He slid his arms about her, as far as they would reach, which admittedly wasn’t far these days, and rubbed up and down her back.
Lady Maccon’s increasing girth had rendered most bed sport impossible, but this did not stop them from what Conall affectionately referred to as playing. Despite Alexia’s protestations that she was in perfect health, modern medical science banned connubial relations during the final months, and the earl refused to risk his wife’s well-being. He had, Alexia discovered much to her distress, unanticipated powers of resistance.
She slid her gun out from between them and pushed it away along the bench. Time enough to tell her husband about Lord Ambrose later. If she told him now, he’d get all flustered and distracted. At the moment, she preferred to be the cause of both his flustering and his distraction.
“No lasting harm, my love?” She slid her hands along his sides, enjoying the silkiness of his skin just there and the way he writhed under her touch.
“Never.” He kissed her mouth in a heated embrace.
Alexia wondered that even after so many months of marriage she still could get utterly lost in kissing her husband. It never became unexciting. It was like a rich milky tea—comforting, revitalizing, and delicious. Though she wasn’t certain how he would take such an analogy, Alexia Maccon was very fond of tea.
She touched his chin with both hands, encouraging him to kiss deeper.
Moving house, thought Lady Maccon, must be the world’s most incommodious undertaking.
She, of course, was not being allowed to physically help, although she did toddle about pointing at objects and indicating where they should go. She was enjoying herself immensely. Her husband and coconspirators having sallied off about their own business several days ago, she felt much like a chubby general in sole possession of a field of glittery battle, directing a mass invasion of foreign soil. Although, after having to mediate a head-to-head between Boots and Biffy over the efficaciousness of velvet decorative pillows, she suspected generals had it easier. Conall and Professor Lyall had arranged for her dominion over the relocation operation in order to distract her, but as she was well aware of the manipulation and, as they were well aware that she was well aware, she might as well have fun.
What made it particularly pleasant was that it had to be covert. They didn’t want it known that Lord and Lady Maccon were actually taking up residence inside Lord Akeldama’s house. The vampires had only reluctantly agreed to the Maccons moving in next door, frightened that a werewolf and a preternatural might unduly influence the rearing of a child, even one under Lord Akeldama’s care. Further intimacy was strongly discouraged. Thus, they had made it look as though Lady Maccon were seeking refuge from the chaos by taking tea at Lord Akeldama’s, while her belongings were moved into the rented accommodations adjacent. Alexia’s personal effects were taken up one flight of stairs, down a hall, and out onto a balcony. They were then tossed over to Lord Akeldama’s balcony—the balconies being a short distance apart and conveniently hidden by a large holly tree. Her private possessions were then carried down another hall, up another flight of stairs, and eventually into her new residential closet. This involved a good deal of ruckus, especially when it was furniture being tossed. Thank goodness, reflected Alexia, watching Biffy catch her favorite armoire with ease, for supernatural strength.
Lady Maccon’s minions in this elaborate charade were three younger members of Woolsey’s pack: Biffy, Rafe, and Phelan (Biffy as catcher and the other two as porter and chucker, respectively); the ever-efficient Floote; and a positive bevy of Lord Akeldama’s drones scuttling about arranging everything just so.
After overseeing the tossing, Alexia repaired to monitor the arrangement of her new sleeping chamber. Lord Akeldama’s third closet was quite spacious, almost the size of her bedchamber back at Woolsey. Admittedly, there were no windows, and there were gratuitous hooks, shelves, and rails covering the walls. But there was also enough room for a large bed (specially commissioned by Lord Akeldama to accommodate Lord Maccon’s frame), a dressing table, and several other bits and bobs. Conall would have to make do without his dressing chamber, but since he was prone to wandering around underdressed, anyway, Alexia suspected this would not affect his habits detrimentally. The lack of a proper valet concerned her for about five seconds before she realized no drone of Lord Akeldama’s would allow her husband passage through their hallways in anything less than tip-top, wrinkle-free condition.
Biffy was in his element, free to wander once more the luxurious, colorful, and somewhat effervescent corridors of his former master. Of all Alexia’s acquaintances, Biffy was the most thrilled by the new cohabitation scheme. He was far more comfortable bustling about hanging Alexia’s hats on hooks than he had been for the last five months at Woolsey Castle. One might even have described him as g*y, no longer weighed down by the sport destiny had made of his afterlife.