Heartless pp-4 Read online

  Alexia arched against him as much as she was able, enjoying the affection and the movement of his lips against her skin. For such a scruffy man, he had very soft lips.

  “Darling, light of my life, lord of my heart, there is someone at the door to our closet, seeking entrance. And I don’t believe Lord Akeldama and his boys are awake yet.”

  The earl merely burrowed in against her with greater interest, apparently finding the flavor of her neck most intriguing.

  The door shook and rattled as whoever it was seemed to be trying to physically force it open. But for all Lord Akeldama’s frolicsome decorative choices, his town house was built with the supernatural in mind, the protection of his clothing being paramount. The door barely budged. Someone on the other side yelled, but a door so massive that it could withstand shoe thieves could also muffle even the loudest commentary on the subject.

  Lady Maccon was becoming concerned. “Conall, get up and answer the door, do! Really, it sounds most pressing.”

  “I, too, have matters that are pressing and must needs be taken into hand.”

  Alexia giggled at the terribleness of both pun and innuendo. She was pleased her husband still thought her attractive, despite her beached-whale state, but was finding it increasingly awkward to accommodate him. The spirit was willing but the flesh was swollen. Still, she enjoyed the compliment and understood that there was no real demand behind the caresses. The earl knew her well enough to realize she valued his desire almost as much as his love. After a lifetime of feeling ugly and unworthy, Alexia was now tolerably assured that Conall genuinely did want her, even if they could do nothing about it at present. She also understood that he was expressing his conjugal interest partly out of knowledge of her own need for such assurances. A werewolf and a buffoon, her husband, but wonderfully caring once he’d blundered into the way of it.

  And yet, someone was still torturing their poor door. Conall blinked awake, his tawny eyes wide and direct. He kissed the tip of his wife’s long nose and, with a massive sigh, rolled out of bed and lumbered over to the door.

  Alexia, sleepy lidded, admired his backside, then shrieked, “Conall, robe! For goodness’ sake.”

  Her husband ignored her, throwing open the door and crossing his arms over a wide, hairy chest. He was wearing not one stitch of clothing. Alexia sank down under the covers in mortification.

  She need not have worried; it was only Professor Lyall.

  “Randolph,” grumbled her husband, “what’s all the ruckus about?”

  “It’s Biffy, my lord. Best come quickly. You’re needed.”

  “Already?” Lord Maccon swore a blue streak, his blistering language the result of military service combined with a creative imagination. After a glance about the room, he seemed to decide that changing his form would be faster than getting dressed. He began to shift, the musculature underneath his skin rearranging, the hair on his head migrating downward and turning into fur. Quick enough, he dropped to all fours. Then he dashed out and down the hall, presumably to leap the gap between houses and see to whatever had gone wrong. Alexia caught sight of the brindled tip of his fluffy tail as he skidded out of sight without even a nod in her direction.

  “What is it, Professor?” she demanded imperiously before her husband’s Beta could follow in his Alpha’s wake. It was rather unlike Professor Lyall to disturb them with such forcefulness. It was equally rare for there to be any issue so in need of the earl’s attention that his second could not delay the matter or handle the preliminaries himself.

  Professor Lyall turned back to the dim interior with a reluctant droop to his posture. “It’s Biffy, my lady. He really is not handling the curse well this month. He fights it too much, and the more he fights it, the more painful it is.”

  “But it’s over a week until full moon! How long will he suffer such bouts of early physiological disjunction?” Poor Biffy. It is so embarrassing—premature transfluctuation.

  “Difficult to say. Could be years, could be decades of losing nights around full moon until he has better control. All new pups are like this, although they are not often taken so suddenly or so badly as Biffy. Usually it is only a few days before the moon. Biffy’s cycle is off.”

  Alexia winced. “And you could not . . . ?”

  Backlit by the expensively bright gas lighting of Lord Akeldama’s hallway, it was impossible to make out the werewolf’s expression. Even if she could, knowing Professor Lyall, his face would not reveal much.

  “In the end, I am only a Beta, Lady Maccon. When a werewolf is in wolf form, moonstruck and rampaging, there is nothing that can calm or control him except an Alpha. You must have realized by now that there is much more to Alpha than being simply big and strong. There is power of restraint and wolf-form intelligence as well.”

  “But, Professor Lyall, you are very restrained all the time.”

  “Thank you, Lady Maccon. There can be no higher compliment to a werewolf, but mine is a matter of self-control only. That does others little good.”

  “Except that you lead by example.”

  “Except that. And now I should leave you to get dressed. I believe we may expect your results from BUR shortly.”

  “My results?”

  “Those little OBO bottles of mysterious liquid.”

  “Ah, yes, fantastic! Will you please arrange for Floote and I to have the carriage after supper? I must visit Woolsey’s library as soon as possible.”

  The Beta nodded. “I have a feeling it will already be commissioned. We’ll have to take Biffy to the countryside for his confinement. His most recent inabilities have resulted in some rather disastrous redecoration of your back parlor.”

  “Oh, no, really? And after the drones did such a lovely job with it.”

  “We had to lock him somewhere, and that room has no windows.”

  “I understand. But claw marks are murder on wallpaper.”

  “Too true, Lady Maccon.”

  Professor Lyall drifted away and, because he was Professor Lyall, managed to corral one of Lord Akeldama’s drones, just awakened, to help Lady Maccon dress.

  Boots stuck his head in before catching sight of Lady Maccon still abed. The head instantly retreated and a back was presented in the doorway.

  “Oh, dear me, most sorry, Lady M. Can’t be me. Couldn’t handle it a second time. Not that noble. I’ll go rustle up someone a little more suitable to assist you. Shall I? Be back in a jiff.”

  Mystified, Alexia began the laborious process of squirming herself around and lurching by stages out of bed. She was just standing when Lord Akeldama came traipsing merrily into the room. “Top of the evening to you, my blooming marigold! My lovelorn little Boots said you could use a bit of twisting up, and I thought since I was awake I might avail myself of your delicious company and provide much-needed assistance simultaneously.”

  Lord Akeldama himself was not yet properly dressed for the evening. His affected monocle was absent, as were the obligatory spots of rouge on his alabaster cheeks and the ridiculous spats about his ankles. Nevertheless, even in his least formal attire, Lord Akeldama excelled.

  “But, my dear friend, your knees!”

  He was wearing royal blue breeches of watered silk, a damask waistcoat of white and gold, and a quilted velvet smoking jacket ornamented with brandenbourgs. His trousers were of such very fine quality, Alexia was quite aghast that the vampire should even consider playing at lady’s maid, for he might have to kneel—on the floor!

  “Oh, phooey, you know me, darling—always open to an adventure à la toilette.”

  Lord Akeldama was a man who Lady Maccon very much doubted had had much to do with dressing—or undressing—ladies on a regular basis, yet he seemed more than equal to the task. In the early days of her pregnancy, Alexia might have managed it herself, rejecting her corset and selecting a carriage dress or some other gown that fastened up the front. However, at this point, she couldn’t even see her own feet, let alone touch them. So she acquiesced to th
is very strange new form of servant.

  “I suppose it was courteous of Professor Lyall to think to send someone in. But really, if a gentleman who is not my husband is to see me bare, why not him?”

  Lord Akeldama sashayed over to her, scooping up her underthings along the way. He tittered at the very idea. “Oh, my darling pea blossom, your professor might enjoy it a little too much. Like my poor Boots. And they are both gentlemen of principle.” His hands began nimbly dealing with ties and buttons.

  “What could you possibly be implying, my lord?” Lady Maccon asked this from within a chemise partly stuck over her head.

  The vampire pulled the fine muslin down and smoothed it out over her belly with a little pat. His other hand was on her naked arm, and the contact turned him human in that moment. His fine, sharp fangs vanished, his pale white skin flushed slightly peach, and his lustrous blond hair lost a mote of its brilliance. He grinned at her, his face more effeminate than ethereal. “La, honeysuckle, you are well aware that we here are all, in our own special way, deviants in our penchants.”

  Lady Maccon thought about Lord Akeldama’s drawing room with all its gilt and tassels. Even knowing this was not the vampire’s point of reference, she nodded. “Oh, yes, I noticed.”

  Lord Akeldama rarely shrugged, for this upset the fall of his jacket, but he looked as though he would have at this juncture. Instead, he flounced over to the side of the room where Alexia’s clothing hung on a long rack and began perusing various gowns, eyeing each with a discerning eye.

  “Not that one,” said Alexia when he paused overlong, considering a green and gold stripe.

  “No?”

  “The décolletage is too low.”

  “My dearest girl, this is a good design point, not a bad one. You should accentuate your best features.”

  “No, honestly, my lord, these days I—how to put this?—overflow. It’s terribly incommodious.” Alexia made a kind of flip-forward gesture with both hands at her bosom area. Always substantial, that particular region had expanded to near scenic proportions over the last few months. Lord Maccon was delighted. Lady Maccon found it ridiculous. As if I weren’t well enough endowed to start with!

  “Ah, yes. I do see your point, periwinkle.” He moved on.

  “You were saying, about Professor Lyall?”

  “What I mean to articulate, honey bee, is that there are levels of deviation. Some of us are, shall we say, more experimental than others in our tastes. In some, I believe it is a matter of boredom, in others it is nature, and for still others it is indifference.” The vampire’s tone of voice was filled with the usual airy flippancy, but Alexia had a feeling this was something he had studied much over the centuries. Also, Lord Akeldama never doled out information without good reason.

  The vampire continued to prattle on as he sorted through her wardrobe without looking up at her, as though he were having a conversation with the dresses. “So few are lucky enough to love where they will. Or unlucky, I suppose.” Finally, he selected a walking outfit comprised of a ruffled purple skirt, cream blouse, and square cropped Spanish jacket in mauve. Despite the fact that there was very little trim, something about it clearly appealed to him. Alexia was delighted with this choice, as the outfit coordinated with one of her favorite hats, a little mauve bowler with a purple ostrich feather.

  He brought it over to her and held it up, nodding. “Excellent palette for your coloring, my little Italian pastry. Did our Biffy help you order this?” Without waiting for confirmation, he continued his previous discussion with studied casualness. “Your Professor Lyall is one of those.”

  “One of the indifferent ones?”

  “Ah, no, petal, one of those who has no particular preferences.”

  “And Boots?” Alexia held very still as the vampire moved around behind her, very much like a real maid, and began lacing up the back of the skirt.

  “Boots is another one.”

  Lady Maccon thought she understood what he was trying to say but was determined to ensure things were as clear as possible. Lord Akeldama may enjoy prevarications and euphemisms, but no one had ever accused Alexia of being coy. “Are you telling me, my lord, that Boots enjoys the company of both men and women?”

  The vampire came back around to the front and cocked his head to one side, as though more interested in the fit of the jacket than their conversation. “I know, peculiar of him, isn’t it, my little pigeon? But I and mine, possibly more than anyone else in London, do not presume to judge the predilections of others.” He bent forward to tidy the fall of the bow at Alexia’s neck. Then he had her sit while he fussed with stockings.

  “Well, I should never venture to question your assessment of Boots’s taste, but really, you must be mistaken in Professor Lyall’s nature. He’s in the military, for goodness’ sake!”

  “I take it you have heard very little on the subject of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy?” The vampire moved on to her shoes. Her feet were so swollen she no longer fit into any of her boots, much to his disgust. “Imagine wearing a walking dress with dancing slippers!”

  “Well, it’s not as though I walk all that much anymore. But, my dear lord, I can’t believe it. Not Professor Lyall. You must misconstrue.”

  Lord Akeldama became motionless, his head bent over one of her kid slippers. “Oh, little lilac bush, I know I do not.”

  Lady Maccon stilled herself, frowning down at the blond head bent so diligently at her feet. “I have never seen him favor anyone of either sex. I had thought it was a part of being Beta, to love the pack at the expense of every other romance. Not that I have met many Betas. It is not a personality trait, then? Has he not always been so reticent?”

  Lord Akeldama stood and came back behind her, beginning to toy with her hair.

  “You arrange a lady’s ensemble rather well, for an aristocrat. Don’t you, my lord?”

  “We all came from somewhere originally, buttercup, even us vampires. Of course, your Professor Lyall and I have never run in the same circles, and until you came into our lives, I must admit I never paid him much mind.” The vampire frowned and a look of genuine disfavor crossed his beautiful face. “This may yet prove to be a rather catastrophic oversight. As bad as that brief period wherein I became enamored of a lime-green overcoat.” He shuddered at the unpleasantness of the memory.

  “Surely it cannot be so awful as all that. It is only Professor Lyall of whom we speak.”

  “Exactly, my plum puff. So few of us can be so easily dismissed as an only. I’ve done some inquiring. They say he never quite recovered from a broken heart.”

  Alexia frowned. “Oh, do they?”

  “An embarrassing affliction in an immortal, brokenheartedness, wouldn’t you say? Least of all in a man of sense and dignity.”

  Lady Maccon gave her friend a sharp look through the looking glass as he pinned one of her curls into place. “No, I should say instead poor Professor Lyall.”

  Lord Akeldama finished with her hair. “There!” he pronounced with a flourish. He held up a hand mirror for her to look at the back. “I haven’t our lovely Biffy’s skill with the curling tongs, so a simple updo will have to suffice. I apologize for such ineptitude. I should add one or two rosettes or a fresh flower, just here.”

  “Oh, simple is absolutely splendid, and anything is better than what I could do for myself. I shall take your advice about the flower, of course.”

  The vampire nodded, took the mirror back, and placed it on the armoire. “And . . . how is Biffy?” The very flatness in the vampire’s words alerted Alexia to the importance of this oh-so-casual question.

  “He is still upset at having to give up snuff.” Lord Akeldama smiled only slightly at her attempted lightheartedness, so Alexia adopted his serious tone. “Not as well as he could be. My husband thinks, and I am inclined to agree with him, there is something holding him back. Pitiable, for Biffy did not ask for the lupine afterlife, but he must learn to accept it.”

  Lord Akeldama’s perf
ect mouth twisted slightly.

  “I am given to understand there is a matter of control. He must learn to master the shift rather than allow it to master him. Until he does, there are all sorts of restrictions. He cannot go out during the day or he may be permanently damaged, he must be kept near silver for simply ages around the moon, and no sweet basil within smelling distance. It’s all quite tragic.”

  Lord Akeldama stepped back and then spoke as though she had never answered his question. “Ah, well, I must bid you adieu, my dearest girl. I have my own toilette to see to. There is a most licentious music hall show opening this very evening, and I have a mind to attend in full regalia.” He made his way toward the door in the sweeping manner much favored by an operatic villain when exiting stage left.

  Lady Maccon was not fooled.

  “My lord.” Alexia’s voice was soft and gentle, or as soft and as gentle as she could make it, being not a woman generally in command of such feminine wiles. “On our subject of brokenheartedness, should I now be saying poor Lord Akeldama?”

  The vampire left without dignifying that with a reply.

  Lady Maccon lowered the balcony drawbridge and made her way into Woolsey’s town home and down the stairs. Walking a gangplank when one cannot see one’s feet was a tad nerve-racking, but Alexia Maccon was a woman of forthright character and firm principle, not to be defeated by a mere fat belly. She encountered Felicity, obviously recently returned from one of her unmentionable jaunts, for she was once more attired in knitwear. They had no chance for idle conversation, thank goodness, for the house was in a veritable uproar.

  Still, Felicity would not allow Alexia to pass without some commentary. “Sister! What is that tremendous ruckus in the back parlor?”

  “Felicity, you did know, when you prevailed upon my hospitality, that this was the den of werewolves, did you not?”

  “Yes, but to behave like animals? Surely that’s not polite.”

  Lady Maccon narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and gave her sister a look and the time to contemplate what she had just said.