“Mr. Bootbottle-Fipps,” said Alexia in exasperation, “ask a silly question . . .”

The dirigible gondola bumped softly down, and she toddled over to it.

Boots and the second young dandy, who proved to be Viscount Trizdale, hopped nimbly out and came to assist her. Tizzy was a slight, effete young blond with an aristocratic nose and a partiality for the color yellow. Boots had a bit more substance in physicality and taste, but not much.

Lady Maccon looked from one to the other of the two gentlemen and then at the side of the gondola that she must now scale. With great reluctance and knowing she had no other choice, she put herself into their well-manicured hands.

No one, later that evening, nor ever again so long as any of them lived, mentioned what had to be done in order to get a very pregnant Lady Maccon into that passenger basket. There was some heaving, and a good deal of squeaking (both from Alexia and Tizzy), and hands might have had to be placed upon portions of the anatomy pleasing to neither Alexia nor her rescuers. Suffice it to say that Lady Maccon had cause to be grateful Lord Akeldama insisted that his drones undertake some sporting activity, for all their fashionable proclivities.

Alexia landed upon her bustle, legs slightly in the air. Gravity being even more forthright than Lady Maccon, she flailed about before managing to roll to one side and climb laboriously to her feet. She had a rather severe stitch in her side, a few bruises on her nether regions, and she was flushed with heat and exertion, but everything else, including the child, seemed to be in working order. The two young men jumped back inside after her.

“What are you doing here?” Lady Maccon demanded, still in shock that her plan to signal for help had actually worked. “Did my husband put a tail on me? What is it with werewolves and tails?”

Tizzy and Boots looked at each other.

Finally Boots said, “It wasn’t entirely the earl, Lady Maccon. Our lord asked us to keep an eye on you this evening as well. He indicated things might come to pass on full moon that required additional recognizance in this part of London, if you take my meaning.”

“How on earth would he know to do a thing like that? Oh, forget I asked. How does Lord Akeldama know anything?” Logic returned along with dignity, and Alexia took stock of her change in circumstances.

Boots shrugged. “Things always come to pass on full moon.”

Without having to be directed, the pilot was already taking the small craft back up, away from fire and smoke. He was a diminutive man, clean-shaven, with a snubbed nose and a mercurial expression. His cravat was very well tied and it coordinated perfectly with his waistcoat.

“Don’t tell me.” Alexia looked him up and down. “This dirigible happens to be owned by Lord Akeldama?”

“If that’s what you desire, my lady, we won’t tell you.” Boots looked guilty, as though he were somehow failing her in this request.