Mabel Dair offered Lady Maccon her arm. Alexia took it gratefully, although she firmed her grip on her parasol with her free hand. She was, after all, entering a hive house, and despite the strictures of polite society, vampires had never looked upon her, and her soullessness, with any degree of acceptance. On every prior occasion but one, Lady Maccon had visited this hive with her husband. Tonight she was going in alone. Miss Mabel Dair may have her arm, but Alexia knew very well that the actress did not have her back.

Together the two women entered the party.

The house itself had not changed from when Alexia visited it that first time. Inside, it was far more luxurious than its exterior suggested, although all displays of prosperity were tasteful, without a hint of vulgarity. Persian carpets still lay thick and soft, in coordinating shades of deep red, their patterns subtle, but they were difficult to see as so many top boots and evening slippers trod over them. Striking paintings still hung on the walls, masterworks ranging from contemporary abstract pieces to one relaxed, porcelain-skinned lady that could only be by Titian. But Alexia only knew they were there because she had seen them before; this time as she wended her way through the throng, coiffured comb-outs and flowered headdresses obscured her view. The lavish mahogany furniture was actually being sat upon, and the many stone statues of Roman senators and Egyptian gods had become nothing more than stony members of the milling throng.

“My goodness me,” yelled Alexia at her escort over the loud chatter. “This is quite the crush.”

The actress nodded enthusiastically. “The countess is supposed to make a very important announcement this evening. Everyone, and I do mean everyone, accepted her invitation.”

“Announcement, what kind of . . . ?”

But Miss Dair’s attention was back to pushing their way through the throng.

One or two people recognized Alexia—heads tilted in her direction, faces perplexed. “Lady Maccon?” came the confused acknowledgment of her presence, accompanied by small nods. She could hear the gossipmongers whirling away like so many steam engines gearing up to explode. What was the wife of an Alpha werewolf doing there? And so far along in her pregnancy. And alone! On full moon!

As they pressed on, Alexia became aware of a presence shadowing them through the crowd. Just as a tall, thin man accosted Miss Dair from the front, a person behind them cleared his throat.

Lady Maccon turned to find herself face-to-face with a nondescript gentleman, so nondescript in countenance as to be challenging to describe. His hair was just this side of brown, and his eyes just that side of blue, combined with an arrangement of other features neither striking nor interesting. He wore unremarkable but stylish clothing, all of which suggested a level of premeditated obscurity that reminded her irresistibly of Professor Lyall.

“Your Grace,” she said warily in greeting.

The Duke of Hematol did not smile, but that might have been because he did not wish to show her his fangs just yet. “Lady Maccon, what an unexpected pleasure.”