Alexia glanced at Miss Dair, who was engaging in a hushed and rather forceful conversation with Dr. Caedes, another member of Countess Nadasdy’s inner circle. He was a tall, thin vampire who Alexia always thought looked like a parasol without its fabric cover, all points and sharp angles. He unfolded rather than walked. He did not look pleased.

The duke was more subtle and better able to hide his feelings over Lady Maccon’s unanticipated presence. Alexia wondered where Lord Ambrose, the last member of this little band, was stashed. Probably near the countess, as he acted as her praetoriani. At a party as crowded as this, the queen would want her pet bodyguard as close as possible.

“We did not expect you on this particular night, Lady Maccon. We had assumed you would be assisting your husband with his”—a calculated pause—“disability.”

Alexia narrowed her eyes and fished about in her reticule, coming up with the required card. “I have an invitation.”

“Of course you do.”

“It is most urgent I speak with your mistress immediately. I have some vital information to impart.”

“Tell it to me.”

Alexia put on her most superior Lady Macconish expression and looked him up and down. “I think not.”

The vampire stood his ground.

He was not a very large man. Alexia figured if push came to shove, she could probably take him on even in her current state. Being soulless had its uses. She removed her gloves.

He watched this movement with concerned interest.

“No need for that, Lady Maccon.” If he was as much like Professor Lyall as Alexia believed, physical conflict would not be his preferred solution to any given confrontation. He looked up toward the storklike doctor and gestured sharply with his chin. The other vampire reacted with supernatural swiftness, grabbing Miss Dair’s arm and melting away into the crowd, leaving Lady Maccon with a new, far less attractive, escort.

“It really is most vital that I see her as soon as possible. She may be in grave danger.” Alexia left her gloves off and tried to impress upon the vampire her urgency without being too threatening.

The duke smiled. His fangs were small and sharp, barely present, as subtle as the rest of his projected image. “You mortals are always in a hurry.”

Lady Maccon gritted her teeth. “This time it is in your best interest—really, it is.”

The duke looked at her closely. “Very well, come with me.”

He led her through the crowd, which thinned as they left the main hallway that serviced the drawing room, parlors, dining hall, and receiving area. They rounded a corner into a part of the house Alexia loved, the museum of machinery, where the history of human innovation was displayed with as much care as the marble statuary and oil paintings of the public areas. The duke moved at a sedate pace, too sedate for Alexia, who, even pregnant and knowing she was going beyond the bounds of proper etiquette, pushed past him. She scuttled by the very first steam engine ever built and then past the model of the Babbage Engine with barely a glance to spare for either feat of human ingenuity.