The vampire hurried to catch up, pushing past her in turn when they reached the stairs, leading the way up rather than, as had occurred on previous occasions, into the back parlor that was the countess’s preferred sanctuary. This was a special evening, indeed. Lady Maccon was being let into the high sanctum of the hive. She had never before been allowed upstairs.

There were drones strategically placed on the staircase, all attractive and perfectly dressed, looking like they might be guests at the party, but Alexia knew from the way they watched her that they were as much fixtures in the house as its Persian rugs. Only more deadly than the rugs, one supposed. They did nothing, however, as Lady Maccon was in the company of the duke. But they did watch her carefully.

They arrived at a closed door. The Duke of Hematol knocked, a pattern of taps. It opened to reveal Lord Ambrose, as tall, as dark, and as handsome as any milk-water miss might wish her own personal vampire to be.

“Lady Maccon! How unexpected.”

“So everyone keeps pointing out.” Alexia tried to barge past him.

“You can’t come in here.”

“Oh, for goodness’ sake, I mean her no harm. Truth be told, quite the opposite.”

An exchange of glances occurred between Lord Ambrose and the duke.

“She is part of this new order. I think we must believe her.”

“You used to think Walsingham was right!” Lord Ambrose accused his compatriot.

“I still do. But in character, she is no more her father’s daughter than Lord Maccon is Lord Woolsey’s successor or Lord Akeldama is Walsingham’s.”

Lady Maccon glared. “If you mean that I think for myself and make my own choices, then you are spot-on. Now, I must see the countess immediately. I have—”

Lord Ambrose didn’t budge. “I must take possession of your parasol.”

“Absolutely not. We may need it shortly, especially if you don’t let me in. I tell you I have—”

“I must insist.”

“Let her in, Ambrose dear.” Countess Nadasdy had a voice as warm as butter and just as greasy. She could fry people with that voice, if she wanted to.

Immediately, Lord Ambrose moved out of Alexia’s direct line of sight, revealing the interior of the chamber. It was a very-well-appointed boudoir, complete with not only a massive canopied bed, but also a full sitting area and other highly desirable accoutrements. There was the latest and most sophisticated in exsanguination warmers, an overlarge teapot for storing blood with multiple spouts and tubing attached. Both the pot and the tubes wore knitted tea cozies, and there was a warming brazier underneath to keep the vital liquid moving through the tubes.

The countess was indeed at tea. Her version being a lavish affair, complete with lace-covered tea trolley set out with teacups and matched teapot of fine china painted with little pink roses and edged in silver. There were pink and white petits fours that no one was eating and cups of tea that no one was drinking. A three-tiered serving dish of silver held a tempting display of finger sandwiches and sugared rose petals, and there was even a small platter of . . . could it be? Treacle tart!