Alexia looked at her friend. His posture and demeanor were as relaxed and frivolous as ever, but there was a hardness about his mouth that suggested he actually meant what he was saying. “That is a rather serious statement coming from you, my lord.”

The vampire smiled, showing fang. “Better revel in the experience, my little cream puff. It will probably never occur again.”

Lady Maccon nibbled at her lower lip and went to sit in one of Lord Akeldama’s more upright chairs. She found it tricky these days to extract herself from couches and love seats and preferred simply not to get involved with plushy furniture.

“Oh, I can’t think.” She rubbed at her belly, annoyed at the fuzziness in her own brain, the persistent product of lack of sleep, physical discomfort, and hunger. She seemed to spend all her time either eating or dozing—sometimes dozing while eating and, once or twice, eating while dozing. Pregnancy had given her a new window into the human capacity for consumption.

“Oh, blast it, I’m positively starving.”

Instantly, all three men proffered up comestibles extracted from inner waistcoat pockets. Professor Lyall’s offering was a ham sandwich wrapped in brown paper, Lord Maccon’s a weather-beaten apple, and Lord Akeldama’s a small box of Turkish delight. Months of training had seen the entire werewolf household running attendance on an increasingly grumpy Alexia and learning, to a man, that if food was not provided promptly, fur might fly, or worse, Lady Maccon would start to weep. As a result, several of the pack now crinkled as they moved, having desperately stashed snacks all about their personage.

Alexia opted for all three offerings and began to eat, starting with the Turkish delight. “So you are genuinely disposed toward adopting my child?” she asked Lord Akeldama between bites, and then looked at her husband. “And you are willing to allow it?”

The earl lost his amused attitude and knelt before his wife, looking up at her. He put his hands on her knees. Even through all her layers of skirts, Alexia could feel the wide roughness of his palms. “I’m taxing BUR and the pack to keep you safe, wife. I’ve even contemplated calling in the Coldsteam Guards.” Curse him for looking so handsome when he came over all bashful and sincere. It quite undid her resolve. “Not that I would do it any differently. I protect my own. But Queen Victoria would be livid if I pulled military strings in a personal matter. Well, more livid than she already is over my killing the potentate. We must be clever. They’re older and craftier and they’ll keep trying. We canna continue on like this for the rest of our child’s life.”

Perhaps he has learned something about pragmatism being married to me, Alexia thought. Oh, but why’d he have to turn all sensible now? She tried desperately not to fly into a tizzy over his unilateral handling of the situation. She knew that it cost Conall a terrible price to admit to any kind of inability. He liked to think he was all-powerful.