Lord Akeldama himself was not yet properly dressed for the evening. His affected monocle was absent, as were the obligatory spots of rouge on his alabaster cheeks and the ridiculous spats about his ankles. Nevertheless, even in his least formal attire, Lord Akeldama excelled.

“But, my dear friend, your knees!”

He was wearing royal blue breeches of watered silk, a damask waistcoat of white and gold, and a quilted velvet smoking jacket ornamented with brandenbourgs. His trousers were of such very fine quality, Alexia was quite aghast that the vampire should even consider playing at lady’s maid, for he might have to kneel—on the floor!

“Oh, phooey, you know me, darling—always open to an adventure à la toilette.”

Lord Akeldama was a man who Lady Maccon very much doubted had had much to do with dressing—or undressing—ladies on a regular basis, yet he seemed more than equal to the task. In the early days of her pregnancy, Alexia might have managed it herself, rejecting her corset and selecting a carriage dress or some other gown that fastened up the front. However, at this point, she couldn’t even see her own feet, let alone touch them. So she acquiesced to this very strange new form of servant.

“I suppose it was courteous of Professor Lyall to think to send someone in. But really, if a gentleman who is not my husband is to see me bare, why not him?”

Lord Akeldama sashayed over to her, scooping up her underthings along the way. He tittered at the very idea. “Oh, my darling pea blossom, your professor might enjoy it a little too much. Like my poor Boots. And they are both gentlemen of principle.” His hands began nimbly dealing with ties and buttons.

“What could you possibly be implying, my lord?” Lady Maccon asked this from within a chemise partly stuck over her head.

The vampire pulled the fine muslin down and smoothed it out over her belly with a little pat. His other hand was on her naked arm, and the contact turned him human in that moment. His fine, sharp fangs vanished, his pale white skin flushed slightly peach, and his lustrous blond hair lost a mote of its brilliance. He grinned at her, his face more effeminate than ethereal. “La, honeysuckle, you are well aware that we here are all, in our own special way, deviants in our penchants.”

Lady Maccon thought about Lord Akeldama’s drawing room with all its gilt and tassels. Even knowing this was not the vampire’s point of reference, she nodded. “Oh, yes, I noticed.”

Lord Akeldama rarely shrugged, for this upset the fall of his jacket, but he looked as though he would have at this juncture. Instead, he flounced over to the side of the room where Alexia’s clothing hung on a long rack and began perusing various gowns, eyeing each with a discerning eye.

“Not that one,” said Alexia when he paused overlong, considering a green and gold stripe.

“No?”

“The décolletage is too low.”