Lord Maccon growled in irritation.

“Yes, I am well aware that you hate to be reminded.”

“Every man hates remembering failure. But we werewolves are the worst of the lot on the subject. I cannot believe there is a connection.”

“It is my only avenue of inquiry.”

“Perhaps you can leave it for the moment. I require your presence.”

Alexia bristled at the commanding tone. “Oh, yes?”

“In bed.”

“Oh. Yes.” Alexia relaxed and smiled, allowing her husband to help her to her feet.

Alexia slept on the far side of the bed from Conall. This was not because he was a restless sleeper. In fact, he was as still as any supernatural creature, though not quite so dead-looking as a vampire, and he snored softly. And, though Lady Maccon would never admit it to anyone, not even to Ivy, she was a bit of a cuddler. She simply didn’t want him vulnerable while he slept. Also, given his irreverence for physical appearance, she was in constant fear that should she touch him all night long, he would grow a beard and then neglect to shave.

On this particular day’s rest, the infant-inconvenience allowed Lady Maccon to doze only fitfully on her side, facing the tower window. Which was why she was partly awake when the burglar entered.

There were many things wrong with a thief breaking into Woolsey Castle in the middle of the day. First, what thief in his right mind travels all the way to Barking to perform a break-in? Prospects were much better in London. Second, why bother with Woolsey Castle, a den of werewolves? Just down the road was a small but wealthy ducal estate. And third, why aim for one of the challenging tower windows and not a downstairs parlor?

Nevertheless, the masked form clambered over the sill with graceful economy of movement and stood, light and balanced on his feet, silhouetted against the thick curtains that could not entirely block out the full afternoon sun. He inhaled sharply upon seeing Lady Maccon up on one elbow staring at him. Clearly, he expected to find the room abandoned.

Lady Maccon was far less reticent. She let out a scream that might have raised the dead, and in this case did.

Her husband was no pup who, required by recent metamorphosis and weak control, must sleep solid the entire day through. Oh, no, he could be awakened. It was simply that when he was very tired, it took a mighty loud noise. Not much of a screamer as a general rule, Alexia’s lung capacity was nevertheless sufficient to the task and produced a trumpeting kind of yell. Once emitted, however, it did not, as one might expect, bring domestic staff and clavigers running. It had taken only one or two highly embarrassing incidents for the denizens of Woolsey Castle to ignore any and all strange noises produced by Lord and Lady Maccon during their slumbering hours.

Still, one angry husband was sufficient to meet Lady Maccon’s needs.