Her husband, with a long-suffering sigh, came out from behind his desk and loomed over her. Alexia expected recriminations, but instead the big man administered an enthusiastic embrace by which masterful tactic he managed to maneuver her backward and down onto a chair in one corner of the room.

Bemused, Lady Maccon found herself firmly off her feet. “Well,” she sputtered, “I say.”

The earl took that as an excuse to give her a blistering kiss. Presumably to stop her from saying anything further.

Professor Lyall chuckled at their antics and then returned to quietly going about official business, papers rustling softly as he calculated and correlated some complex mathematical matter of state.

“I have just come by the most interesting bit of information,” was Lady Maccon’s opening gambit.

This statement effectively distracted her husband from any further admonishments. “Well?”

“I sent Ivy to Scotland to find out from Lady Kingair what really happened with that previous assassination attempt.”

“Ivy? As in Mrs. Tunstell? What a very peculiar choice.”

“I shouldn’t underestimate Ivy if I were you, husband. She has discovered something.”

Conall ruminated a brief moment on this absurd statement and then said, “Yes?”

“It wasn’t simply that the poison was to come from London; there was a London agent involved, a mastermind if you would believe it. Ivy seems to think that this man orchestrated the whole attempt.”

Lord Maccon stilled. “What?”

“Here you thought you had put the matter to rest.” Alexia was feeling justifiably smug.

The earl’s face became still—the quiet before the storm. “Did she provide any details concerning the identity of this agent?”

“Only that he was supernatural.”

Behind them, Professor Lyall’s paper rustling stopped. He looked over at them, his vulpine face sharpened further by inquisitiveness. Randolph Lyall’s position at BUR was not held because he was Beta to Lord Maccon, but because of his innate investigative abilities. He had an astute mind and a nose for trouble—literally, being a werewolf.

Lord Maccon’s temper frothed over. “I knew the vampires had to be involved somehow! The vampires are always involved.”

Alexia stilled. “How do you know it was vampires? It could have been a ghost, or even a werewolf.”

Professor Lyall came over to participate in the conversation. “This is grave news.”

The earl continued to expound. “Well, if a ghost, she would have long since disanimated, so we’re well out of luck there. And if a werewolf, he must have been a loner of some kind. Most of those were killed off by the Hypocras Club last year. Damned scientists. So I suggest we start with the vampires.”

“I had already reached a similar conclusion myself, husband.”

“I’ll go to the hives,” suggested Professor Lyall, already heading for a hat rack.

Lord Maccon looked as though he would like to protest.

His wife put a hand to his arm. “No, that’s a good idea. He is far more politic than you. Even if he isn’t strictly gentry.”

Professor Lyall hid a smile, clapped his top hat to his head, and walked briskly out into the night without another word, merely touching the brim in Lady Maccon’s direction before departing.