“My dearest girl, you cannot possibly think that I—”

“No, actually, I don’t. You enjoy gathering information, Lord Akeldama, but very rarely seem to put it to any active use, aside from furthering your own curiosity. I fail to see how a botched assassination attempt could have anything to do with your unremitting inquisitiveness.”

“Quite logical of you, buttercup.” Lord Akeldama smiled, showing his fangs. They glistened silver in the bright gas lighting, matching his cravat.

“And, of course, you would never have botched it.”

The vampire laughed—a sharp sparkling sound of unexpected delight. “So kind, my little crumpet, so kind.”

“So, what do you make of it?”

“That twenty years ago, some supernatural or other, in London, was trying to kill the queen?”

“My husband thinks it must be a vampire. I’m inclined to suspect a ghost, which would leave the trail cold, of course.”

Lord Akeldama tapped one fang with the edge of his monocle. “I dare say your last option is best.”

“Werewolves?” Alexia looked into her teacup.

“A werewolf, yes, my gherkin.”

Alexia put down her cup and then flicked the two sounding rods on the harmonic device to encourage greater auditory disruption. “A loner I suppose, which leaves me in the same situation as a ghost. Most of the local loners were eliminated by the Hypocras Club’s illegal experiments last year.” She poured herself a second cup of tea, added a small dollop of milk, and lifted it to her lips.

Lord Akeldama shook his head, looking unusually pensive. The monocle stopped tapping. “You are missing a piece in this game, I think, butterball. My instincts are inclined to say pack, not loner. You don’t know what the local pack was like at that time. But I remember. Oh, yes. There were rumors all over town. Nothing proven, of course. The last Alpha wasn’t right in the head. A fact kept well away from public and press, and from daylight musings for that matter, but a fact, nonetheless. What he was doing to earn that reputation, well . . .”

“But even twenty years ago, the local pack was . . .” Alexia sat back, sentence unfinished, hand instinctively and protectively pressed upon her belly.

“Woolsey.”

Alexia mentally catalogued the Woolsey Pack members. Aside from her husband and Biffy, all of them were holdovers from the previous Alpha. “Channing,” she said finally. “I’ll wager it was Channing. He certainly didn’t like the idea of my investigating the past. Interrupted me in the library just the other day. I’ll need to check the military records, of course, find out who was in England at the time and who was billeted overseas.”

“Good girl,” approved the vampire. “Nice and thorough, but I have something more for you. That cook who worked for the OBO who you were investigating? The little poisoner?”

“Oh, yes. How did you know about her?”

“Please, darling.” He gestured with the monocle toward himself, as if pointing a finger.

“Oh, of course. I apologize. Do go on.”