The earl carried his wife into their back parlor, which five days’ absence had seen adequately refurbished, if not quite up to Biffy’s exacting standards. Alexia was convinced that once recovered from this month’s bone-bender, the dandy would see to it the room was brought back up to snuff.

Lord Maccon deposited his wife into a chair and then knelt next to her, clutching one of her hands. “Tell me truthfully—how are you feeling?”

Alexia took a breath. “Truthfully? I sometimes wonder if I, like Madame Lefoux, should affect masculine dress.”

“Gracious me, why?”

“You mean aside from the issue of greater mobility?”

“My love, I don’t think that’s currently the result of your clothing.”

“Indeed, well, I mean after the baby.”

“I still don’t see why you should want to.”

“Oh, no? I dare you to spend a week in a corset, long skirts, and a bustle.”

“How do you know I haven’t?”

“Oh, ho!”

“Now stop playing games, woman. How are you really feeling?”

Alexia sighed. “A little tired, a lot frustrated, but well in body if not spirit. My ankle is paining me only a little, and the infant-inconvenience has been remarkably patient with all my carriage rides and poodling about.” She contemplated how to raise the subject of Lord Akeldama’s thoughts on the matter of the queen. Finally, knowing she had little inherent delicacy of speech and that her husband had none at all, she decided he would probably appreciate directness.

“Lord Akeldama thinks the London mastermind of your Kingair plot was a Woolsey Pack member.”

“Does he, by George?”

“Now, stay calm, my dear. Think logically. I know that is difficult for you. But wouldn’t someone like Channing take—”

Lord Maccon shook his head. “No, not Channing. He would never—”

“But Lord Akeldama said that the previous Alpha was not right in the head. Couldn’t that have had something to do with it? If he ordered Channing to—”

Lord Maccon’s voice was sharp. “No. But Lord Woolsey himself? That is an idea. Much as I hate to admit it. The man was mad, my dear. Utterly mad. It can happen that way, especially to Alphas when we get too old. There’s a reason, you know, that we werewolves fight amongst ourselves. I mean aside from the etiquette of the duel. Especially Alphas. We shouldn’t be allowed to live forever—we go all funny in the brain. Or that’s what the howlers sing of. Vampires do, too, if you ask me. I mean, you only have to look at Lord Akeldama to realize he’s . . . but I digress.”

His wife reminded him of where they were in the conversation. “Lord Woolsey, you were saying?”

Lord Maccon looked down at their joined hands. “It can take on many forms, the madness—sometimes quite harmless little esoteric inclinations and sometimes not. Lord Woolsey, as I understand it, became deviant. Even brutal in his”—he paused, looking for the right word that might not shock even his indomitable wife—“tastes.”

Alexia contemplated this. Conall was an aggressive lover, demanding, although he could be quite gentle. Of course, with her, he had no real teeth to do damage beyond a nibble or two. But there had been one or two times, early on in their courtship, when she had wondered if he might not actually think of her as food. She had also read overmuch of her father’s journals.