Blameless(63)

“Yes, but how did you—?”

“Because that is where I would have gone.” He turned back to the butler. “Should take me a little over a day to cross France. I shall run the border tomorrow night in wolf skin and hang the consequences. Oh, and—”

This time it was Professor Lyall’s turn to interrupt. “Belay that order, Rumpet.”

Lord Maccon turned around to growl at his Beta. “Now what? I shall go by the Post on my way out of town, get them to print a public apology. She is very likely in danger, Randolph, not to mention pregnant. I cannot possibly win her back by dawdling around London.”

Professor Lyall took a deep breath. He should have known having Lord Maccon in full possession of his faculties might result in rash action. “It is more than just the regular papers. The vampires have been mudslinging and slandering your wife’s character in the popular press, accusing her of all manner of indiscretions, and unless I miss my guess, it all has to do with Alexia’s pregnancy. The vampires are not happy about it, my lord, not happy at all.”

“Nasty little bloodsuckers. I shall set them to rights. Why haven’t Lord Akeldama and his boys been able to counteract the gossip? And why hasn’t Lord Akeldama explained away my wife’s pregnancy, for that matter? I bet he knows. He is quite the little know-it-all. May even be Edict Keeper, unless I miss my guess.”

“That is the other problem: he has disappeared along with all of his drones. Apparently, they are off searching for something the potentate stole. I have been trying to find out what and why and where, but it has been a tad hectic recently. Both BUR and the pack keep interfering. Not to mention the fact that the vampires really aren’t saying anything of interest. Why, if it weren’t for Mrs. Tunstell and the hat shop, I might not even know the little I do.”

“Hat shop? Mrs. Tunstell?” Lord Maccon blinked at this diatribe from his normally quietly competent Beta. “You mean Ivy Hisselpenny? That Mrs. Tunstell? What hat shop?”

But his Beta was on a verbal flyaway and unwilling to pause. “What with you constantly sloshed and Channing gone, I am at my wit’s end. I really am. You, my lord, cannot simply dash off to Italy. You have responsibilities here.”

Lord Maccon frowned. “Ah, yes, Channing. I forgot about him.”

“Oh, yes? I didn’t think that was possible. Some people have all the luck.”

Lord Maccon caved. Truth be told he was rather worried to see his unflappable Randolph so, well, flapped. “Oh, very well, I shall give you three nights help sorting out this mess you have gotten us into, and then I’m off.”

Professor Lyall emitted the sigh of the long-suffering but knew it was the closest he was likely to get to victory with Lord Maccon and counted his blessings. Then he gently but firmly put his Alpha to work.

“Rumpet,” he addressed the frozen and confused butler, “call the carriage. We are going into the city for the night.”

Lord Maccon turned to Professor Lyall as the two made their way through the hallway, collecting their greatcoats on the way.

“Any other news I should be made aware of, Randolph?”

Professor Lyall frowned. “Only that Miss Wibbley has become engaged.”

“Should that information mean something to me?”

“I believe you were once fond of Miss Wibbley, my lord.”

“I was?” A frown. “How astonishing of me. Ah, yes, skinny little thing? You misconstrued—I was simply using her to needle Alexia at the time. Engaged, did you say? Who’s the unfortunate fellow?”

“Captain Featherstonehaugh.”

“Ah, now that name does sound familiar. Didn’t we serve with a Captain Featherstonehaugh on our last tour in India?”

“Ah, no, sir, I believe that was this one’s grandfather.”

“Really? How time flies. Poor man. Not much to hold on to with that chit. That’s what I like about my lass—she’s got a bit of meat on her bones.”

Professor Lyall could do nothing but say, “Yes, my lord.” Although he did shake his head over the obtuseness of his Alpha. Who, having decided all would once more be blissful in his marriage, already referred to Alexia as his again. Unless Lyall was wrong, and circumstances had already proved how improbable that outcome, Lady Maccon was unlikely to see the situation in the same light.

They swung themselves up easily into the grand crested coach and four that served as Woolsey’s main mode of transport when the wolves weren’t running.

“Now, what is this about Mrs. Tunstell and a hat shop?” Lord Maccon wanted to know, adding before Professor Lyall could answer, “Sorry about drinking your specimen collection, by the way, Randolph. I wasn’t quite myself.”