Alexia figured, delightedly, that this meant he did, in fact, tend to traipse around his private apartments in the altogether. Marriage was becoming more and more of an attractive prospect.
Alexia blinked stupidly at the Beta from around the earl’s upper arm. Her heart was doing crazy things, and she still could not locate her kneecaps. She took a deep breath and put some serious attention into tracking them down.
Oh, Herbert," she said pleadingly to her silent husband, "you must make him marry her! Call for the parson immediately! Look at them... they are...," she sputtered, "canoodling!
As if being a former vampire drone in a werewolf household were not shocking enough, the maid then opened her mouth and proved that she was also, quite reprehensibly, French.
Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn? Laddy Maccon sighed. "Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed.
What have I done thins time?" he paused to ask before continuing with his oral expedition about her body: her husband, the intrepid explorer.
Alexia gave in to his demanding touch, but only, of course, because he sounded so pathetic. It had nothing, whatsoever to do with her own quickening heartbeat.
He nuzzled in at her neck kissing and licking her softly just below her ear. “Just a moment ” he said. “I need a small reminder that you are here you are whole and you are mine.
I like fish," chirruped Tunstell. "Really, Mr. Tunstell? What is your preferred breed?" "Well"--Tunstell hesitated--"you know, the um, ones that"--he made a swooping motion with both hands--"uh, swim.
...you have been fraternizing with warewolves overmuch! Military men can be terribly bad for one's verbal concatenation!
Lady Maccon cogitated. She would like to encourage this new spirit of social-mindedness. If Felicity needed anything in her life, it was a cause. Then she might stop nitpicking everyone else.
I had a recent delivery of new fashion plates from Paris, and you hardly glanced at the hairstyles. My husband tells me you are still having difficulty controlling the change. And your cravat has been tied very simply of late, even for evening events.
Lord Maccon believed that if his trousers were on his legs, and something else was on his torso, he was dressed. The less done after that, the better. His wife had been startled to find that in the summertime, he actually went around their room barefoot! Once -- and only once, mind you -- he even attempted to join her for tea in such a state. Impossible man. Alexia put a stop to that posthaste.
Madame Lefoux acted as midwife. In her scientific way, she was unexpectedly adept at the job. When the infant finally appeared, she held it up for Alexia to see, rather proudly, as though she'd done all the hard work herself. 'Goodness,' said an exhausted Lady Maccon, 'are babies customarily that repulsive looking?
These things, regrettably, are bound to occur when one is married and befriended.
With a resigned shrug, she screamed and collapsed into a faint. She stayed resolutely fainted, despite the liberal application of smelling salts, which made her eyes water most tremendously, a cramp in the back of one knee, and the fact that her new ball gown was getting most awfully wrinkled.
Goodness gracious me,” exclaimed Alexia, “what are you wearing? It looks like the unfortunate progeny of an illicit union between a pair of binoculars and some opera glasses. What on earth are they called, binocticals, spectaculars?” The earl snorted his amusement and then tried to pretend he hadn't. “How about glassicals?” he suggested, apparently unable to resist a contribution.
She would have colored gracefully with embarrassment had she not possessed the complexion of one of those “heathen Italians,” as her mother said, who never colored, gracefully or otherwise. (Convincing her mother that Christianity had, to all intents and purposes, originated with the Italians, thus making them the exact opposite of heathen, was a waste of time and breath.)
Even Alexia, spinster that she was, was given an allowance large enough to dress her to the height of fashion— although she did tend to stick to trends a little too precisely. The poor thing could not help it. Her choice of clothing simply lacked soul.
Please, Lord Maccon, use one of the cups. My delicate sensibilities.” The earl actually snorted. “My dear Miss Tarabotti, if you possessed any such things, you certainly have never shown them to me.
Miss Tarabotti was not certain if he was objecting to the kick or the scream, so she issued both again— with interest. He seemed to be having a difficult time negotiating Alexia's multiple layers of skirts and ruffles, which formed a particularly efficacious barrier in the tight confines of the hackney.
A man was attacking me with a wet handkerchief.
What if I arrange to be around Lord Akeldama during the full moon?” The earl looked daggers. “I am certain he would be extremely helpful in a fight. He could ruthlessly flatter all your attackers into abject submission.
Lord Maccon looked up. “Grovel, you say?” Lyall did not glance away from the latest vampire report he was perusing. “Grovel, my lord.
Uh, my lord, I am not actually food. You do realize this, yes?
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