Flesh And Blood: House of Comarre: Book Two (House of Comarre 2) Painter, Kristen (historical books to read txt) 📖

moons and running far and fast, if she’d had a soul. Instead it caused her to sigh in exasperation and sit up.

‘And a good evening to you, too, Lord Maccon. Lovely weather we are having for this time of year, is it not?’ She patted at her hair, which was threatening to fall down without the hair stick in its proper place. Surreptitiously, she looked about for Lord Conall Maccon’s second in command, Professor Lyall. Lord Maccon tended to maintain a much calmer temper when his Beta was present. But, then, as Alexia had come to comprehend, that appeared to be the main role of a Beta – especially one attached to Lord Maccon.

‘Ah, Professor Lyall, how nice to see you again.’ She smiled in relief.

Professor Lyall, the Beta in question, was a slight, sandy-haired gentleman of indeterminate age and pleasant disposition, as agreeable, in fact, as his Alpha was sour. He grinned at her and doffed his hat, which was of first-class design and sensible material. His cravat was similarly subtle, for, while it was tied expertly, the knot was a humble one.

‘Miss Tarabotti, how delicious to find ourselves in your company once more.’ His voice was soft and mild-mannered.

‘Stop humoring her, Randolph,’ barked Lord Maccon. The fourth Earl of Woolsey was much larger than Professor Lyall and in possession of a near-permanent frown. Or at least he always seemed to be frowning when he was in the presence of Miss Alexia Tarabotti, ever since the hedgehog incident (which really, honestly, had not been her fault). He also had unreasonably pretty tawny eyes, mahogany-colored hair, and a particularly nice nose. The eyes were currently glaring at Alexia from a shockingly intimate distance.

‘Why is it, Miss Tarabotti, every time I have to clean up a mess in a library, you just happen to be in the middle of it?’ the earl demanded of her.

Alexia gave him a withering look and brushed down the front of her green taffeta gown, checking for bloodstains.

Lord Maccon appreciatively watched her do it. Miss Tarabotti might examine her face in the mirror each morning with a large degree of censure, but there was nothing at all wrong with her figure. He would have to have had far less soul and a good fewer urges not to notice that appetizing fact. Of course, she always went and spoiled the appeal by opening her mouth. In his humble experience, the world had yet to produce a more vexingly verbose female.

‘Lovely but unnecessary,’ he said, indicating her efforts to brush away nonexistent blood drops.

Alexia reminded herself that Lord Maccon and his kind were only just civilized. One simply could not expect too much from them, especially under delicate circumstances such as these. Of course, that failed to explain Professor Lyall, who was always utterly urbane. She glanced with appreciation in the professor’s direction.

Lord Maccon’s frown intensified.

Miss Tarabotti considered that the lack of civilized behavior might be the sole provenance of Lord Maccon. Rumor had it, he had only lived in London a comparatively short while – and he had relocated from Scotland of all barbaric places.

The professor coughed delicately to get his Alpha’s attention. The earl’s yellow gaze focused on him with such intensity it should have actually burned. ‘Aye?’

Professor Lyall was crouched over the vampire, examining the hair stick with interest. He was poking about the wound, a spotless white lawn handkerchief wrapped around his hand.

‘Very little mess, actually. Almost complete lack of blood spatter.’ He leaned forward and sniffed. ‘Definitely West minster,’ he stated.

The Earl of Woolsey seemed to understand. He turned his piercing gaze onto the dead vampire. ‘He must have been very hungry.’

Professor Lyall turned the body over. ‘What happened here?’ He took out a small set of wooden tweezers from the pocket of his waistcoat and picked at the back of the vampire’s trousers. He paused, rummaged about in his coat pockets, and produced a diminutive leather case. He clicked it open and removed a most bizarre pair of gogglelike things. They were gold in color with multiple lenses on one side, between which there appeared to be some kind of liquid. The contraption was also riddled with small knobs and dials. Professor Lyall propped the ridiculous things onto his nose and bent back over the vampire, twiddling at the dials expertly.

‘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, spectoculars?’

The earl snorted his amusement and then tried to pretend he hadn’t. ‘How about glassicals?’ he suggested, apparently unable to resist a contribution. There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it that Alexia found rather unsettling.

Professor Lyall looked up from his examination and glared at the both of them. His right eye was hideously magnified. It was quite gruesome and made Alexia start involuntarily.

‘These are my monocular cross-magnification lenses with spectra-modifier attachment, and they are invaluable. I will thank you not to mock them so openly.’ He turned once more to the task at hand.

‘Oh.’ Miss Tarabotti was suitably impressed. ‘How do they work?’ she inquired.

Professor Lyall looked back up at her, suddenly animated. ‘Well, you see, it is really quite interesting. By turning this little knob here, you can change the distance between the two panes of glass here, allowing the liquid to—’

The earl’s groan interrupted him. ‘Don’t get him started, Miss Tarabotti, or we will be here all night.’

Looking slightly crestfallen, Professor Lyall turned back to the dead vampire. ‘Now, what is this substance all over his clothing?’

His boss, preferring the direct approach, resumed his frown and looked accusingly at Alexia. ‘What on God’s green earth is that muck?’

Miss Tarabotti said, ‘Ah. Sadly, treacle tart. A tragic loss, I daresay.’ Her stomach chose that moment to growl in agreement. She would have colored gracefully with embarrassment had she not possessed the complexion of one of those ‘heathen Italians,’ as her mother said,