The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set Read Free

hand.
    â€œOh.” 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, 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.)
Alexia refused to apologize for the boisterousness of her stomach and favored Lord Maccon with a defiant glare. Her stomach
was the reason she had sneaked away in the first place. Her mama had assured her there would be food at the ball. Yet all
that appeared on offer when they arrived was a bowl of punch and some sadly wilted water-cress. Never one to let her stomach
get the better of her, Alexia had ordered tea from the butler and retreated to the library. Since she normally spent any ball
lurking on the outskirts of the dance floor trying to look as though she did not want to be asked to waltz, tea was a welcome
alternative. It was rude to order refreshments from someone else’s staff, but when one was promised sandwiches and there was
nothing but watercress, well, one must simply take matters into one’s own hands!
    Professor Lyall, kindhearted soul that he was, prattled on to no one in particular, pretending not to notice the rumbling
of her stomach. Though of course he heard it. He had excellent hearing.
They
all did. He looked up from his examinations, his face all catawampus from the glassicals. “Starvation would explain why the
vampire was desperate enough to try for Miss Tarabotti at a ball, rather than taking to the slums like the smart ones do when
they get this bad.”
    Alexia grimaced. “No associated hive either.”
    Lord Maccon arched one black eyebrow, professing not to be impressed. “How could
you
possibly know
that
?”
    Professor Lyall explained for both of them. “No need to be so direct with the young lady. A hive queen would never have let
one of her brood get into such a famished condition. We must have a rove on our hands, one completely without ties to the
local hive.”
    Alexia stood up, revealing to Lord Maccon that she had arranged her faint to rest comfortably against a fallen settee pillow.
He grinned and then quickly hid it behind a frown when she looked at him suspiciously.
    â€œI have a different theory.” She gestured to the vampire’s clothing. “Badly tied cravat and a cheap shirt? No hive worth its
salt would let a larva like that out without dressing him properly for public appearance. I am surprised he was not stopped
at the front entrance. The duchess’s footman really ought to have spotted a cravat like
that
prior to the reception line and forcibly ejected the wearer. I suppose good staff is hard to come by with all the best ones
becoming drones these days, but such a shirt!”
    The Earl of Woolsey glared at her. “Cheap clothing is no excuse for killing a man.”
    â€œMmm, that’s what you say.” Alexia evaluated Lord Maccon’s