“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 kissed her," he explained, aggrieved."Mmm, yes, I had the dubious pleasure of witnessing that, ah-hem, overly public occurrence." Lyall sharpened his pen nib, using a small copper blade that ejected from the end of his glassicals."Well! Why hasn't she done anything about it?" the Alpha wanted to know."You mean like whack you upside the noggin with that deadly parasol of hers? I would be cautious in that area if I were you.”

“Lady Maccon stopped suddenly. Her husband got four long strides ahead before he realized she had paused. She was starring thoughtfully up into the aether, twirling the deadly parasol about her head."I have just remembered something," Alexia said when he returned to her side."Oh, that explains everything. How foolish of me to think you could walk and remember at the same time.”

“Conall,” “Aye, Alexia?” He looked up at her. Was that fear in his caramel eyes? “I am going to take advantage of you,” she said”

“What the hell is that?" yelled Lord Maccon. He had turned to anger so swiftly; Alexia could only stare at him, speechless.She let out her pent-up breath in a whoosh. Her heart was beating a marathon somewhere in the region of her throat, her skin felt hot and stretched taut over her bones, and she was damp in places she was tolerably certain unmarried gentlewomen were not supposed to be damp in.Lord Maccon was glaring at her coffee-colored skin, discolored between the neck and shoulder region by an ugly purple mark, the size and shape of a man's teeth."that is a bite mark, my lord," she said.Lord Maccon was ever more enraged. "Who bit you?" he roared.Alexia tilted her head to one side in amazement. "You did." She was then treated to the spectacle of an Alpha werewolf looking downright hangdog."I did?"She raised both eyebrows at him."I did.”

“In this particular instance, he stroked her hand fondly. There was no attraction in the movement. "Sweetling," he had once said, "you are at no more risk with me in that regard than you are in danger of me unexpectedly biting you--both being equal impossibilities. In the one case, I do not possess the necessary equipment upon contact, in the other case you do not.”

“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!”