“You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.”

“The Gamma paused. “You have a crazed werewolf in your wine cellar?” “You can think of a better place to stash him?” “What about the wine?”

“I may be a werewolf and Scottish, but despite what you may have read about both, we are not cads!”

“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.”

“As to your sister, she is quite a peach, is she not? You have been hiding her from me.” Lady Maccon would not be goaded. “Really, Channing, she is practically”—she paused to do some calculations—“one-twentieth your age. Or worse. Don’t you want some maturity in your life?” “Good God, no!” “Well, how about some human decency?” “Now you’re just being insulting.” Alexia huffed in amusement. Channing raised blond eyebrows at her, handsome devil that he was. “Ah, but this is what I enjoy so much about immortality. The decades may pass for me, but the ladies, well, they will keep coming along all young and beautiful, now, won’t they?” “Channing, someone should lock you away.” “Now, Lady Maccon, that transpires tomorrow night, remember?”

“Lady Maccon.” “By George, Boots! How the deuce can you possibly tell that there is Lady Maccon?” queried the other top-hated gentleman. “Who else would be standing in the middle of a street on full-moon night with a raging ruddy fire behind her, waving a parasol about?” “Good point, good point.”

“Rail is such an undignified way to travel. All that rapid racing about. Floating has so much more gravitas.”