The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set by Gail Carriger Page A

spoke to Alexia in a conspiratorial whisper. “Men, they do so enjoy the hunt, do they not?”
    â€œIt is not the ability to kill that worries me. Quite the opposite,” said the duke softly.
    â€œIn which case it is you gentlemen who should avoid her and not I,” replied the countess slyly.
    Lord Ambrose laughed snidely at that remark.
    Miss Tarabotti narrowed her eyes. “
You
asked me to come here. I do not wish to be an imposition, and I will not be made to feel unwelcome.” She jerked her arm away,
sharp enough to break the countess’s grip, and turned to leave.
    â€œWait!” The hive queen’s voice was sharp.
    Miss Tarabotti continued moving toward the door. Fear made her throat tight. She comprehended what it must be like to be some
trapped furry creature in a reptilian den. She stopped when she found her way barred. Lord Ambrose had moved with a vampire’s
characteristic swiftness to prevent her departure. He sneered at her, tall and distressingly gorgeous. Alexia found she much
preferred Lord Maccon’s brand of largeness: gruff and a little scruffy round the edges.
    â€œRemove yourself from my path, sir!” hissed Miss Tarabotti, wishing she had brought her brass parasol. Why had she left it
behind? What this man seemed most in need of was a good sharp prod to the nether regions.
    Miss Dair stood and came over to her, all blond ring-lets and troubled blue eyes. “Please, Miss Tarabotti. Do not leave just
yet. It is only that their memories are longer than their tempers.” She gave Lord Ambrose an evil look. Taking Alexia solicitously
by the elbow, she led her firmly toward a chair.
    Miss Tarabotti acquiesced, sitting with a rustle of green and gray taffeta and feeling even more at a disadvantage until the
hive queen sat down across from her.
    Miss Dair rang the bell rope. The pretty violet-eyed maid appeared in the doorway. “Tea, please, Angelique.”
    The French maid vanished and moments later reappeared pushing a fully laden tea trolley, complete with cucumber sandwiches,
pickled gherkins, candied lemon peel, and Battenberg.
    Countess Nadasdy served the tea. Miss Tarabotti took hers with milk, Miss Dair took hers with lemon, and the vampires took
theirs with a dollop of blood, still warm and poured out of a crystal pitcher. Alexia tried not to think too hard about its
origin. Then the scientific part of her wondered what would happen if that jug contained preternatural blood. Would it be
toxic or just convert them to human state for a certain length of time?
    Alexia and Miss Dair helped themselves to food, but no one else in the room bothered to partake. Unlike Lord Akeldama, they
clearly did not appreciate the taste of food nor feel compelled by common courtesy to make a show of consuming it. Alexia
felt awkward eating while her hostess touched nothing, but she was not the type to ever be put off good food, and the tea,
like everything else in the hive house, was of the very highest quality. She refused to rush, sipping slowly from the exquisite
blue and white bone china cup and even asking for a second helping.
    Countess Nadasdy waited until Miss Tarabotti was halfway through a cucumber sandwich to reopen their conversation. They talked
on safe and banal subjects: a new play down the West End, the latest art exhibit, the fact that full moon was just around
the corner. Full moon was a regular holiday for working vampires, since were-wolves
had
to absent themselves.
    â€œI hear a new gentleman’s club has opened near the Snodgrove town house,” Miss Tarabotti offered, getting into the spirit
of the small talk.
    Countess Nadasdy laughed. “I understand the duchess is in high dudgeon. Apparently, it brings down the whole tenor of the
neighborhood. She should count her blessings; if you ask me, it could be decidedly worse.”
    â€œIt could be Boodles,” giggled Miss Dair, clearly thinking how embarrassing the duchess would find