The Parasol Protectorate Boxed Set by Gail Carriger Page B

country squires hanging
about all day and night.
    The duke added, “Or scandal of scandals, it could be Claret’s.” He named the gentleman’s club that catered to werewolves.
    The vampires all laughed uproariously at that. It was creepy in its lack of decorum.
    Miss Tarabotti decided in an instant that she did not like the Duke of Hematol one jot.
    â€œSpeaking of the Duchess Snodgrove.” The hive queen segued in a slithery fashion onto the subject she had really summoned
Alexia in to discuss. “What was it that happened during her ball the night before last, Miss Tarabotti?”
    Alexia put her teacup down carefully into its saucer, then set both onto the tea trolley with a faint clatter. “The papers
described it accurately enough.”
    â€œExcept that you were not named in any of them,” said Lord Ambrose.
    â€œAnd there was also no mention of the deceased young man being supernatural,” added Dr. Caedes.
    â€œAnd no reference to the fact that you had executed the killing blow.” Countess Nadasdy sat back, a faint smile on her round
pleasant face. The smile did not sit well there, not with the four fangs and the little dents they left in those full shepherdess
lips.
    Miss Tarabotti crossed her arms. “You seem well informed. Why do you need me here?”
    No one said anything.
    â€œIt was an accident,” grumbled Alexia, relaxing her defensive posture. She took a bite of Battenberg without really tasting
it. It was an insult to the little cake, for it was usually good and worth appreciating: thick sponge with homemade marmalade
and crystallized almond paste on the outside. This sponge seemed dry and the almond paste gritty.
    â€œIt was a very tidy stake to the heart,” corrected Dr. Caedes.
    Alexia went immediately on the defensive. “Too tidy: he barely bled. Do not blindside me with accusations, venerable ones.
I
did not drive him to starvation.” No sane person would ever describe Miss Tarabotti as a shrinking violet. When attacked,
she fought back with interest. It could have been the result of her preternatural state; then again, it could simply be a
ridiculously stubborn disposition. She spoke decidedly, as though to a sulking child. “That vampire was suffering from serious
hive neglect.
    He had not even been trained out of larvae stage well enough to recognize me for what I clearly am.” If Alexia had been sitting
close enough, she probably would have prodded the queen with a sharp finger to the sternum.
Scratch me,
Alexia thought.
I’d like to see her try!
She contented herself with frowning fiercely.
    Countess Nadasdy looked taken aback, not having anticipated such a shift. “He was not one of mine!” she said defensively.
    Miss Tarabotti stood, back straight, glad for once that she had an assertive figure: tall enough to tower over every one but
Lord Ambrose and Dr. Caedes. “Why do you play these games with me, venerable one? Lord Maccon said he could smell your bloodline
in that dead boy. He
must
have been metamorphosed by you or one of your get. You’ve no right to pin
your
carelessness and inability to safeguard your own interests upon me, especially when I only acted in self-defense.” She held
up a hand to forestall interruption. “True, I have better defensive mechanisms than most daylight folk, but
I
am not the one being careless with hive blood.”
    Lord Ambrose hissed, his fangs fully extended, “You go too far, Soulless.”
    Miss Dair stood, one hand raised to her mouth in shock at such indelicate behavior. Her big blue eyes were wide and shifted
between Alexia and Countess Nadasdy like those of a frightened rabbit.
    Miss Tarabotti ignored Lord Ambrose, which was difficult, as her skin was prickling in reaction, and the prey part of her
brain wanted desperately to run and hide behind the chaise lounge. She forced down the instinct. It was preternaturals who
hunted vampires, not the