Page 72 of The Wolf Queen’s Curse

“Lenora always said she couldn’t trust Beatrice, but she kept her around because her greed is useful. We also gave her two very valuable pieces of information. False pieces, which make them valuable to us.”

“Indeed. If she decides to ingratiate herself with Beryl, she’ll send the cabal in the wrong direction, as we apparently went into Ireland chasing a wolf for Hamish.”

“And if she chooses to ingratiate herself with Hamish instead, she’ll tell him that I confessed we definitely plan to do as he says, which should set him at ease.” I look up at him as we cross the street. “I’ll wager on Hamish as her first stop. A chance to get in the good books of the Caledonian Pack, with all its virile werewolves.” I waggle my brows, and he laughs.

I add, “Perhaps we should introduce her to Rufus.”

That makes his laugh turn to a sputter.

I continue, “All he has to do is watch everything he says and does, or she’ll strip-mine it for resale. But he could plant some useful information in return.” I tap a finger to my lips. “Or maybe Julius is better suited to that.”

That makes him laugh loud enough to startle someone passing. “You do realize I’m going to tell them both that you offered their ‘services’ to a middle-aged witch.”

I rap his arm. “None of that. She’s not much older than Rufus. It isn’t her fault she doesn’t have a werewolf’s slow aging.” I purse my lips. “I probably don’t either. I’ll age much faster than you.”

“I hadn’t considered that.” He sighs. “Well, you are five years younger, so we probably have a good decade or so before I need to ask for a divorce.”

I rap his arm harder, and he smiles down at me.

“That is truly the least of my concerns,” he says.

“And what is the greatest of your concerns?”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “That I heard your stomach growling and realized, in my attempt to give you a pretty ladies’ luncheon, you didn’t get enough to eat.”

“That is indeed a grave concern. Grounds for divorce, I believe.” I tighten my grip on his arm. “I presume the hotel can deliver tea?”

“It can, though I was going to offer you a choice again. Do you want to go out for tea and then have dinner in? It will be our last chance for me to take you someplace nice for dinner, but once we do get in bed, we seem reluctant to leave it.”

“I have noticed that. While I would not mind a fancy dinner out, I know I will regret the decision when it is dinner hour and I need to rise and dress. So tea out and dinner in.”

I look over at him. “Can I tell you what a delight it is to be with someone who keeps track of my meals and whether I have had enough to eat? That is such a hardship when others seem quite content to skip entire meals or simply ‘grab a bite.’”

“Savages.”

“I thought so.”

“You don’t need to worry about that around werewolves. We keep very good track of meals, because if we were ever forced to ‘grab a bite,’ it would not go well for anyone nearby.”

I laugh, and we continue on to tea.

We have a hearty tea. While Bishop appeared inclined to take me to another pretty place, full of proper ladies, he seemed to realize that he would be repeating the same mistake. Not that lunch was a mistake. I very much enjoyed it. After that light repast, though, I need something more substantial, and so we find a spot frequented by the middle class, with enough men that the menu contains sturdier fare.

After tea, we head to the hotel. It’s small and not as sumptuous as the one in Leeds, though it’s in a very good neighborhood. What matters to me is that we will have a night alone in a bed with no werewolves nearby to overhear any cries of passion.

The lobby is well appointed, if tiny, and the staff is attentive, and they promise a fine dinner brought to our room at eight. In other words, I have just decided this will do very well when we reach our top floor, and I discover our room is the top floor.

“We have no neighbors,” I say.

“We do not. It is a very small hotel. There are two rooms on the floor below. I have reserved both.” He leans toward me. “As a buffer.”

I grin.

“I thought you might like that,” he says. “It’s quite tedious needing to worry about being overheard. With wolves, I don’t mind so much—they can’t help but hear. Humans are a different matter.”

He scoops me up to carry me over the threshold again, and we find ourselves in a lovely living room with a fire already lit in the hearth and a bottle of brandy on the table, alongside glasses and a hamper of food.

“Julius did not do this,” Bishop says.