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I take them from him. Putting the handless one on is easier than the other, since I need an assist from my mouth. I’m wearing lipstick and I don’t want to get it on the fabric.
Nathan steps in to help without a word. “When you need me, ask. I’m here for you.”
Will wonders never cease?
“The Marquess Dubois and his wife, Lady Hargrave,” a werewolf in some kind of military dress tells Nathan and me. There’s a majordomo announcing guests properly as they arrive, but we’re stationed in the receiving room where there’s no need for anyone to shout at us. Wyrding House doesn’t have a throne room, due to a spat that goes back to the Medieval period and an arrangement with the human English monarchy meant to soothe their threatened egos.
Or, so Harriet has led us to understand.
The Marquess and his wife bow and curtsey to us, and I have to ask, “I’ve never met a Marquess before. Is that a pack title or one you acquired in the human world?”
The moment I ask it, I sense a shift in the interaction. The man draws himself up a little straighter, and his mate’s smile becomes tight.
“I’m sorry, have I committed a faux pas?” I ask, and the woman, a short, beige-complected sprite, shakes her bobbed curls emphatically.
Because who is going to tell a queen she’s done something wrong?
“It’s a title connected to my family’s land,” Dubois informs me, his boiled-chicken face still bearing the faintest traces of contempt that he can’t conceal. “Granted by the human king Charles the second, but still prized as a unique bond between werewolf and human nobility.”
“How impressive.” I hope I don’t sound sarcastic.
“Thank you for coming,” Nathan says smoothly. “Your support means so much to me.”
They move on and I give Nathan an awkward, apologetic wince.
“Daniel Rayner,” the werewolf beside Nathan says, but Nathan has already recognized the man and is striding across the room to him.
“Dan! It’s been ages.” Nathan is so pleased to see the gentleman that he throws his arms around him in an aggressively friendly hug. Daniel returns it, slapping Nathan on the back heartily.
“Too long,” Daniel agrees. “Far too long.”
Nathan turns and gestures to me to come join them. “And this is my mate, Bailey.”
“Nathan Frost, mated,” Daniel says, a brilliant smile flashing across his light-brown face as he reaches for my hand. He bends to brush a kiss over my knuckles and yeah, maybe I swoon a little bit. His stubbly jaw is nearly as sharp and square as Nathan’s, his dark eyes as warm as Nathan’s are cold. Those warm eyes rake over me in a way that would probably get any other man escorted off the property, but Nathan just gives him a warning nudge with his elbow.
“Keep your filthy thoughts off my wife,” Nathan warns with a nervous laugh.
“You needed to speak to me about something?” Dan says, lowering his voice a little. “Is now a good time or are you still ‘receiving’?”
“Now is fine.” Nathan calls over to the werewolf who’s been making introductions, “Give us ten minutes.”
We go to an almost claustrophobically small sitting room, seemingly designed for court intrigue, and Nathan lays it out plainly.
“The thralls did something to Bailey and me. They worked magic against us without our knowledge.”
I question the wisdom of his bluntness, but Nathan isn’t a fool. He must trust this Dan very much.
“Do you have proof for me to take to the council?” Daniel asks.
Nathan shakes his head. “I have no proof. That’s the issue.”
“Ah.” Daniel slips his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “You know I stopped associating with that crowd a long time ago.”
What crowd? Thralls? I’m in over my head.
“I can’t go to a thrall with this. We don’t know who worked the magic or why. You know they’re more loyal to their own kind than they are to us,” Nathan says. “And you know I never believed you stopped associating with magicians.”
Magicians? That completely blows my mind.
“I’m sorry,” I break in. “Are there magic users who aren’t thralls?”
“There are,” Nathan confirms. “And I’m sure Daniel can think of someone who can help us.”
“I can, if you promise you’re not going to roar off in a car with the royal flags on the front and draw attention to yourself.” Daniel sighs in resignation. “You’ll need to look and act the part. And not act like a dick, Nathan.” To me, Daniel says, “Not you. I’m sure you’re lovely.”
“She can be,” Nathan says. “What’s this person’s name? Where do we find them?”
“His name is Jonah, and he owns a club called The Underground. Definitely a different class of human down there than what you’ll run into in St. James. You’re going to need disguises.”
“Can you arrange that?” Nathan asks.
“And a car,” Daniel confirms with a nod. “I’ll have it covered.”
