She poked him in the center of his chest with two fingers to punctuate her words. “You are an unfeeling”—poke —“traitorous”—poke—“mistrusting”—poke—“rude”—poke —“booby!” Every poke turned him mortal, but Lord Maccon didn’t seem to mind it in the least. Instead he grabbed the hand that poked him and brought it to his lips. “You put it very well, my love.

She sifted, sighed, and stared up at the ceiling, trying to think about anything but Lord Maccoon, her current predicament, or Lord Akeldama's safety. Which meant she could do nothing but reflect on the complex plight of her mama's more recent embroidery project. Thins, in itself, was a worse torture than any her captors could devise.

It'll all end in tears and oil.

Why did you want to go and distract me like that? I was quite in my element and everything.' Conall laughed. 'Someone has to keep you off balance; otherwise you'll end up ruling the empire. Or at least ordering it into wretched submission.

I have died and gone to the land of bad novels.

But I don't want to be a vampire drone.' Sophronia winced. 'They'll suck my blood and make me wear only the very latest fashions.

You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.