Lord Maccon looked up. “Grovel, you say?” Lyall did not glance away from the latest vampire report he was perusing. “Grovel, my lord.

You do realise modern social mores exist for a reason?" "I was hungry, allowances should be made.

The bowl landed, in glorious perfection, atop the head of Mrs Barnaclegoose, who was not the kind of woman to appreciate the finer points of being crowned by trifle.

A vampire, like a lady, never reveals his true age.

Why? I mean, why you? I can perfectly comprehend not liking my husband. I dislike him intensely most of the time.” Professor Lyall stifled a chuckle. “I am given to understand that he does not approve of spelling one’ s name with two ll’s. He finds it inexcusably Welsh. I suspect he may be quite taken with you, however.

You are about as covert as a sledgehammer.

Alexia, did you know there is an entire regiment decamping on your front lawn? Laddy Maccon sighed. "Really, Ivy, I would never have noticed.