drawing her attention his way. “The first one I mean, when the man tried to cut off your head. Or the guy you spotted on the terrace,” he added and then his lips twisted. “As for his dragging Tiny out of bed, that was just…a misunderstanding.”
Marguerite raised her eyebrows at the younger immortal. It seemed important to him that she not think badly of his father and she had to wonder why he cared.
“Of course, I don’t blame you for thinking that, if you did. Even I wasn’t positive at first, but…” His eyebrows drew together and he shook his head. “My father doesn’t do sneak attacks. He has too much honor. His first approach would have been a face-to-face meeting to try to threaten you into leaving. In fact, that was probably his original intent when he went looking for you in your room.”
Marguerite nodded solemnly, accepting his words. She wasn’t sure if she agreed, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. “Why is he coming with us?”
“The attack upset him,” Christian said with quiet assurance. “It’s made him reconsider some things. I will explain everything at the new hotel, but the good news is, we can continue the investigation to find my mother without his interference. I know you’ll succeed.”
Marguerite wrinkled her nose. Obviously, Christian had more faith in her abilities than she did. Sighing, sheadmitted, “Christian, I’m not at all sure we can help you any more than your previous detectives…unless you know something more that might help us?”
He shook his head regretfully. “I’ve told you everything I know. I was born in England in 1491. That’s it.”
“That’s all you think you know,” Tiny said, joining the conversation. “You might be surprised at what else you know that might be useful.” He let the man absorb that and then said, “We’ll talk more when we get to Claridge’s.”
Christian nodded and then asked him curiously, “How did you end up in the detective business?”
Marguerite listened absently to the deep rumble of Tiny’s voice as he responded. She already knew the answer to the question and found her attention drifting to where Julius leaned in the window of the first taxi in line, talking to the driver. Realizing that she was standing there staring at the curve of his perfect behind that his dress pants seemed to emphasize, Marguerite forced her gaze away and turned to the store window behind them, but it only displayed shoes, hardly very interesting.
Resisting the temptation to just peek back over her shoulder at Julius, she moved on to the next window instead. Marguerite’s eyes brightened as they fell on a cute little outfit in the center of the next display. Leaving the quietly talking men, she moved closer to get a better look.
Marguerite had spent nearly seven hundred years of her life in nothing but dresses. For most of her life, women hadn’t been allowed to wear anything but gowns and usually long ones. Of course, fashion hadchanged this last century. Women now wore pants all the time.
However, Marguerite hadn’t yet. She tended to wear more modern dresses or skirt and blouse sets. Jean Claude had always insisted on that. Now that her husband was dead, she was considering changing that and had gone as far as trying on ladies’ pants in dressing rooms, but everything she’d tried on felt restricting and uncomfortable in comparison to dresses. She was used to having her legs naked under a skirt, the evening breeze caressing them. She was not used to having them encased in a heavy material that made her feel like a sausage.
These pants, however, looked like they might be more comfortable. The legs were flared and she suspected would look very like a long black skirt when she wasn’t moving. They shouldn’t feel quite as restrictive as the more fitted jeans and dress pants she’d tried previous to this.
Marguerite nodded. She’d come by and try them on before she left England and—if they weren’t too
Marguerite raised her eyebrows at the younger immortal. It seemed important to him that she not think badly of his father and she had to wonder why he cared.
“Of course, I don’t blame you for thinking that, if you did. Even I wasn’t positive at first, but…” His eyebrows drew together and he shook his head. “My father doesn’t do sneak attacks. He has too much honor. His first approach would have been a face-to-face meeting to try to threaten you into leaving. In fact, that was probably his original intent when he went looking for you in your room.”
Marguerite nodded solemnly, accepting his words. She wasn’t sure if she agreed, but she wasn’t going to argue the point. “Why is he coming with us?”
“The attack upset him,” Christian said with quiet assurance. “It’s made him reconsider some things. I will explain everything at the new hotel, but the good news is, we can continue the investigation to find my mother without his interference. I know you’ll succeed.”
Marguerite wrinkled her nose. Obviously, Christian had more faith in her abilities than she did. Sighing, sheadmitted, “Christian, I’m not at all sure we can help you any more than your previous detectives…unless you know something more that might help us?”
He shook his head regretfully. “I’ve told you everything I know. I was born in England in 1491. That’s it.”
“That’s all you think you know,” Tiny said, joining the conversation. “You might be surprised at what else you know that might be useful.” He let the man absorb that and then said, “We’ll talk more when we get to Claridge’s.”
Christian nodded and then asked him curiously, “How did you end up in the detective business?”
Marguerite listened absently to the deep rumble of Tiny’s voice as he responded. She already knew the answer to the question and found her attention drifting to where Julius leaned in the window of the first taxi in line, talking to the driver. Realizing that she was standing there staring at the curve of his perfect behind that his dress pants seemed to emphasize, Marguerite forced her gaze away and turned to the store window behind them, but it only displayed shoes, hardly very interesting.
Resisting the temptation to just peek back over her shoulder at Julius, she moved on to the next window instead. Marguerite’s eyes brightened as they fell on a cute little outfit in the center of the next display. Leaving the quietly talking men, she moved closer to get a better look.
Marguerite had spent nearly seven hundred years of her life in nothing but dresses. For most of her life, women hadn’t been allowed to wear anything but gowns and usually long ones. Of course, fashion hadchanged this last century. Women now wore pants all the time.
However, Marguerite hadn’t yet. She tended to wear more modern dresses or skirt and blouse sets. Jean Claude had always insisted on that. Now that her husband was dead, she was considering changing that and had gone as far as trying on ladies’ pants in dressing rooms, but everything she’d tried on felt restricting and uncomfortable in comparison to dresses. She was used to having her legs naked under a skirt, the evening breeze caressing them. She was not used to having them encased in a heavy material that made her feel like a sausage.
These pants, however, looked like they might be more comfortable. The legs were flared and she suspected would look very like a long black skirt when she wasn’t moving. They shouldn’t feel quite as restrictive as the more fitted jeans and dress pants she’d tried previous to this.
Marguerite nodded. She’d come by and try them on before she left England and—if they weren’t too
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