"Wait here, I'll hire a taxi."

Marguerite blinked as Julius urged her to the side. While she had been gawking at him, he'd led them away from the service entrance. They were on the sidewalk, a little distance from the hotel and a line of taxis waited just ahead.

Irritated by her own fascination with him, she scowled and asked, "Do we really need a taxi? Surely, the hotel can't be more than ten minutes away on foot?"

They'd passed Claridge's on their way to the Dorchester that morning and she knew the hotels weren't far apart. It seemed silly to hire a taxi for such a short walk when it was a lovely night, the evening air retaining its warmth from the day.

"Ten minutes on foot, two by taxi," he acknowledged. "But the longer we're out here, the better the chance of being spotted and I'd prefer to avoid that." On that note he turned to walk to the first taxi in the line, Marcus on his heels.

"Father had nothing to do with the attack on you," Christian said, 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, she admitted, "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 had changed 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 uncomfortable-she might even go so far as to buy them. Marguerite smiled faintly, knowing herself well enough to acknowledge that she was as slow at change as she was at getting started in the morning. Even if she bought a pair of pants, she probably wouldn't feel comfortable wearing them for a good year or so, at least not in public. Maybe she could wear them around the house at first, though, and- "Marguerite!"

She whirled away from the window in surprise when Julius shouted her name. Marguerite saw the alarm on his face and turned to follow his gaze. Her own eyes widened as she saw the motorcycle roaring up the sidewalk, heading straight for her.

Marguerite instinctively plastered herself against the wall to get out of the way of the oncoming motorcycle. But she wasn't prepared when the passenger on the back of the bike shot his arm out, catching her purse as the motorcycle roared past.

The motorcycle immediately swerved back to the road. Julius leapt into the path of the bike, but they simply swerved, clipping him and sending him to the pavement as they shot up the street. Christian gave chase, but even an immortal couldn't outrun a motorcycle and he turned back after several car lengths to return to them.

"Are you all right?" Marguerite asked, hurrying to Julius's side as he got back to his feet.

"Yes," he muttered impatiently, brushing down the now dirty and torn pants of his expensive designer suit.

"I'm sorry, Marguerite. They got away from me," Christian said as he reached them.

"It doesn't matter. It's just a purse. I can replace everything," she said, waving the apology away and then glanced at Tiny. "I'll replace your phone too, Tiny."

"That's where it was," Tiny muttered. "I forgot you had it. I was going to call the office and check in while we were waiting for you to finish your bath and couldn't find my phone." He sighed and then shrugged. "Ah, well, at least you weren't hurt. Phones are replaceable and no one's going to panic if they don't get a call for a day or two."

Marguerite managed a guilty smile. She'd forgotten to charge her own phone the day before they'd left for London and had asked to borrow Tiny's mobile phone, intending to pay him back for the charge. But when she'd finished her call, she'd automatically dropped it in her purse.

"Do you think this was connected to the attacks?"

Marguerite glanced up as Christian asked the question and found him glancing up the street with worry.

When Julius merely shook his head to say he didn't know, Tiny commented, "I don't think so. They've had a rash of such purse snatches in London lately."

"They have?" Marguerite asked with surprise. "How do you know?"

"I watched the morning news show," he explained. "They had a big story on it. A woman was seriously injured yesterday when she was dragged behind the bike for a few feet before getting free of her purse strap. The police are supposed to be making catching these guys a priority."

"Just bad luck, then," Julius muttered, taking her arm and leading her toward the still waiting taxi. "You seem to be having a run of that."

"Or good luck," Marguerite countered. When he glanced at her in surprise, she shrugged. "Well, I woke up in time to avoid having my head cut off this morning, and I wasn't dragged by my purse strap just now. That seems more like good luck to me."

Julius smiled faintly at the words and seemed suddenly to relax as she stepped into the taxi.

Marguerite glanced around as she entered the vehicle. It was nothing like taxis in either Canada or America. Those were generally cars with a normal backseat. This vehicle had a high ceiling and seemed incredibly spacious with a wide cushioned bench seat at the back and, facing, two cushioned fold-down seats against the backing of the driver's front bench seat.

Marguerite bent at the waist, and actually walked to the backseat, settling herself in the far corner. Julius was immediately sitting beside her. She swallowed thickly as he squeezed up close to her side, then forced herself to watch Christian take the fold-down seat across from her. Marcus laid claim to the other, leaving Tiny to try to squeeze himself into what was left of the bench seat on the other side of Julius. It forced him to shift even closer to her. Marguerite took a deep breath to try to calm the sudden excitement leaping through her, and then let it quickly out as she found her nose filled with the spicy scent of his aftershave.

Not knowing what else to do, she turned her gaze out the window and tried to pretend she wasn't there. In truth, it was a good thing that the luggage wasn't there. The five of them and luggage would have been impossible, and she now understood why Julius had dumped it all on the twins.

As predicted the ride took all of two minutes, most of that due to traffic, and then they were spilling out onto the sidewalk in front of the hotel.

"Aren't you going to pay him?" Marguerite asked as Julius took her arm and urged her quickly into the lobby.

"I paid him quite handsomely just before your purse was snatched. Why do you think he waited for us?"

"Oh," Marguerite murmured, her gaze sliding over the elegantly cast lobby. Like the Dorchester, it was all rather magnificent and her gaze slid from the beautiful glass chandelier overhead, to the wide and beautiful staircase, and then to the black and white checkered marble floor at their feet.

"It's busy."

That comment from Marcus drew her attention away from the elegant surroundings and to the people lined up waiting to check in.

"There's no sense in all of us waiting," Christian pointed out. "Why don't the rest of you go on into The Foyer and relax while I check us in?"

"Someone has to wait here at the entrance for Dante and Tommaso," Julius said quietly.

"Marcus can do that," Christian volunteered. When the man nodded, his gaze then shifted to Tiny, and Marguerite got the strangest impression he was trying to think of a chore for him as well, but he was distracted when Julius held out a credit card.

"I booked the rooms on my card," Julius explained. "Make sure they give us at least three rooms with two single beds in each as I requested."

Nodding, Christian took the card and turned away.

"Shall we?" Julius asked, gesturing for Marguerite and Tiny to lead the way.

The Foyer was a restaurant on the main floor. Marguerite stopped at the entrance, her eyes wide as she peered over the glass room. The ceiling was a good eighteen feet high with a silver and glass chandelier at its center that could better be described as a piece of art. The restaurant was decorated in whites, clear glass, and muted silver, the tables all sporting a pale silver tablecloth and napkins. It was quite lovely and definitely a place where one was expected to arrive in the "proper attire."

Marguerite would be fine in the dark blue dress she'd put on after her bath, but- "Maybe I'll just go keep Marcus company while he waits for Dante and Tommaso," Tiny muttered, glancing uncomfortably down at the T-shirt and blue jeans he wore.

"Oh, I'm sure it's all right," Marguerite began with alarm, but he was already abandoning her. She stared after him with dismay and then glanced to Julius when he took her arm.

"He'll rejoin us as soon as Dante and Tommaso get here. They shouldn't be long," he said reassuringly and urged her forward.

The maitre d' was there the moment they stepped through the door. He greeted them and arranged for a table that would fit all seven of them when the rest of the men joined them. In the meantime, it was just the two of them at the huge table and she wasn't surprised when Julius took the seat next to hers.

Marguerite accepted the menu the maitre d' handed her, relieved at the distraction. She opened it and spent the next few minutes pretending to read the offerings to avoid her table mate, but finally had to set it down or make it obvious that she was trying to avoid talking to the man.

The moment she set it on the table, the maitre d' was at her side.

"Just tea, please," she murmured, managing a smile.

Julius ordered coffee, then asked for a plate of sandwiches, and she couldn't hide her surprise.

"You eat?"

"It's a recent habit I've picked up again," he said calmly, and then asked, "You?"

Marguerite shook her head at once and assured herself she wasn't lying. The sausage she'd pinched that morning was an aberration, she was sure. An uncomfortable moment of silence passed. She tried to think of something to talk about to fill it, but the only thing that came to mind was the case she was working on. That made her pause and raise her eyes back to him again. Julius was peering around the restaurant, so Marguerite wasted another few moments trying to read his mind, but again came up against a blank wall.

Sighing unhappily, she turned her own attention to the restaurant decor as well.

"Jean Claude Argeneau was your husband and lifemate."

Marguerite turned back, eyeing him uncertainly. It hadn't exactly been phrased as a question, but she treated it as such and answered, "No."

"No?" Julius frowned. "'No' what? You are Jean Claude Argeneau's widow."

"Yes, I am," she admitted. "But we were not lifemates. Just husband and wife."

Julius sat back in his seat, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he said cautiously, "I have never heard of two immortals who were not lifemates marrying and living together...happily."

"Neither have I," she assured him.

"It was an unhappy union, then?" he asked quietly.

Marguerite glanced away, her dissatisfied gaze sliding over the other patrons. She normally disliked talking about Jean Claude, her marriage, or anything having to do with the last seven hundred years of her life if it wasn't her children, but she found words she'd never said bubbling to her lips and trying to slip out. Keeping them in was actually causing a painful knot at the base of her throat. Finally, she blurted, "It was seven hundred years of hell."

Marguerite hesitated a moment and then finally glanced back to see how he was taking this revelation. His expression was unreadable. Mouth twisting wryly, she said, "You do not look surprised."

Julius shrugged. "As I said, I have never heard of two non-lifemates living together happily."

Marguerite nodded and glanced away from him again and then had a thought and glanced back. "Were you and Christian's mother lifemates?"

"Yes," he said solemnly.

"Oh." For some reason she found that news depressing, but forced her own feelings aside and said, "I realize it's very painful to lose a lifemate, and that it's probably difficult for you to talk about her, but Christian does have the right to know-"

"You've had a lifemate, then?"

Marguerite blinked at the interruption, thrown off her stride. Frowning, she admitted, "Well, no, but-"

"Never in seven hundred years?" he pressed.

Mouth tightening, she glanced away, muttering, "I fear, my life while married was rather...restricted."

A moment of silence passed and then he said, "You were born in England."

She glanced back with surprise. "Yes. I was born to a maid in a castle that was not far from London, actually."

"Was?" he asked with interest.

Marguerite shrugged. "It's gone now. Just rubble I should imagine."

"And is that where Jean Claude met you?"

She scowled. "I would really rather not talk about my life with Jean Claude. In fact, I do not wish to talk about myself at all. I am here in England to find your son's mother. You could help with that."

"I'm afraid I can't, actually. I suggest we agree not to talk about either subject. I will refrain from bringing up your husband, if you resist asking me about Christian's mother."

Marguerite was saved from having to respond by the arrival of a waiter. She found her gaze sliding over the plate of food with unaccustomed interest as he set it on the table. The small sandwiches looked and smelled delicious...and she didn't even eat. Though, she probably should, Marguerite thought suddenly. It would help her to build up her own blood until she was able to contact Bastien and ask him to forward the cooler of supplies on to her at Claridge's.

"Would you like one?" Julius asked, lifting the plate and holding it out to her as the waiter set his coffee on the table.

Marguerite raised a hand, about to reach for one of the sandwiches, but froze when she noticed the way he was watching her. Something about the expectant gleam in his eyes made her lower her hand and sit back in her seat.

"I do not eat," she repeated her earlier words. The sausage really didn't count. Normally, she didn't eat. In fact, she couldn't recall the last time she had before the stolen sausage that morning. But then she couldn't remember the last time she'd been without blood for this long either and suspected her hunger was getting confused.

Marguerite watched silently as he picked up one of the sandwiches and took a bite. Her mouth immediately began to water, and she thought perhaps she'd call down to room service when she got to her room and order something small...a sandwich maybe, to tide her over until the blood arrived.

"They're really quite good," Julius said. "You should try one."

"I-No, I really do not eat," Marguerite said stubbornly.

"We have lovely teacakes, if you'd rather something sweet," the waiter said as he set a small teapot and cup before her.

"No, thank you," Marguerite murmured.

Nodding, the waiter turned to leave, but paused as he found himself facing a newly arrived Dante and Tommaso. Marguerite had to bite her lip as the waiter's eyes widened on the pair. Truly, the twins were an awesome sight. Side by side they were a wall of black leather and threat, without even trying.

"Er..." the waiter said, his eyes shifting frantically from the pair to the table.