For the moment, Biffy was left in sole possession of the child. His own heart warmed at his pack’s evident delight. Their Beta was back. My Beta is back. They are so free and happy with him.
Lyall looked quietly pleased by the attention. “Well, gentlemen, while I am happy to be home and delighted to see you all again, did your Alpha not just issue direct orders?” A gentle rebuke.
The drawing room was instantly less crowded as Adelphus, Quinn, and Rafe slapped top hats to their heads, twirled great coats about their massive shoulders, and dashed out into the cold December night.
Biffy nodded to his Beta, pleased to be acknowledged so directly. Then he resumed issuing orders, aware now that, with Lyall’s silent observation, the rest of the pack would obey instantly. He was unsure if he was happy with this swift change in attitude. It would be a sad kind of Alpha that required his Beta to chivvy his pack into the simplest tasks.
Biffy sent staff off about the house to retrieve warm milk (not ideal but better than nothing for now) and Zev to find a hatbox of appropriate size and shape to make up a temporary bassinet. They had a surfeit of hatboxes, given Biffy’s occupation.
The baby began to settle, thank heavens.
Biffy felt it safe to sit down as the little boy fell asleep, profoundly exhausted by his emotional display, no doubt.
Well, he should be – imagine making such a fuss amongst strangers.
Hemming came to sit next to him. “He’s much cuter when he’s not screaming.”
“They usually are.”
Phelan came around the back of the settee to look down as well. He loomed rather too much but couldn’t help it, poor fellow. Bit of a loomer, was Phelan. “What shall we call him? I mean, presumably he belongs to somebody and I’m sure they gave him some kind of name, but we should have a moniker in the interim.”
“Why? Won’t baby do?” Ulric seemed to deem it safe to come away from the corner he’d been keeping warm and the hat stand he’d been keeping company. He held himself, however, about as stiffly as the hat stand, as though the sleeping infant might suddenly lurch in his direction.
“How about Ulric the Second?” suggested Hemming, with a grin.
Zev had returned with a good-sized hat box and now had an arm around Lyall and was whispering something into the Beta’s ear. Biffy wasn’t sure how he felt about that kind of intimacy.
It seemed to be nothing significant to Lyall, as the Beta merely ruffled his friend’s hair and said, “I’m sure it’s fine. Stop worrying.”
Zev ducked his head. “I’m glad you’re home, Professor.”
“I’m glad to be home.” Lyall came over, stood a little apart from them all, and crinkled his eyes at them affectionately. “How about Robin? It being, you know, that time of year?”
“Robin?” said Biffy, stupidly.
“Like the bird.”
“I like it!” Hemming grinned. “What do you think, Robin?”
The baby cooed.
“There, see, he likes it, too.”
“There goes my legacy,” said Ulric, smiling for a change.
“Now, what do we do with Robin next?” Zev seemed worried. He liked plans. Biffy gave a little wince – poor Zev. It was hard to keep to any kind of plan with a baby around.
“Sing at it? One of the clavigers could sing? James has a rather fine tenor,” suggested Phelan. Biffy wondered, not for the first time, if Phelan missed his own talent in that arena. Well before Biffy was born, Phelan had been one of England’s most renowned basso profundos. Fortunately, giving it all up for immortality did not seem to have left him bitter, only arrogant.
Lyall glided closer to join them all clustered about the sleeping infant. “I think he’s fine where he is.”
His hazel eyes – still slightly crinkled in pleasure – were not on the child.
Biffy was not entirely sure a Beta should look with eyes like that at his Alpha. But he couldn’t deny how much he enjoyed the affectionate regard.
He lifted the little one up and nested him more securely in the crook of his arm.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Blessings of Fatherhood
Lyall could never have anticipated how blisteringly attractive he found a man coming over competent with a baby. Especially considering that he, Professor Lyall, while undoubtedly pack-minded, had never impressed anyone by being family-minded.
It was rather inconvenient, this surge of unwanted attraction, since he had concluded that Biffy had no interest in pursuing their previous dalliance. After all, the man hadn’t even touched him since he returned. He barely even looked at him.
Lyall was not stupid. He was perfectly capable of understanding unspoken messages. He was resolved to think no further on his Alpha in that way. It shouldn’t be all that difficult – what they’d had together was a mere comforting of bodies for a short time, many years ago (putting aside, of course, how hot it burned and how well they suited). But it turned out a man in only a thin white shirt with a baby to his chest might be a previously undiscovered lust object.
Odd, given I’m not particularly fond of babies, and old enough to have learned every one of my carnal preferences by now.
Lyall shook his head at himself and resolved to push the image out of his mind.
He retreated upstairs and began busily unpacking. He hadn’t much with him, only his trusty carpet bag with a few necessities. The bag was constructed of good Brussels carpeting and unquestionable workmanship. The vendor had claimed, when he bought it, it would last a lifetime. Human lifetime, one assumed, not werewolf. Ninety years and still going strong, and Professor Lyall had learned how to pack everything he needed in that bag and on his person. Of course, he had trunks with him from India and Egypt. If nothing else, he’d stocked up on gifts of fine fabrics, fabulous spices, and the occasional weapon or gadget for the truly discerning. He’d leave instructions with one of the clavigers for someone to visit the old pack house, come daylight, and retrieve them.
Zev offered him a rather undersized room. “I know it’s small, but it has the best view.” His old friend and pack mate wasn’t really concerned about the space – he knew Lyall’s tastes well. “Although, of course, any of us would switch, if you require it.” Unspoken was the acknowledgment of Lyall’s rank.
But Lyall was happy with the room. He didn’t need much space, being small himself (for a werewolf), and he preferred a pleasing view. This one looked out on Blackheath, and he could almost smell the mist rising in the morning air. Not that he saw mornings often. Daylight was never healthy for a werewolf, even when one was old enough and strong enough to withstand it. Still, he liked knowing it would happen and he could see it if he dared.
Unsaid was the fact that the room was adjacent to Biffy’s master suite. Lyall supposed the others either remembered previous intimacies, and this was tacit approval to resume them – sadly, no chance of a resurgence. Or it was simply the pack indicating that the Beta should be nearest the Alpha. Which wasn’t wrong.
I wonder if Biffy still has nightmares.
Feeling modestly settled, Lyall headed back downstairs. They still had an hour before dawn. Long winter nights. There he found that Adelphus and Quinn had returned.
The church had proved unhelpful.
“Apparently, the pastor has been having issues with a newly arrived Episcopal counter-service, whose members are noted for being rather unfriendly. His attention has been distracted from his flock as a result.” Quinn looked concerned by this as he reported it.
Adelphus added, “He tenders his profound apologies.”
Biffy looked up, eyes narrowed. “And something more?”
Good. He’s in tune with their mannerisms.
Adelphus looked pained. “And he suggests we attend one of his midnight services.”
Biffy nodded. “It’s not a bad idea. We should integrate better into the community if we did. Your thoughts, Professor?”
Such easy command. And still he doubts himself.