Marguerite tapped her foot restlessly to the loud and lively music, her gaze moving enviously over the people having a good time on the dance floor. She'd thought that a night off after three weeks of slogging through archives would be a welcome and relaxing change. She'd thought wrong. It was boring as hell and she placed the blame squarely on the men surrounding her.

Her irritable glance slid over Tiny and the five immortals with displeasure.

Since none of them were familiar with London, they hadn't known where to go to find the immortal night club they knew must be somewhere in the city. They'd been forced to resort to the mortal clubs. After half an hour and one club, Marguerite was ready to call it a night.

Her eyes moved over the men again, a little unhappy sigh sliding from her lips. Marguerite hadn't, at first been uncomfortable or upset to find herself a lone female with six good-looking men. No, she'd thought it would be fun. Ha! Had she got that wrong. Truly, she'd never met such a group of stick-in-the-muds in her life. The music was too loud to allow talking, which would have been fine but when Marguerite had announced a desire to dance and headed out on the dance floor, she'd found herself enclosed in a circle as the men surrounded her. Even that wouldn't have bothered her had they danced, but they hadn't. Instead they'd stood facing into the circle, arms crossed as they watched her dance... including Tiny. They had been a living breathing wall of men watching her with grim determination.

Marguerite had lasted perhaps two minutes on the dance floor before self-consciousness had made her give up and head back to the table with exasperation. Since then she'd simply sat tapping her foot restlessly to the music, wishing she could join the dancers, but knowing it would just be a repeat of the protective circle scenario.

Marguerite gave another unhappy little sigh, and then glanced to Julius when he touched her arm. She watched his lips move, but even with an immortal's extra-sensitive hearing, she couldn't hear his words over the music blaring at them.

Seeming to realize the problem, Julius made a gesture with his hand, and then pointed them toward the door. Apparently he had noticed her boredom and was asking if she wanted to leave, she realized with relief and nodded at once. When she and Julius stood, the other men immediately followed suit and moved to form a circle around them as they moved toward the exit.

With the wall of men around her, the only way Marguerite knew they'd left the club was because the music was abruptly cut off and the temperature had risen from the cooler air-conditioned interior of the club to the warmer evening air. Julius urged them all several feet to the side of the entrance before coming to a halt. Marguerite immediately turned to tell him she thought they may as well give up on the idea of a relaxing night out and return to the hotel, but paused when he pulled out his cell phone and began to push buttons.

Closing her mouth, she moved a few feet away to give him privacy for the call, scowling at the others when the five of them also left Julius behind and moved with her, retaining their protective circle.

They were worse than her sons, Marguerite decided and turned to Julius with relief when he'd finished his call and rejoined them.

He moved through the circle of men to her side to announce, "I called Vita, and she told me where the immortal night club is."

"Vita is our aunt," Dante informed her.

"She's always spent a lot of time in England," Tommaso added. "If anyone would know, she's the one."

Marguerite nodded, recalling the name of the woman running the family business while Julius and Marcus were away. Her eyes followed Julius as he slipped away to approach a line of taxis parked a bit up the road as she murmured, "I'm surprised you haven't been here before and didn't know yourselves."

Dante shrugged. "We've never had any call to come to England until now."

"And we'd hardly come for pleasure. It's supposed to rain a lot here," Thomas added with a shudder.

"Julius didn't encourage them to visit England," Marcus explained.

"Hmm." Christian nodded. "I never really considered his hatred of the country as important until I found out it was where I was born."

They were all silent for a moment, then Dante asked curiously, "You were born and raised here, weren't you Marguerite? I'm surprised you don't know where one is."

Marguerite smiled faintly. "We moved out several centuries ago and never returned. Jean Claude didn't much like England either. He thought it was too damp, too gray, and too boring." She shrugged. "As far as I know they didn't have immortal night clubs back then. Although my niece and her friend Mirabeau have mentioned an immortal night club in London, but as I didn't expect to have the time to go to one, I didn't ask for the address."

A sharp whistle made them glance along the sidewalk to see Julius holding open the door of a taxi and waving them over.

"I hired these first two taxis," Julius announced as they approached. "We'll split up, three in one, four in the other. Marguerite you're with me in this one. The rest of you pick your ride."

Marguerite managed not to scowl at the command. After all, Christian had already warned her that his father intended to stay close to her so long as she was on this case and under threat. She should really be grateful he was looking out for her, she supposed, but found that after seven hundred years of Jean Claude's less than dazzling attention, it felt uncomfortable to be looked after. Still, she managed to force a thank-you as Julius handed her into the cab. She settled on the bench seat and soon found Julius joining her. Tiny and Christian took the fold-down seats, leaving Marcus to join the twins in the second taxi.

The moment the taxi pulled out onto the road, Marguerite turned her head to peer out the window. However, rather than watch the passing buildings and traffic as she'd intended, she found herself instead fascinated by watching the reflection in the glass of the men in the cab. Christian was making odd faces and gestures at his father that she thought were about her, though she couldn't fathom what he was trying to tell him. Apparently, Julius couldn't tell either, he was staring at the younger man with a blank expression. Tiny was watching the whole thing with an obvious curiosity the two immortals didn't notice.

Marguerite was distracted from the pantomime when the taxi pulled to the curb and stopped. Glancing around, she saw that they were in front of what appeared to be a private residence. There were no signs to advertise the address as anything other than just another townhouse squeezed between two others.

Marguerite stepped out of the taxi to find the men once again crowding around her and sighed with exasperation. "I should be safe enough here."

"It was an immortal who attacked you, Marguerite," Julius pointed out. "If anything, we will have to be more vigilant here, and then careful that we are not followed on the way back. You were probably safer at the mortal club."

She glanced at him curiously. "Then why did you bring us here?"

"Because you were not having a good time," he said simply and urged her toward the entrance ahead of them.

Marguerite moved forward under his urging, her mind distracted with what he'd said. Despite the fact that the men would have to be more vigilant and remain on the alert, he'd brought her here because she hadn't been having a good time and he--presumably--thought she might enjoy herself more here. Her mind was having trouble accepting the claim, her thoughts running around in confusion looking for the motive behind the seeming kindness. Her husband, Jean Claude had never done anything nice without a motive behind it, or something he wished to gain from it.

They reached the door and it was promptly opened by a man even taller than any of the ones accompanying her. It wasn't his height or size that caught and held her attention, however, but the twelve-inch green Mohawk he sported on his head and the dozens of piercings in his face. The man was a living porcupine of silver and green.

"This is a private club," he growled.

Marguerite could feel Julius bristling beside her, but before he could say anything, a soft chuckle slid from her lips. When the Mohawk man turned his scowl on her, she grinned and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I've just realized you must be G.G. Mirabeau was telling me about you."

His scowl immediately disappeared, rolled under by the waves of a wide smile. "You know Mirabeau?"

"She's a dear friend to my daughter, and niece and nephew," Marguerite said with a nod.

His eyes narrowed on her speculatively, and then he asked, "Marguerite?"

She nodded, eyes widening when he suddenly let loose a loud roar and grabbed her up in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground.

"Welcome!" he roared jovially as he set her back on the ground. He then drew her arm through his in an almost courtly fashion and turned toward the door. "Mirabeau and Jeanne Louise were here just a couple weeks ago."

"Yes, I know. That's how you came up in topic. The girls were at my home to have lunch with me and my daughter and began talking about the trip. Jeanne Louise didn't want to bother including England in the excursion, but Mirabeau was insisting she had to bring her to meet you," she explained, glancing over her shoulder to see that the men were hard on her heels with varying expressions ranging from Tiny's amusement to Julius's disgruntled look.

"I'm worth the trip," G.G. announced, drawing her gaze back around as he led her up a long hall. "Jeanne Louise had a good time here."

"I'm sure she did." Marguerite patted his tattooed arm.

"And you will have a good time too," G.G. assured her. "I will be at the door if you need me, but whatever it is you want is yours. You just tell them G.G. says so."

"That is sweet, thank you, G.G.," she said, touched at his kindness.

The man shook his head. "Mirabeau and Jeanne Louise think the world of you, and so, then, do I."

Marguerite squeezed his arm gently, and then settled in the seat he stopped before when he waved her to it.

"I'll send a girl over to get your orders. The first round is on me," he announced and moved away as the men quickly filled up the seats around her.

"G.G.?" Christian asked as soon as the man was out of hearing.

"Short for Green Giant because of his green Mohawk," she explained with a grin.

"It is hard to believe they would hire someone who looked like that to work here," Dante said, shaking his head with amazement as he peered around the quiet room where G.G. had settled them. Marguerite glanced around now too, taking in the soothing atmosphere of the room they were in. There was a Victorian fireplace along one wall, large comfy leather chairs and sofas arranged in groupings, as well as hardwood floors with various throw rugs strewn around.

"From what Mirabeau said, there are other, less soothing rooms here," she informed them as she turned back to face the others, and then added, "and he doesn't work here, he owns it."

"What?" Julius asked with shock. "A mortal owning and running an immortal night club?"

"That guy is mortal?" Tiny asked with surprise.

Tommaso nodded. "The tattoos and piercings should have tipped you off. Our bodies will not accept either."

"Oh right, I suppose the nanos would see them as foreign bodies or something and shed them."

"How did a mortal come to own an immortal night club?" Julius asked, still having trouble accepting it.

"More importantly, why the heck is he guarding the door?" Tiny asked dryly, and then pointed out, "If he tries to turn away the wrong immortal, they might turn him into cream cheese or at least lunch."

"According to Mirabeau he has back-up if he needs it," Marguerite told them, and then she explained what she knew. "Apparently his mother was mortal and he is from a mortal marriage, but when that dissolved she found she was a lifemate to an immortal. She wanted G.G. to be turned, but he refused, so his new stepfather financed this club for him in the hopes that if he was constantly surrounded by immortal women day in and day out, he would meet an immortal who would be his true lifemate and change his mind, thus making his wife happy."

"Hmm." Julius sat back and then glanced at Christian. "Perhaps I should finance a club like this for you in Italy. Then you would find a lifemate and start giving me grandbabies."

"Why don't you concentrate on getting your own lifemate first," Christian suggested meaningfully.

Marguerite frowned as more of the pantomime from the taxi followed. It was a wiggling of eyebrows and jerking of eyes in her direction that really looked quite unattractive. Leaning forward with concern, she asked, "Are you feeling quite well, Christian? You seem to be having spasms."

Dante and Tommaso burst out laughing, but Christian just sighed and stood up. "Father, I have to go to the bathroom."

Julius glanced at him with surprise, and then peered around, pointing when he saw a sign that said "gents." "Oh, there it is there, son."

"Yes, I know. I saw the sign," Christian said with exasperation. "I thought perhaps you might have to go too."

"No, I--Oh! Yes. I'll just..." Julius stood and began to squeeze through the small space left between her chair and his. When he saw Marguerite peering at him with raised eyebrows, he muttered, "I have to..." He waved vaguely and then hurried off with Christian without finishing saying what he had to do.

Marguerite watched the men go, noting that Christian appeared to be lecturing Julius as they went, then turned back to see that Dante and Tommaso were trying desperately not to laugh, Marcus was shaking his head with apparent despair, and Tiny was looking thoughtful.

Leaning closer to Tiny who sat beside her on the opposite side from the chair Julius had occupied, she asked quietly, "Do you have any idea what is going on?"

Tiny hesitated, and then murmured, "If they were mortals, I would say that Christian is trying to get you and his father together. But since they are immortals..." He glanced in the direction the two men had gone, then back to her to ask, "Have you tried to read Julius?"

Marguerite stilled in her seat, wariness creeping through her. She had, but suddenly didn't think she wanted to admit that.

"You have, haven't you?" Tiny asked. His eyes narrowed on her face and he guessed, "And you don't want to admit it because you couldn't read him."

Marguerite blew out an irritated breath and glanced away.

"And you're eating."

She stiffened, and scowled. "That doesn't mean anything. I told you, I'm out of blood and it helps build my own. Besides I've been sitting with you at each meal for three weeks, I have probably just picked up the habit."

"You didn't eat in California when we all did," he pointed out.

Marguerite blinked at his words, then sank weakly back in her seat. For a moment horror overcame her, but then she rallied and--positive he didn't know about the sausage--lied shakily, "It was just one meal, Tiny."

"One meal and you can't read him," Tiny pointed out.

Marguerite waved that away as unimportant. "He's obviously older than me. It's difficult to read immortals older than oneself. And," she added grimly as he opened his mouth to speak, "Just because I can't read him, doesn't mean he can't read me."

Tiny closed his mouth on whatever he'd been about to say at that comment. He knew about her relationship with Jean Claude. Nodding in understanding, he let the subject go and sank back in his seat.

Marguerite bit her lip and was silent for a moment, her gaze sliding toward the men's room, and then she leaned toward Tiny and whispered, "If it turns out you're right--about Christian encouraging Julius, I mean--could you... er... run intervention."

"You mean interference?" he suggested dryly.

Marguerite nodded. "I would appreciate it."

Tiny nodded.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"Don't thank me. We work together, and you're really in training. It's kind of my job to look out for you."

Marguerite blinked at the words as she realized how ridiculous it was for her to even put him in that position. The truth was he couldn't possibly look out for her against an immortal like Julius. Of course, she didn't hurt his pride by saying as much, simply sinking back in her seat and forcing a smile as a waitress appeared to take their orders.

"What are you doing?"

"What do you mean?" Julius leaned against the counter in the men's room, his eyebrows drawing together as he watched Christian check the stalls to be sure the room was empty.

Finished with his search, Christian paused and propped his hands on his hips, looking for all the world like a parent confronting a naughty child. "I mean what are you doing?" Christian repeated with exasperation. "You're supposed to be wooing Marguerite. Getting her to like and trust you so she won't run when she realizes the two of you are lifemates."

"I am wooing her," Julius said defensively, turning away to peer in the mirror. He didn't really see himself, he was just trying to avoid having to meet his son's gaze anymore, but ran a hand through his hair as he watched his son's reflection.

"You aren't wooing her. You're staring at her. You've been staring at her all night. You should have danced with her when we were at that mortal club."

"Danced?" Julius asked with horror.

"Yes. Danced. Why did you think I was elbowing you on the dance floor? Jesus!" He turned away with disgust and paced the length of the stalls and back.

"I don't dance," Julius said with dignity. "At least not the kind of dancing that was happening there. Marguerite dances well, though, doesn't she?" he added with a small smile as he recalled the few moments she'd danced before throwing her hands up with exasperation and returning to their table. She'd been incredibly agile, her hips swaying, body undulating, and breasts jiggling as she'd--

Julius blinked and scowled at Christian when he snapped his thumb and finger in front of his eyes.

"Snap out of it," Christian growled. "This is no time for mooning."

"I was not mooning," Julius said stiffly and turned away from the mirror. Crossing his arms over his chest, he glared at the younger man resentfully and wondered if Christian really was his son at all. He never would have been so disrespectful to his own father.

"Okay," Christian said with a great show at maintaining his patience. "So you don't dance. But you could at least talk to the woman."

Julius frowned and avoided his gaze. "I am talking."

"You aren't," Christian insisted. "You haven't said more than a handful of words."

Scowling, he admitted, "I'm practicing in my head."

Christian blinked at this. "Practicing?"

"Well, you don't just blurt out the first thing that comes to mind," Julius said with exasperation. "I have to approach this carefully, so I'm practicing."

"In your head?" Christian clarified.

"Yes." Julius nodded. "In my head."

"Right... Good, good," he nodded, and then said, "but you know what would be even better?"

Julius raised his eyebrows with interest. "What?"

"Talking to her out loud!" Christian snapped. "Jesus Christ, Father, you're as old as the earth. You run a huge corporation, dealing with people--even women--day in and day out. Surely you can string a couple of words together and manage a little conversation with the woman?"

"I am not as old as the earth," Julius growled. "Besides, you're the one who said that I scare all the maids and secretaries and--"

"Oh, hell," Christian interrupted with a sigh.

"What?" Julius asked warily.

"It's my fault, isn't it? I shook your confidence with those comments."

Julius glared at him briefly, then let out a slow breath and nodded the admission. "I was fine until you and the twins started spouting that nonsense about how long it had been since I'd bothered with women and that I--Are the maids and secretaries really scared of me?" he interrupted himself to ask with a frown.

Christian avoided his eyes as he assured him, "No, of course not."

"You're lying," Julius said with a heavy sigh. "You never could meet my eyes and lie, and you won't meet my eyes now. They are scared of me."

Christian shrugged helplessly. "You can be a bit sharp and grumpy. I'm sure you wouldn't be with Marguerite, though. In fact, I think she can help you find the fun, laughing, jovial guy you used to be before I was born."

"How would you know what I was like before you were born?" Julius asked, his eyes narrowing on his son with suspicion.

Christian shrugged. "The aunts talk. When you're at your grumpiest, they shake their heads and lament how 'wonderful and easygoing and happy' you were before 'that woman' ruined your life. They like lamenting a lot," he added dryly. "I'd say it's an Italian thing, but most of them weren't born in Italy."

Julius smiled at his grimace, but said quietly, "She didn't ruin my life. She gave me you and that was a hell of a gift."

Christian's eyes widened slightly, and then he glanced away, uncomfortable with the emotional moment. "Yeah, well," he said after allowing several minutes of silence to pass. "Too bad she didn't agree, but instead tried to kill me."

"She didn't try to kill you," Julius said quietly, troubled by the pain he saw flash on his son's face.

Christian glanced up sharply. "But Marcus said--"

"She told her maid, Magda, to kill you," he explained.

Christian considered this news. "The maid told you this? Could she have been lying?"

Julius hesitated and then shook his head. "No, Marcus and I both read the memory in Magda's mind. Your mother definitely told her to kill you and bring your remains to me with the message that she never wanted to see me again."

"Magda?" Christian said the name slowly. "But she didn't kill me."

"No. She brought you straight to me... and your mother killed her for the act of mercy."

Christian's eyes widened incredulously. "You didn't take the woman in? You let her go back to be killed?"

"Of course I took her in," Julius said with irritation.

"Then how could my mother kill her?"

Julius shifted uncomfortably and then admitted, "The day after Magda brought you to me, we found her dead at the bottom of the stairs... with you in her arms. Your mother was seen at the house and the maid was clutching your mother's pendant in her hand when we found the two of you. She'd obviously ripped it from her neck as she was pushed."

"She pushed the maid down the stairs while the woman was holding me," he repeated dryly. "What a charmer."

"Yes, well, the fall wouldn't have killed you so at least she didn't try to kill you herself."

"Oh, thanks for pointing that out, Father. It makes me feel loads better," Christian said sarcastically and shook his head. "Honestly, the more I hear about the woman, the less I really want to find her."

"I told you, you were better off without her," Julius said with exasperation. "But did you listen? No. You just had to find your mother. If you had only listened to me--"

"Marguerite wouldn't be here," Christian interrupted dryly.

Julius grimaced, but nodded. "True."

"So..." Christian tilted his head and said, "You never told me how it went in The Foyer. Surely you two talked then? You didn't just sit there silent did you?"

"No, of course not," he growled, but then admitted, "It didn't go very well, though. I asked her about Jean Claude and she--"

"Definitely not the right topic to inspire a happy conversation," Christian interrupted with exasperation and then sighed and shook his head. "Okay, why don't we practice your talking with Marguerite? Out loud. I'll be her."

Julius stared at him blankly. "Now?"

"No, I was thinking maybe next April. Then you could maybe give her a call, arrange a date..." He arched an eyebrow in question, and snapped, "Yes, now."

"Oh, right," Julius glanced around uncertainly.

"Just pretend I'm her," Christian suggested. "I'm sitting at the table out there and you and I come out of the bathroom. You take your seat, lean to her and say..."

Julius waited, and then frowned and asked, "What? What do I say?"

Christian's shoulders slumped and he leaned back against the counter. "You were supposed to tell me what you would say to her."

"If I knew what to say to her, I wouldn't have been sitting staring at her all night," Julius pointed out impatiently.

"Right," Christian sighed. "Okay, well let's try a different tactic. We'll think of subjects you can discuss with her."

Julius nodded and then asked, "Like what?"

Christian cursed with exasperation. "Father, you aren't this stupid. There must be something you want to know about her."

"Of course there is," he said with frustration. "I want to know what her life has been like all these centuries."

"Well, there you are!" Christian brightened.

"No. There I'm not," Julius corrected. "If I ask her that, it will bring up her unhappy marriage to Jean Claude and--as I've discovered--that will hardly encourage her to relax and consider another relationship."

"Well, maybe you could ask about her children then. She loves her children."

"Yes, her children with Jean Claude, which will remind her of their unhappy union and--"

"Her job then," Christian interrupted desperately.

Julius looked doubtful. "It will be a very short conversation. Your case is her first."

"Yes," he sighed and ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Well, we have to think of something."

They were both considering the matter when a deep voice growled, "It sounds to me like you'd be better off letting her talk."

Julius and Christian glanced sharply to the door to see G.G. watching them with amusement.

"How long have you been there?" Christian asked with irritation.

"Long enough to know that--as old as you both probably are--you two don't know a thing about women," G.G. said with amusement. Pushing himself away from the wall where he'd been leaning, he crossed the room to the urinals.

"And you do?" Christian asked dryly.

"Yep." He spoke to the wall as he unzipped and began to relieve himself. "Tons of them pass through this place every day and it's always the same thing. Take a look around when you go back out. The men all stand or sit around in little groups looking serious and saying very little, but maybe making the odd comment that sometimes brings a round of nods or laughter. But the women?" He finished, gave himself a shake, tucked himself away and moved to the sink to wash his hands, glancing at them as he added, "The women talk. And it's like a dance to watch."

"A dance?" Julius asked with interest.

G.G. nodded, his tall green Mohawk unmoving on his head. "They lean forward, they reach out to touch a hand, an arm, or a knee, then they lean back to laugh before leaning forward again; eyes sparkling, smiles wide as they chatter on with whatever story they are telling."

The man was speaking with great admiration. For all his scary looks, he obviously loved women.

"Women like to talk," he continued. "Men don't. It works out very well because then they are not both trying to talk at once. The woman talks, the man grunts every once in a while and everyone is happy."

Christian was staring at him with wide, rather horrified eyes, but Julius nodded and admitted, "I was hoping that she would speak, but she is showing a distressing reluctance to do so. She is quieter than I re--would expect."

G.G. nodded as he turned off the taps and moved to dry his hands. "You have to get her alone. She's a lone female with six silent men and she's old enough to know men aren't big talkers. Besides, from what Jeanne Louise and Mirabeau have told me, she was dominated by that Argeneau she was married to. It's not a natural state for her to be submissive, but it was forced on her. She's only started to come out of her shell and start managing things since his death. That's more natural for her, but new at the moment and she will be intimidated by so many males. Get her alone. Ask one question and she will bloom for you."

Julius frowned. "I have talked to her alone, and did ask her questions and she shut down."

"You didn't ask the right question, then," G.G. said with certainty.

"What is the right question?" Julius asked.

G.G. considered the possibilities briefly, and then nodded as he came to a decision. "When Jeanne Louise mentioned her aunt was coming here, she said it was to do work for a detective agency. That helping to solve a case in California made her decide to be a detective."

"Yes," Christian said. "That's how I met her and hired her."

G.G. nodded and told Julius, "Ask her about that. How she liked California. About her nephew Vincent and the lifemate she helped him with. It's a safe topic. It's about her family, which from all accounts she loves, but far enough removed that it won't touch anywhere near her marriage."

Finished dispensing advice, he nodded and turned to leave the room.

"I like him," Julius said as the door closed behind the man. "For a mortal with green hair, he is..."

"Interesting?" Christian suggested dryly.

Chuckling, Julius slipped his cell phone from his pocket and began to punch in a number as he headed for the door. "Come on. They will wonder what is taking us so long. And I find myself now eager to get out of here and get Marguerite alone to talk to her."