Deathstalker 04 - Deathstalker Honor

and a marvelous cook. The things he can do with a fresh joint and a few vegetables. Trouble is, he has size-twelve feet, and you wouldn’t believe the problems we’ve been having trying to find stiletto heels that will fit him.”
    “Love seems to agree with you,” said Hazel. “It’s made you positively chatty.” “Don’t I know it,” said Toby. “I’ve been hearing about bloody Clarence for weeks.” He grinned maliciously at Owen and Hazel.
    “And how are you two lovebirds getting on, hmm?”
    “If you find out, let me know,” said Owen.
    “We’re taking things day by day,” said Hazel firmly. “How about you, Toby?
    Anyone special on the horizon?”
    “I have been considering a Clan marriage just lately,” Toby admitted reluctantly. “On the grounds that I’m not getting any younger, and my Family’s been putting the pressure on about where the next generation of the Family’s going to come from. With Uncle Gregor forced into hiding, Grace an avowed old maid, and Evangeline disowning the Family, the line pretty much ends with me. But who’d marry a Shreck? Thanks to dear Uncle Gregor and his appalling ways, the Family name has become mud in all the circles that matter.” “Now, now, none of that, boss,” Flynn said firmly. “You’re Toby the troubador, rich and famous journalist of note, not just a Shreck. Work is all very well, but in the end there’s no substitute for getting out and meeting a nice girl. Or boy. Or whatever.”
    Owen was so busy watching Toby glow bright red with embarrassment that he didn’t notice the approaching young aristo till the man was practically on top of him. Hazel noticed. It took a lot to distract Hazel. She tapped Owen surreptitiously on the arm with one hand, while the other fell to the gun on her hip. Owen turned unhurriedly and stopped the approaching aristo in his tracks with a steady gaze and a raised eyebrow. The young man bowed formally, keeping his hand well away from the sword at his side. He was dressed well but unimaginively, his long metallic hair already out of fashion. His blandly handsome face was studiously unreadable.
    “Sir Deathstalker, my apologies for imposing on you, but there is someone nearby desires to make your acquaintance.”
    “Then that makes him pretty much unique in this company,” Owen said easily. “Who might this someone be?”
    “It is the lady Constance Wolfe. She wishes to speak with you urgently, on a matter of some importance to you both. May I lead you to her?” Hazel frowned. “Constance Wolfe? Don’t think I know her. What relation is she to Valentine?”
    “Technically speaking, she’s his mother,” said Owen, letting the aristo wait. “She married Valentine’s father, Jacob, late in his life. With Valentine on the run, Daniel missing, and Stephanie discredited,
    Constance runs Clan Wolfe these days. I’ve never met the woman; can’t think what we might have in common. Still, I’d better go see what she wants. Never know when you might learn something useful.”
    “Watch your back,” said Hazel. “She’s still a Wolfe.” Owen grinned, nodded goodbye to Toby and Flynn, and allowed the increasingly impatient young aristo to lead him through the crowd to where Constance Wolfe stood waiting. As always she was surrounded by male admirers, from the highest in Society to the merely very rich. Constance had only just entered her twenties but was already a breathtaking beauty, on a world noted for its beautiful women. She was tall and blond, with the body and grace of a goddess, but for all the cheerful chatter around her, her perfect face remained cool and unresponsive, her occasional smile merely a matter of form. She looked up as Owen approached, and he thought for a moment he saw something very like relief in her deep blue eyes as she made her excuses to her admirers and drifted forward to meet him. Owen bowed, and she curtsied, and then they stood for a moment looking at each other. Without turning her head, Constance dismissed her messenger with a brief wave of the hand. He bowed stiffly and moved reluctantly away to join the small army of admirers, who immediately began a quiet but animated discussion, while glaring openly at Owen. He chose to ignore them, knowing that would irritate them the most. Constance sighed.
    “That was Percy Furey. He adores me, and I take advantage of it disgracefully. But then so many men have declared their undying love for me since my Jacob died that I