How to Marry a Werewolf Page 9

  “Don’t you dare read that.” There was sharpness in Channing’s voice, and the wolf lurked behind his eyes.

  “You know me better than that.” Lyall stilled and waited.

  Channing lost his ire under Beta calm – imperceptible waves of patience that were also sublime strength. What was I thinking? I know Lyall to be a man of principle. More so than I am, that’s for certain. Also, I cannot take this Beta in a fight.

  When Channing shifted, he lost himself. He was all wolf instinct and violence. Oh, he was very strong, but he was also crazed. He forgot his human side to baser lusts. It was one of the reasons he could never be a loner. He might act the part, aloof and solitary, but he needed pack more than most.

  Channing tilted his head back at Lyall, baring his throat.

  “You will fix this thing that eats away at you, Channing,” ordered Professor Lyall.

  “It may not be up to me.” The Brophys’ ball was a positive squeeze, being both too popular and too packed, so that Faith wished she were anywhere but there. It was exhausting just trying to make one’s way through the door.

  She searched the gathering, trailing behind Teddy’s determined push, from room to room. She could admit to herself that she was hunting for a blond head that stood a little higher than most others.

  Teddy paused at the door to the music room. “I do declare, what a crush! Really, what possessed them to invite so many to a house decidedly insufficient to contain the number?”

  “Teddy! They’ll hear you.”

  “No one can hear anything in this noise. And how am I to find Mr Rafterwit in such a press? He said he would be here. He was going to tell me all about breeding stock.”

  “Teddy! Are you sure that’s appropriate conversation for polite company?”

  “Oh, Faith, don’t be silly. His horse breeding stock, dear. Oh, you are droll! I imagine if I’m very lucky, I will be his breeding stock, so to speak, after our wedding and such.”

  “Teddy, really. Stop it.”

  Teddy grinned. “I’m quite looking forward to it. Oh, I know I shouldn’t say such things, but there you have it. I think Barnaby is most awfully, well, awfully.”

  “It could be disappointing.” Faith tried to put experience into her tone without actually sounding too experienced.

  “Yes, but if that’s the case, we won’t have to do it too often, and Faith, you should see his horses! Oh, look, there he is!” Teddy waved madly at Mr Rafterwit; the poor man nodded shyly back.

  Teddy charged across the room towards him.

  Faith would have followed except she found herself neatly pulled aside by a firm, cool hand on her arm.

  “Did you want that first dance now, Lazuli?”

  “Major Channing, how nice to see you again so soon.”

  “Is it? Funny, but I think you actually mean that. You know, you are likely the only person in all of London who is ever happy to see me.”

  That made her sad, but she hid it with a soft smile.

  He led her onto the floor, and then when the dance was done, he blatantly flouted the custom of relinquishing her arm to her next partner. Faith should not have been surprised; he had flouted the customary rules of conversation for weeks on end. Why should the rules of dancing be any different?

  Instead of leading her back to her chaperone – where was Mrs Iftercast, anyway? Really, she was a tad bit forgetful and lax about her duties. (Not that Faith or Teddy minded the freedom this afforded them.) Instead of taking her respectably to the edge of the dance floor, where Faith’s next admirer eagerly waited, Channing didn’t even ask if she had one. And instead of offering to retrieve her punch or comestibles while she sat to catch her breath, Channing took her hand firmly and led her out of the ballroom and into the garden, where all was quiet and peaceful and they were alone.

  Which was, of course, quite dangerous. But Faith found she could not be frightened and she did not care.

  Channing dropped her hand and they walked together, silent and not touching, along an herbaceous border and across a manicured lawn into a copse of trees, ill tended and shrouded in shadows, at the very far end of the garden.

  The perfect place, thought Faith, for an assignation.

  Still, she found she did not care. She should have, for she knew better than most the risks a young lady took with a gentleman alone.

  Then he said, “I know about the claviger. Your claviger.”

  And Faith’s world shattered.

  Channing heard her breath catch.

  Her voice trembled only a little when she spoke. “He wasn’t mine, not really. Never was and never would be. He belonged to the werewolves, and that, as it turned out, was all that counted.”

  “He made you feel as though he were yours, though, didn’t he?”

  “For a bit. Or maybe I just wanted the experience too much. Some moment of excitement. Some point in time where I was wanted without question. Maybe that’s why I’m here with you now. Have you considered that?’

  She was attacking, like a trapped animal, fierce and defensive.

  Channing had decided to tell her he knew because he’d found out her secret and it wasn’t his to keep. He hadn’t been charged with this one, and he did not need another secret to burden his daylight sleep. He also wanted her to know that this was no grave thing, not to him. He needed her to know that. He would not judge and he would not reject her. He wasn’t like them. He was a cad, but not in that way.

  So, he phrased it the way he saw it. “He ruined you for his own amusement and showed you no mercy.”

  Faith had turned away and was looking back towards the house, through the trees and across the empty garden. “He did it because my father is an ass. And, frankly, my father is in fact an ass. I just never guessed his choices would burden me. I believe that the werewolves didn’t mean to hurt me, not really. Frankly, I doubt they thought of me at all. They wanted to humiliate my parents. I was just collateral.”

  “Is that why you want to marry a werewolf? For revenge?” The sweet, intoxicating scent of her teased him with possibilities.

  “No one else will have me, not if they find out,” she said. “It’s known that werewolves prefer a seasoned woman. Why else always go after widows?”

  Channing laughed. “While it is true that purity is not valued by my compatriots, that is not why werewolves so often pursue widows.”

  Faith nodded. “You cannot have children, so you don’t want to steal the opportunity away from a girl. And are you…” She paused, swallowing hard.

  Despite himself, Channing found his eyes drawn to her beautiful white neck.

  He wanted to lick it.

  “Are you like your compatriots in this matter?”

  He’d lost the thread of the conversation. “What?” he barked, sounding annoyed and trying not to.

  “Do you value purity?”

  “God’s teeth, no. What right have I to that? I’m nothing if not impure myself. Why should I demand anything different in a lover? I mentioned my learning of your indiscretion not as a critique, Lazuli, but only so that you might know that I know. Between us, there is no need for secrecy in this matter.”

  “There’s more.” She trembled a little.

  “And you may tell me if you wish, and I will listen and not judge, because who am I to judge? But only if you wish it, Lazuli.”

  “Not yet. That part hurts.”

  He hid a wince.

  She sipped a small breath and soldiered on. “The other, well… I was willing, to my eternal shame, as Mother says. Frankly, it was just embarrassing, both during and after.”

  “It?” He pressed for particulars and wanted to kill that unnamed claviger – for his failures, for her disappointment, for touching her at all.

  She was brave in her confession. “Not exactly what I expected. What I had hoped.”

  “You knew to hope for something? How advanced was your education beforehand?” He was surprised, not
critical. Americans were a strange lot.

  But she took it as censure. “I’m perfectly able to read, Major! It’s amazing what you can find in bookstores these days. Boston is a very cosmopolitan city. Frankly, now that it’s all over, I’ve no clue what all the fuss is about.”

  “Now that, my Lazuli, I can show you.”

  Faith wasn’t trying to be tempting or coy.

  It had been mostly embarrassing. That one experience with a man. Oh, Kit had been nice enough. She had genuinely liked him and found him handsome – boyish and dark-haired, with smiling eyes. He was funny, too, an actor and yet amiable, with unaffected address.

  But the carnal act itself had been, in a word, disappointing. Clammy and awkward and uncomfortable, and briefly painful, and then with him rutting over her, colored mainly by regret – that she had risked so much for so little.

  She could admit none of this to Major Channing, but his eyes in the dark of the small forest gleamed like a true wolf.

  Come into the woods, little girl.

  I will. I will follow you into darkness.

  Faith could not deny the risk was there again, for her to take. Passion and desire, just a taste, or maybe he offered more. It would not matter this time; nothing mattered this time. Regardless of how much he wished from her, wished to take, he could not get her pregnant. He could never give her that.

  Faith had thought that, with the act itself being so abysmal, it must only be the results that drove women into conjugal relations. That in being defiled, a woman would at least get something out of it in the long run. Not so for her.

  Nevertheless, even swamped by disappointed dreams and broken hopes, still she hungered. Faith had been cheated as well as humiliated. And here was a man who could not take her virginity even as she could not take his child. There was an odd kind of freedom to it. And freedom made her bold. She thought she might finally understand what had truly been denied her those many months earlier. When she had yearned and risked and earned nothing but someone else’s sweat and a lifetime of regrets.

  Faith knew how to catch Channing, too. For she had taken note of all the times his firm hands had tightened at her back while they danced, and catalogued the many ways his cool eyes moved over her. She had a very good idea of how to be bold with a werewolf. With this werewolf.

  She tilted her head back and offered him the long, soft column of her throat.

  His breath hitched and the ice chips glittered above her, like snowflakes set in alabaster.

  He was gentle with her, which she had not expected and wasn’t sure she entirely wanted or deserved. His lips were soft and cool and sure. He kissed behind the muscle of her jaw, and along the tendon of her neck, he licked into the divot of her collar bones – his tongue hot and raspy. He grazed the muscle of her shoulder with his teeth but did not bite.

  “More,” she said. Too light, too timid, too like the other time.

  His lips, when they pressed over hers, stayed calm and unhurried.

  That wasn’t what she wanted from him. She wanted the arrogance and the anger. She needed the harshness of winter – overwhelming and unrelenting.

  She drew away, examined his face, shadowed and aloof.

  “Do you want me to struggle?” she asked. “Am I prey?”

  He did not say anything, but his eyes burned hot for long enough to answer her with need. So, she pushed back from him, jerking herself away. She let herself glory in the rush of fighting and fear, of discovery and panic.

  Want me enough to keep me, to make me stay.

  He jerked her back and slammed his mouth on hers. And it was not kind or gentle; it was harsh and bruising like he must eat into her, devour her with his wanting.

  She needed that so very badly – him not to be able to help himself. She wanted the fierceness of unfettered desire.

  She whimpered and that seemed to stir him on. His hands were just this side of too strong now, immortal in their ability to hold her tightly to him – forever if he liked.

  She pushed up against his unyielding body, bit him back with her small, square teeth. Inferior teeth. She dug her nails into his neck, for at some point she had wrapped her arms up and around him.

  It was glorious.

  She had searched for this so hard and so far.

  She had crossed an ocean for this.

  And then it was gone.

  And so was he.

  After the Brophys’ ball, Faith wasn’t sure what she expected.

  Maybe a declaration.

  Maybe a proposal, or more likely, given his character, a proposition. Major Channing might arrange an assignation or set her up as his mistress. She found she did not care for his intent so long as she got to have him. I have sunk into true depravity. She shivered in delight.

  More likely, what she truly expected was for him to entirely ignore her or to leave town.

  She expected anything but indifferent treatment and standoffish regard, which was what she got. She did not see him at any more social events, but she did see him in the hat shop.

  He tilted his own hat coolly in her direction.

  Faith was not at Chapeau de Poupe to buy anything, and had long since made no pretense at doing so. She came to gossip and to see Biffy while the Iftercasts perused the merchandise.

  Faith had her derby on at a jaunty angle, paired with a grey wool split-skirt ensemble, with dozens of tiny brass buttons up the front and decorating the sleeves, and high bicycle boots. She looked well in it; simple, figure-flattering, and elegant by contrast to all the wide-sleeved, elaborate walking dresses around her. She was modern and chic and Biffy approved.

  Still, it wasn’t enough.

  For like all the times before, it seemed that whenever she arrived, Major Channing was just leaving.

  “I work, you know,” he barked at her when she said, in all desperation, “Must you leave so soon, Major?”

  Faith bowed her head to hide the press of tears and raised a hand to touch her neck, which now only faintly showed the places his mouth had once been.

  When she looked up, Channing was gone, and Biffy was watching her, eyes full of sympathy and calculation.

  “You confuse him greatly.” The Alpha was busy folding scarves and arranging them in a fan shape on one of the display cases. Faith was keeping him company, at his request.

  “I confuse him?”

  “You will not be shaped into any form with which he is familiar. Immortals, you know, even young ones, are easily overcome by the unexpected. We have a tendency to see the world as predictable. It is rather wondrous to watch Channing struggle.”

  “It’s rather less wondrous to be experiencing it from my end.”

  “I have no doubt of that.”

  “And yet you yourself seem much more flexible.”

  Biffy smiled. “I’m very young, for an immortal. Not yet a century.” He looked up at a delicate clearing of the throat. “Ah, Mrs Iftercast. You’ve decided upon that one, have you? Excellent choice. Let me just show you to the counter.”

  Mrs Iftercast looked worried herself, no doubt having observed Major Channing’s precipitous departure. Nevertheless, she smiled brightly and spoke of hats. Faith blessed her for it. Really, she did not know what she would do without the Iftercasts.

  Biffy said, as they were leaving, “You are still coming to dine with us, the night after next?” It had been arranged for several weeks now.

  Mrs Iftercast nodded adamantly.

  Faith knew that, no matter what else occurred, an invitation to dine at Falmouth House was not to be turned down at any cost. So rarely was anyone invited to visit with the London Pack in their own home, it was a social coup. Such particular attention to the Iftercasts, once it became widely known, would give rise to rumors of imminent engagements. Everyone had seen the Major’s out-of-character focus on the visiting American cousin. And she was an original, and very pretty, even if her choice of daytime attire was considered by many too eso
teric even for the French. However, werewolves were known to be eccentric in their romantic tastes.

  Faith answered for them, because it had to be her decision, as she was the injured party. “We intend to be there and are honored by your thoughtfulness, my lord.”

  The Alpha reached forward, understanding in his beautiful eyes, and squeezed her hand. “Professor Lyall will be in attendance and eager to renew your acquaintance.”

  Faith managed a smile. “Good.” She had not seen the Beta but the once, at her first ball.

  Mrs Iftercast asked, “And will all the rest of the pack be there as well, my lord?”

  “Likely most. They are not so very predictable in their activities, I’m afraid. But I expect a full house.”

  No mention was made of Major Channing by name, but Faith felt warned and warm and worn all at the same time. Biffy was telling her that he would likely be in attendance and that she should brace for battle.

  “My dear cousin,” Mrs Iftercast pressed, as they steamed back home in the privacy of the family’s Isopod, “I shouldn’t ask, of course, but his attentions were very marked. And now they are anything but. Was there no formal understanding at all between you? I thought that we had cause to hope. Did you put him off somehow?”

  Teddy jumped in, glaring at her mother. “We all know the major is not the type to marry, Mums. Perhaps it is none of Faith’s doing.”

  “Of course, my dear, of course. How thoughtless of me. It’s simply that we of the ton have never seen him behave so, not towards an unmarried girl. We thought, perhaps, that he was making an exception in your case. That you were somehow different – special.”

  Foolish of me, thought Faith, I believed that, too. I believed I understood him – a hundred-year-old supernatural creature. And I blithely made a play for passion. I wouldn’t have minded if nothing more materialized beyond that. At least, I think I wouldn’t have minded. And he was there, with me. I know he was. He was mine. I made him burn. Except I lost him, and I’ve no idea why.

  STEP SEVEN

  Remember: Either You Are At Dinner or You Are Dinner