How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(19)

Channing ached, knowing that he disappointed his Alpha.

Professor Lyall’s voice was low. “I have lost count, but you can understand why.”

“He must be exhausted by it.”

“I have never known him to be otherwise.”

Channing gave a sardonic chuckle. Lyall knew most of the particulars, and in his quiet way, the Beta understood more than many could. But Betas were not the type to nurse resentment and pain – quite the opposite – so Lyall utterly failed to understand Channing’s behavior.

Channing’s attention was caught then by Miss Wigglesworth’s laugh. Something a young gentleman had said. A young gentleman who stood too close and was now leading her out onto the floor for a polka.

Channing glared at them both. Come to London to trap a werewolf, had she? Thought that she was the hunter, did she? Well, he would show her what it meant to be hunted.





STEP FIVE


  Become the Social Butterfly He Wants to Catch


Faith was enjoying her evening, the looming presence of Major Channing notwithstanding. He seemed to swoop in at odd times, presenting her with a glass of punch or distracting her from her conversation by glowering fiercely. She noticed that if she paid any one gentlemen too much attention for too long a time, the major would make himself known. Then he would disappear and ignore her once more.

It was sublimely aggravating. Like being desired by a very large mosquito.

He did not ask her to dance a second time.

After several hours of this sporadically irritating attention, she realized that he was worrying at her, trying to flush her out of her den, as hounds would a fox. She would have none of it and put a concerted effort into enjoying herself and avoiding him.

“What is he about?” said Teddy, annoyed on Faith’s behalf. “Mr Nightingale was going to ask you to dance, I know he was. And he has four thousand a year and an estate in Devonshire. He’s a most advantageous match. His family might not countenance an American, but if you continue to curry Lord Falmouth’s favor, they might make an exception in your case for the supernatural alliance afforded by the association. The major cannot be genuine in his interest, can he? He never pays court. Why does he keep running them off like that?”

Faith found herself smiling. “Well, I’m fine with it. I don’t think I’d make Mr Nightingale a very good wife.”

Teddy was shocked enough to snap her fan closed and lean forward. “Cousin, you grossly undervalue yourself!”

No, I don’t, thought Faith. For while Mr Nightingale’s family may rise above my lowly American state, they could never rise above my other deficiencies of womanhood.

She dared not say it, but in his way, Major Channing was doing her a service. She had no desire to secure any mortal gentleman’s full attention. She did not consider herself available to a wholesome, proper husband, no matter how kind his words or genuine his interest. She was, after all, soiled goods. No decent man should want her and she was not about to ruin any man’s life with her affection. Werewolves were another matter.

But there were only the three werewolves present at the ball. Lord Falmouth was unavailable, and Major Channing was impossible, and Professor Lyall… well, Professor Lyall was interesting.

Faith danced one dance with the London Pack Beta. She found Professor Lyall relaxed and, if not overly scintillating like the Alpha, at least not cold and fierce, like the Gamma. In fact, the good professor was oddly restful and accommodating – for a predator.

He mentioned the major, but only insofar as to say, “I should warn you of his nature, Miss Wigglesworth, but I suspect that is part of the appeal.”

“I haven’t any designs on Major Channing, I promise. Despite whatever he’s said to you.”

“That may not matter.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“That may not matter either.”

Faith wondered if she could make delicate enquiries after other members of his pack. After all, he should know of any suitable, well, suitors amongst the ranks. But she was frightened to be on the receiving end of one of his sardonically raised eyebrows.

Professor Lyall was overly enigmatic, but she ended up liking him. They talked of rocks (despite Mrs Iftercast’s warning) and he had a scientist’s appreciation for her enthusiasm. He himself was more interested in animal husbandry, although the moniker of professor was honorific rather than descriptive. While their particular intellectual pursuits did not intersect, their spirits of inquiry were well matched.

He left her, after their dance, feeling enriched for the brief encounter and somewhat saddened that it was not he who set her pulse racing. For if any werewolf were to make a fine husband, it would be Professor Lyall.

But while Faith had been given a task by her family, a match to make and future to secure, she had her own agenda. She would marry a werewolf if she must, but she knew enough to wish for something more than complacency in a match. There would be no children, no growing old together. Knowing this, Faith wanted what she was not supposed to want at all and should know even less about. She wanted what had nearly destroyed her.

She wanted passion.

Faith danced twice with Alpha Biffy, Lord Falmouth. He was a most excellent dancer, to the precise step and not beyond. Not very imaginative, but then, he couldn’t be anymore. The last of his mortality had taken with it most of his creativity, or so most physicians believed. Only his lovely hats now remained. Nevertheless, she enjoyed his dancing. Biffy made her laugh with his pithy commentary on the gathering and did not mention Major Channing at all.