How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship #1)(23)

“Of course. Gave me terrible indigestion.”

Faith giggled. She couldn’t help it; poor Mr Koverswill’s face was priceless. “You can’t go around just eating Italians, Major. No matter what their belief system.”

“Can you think of a better reason?”

Faith couldn’t help it; she ought to focus again on Mr Koverswill, but ribbing Channing was so much fun. “Never say you’re an idealist, Major?”

“No, I simply don’t condone mandates demanding species extermination. Especially not if it is my species.”

“There, you see, Mr Koverswill?” said Faith in a desperate attempt not to keep ignoring the poor man. “It’s nothing personal. Major Channing is just grumpy about his politics.”

Channing laughed – a brief bark that was half surprise at his own amusement.

From across the table someone gasped, at which juncture Faith realized all attention was on them.

“Aren’t we all, Miss Wigglesworth?” The hostess wore a pleased smile, her eyes glittering with appraisal. “Aren’t we all?”

Miss Wigglesworth was described in the papers the next morning as remarkably poised for her age, mistress of witty repartee, and capable of amusing even werewolves on occasion.

Mr Koverswill sent ’round a beautiful bouquet of hothouse orchids.

“He has six thousand a year,” said Teddy.

“Major Channing has been to Italy,” said Faith, not really seeing the flowers.

Teddy, confused, agreed readily enough. “Yes, well, does that diminish his suit? He was in the army for a good long while, and Italy isn’t that bad. Is it?”

Faith could see Channing as a soldier. He commanded easily, and he was cold and tough. “He hasn’t sent me any flowers.” This was more annoying than it should be. But also, she knew Channing would never want to be one of many. So, why would he send flowers?

“Do you think that has something to do with Italy?”

Faith giggled. “Oh, never mind Italy.”

Teddy blinked at her. “I never have minded it. You’re the one who brought it up.”

“Where are we off to today?” Faith asked the most distracting thing she could think of.

“Oh! Well. There’s a picnic...” And Teddy was off.



There was a picnic. It was outside in the full sun, so Major Channing could not join them. No werewolf could.

Faith missed him. She missed his presence, his constant challenge, the way he sometimes affected her breathing, and how she sometimes caught him watching the pulse at her throat.

She dressed with care that evening. Even though it was a gown she’d worn before, he hadn’t yet seen her in it. She suspected he would be at the small private ball that night. Hostesses had started inviting him whenever they invited Faith. It was a kind of game amongst them.

The werewolf who’d once been nothing but absent from the social scene was becoming ubiquitous. But only if Miss Wigglesworth was also there. Now every hostess was eager to host the event at which the inevitable engagement was announced. It was true other men courted her, but her attention was nearly as marked as his.

Faith knew she ought to hide her regard. It was too bold. But the ton seemed disposed to humor her as confident as opposed to rash. And Faith had started to hope that Channing would not ruin her. That this werewolf could be trusted. That his intentions might even be honorable.

So, when he was at the ball that night and took the very first waltz, she let herself dream a little.

“Why will only a werewolf do?” he asked, as he twirled her expertly around the floor. “Are you frightened of true human affection, or is there something you find lacking in mortal men?”

It was a bold question, but Faith was tired of dissembling. She liked this too much. She liked him too much. “It is not something lacking in them so much as myself.” She leaned into his impossible strength as if he might lift her up and spin her into flight.

“You are either falsely modest or sinfully devalued,” he concluded.

I am exactly what I deserve to be, she thought. And I will make the best of it.

“My mother thinks a werewolf would be good for me.”

“And you always do what your mother wishes?”

“Almost never, actually. I’m trying to be biddable for a change.”

He chuckled and then sobered. “I don’t think I’d be very good for you.” He looked worn and sad.

“And why is that?” she wondered, no doubt surprising him with her American directness.

“Your eyes are so blue, my Lazuli,” he said, looking into them, avoiding the question.

His were cold chips of ice. She thought of glaciers and how they carved through rock, and how ice had remade North America to its preferences. She considered the flat, barren plains that glaciers left behind, the fine till and the soft clay, and the wide emptiness of their absence.

I should like to be happy but I will settle for content, she concluded, wondering if this man with his cold eyes could give her either of those things. Wanting him anyway.

Around them, matrons watched and approved – another werewolf settled could only improve London’s reputation. Mothers watched and regretted that they had not tried harder to secure Major Channing for their daughters, for who knew he could be such a gentleman? The occasional vampire shook his head at the state the country was coming to – really, an American? The occasional werewolf bit his lip and wondered, seeming afraid. Faith wasn’t sure whether they were afraid for Channing or for her, the girl who clung to him and leaned back, so very trusting, feeling free in his arms.