How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(24)

He sent around a note the next morning, saying a scientist friend of his would provide her a letter of introduction to The Royal Geographic Society.

Was she interested?

Of course she was.

He added that there was a lecture next Thursday on local clay deposits and sedimentary formations.

Would she like to attend?

Of course she would.

She wrote back with evident delight in every stroke of her pen but added that her cousins would have to accompany her, as chaperone.

At the lecture that Thursday, they sat next to each other. Not touching but wanting to. She had no doubt that she confused him greatly with her obvious amusement when the lecturer referred to a paper written by a Mr Horner Carne.

I did not know my writing had made it across the pond.

“What amuses you so, Lazuli?” he whispered, away from Mrs Iftercast’s hearing. “Do you know this Mr Carne?”

“In a manner of speaking.” She was coy.

“You smell delicious,” he replied.



Two days later saw them, once again, attending the same informal gathering. The kind that involved a hundred individually designed teacakes and a small circus performance. Faith had learned to be wary when the invitation said informal gathering.

“And how are you this evening, Mr Horner Carne?” he asked, drawing her into a corner of the room, while everyone else was playing parlor games. (The circus performers were now swilling sherry and bantering with the host over cards. Channing waved at one of them but did not stop to chat once he saw Faith.)

“You’ve found out my greatest secret,” she teased. Not at all afraid he might expose her. He had nothing to gain from such a petty act.

“I must admit, I tried to read your papers and found them impossible to get through.”

“They are dry, aren’t they?”

“No! It was my ignorance, not your style. I could tell it was you from the tone of voice alone. I did not know geology could be so witty.”

“And I did not know you could flatter with such tact.”

“Only by accident,” he admitted ruefully.

She threw her head back and laughed then, charmed by his disgruntlement. She noticed his icy gaze spark against her exposed neck and gloried in the thrum of awareness.

Heads turned at the joyful sound. The expressions were, mostly, approving. A few gentlemen looked disappointed. The young circus performer, whom Faith assumed must be a claviger to Channing’s pack, stared at them with undisguised interest.

Faith stopped laughing and lowered her chin.

Channing’s blue eyes returned to her face. “How goes the hunt? I have heard nothing from my pack on the matter of an engagement. Have you found yourself a nice loner with whom to flirt? They are not as stable as the rest of us, you know.”

“Someone keeps interfering,” she said sharply, more hurt at his asking than annoyed by his behavior. “Others are interested, but they’re not werewolves. I’m set on this path and I’m not supposed to stray.”

“Yes.” His eyes were no longer on her but on the rest of the party, cautious, as though they were the enemy. “You want to please your mother.”

Faith flinched. “Werewolves, I begin to suspect, are territorial.” It was an accusation. You tell the world I’m yours, but you don’t make it so. No offer. No declaration.

“It is true that none of my fellows will approach while I am here with you. But neither would any mortal gentleman. This is not because I am a werewolf, but because I am a scoundrel who has called men out for less. And that is not tied to my immortal nature, either, I assure you.”

Faith was hurt by the implication of his indifference, so she was injudicious with her words. “Why must you ruin this for me? Your attention is too marked and my reputation will suffer.” Faith knew she sounded plaintive, but she was also frightened. She was afraid he would take this as his opportunity to run. For all she resented his reluctance to commit, she craved his company.

“You believed it would be easy?” he scoffed, and she thought maybe he didn’t even know himself why he felt compelled to pursue her. To seek her out.

He bent slowly, giving her time to flee. When she did not, he nuzzled her neck and tasted her there. Lightly and with only his lips, but she knew his teeth were eager and her pulse beat extra hard in an involuntary temptation.

“They keep sending me flowers,” she said to distract him and to remind him that there were others interested. That they were not, in fact, alone at this moment.

“Do they indeed?” He did not look pleased to know he had competition. Maybe this really was nothing more than a game to him. Maybe he didn’t think of her at all when they were apart.

Except that the next day he sent her rocks by special courier – a geode of purple to rival Teddy’s now wilted alfalfa, and a growth of rose quartz, palm-sized and lustrous. She set the geode next to her bed and stroked it before falling asleep, as if it were a pet, or the head of a great white wolf.

She learned that night, when he never showed up at the theater, that Major Channing had left London on urgent business and no one knew when he would return.



London hostesses understood werewolf business obligations. And while they were not pleased at being denied the pleasure of a declaration, they still invited Faith and, by default, the Iftercasts to their gatherings. And Faith still went.