How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(34)

(Mr Rafterwit had taken knee to hay bale when he made his offer. He’d been showing her about his stables at the time. Teddy said it was the most romantic thing ever and that she was incandescent with happiness. Mr Rafterwit promised her the next filly out of his favored stallion for her very own, and swore they would spend at least half the year in the countryside. Teddy was in ecstasies.)

Biffy said, “Surely, one of you might do?” As though he were some matchmaking mamma and it hardly mattered which. “I hadn’t even finished the table, Miss Wigglesworth. Don’t you find any of my pack handsome enough to suit?”

“Very. All of them.”

Biffy nodded. “And, of course, there is also Rafe, who is away and very appealing if you like the rough and ready. And Riehard. Well, Riehard could be anything you wanted him to be.”

What if I want him tall and blond and moody, with icy eyes and a sour disposition? What if I want him to throw me up against the wall and press against me with his whole body, as if he needed me to breathe? Would he send me rocks and take me to geology meetings? Would he learn my history and not care that some other man had taken me first?

“Enough!” said Channing, at last.

Biffy sat back, expression smug.

Faith hid a smile.



In classic wolf fashion, Channing’s Alpha sat at the head of the table. His Beta, however, sat opposite, at the foot, a position ordinarily occupied by the lady of the house.

Channing preferred this arrangement; it meant Lyall and Biffy couldn’t bill and coo and share private secrets during meals. They still made eyes at one another, engaging in that silent form of communication which all couples develop over time and reminds those who are not entangled of what they are missing. Channing thought such displays of affection were vulgar, emotional wealth worn wreathed about a man like too many strands of pearls.

Channing looked at Faith, wondering if he could do that with her, right now. Silently communicate. And what would he say if he could?

But she was not looking at him.

Which of course made him burn with the need for her immediate attention.

His Alpha had warned him. He had known he would be in for it at this gathering. So, here they all sat, the pack backing Biffy, worrying at Channing as if he were a juicy bone to pick at.

It had worked. Of course it had worked. He’d lost his temper and barked at them all.

Fortunately, the bickering and pseudo matchmaking had carried them through the entirety of dinner. They adjourned to the drawing room for wine and light petits fours instead of a pudding course.

Channing watched Faith’s lithe figure as she was led through by Professor Lyall. He thought her dress was very daring and impossibly flattering. There was nothing to distract or detract from the delicacy of her bone structure or the trimness of her waist. The gown’s neckline was low, the decoration a simple cream ribbon.

He wanted to rip it off her.

Naturally, the pack arranged it so he was seated next to her.

At that juncture, the pack put in a concerted effort to distract the Iftercasts and give Channing and Faith some measure of privacy. Adelphus and Biffy held Mrs Iftercast and Teddy’s attention with gossip of the ton, making up outrageous stories about who was engaged to whom and whether it was a love match or merely a polite arrangement. Lyall and Quinn talked matters of politics and business with Mr Iftercast in serious tones. Ulric and Hemming chatted amiably with the Iftercasts’ male children on inconsequential matters over cards. There was much laughter among them.

Zev and Phelan, the most reserved of the pack, made their excuses and went about their evening’s business. Channing wished he could do the same, but he was under orders to remain.

So, he sat in one corner, out of human hearing, with Miss Wigglesworth. To whom he had indeed been rather shabby.

He owed her an explanation or at least an apology.

However, because she was staunch and forthright and oh so darling, Faith took the opening afforded by their comparative isolation before he could. Brave, his Lazuli. Shining with courage, not afraid of anything, not even him.

“You’ve reconsidered my history and decided against me, sir?”

Is that what she thinks? I have made her doubt herself further.

“Never that.” He resisted pressing her hand.

“You’re afraid I’d insist on matrimony? I promise, I wouldn’t.” Faith lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “I’d take you however I could get you.”

That jolted him with need. He noticed his marks on her neck had faded, and he hated that. He wanted her under him and writhing, trying to escape, helpless. His in every way. The scent of her filling him, the body of her being filled.

“You have no idea what you offer.”

“You forget, sir. I know exactly what I offer.”

“You should be demanding I marry you. Your family should have me horsewhipped for what I did to you in that garden. There should be a gun with silver bullets to my head and you waiting for me at the altar.”

“Is that what you want?” She was clearly confused.

He took a breath. “Whichever way I took you – one night, one season, or all of your eternity – I would be no good for you. I want you. God’s teeth, of course I want you. Look at you. You are perfect.”

She leaned in, eyes bright. “Is it your nature that makes you give up before we’ve even started? I promise, I’d run from you every night. Chase me. Mark me.”