How To Marry A Werewolf (Claw & Courtship, #1)(39)

He let Mrs Wigglesworth go and stepped back.

“Faith,” he said, turning to the trembling girl.

She was not afraid; she was humiliated and furious. She was holding it all in, though, and looked only sad. He applauded her for this. Because while he knew her true feelings, others saw only her pretty face, her apparent fragility, and an unwarranted attack.

“Faith, come to me now,” he commanded.

She would not look at him, her head resting on Mrs Iftercast’s shoulder. Her little round cousin stood at her other side, patting her back and glaring.

“Lazuli.”

She raised watery blue eyes to him.

He held out a hand.

She took a step across the divide that separated them within a circle of gawking onlookers. She brushed past her frozen, vibrating harridan of a mother.

He tugged her to him, against his chest, in front of all the assembled.

She gave a little sigh and relaxed infinitesimally. Her smell, sweet cake and candied fruit and intoxicating spirits, flooded his senses.

Ulrich stepped after her, bracketing and shielding her figure with his bulk, hiding her vulnerability from the eyes of others. His brother warrior, protecting his love’s unprotected back. As it should be.

Channing said, “Mrs Iftercast, take your cousin away from here.”

Mrs Iftercast nodded, still disgusted with Mrs Wigglesworth, but they had all come in the Isopod together. They must leave that way.

Mrs Iftercast was made of solid stock. “Come with me, Mrs Wigglesworth, and I will return you to your hotel. Theodora, stay with Faith. You, sir, Major Channing, I expect a formal announcement in the Times for tomorrow.”

Channing grinned. He had thought Mrs Iftercast quite silly, but there was iron in her.

“Of course.” He nodded, arrogant and regal. She is mine now. Curious that his reluctance to remarry was so easily put aside when his Faith needed him. Needed rescuing from her own family. He had realized it must be bad. Not only her childhood growing up amongst such people, but the way they treated her after she fell from grace. The apparently unpardonable sin of exploring her own passion.

Even if I fail her in marriage as I failed my first wife. Even if I am not strong enough for this. She will have the pack. She will have my pack. I can give her that. They will take care of her if I cannot. He looked at Ulric; his pack-mate’s face, so impossibly handsome, was furrowed in concern even as he scanned the crowd. On guard for further attack.

But the crowd was with them. They either did not care or, more likely, did not believe the strange older American woman who had hurled abuses at Miss Wigglesworth.

Miss Wigglesworth was the toast of the town. London had adopted her. She was their American! How dare another American threaten her? She had taken it upon herself to tame one of the most untamed werewolves in all the ton. It wasn’t as if Channing had ever been considered eligible. She was welcome to him, no one else wanted him, and they were happy to have her. A Channing tamed by an American was better than an untamed Channing.

Besides, while it made for an embarrassing scene to witness, it was also particularly juicy gossip. Not the least of which being that everyone who was present at the National Gallery that evening knew now that the one werewolf who’d sworn never to marry (well, never to marry a second time, for those whose memories were long enough) was actually engaged.



Faith had never suffered through anything more mortifying in her life. After Kit and the discovery of the full repercussions of her indiscretion, things had been very, very mortifying. Her mother had been privately cruel, her temper had flared even more than was normal, but she had never publicly shamed Faith before. Faith supposed that in Boston, her mother cared, while in London she did not.

Then to have Mrs Iftercast and Teddy come to her defence, and Channing come to her rescue. Now to find herself engaged! Why, it was as if successive waves of different emotions crashed over her, buffeting her, until all she felt was saturated, shipwrecked, and gasping.

She awoke from the deluge to find herself still curled against her werewolf. His arm, strong and sure, was around her. His scent, wild and masculine, was all she could smell.

“Ulric,” said Channing, “clear us a path. Let’s get our girl out of here.”

Faith found herself moved carefully through a hushed crowd, out of the gallery, and through other showrooms until they were in some small forgotten part of the museum.

“Shut the door, Miss Iftercast.”

“But, sir!”

“A moment alone with my betrothed is all I ask. It will not be long enough for me to ravish her, I promise.”

The door closed.

Faith said, with confidence learned from her own mistake, “It doesn’t take all that long.”

Channing snorted. “It does if you do it properly.” Cool fingers pressed her chin up. “Lazuli, look at me.”

“My eyes are all red.”

“Your eyes are beautiful and you know it. Here, blow.” He pulled out a handkerchief, and Faith made it soggy and tried to repair herself a little.

“So, you won,” he said.

“This isn’t exactly how I wanted it to go.” Faith trembled. They had had such a game going between them, and now it was all over and she had trapped him into marriage, because he had a kind heart and he pitied her.

She took a deep, shaky breath. “I owe you an explanation, Major.”