“And what are you hunting, Major?”
“Information.”
“And you think you’ll be successful at this particular assembly?”
“There are some interesting players in place.”
“You refer, perhaps, to Lord Ambrose?”
“Things are always more interesting when a vampire is involved.”
“There are probably many who say the same thing about werewolves.”
“They are not quite the same thing.” It was clearly important to him that she understand this.
“So I’ve been told. Funny, but I originally thought you belonged to the fanged set when we first met, and yet I find you belong to the furballs instead.”
“They thought so too, once. Werewolf suits me better.”
“Does it? You don’t seem the type to play well inside a pack.”
“It is not often a choice.” He gave a faint smile. “All this you have gathered on my character in the space of one conversation about rocks and another about hats? Or have you made enquiries about me in particular?”
Channing could not help but feel smug. Faith had looked into his character. She had asked about him. She was intrigued.
He preened.
She smelled wonderful.
Of course, he too had made enquiries. He could hardly help himself. Five days since he had seen her last. Five days was enough time to determine what London knew of Miss Wigglesworth, if not quite enough time to get word back from his American contacts.
What am I doing? Channing wondered, not for the first time, as he whirled the young American girl about the floor.
She was sweet and pliant in his arms, as if she did not mind being kept there, as if she did not mind there was violence underneath. Or perhaps she did not think of herself as prey. Or perhaps she was unaware of the sound her pulse made in his head and the delicious scent of her – raisins soaked in brandy, Madeira cake and custard.
“I enquired about you, too.” He allowed his thumb to stroke against her back and soothe away the threat in his words.
Nevertheless, she jerked a fraction, although her steps remained sure and steady. She knew well how to dance, this one. She has danced with dangerous men before.
“And what have you discovered, Major?” Her brows arched, finely formed and a shade darker than her hair. He was beginning to find her accent charming, which worried him.
“There is some scandal to your presence here. Some reason you left Boston for London. Some purpose to your placing your pretty face and golden hair on our marriage mart instead of yours.”
“I’m sent to catch a werewolf husband, Major Channing, that’s it. Aren’t you afraid of me?”
He couldn’t stop a small chuckle at that. “Shouldn’t you be afraid of me? I have ruined women for lesser reasons then a mercenary agenda.”
“Have you really? You aren’t hungry for a wife, then, Major?”
“That ship has sailed.” Way back, too far. He felt the old ache then, and wondered if he had nursed it so much into a bitter memory that the few pleasant moments of that time were now entirely lost to him.
Miss Wigglesworth gave him an assessing look out of her remarkable blue eyes. “You’re a libertine? How very unique.” She gave a small fake yawn.
She was, in that heartbeat, so perfect and so pure and so very dangerous indeed that all he could do was frighten her away. “Have you been listening at keyholes, Lazuli? I assure you, they have always been willing, even when I ask that they pretend otherwise.”
She blushed deep pink at that – an appealing thing, the blood high under her cheeks, warm and subtle and alive. He wanted to delve into her, with teeth and body until she was ravaged and supine and wrecked and bleeding and his.
She did not, as he had expected, break away from him mid-step. The blush was there, to be sure, but she was made of sterner stuff. Any true innocent would be repulsed by the intent in his tone. A woman without experience would fear the implication of his preferences – the certain acknowledgment that there was wolf, nothing but wolf, underneath all his icy indifference. Faith was intrigued.
She tilted her head and looked hard at him, her lovely eyes flinty. “So, you’re just a beast who enjoys the chase, nothing else?”
“Exactly so.”
She threw it all at him. Like a piece of warm fresh meat, cut and dripping temptation, enough to make him salivate, to bait her trap. “You can’t catch me.”
The waltz ended.
Channing returned to his pack-mates wearing a faintly bemused expression. Only they would notice, however, as his customary veneer was firmly in place.
“That lovely little American just gave you the dirtiest look I have ever seen you receive. Bravo, Channing,” said his Alpha.
“Oh, come now, Biffy. Surely I’ve had worse.”
Professor Lyall looked quietly amused. “What did you say to her?”
“Nothing but the truth.”
“Now, that I do not believe at all.” Biffy sipped a small glass of port. “What advantage could the truth possibly serve?”
The Beta looked equally unimpressed. “Your truths are clearly upsetting to a lady of quality, Channing.”
“What makes you think she is upset? I merely intimated that I know there is some scandal to her being here in our city.”
Biffy looked at him full and sharp, the Alpha in his eyes, the pull strong on Channing’s tether. “Don’t do it, Gamma.” A direct command.
Channing looked away, taking in the ball with all its undercurrents of need and hope and fear. It made him want to sneeze. He curled his lip instead; it was all so sad and tawdry, and had been done so very many times before.
His Alpha clarified the order. “Don’t toy with her and ruin her simply for your own amusement.”
“I assure you, Alpha, I am not amused.” Channing allowed himself to drift away.
Behind him, he heard Biffy say to Lyall, “Should we warn her?”
“It might have a deleterious effect. You saw the way she looked at him.”
“You’re inclined to suspect she may take it as a challenge?”
“Or wish to save him from himself. It has happened before.”
Biffy sighed. He must know that Channing was still within hearing. Perhaps he wanted his opinion known. The opinion of my Alpha. Does it matter so much? Probably.
What Biffy said next, then, must be taken as criticism. “How many times has he taken revenge on a woman for the sins of a wife decades dead?”
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?”