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“You don’t have to try to act human,” she whispered. “You should just be yourself.”
He looked at her, their gazes caught at the exact moment that the orchestra began to play. “Can you accept me as a wolven?”
“Can you accept yourself that way?”
“When I have an answer, I will be sure to pass it on.”
Her heart didn’t exactly break. But the lines along the scar tissue that had formed after Wesley’s disappearance were strained. “Do you still have my necklace?”
“I can assure you won’t be needing it.”
“That’s very confident of you.”
“I have to be to win the heart of the most beautiful woman at the Ball.”
She turned to the orchestra, letting herself get lost in the music. It was much preferable to getting lost in her thoughts, or how the wolven felt warm, earthy, and strong sitting beside her. How every so often he would catch her looking at him, like he could hear her thoughts. How he could hear anything over the thrumming of her heart was beyond her.
Her hand slipped, touching his paw. She pulled it back but the sensation had been branded into her memory. His fur was so soft, but he was capable of so much mayhem. The wolven didn’t even know his own power.
What would it be like to be wrapped in those strong arms? To sleep with her head against his chest? To let him inside her?
To truly be claimed, like he’d so crudely suggested.
The muscles between her legs throbbed, finally she could know what it felt like to be completely with him. To have her marriage consummated, and never have to deal with any of this annulment nonsense ever again. She squirmed slightly in her chair, trying to make the sensation go away. There was no way the wolven wouldn’t be able to smell her arousal.
Her breath caught as the applause started. The concert had come to a conclusion, and Master Bow took the stage.
“We’ll have a short break before dancing,” he said. “This would be an amazing time to fill in the rest of those spots on your dance card, perhaps get a refreshment before the real fun starts for the evening.”
The wolven reached for her hand. “It would be my honor to dance with you all night long.”
That wasn’t the first time he’d uttered those words to her. The last ball before he’d asked for her hand in marriage, he’d said the same exact thing. He had already called on her at her aunt’s home in Belgravia several times, and the request came as no surprise. She’d readily agreed.
But tonight, her heart must remain guarded.
“I’ve already promised the second dance to Baron Martin,” she said.
“The minotaur?” Wesley growled.
“Yes,” she said with a laugh. “You mustn’t get so territorial.”
“You’re my wife.”
“Wolven—”
“What about the third? I’ve asked for a waltz. I know that is your favorite.”
“First, I want to see how well you dance before I commit the whole evening to you.” She curtsied. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Phillipa wouldn’t look back as she entered the hall. The party swirled around her, matches were being made, ones that would at least last until the end of the Ball.
She wanted the wolven. There was no denying the quickness of her heartbeat at the very thought of him, the way her breath caught in her throat when she looked at him, the strange yet familiar euphoria she felt when they touched.
Truth be told, she was terrified of this dance. He’d mentioned the waltz. Still considered scandalous in polite society, she assumed the dance would be popular at the monsters Ball. But she’d never told anyone her affinity for it.
Only Wesley would know that.
So either he was Wesley, or he knew where Wesley was, and got the perfect amount of information out of him to prepare himself for the Ball.
