Page 6 of A Lady’s Guide to Werewolves

This was an exhibition of magical charms and amulets and historical artifacts of Lycan society. Even the Lyonesse Society for the Preservation of Magical Artifacts had donated some of the few Lycan relics that had not been reclaimed by the Packs. Usually through blood. It was not particularly safe to challenge a wolf.

This most definitely seemed like something that someone like Aidan would attend.

Sorcha’s stomach tingled with a pleasant kind of nervousness before she could remind herself that he was back in London. Curating. Courting. Being generally courteous. Kissing. “Not now,” she muttered.

“Pardon?” Simon halted obediently.

“Nothing.” She shook her head and linked her arm with his. “Never mind. I’m being a goose.”

The gallery was as grand as the rest of the house. Sorcha had expected nothing less. Recesses lined the wall near the ceiling trim, edged with ivy leaves. Inside sat carved busts of Whelan ancestors and various others Sorcha assumed were well-known wolf shifters. More watched from pedestals decorated with fresh white lilies for the evening festivities. She felt as if she were being tracked.

Glass cases displayed objects from magical and mundane wolf history. Magic fairly hummed in the air, even with the black jet and iron nail charms in the corners set out to ground some of the excessive witchcraft. A skylight above showed a crescent moon growing fat.

There was a tooth purported to have belonged to Lord Bisclavret, made famous by Marie de France in the twelfth century. His wife had discovered he was Lycan and that he needed his clothing to return to human form. She’d asked her lover to steal them in order to trap him as a wolf.

He’d bitten off her nose.

Sorcha wasn’t entirely sure what that said about Lycan society. Or marriage.

There were a great many moon charms, which made sense, as the full moon was intrinsic to Lycan magic. Some were polished moonstone, or carved from bones or white shells. There was an intricately carved clock that tracked the phases of the moon, inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

And the Marquess and Marchioness of Winterwell, seated in oak chairs in the center of the gallery, very much like a king and queen. The marchioness wore white, naturally, and she was positively dripping with moonstones. She was tall, with striking, pale eyes and a hard mouth.

It was all very impressive.

But Sorcha was distracted by something else entirely.

Someone else.

Aidan Carnahan, Earl of Coventry.

She had been pretending not to look for Aidan for so long now that the sight of him momentarily confused her.

She paused, her heart racing, which was just absurd. Her heart did not race when she climbed the steepest hill toward Nettlestone. It certainly would not bother speeding up for a tall man with strong shoulders and a serious furrow between his amber eyes. His brown hair was tousled, as usual, looking so soft that she itched to run her fingers through it. Ridiculous. His hair was ridiculous. His perfect nose, his neat, trim beard—not at all the thing in London but perfect on him—was also ridiculous.

She was ridiculous.

His head snapped up from the display he was perusing, as if he’d suddenly sensed her there, staring at him.

She gave a fleeting and slightly desperate thought to hiding among the potted fern trees, which was also ridiculous. Hadn’t she been waiting to see Aidan again?

Except she had not considered that he would also see her.

That he was here in Lyonesse, in Hallow, even, and she had not known it. Her paper birds had not found him because he had no wish to be found by her. Also, they were spelled to find animals in need more than witches, but never mind that.

Aidan of the scorching secret kiss was here.

How long had he been here? Days? Weeks?

She supposed it did not matter, as he had not sought her out. Not once.

It should not matter to her.

The tilt in her belly assured her that it did matter, actually. And a great deal.

That was inconvenient.

And oh, this was going to be awkward. She had been wondering where he was, and he had not thought of her at all. And now that she was right in front of him, he only blinked as if he were not certain if he remembered her.