Clair shrugged. "I will admit I am a tiny bit excited about having my own personal specimen to study at leisure. But that is the only point in Ian's favor."
Her aunt raised her eyebrows. "The only point?"
Clair blushed, remembering the fiercely passionate lovemaking of her wedding night, before the groom had got down on four legs and run off after the cat.
A loud knocking could be heard down the hall. Lady Mary glanced in that direction, remarking astutely, "I think I hear the wolf at the door."
Clair scowled. "Well, I am not one of the three little pigs." Moving closer to the hallway, she called out loudly, "Brooks, if that is the treacherous, lying dog Baron Huntsley, don't let him in."
"Clair, remember you are a lady," her aunt admonished.
"Too late," Ian warned, his green eyes glowing with anger as he stalked into the room. "The wolf's not only at your door, he's in the house. Run, piggy, run."
He stood tall and formidable, glaring at Clair, dark circles under his eyes marring the perfection of his handsome face. Clair's leaving had devastated him.
Stealthily he approached, halting only when his boots touched the hem of her dress.
Angrily, Clair kicked him. "You know I hate piggy jokes."
Ian reacted to the attack by grabbing Clair and pulling her into his arms. His lips smashed down on hers. It was an angry kiss, the kiss of man who had woken up the morning after his wedding to discover his mate had fled his lair. In other words, he was not a happy wolf. He was a big mad wolf with big white gritted teeth.
Clair's body responded, her love for Ian filling her, reminding her of how he made her feel. Heart aching—as well as other regions of her anatomy—she reminded herself of his deceit. Fiercely, she pushed him away.
"You beast!"
Ian's eyes flashed angrily. "I won't deny it. I am what I am."
Dramatically, she pointed a finger at him and continued, her words fueled by anger. "You four-footed bounder! You lying lycanthrope."
He grabbed her finger, put it between his lips, and bit gently.
"You whopper-telling werewolf."
Uncomfortably, Lady Mary cleared her throat. "I have to go and see to your great-aunt Abby, who is hosting tea for Louis today." She exited the room.
Ian glanced briefly at the departing woman, then switched his attention back to his angry wife. Clair's gray eyes were sparking a deep flinty color. Her cheeks were flushed and her bosom was heaving. He wanted to make mad, passionate love with her. But seeing her expression, he knew it would only be mad love right now.
He had known Clair would be a tad upset that he hadn't revealed his werewolfism sooner. He also knew she hated liars. But he had foolishly thought her excitement, her unrelentingly curious scientific mind, her Frankensteinian lust for exploring the unknown, would overrule her female nature. He had gambled big and gambled wrong.
Worse, he had never thought that Clair would leave him. It was humiliating. It was maddening. It was something he had become acquainted with more frequently since falling in love with a Frankenstein, this impossible mix of frustration and feeling as if he were stuck on another continent, not knowing the native language. Did anyone speak Clairese?
"I thought you would be thrilled to continue your research up close and personal… on me," he remarked, waggling his eyebrows. "I told you long ago that I would be honored to be your lab experiment. Think of all the research you can do late at night. On my body." He smiled wolfishly.
Clair shivered. He was playing dirty. She had only tasted a tiny amount of Ian's lovemaking, and it was better than any scientific discovery she had ever made. Now her body craved his, the fiend. He'd probably expected that when he first made love to her. Now she was an Ian addict, addicted to werewolf love. The cad!
She narrowed her eyes, her mouth a firm straight line. All she said was, "Ha!"
"You can explore to your heart's content. Run your fingers over my body. Feel my muscles. Feel how they stretch, like how I feel you stretch when I fill you with…" He took her fingers and ran them over his chest.
"Harold Ian Huntsley, behave yourself. Brooks is probably listening at the door," Clair admonished sternly, her cheeks bright red. But her mind was reeling with the possibilities. She would count all the hairs on Ian when he transformed, then compare that to the number of hairs on a natural wolf. Of course, Ian would have to find her the natural wolf. She could measure his fangs and all sorts of other things.
He chuckled. "I love it when you get embarrassed," he said. He began stalking her, and Clair backed away, shaking her head, her tawny curls bouncing.
"I love it when you kiss me," he continued. "I love it when you get a new idea and your eyes sparkle. I even love it when you drag me into trouble on one of your investigations." Ian paused, watching the pulse in his wife's throat as she circled behind the settee.
He smiled wickedly. He could hunt Clair forever, predator that he was, and never tire of it. She was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to him, and she was most definitely his.
"Most of all," he finished, "I love it when you scream my name when you reach climax."
Clair's blush spread to her chest, and she glared at him, waving her finger back and forth. "You… you dog!"
"Wrong species," he said. He jumped over the couch and grabbed Clair, enfolding her in his arms. "Clair, I love you. Wolves mate for life, and you're mine."
He pulled her around to the front of the settee and settled her in his lap. At first she put up a token resistance, but his kisses weakened her. Who was she fooling? She loved Harold Ian Huntsley to the depths of her soul. He was her other half. She was a fool for this handsome wolf.
She held him close, then regretfully pushed herself away from the comfort of his warm chest. She had questions to ask. He had answers he needed to give to her.
"You lied to me, Ian," she said.
He tipped her chin up and looked into her eyes. "I never lied."
She started to protest. He put his finger on her lips and shook his head. "I didn't tell you what I was at first because I have my family to protect, plus a whole clan of other werewolves. We let few humans into our circle because of the danger. It's the same as with Asher and the vampires."
"But you could have told me about yourself later," Clair protested. "And what about when I thought the Earl of Wolverton was a werewolf? You knew he was a vampire. Why didn't you tell me?"
Ian shook his head solemnly. "Clair, all supernatural creatures protect one another. We have to. It is our blood bond and our blood duty. The preternatural world is a small one."
"That's why you threw me off the scent with Ozzie, telling me he was a practitioner of the black arts when he only studies the culinary arts."
Ian nodded.
"What about when we made love for the first time? You could have told me then."
"Clair, I was so concerned about getting you to marry me that night, I didn't think revealing I was a werewolf was the correct courting procedure."
She turned her face away, but Ian continued, "Clair, we shapeshifters share a pact. We can't reveal what we are to humans unless they are related by blood or marriage. I couldn't tell you what I was until you were my wife."
She searched his eyes and saw he spoke the truth.
"I told you as soon as I could. If you had waited around long enough for me to transform back, I would have explained. Instead you chose to run home," he scolded gently. "We can't solve our marital problems like that."
She leaned her head against his chest, slipping her arms around his waist. "I guess not. But I was so angry at you." She understood family loyalty.
"I know," he teased, "you were yelling at me like a fishwife."
"Hmm. Your bark is worse than your bite. All you did was howl and growl back."