Her posture was perfect, her expression composed, her laughter lilting and timed just right. Every tilt of her head, every flutterof her lashes struck the perfect balance between warmth and mystery.
It was all too effective.
He should have been proud. This was, after all, what he had helped her become: poised, sharp, strategically charming. But pride warred with something far darker, far more dangerous.
Because she never looked athimthat way.
Withhim, she was fire and fury. She challenged him, pushed back with every lesson, resisted his words—until that night in his house, when she’d kissed him back with a heat that had nearly broken him.
And then she had pulled away. Just like that.
No other woman had done that.
Now, she was glowing, all pink-cheeked, radiant. Men watched her with naked admiration, some with barely veiled hunger.
That one’s eyes are too low. That one’s hand is too close to her waist.
Her sisters should have noticed by now and hauled her away.
But hadshenoticed?
Was she playing them, or was sheenjoyingit?
That’s the game,he reminded himself bitterly.
That was the reason she was here: to secure a husband, to be chosen and courted, to make a match. And tonight, she was finally thriving. The shyness was gone. She was believable, compelling.
She waswinning.
And yet…
None of them have seen yer real smile. None of them know the sound of yer moans,he thought, jaw clenching.
His hand moved before he could think better of it. He scribbled the note quickly and crossed the room.
The lords were too entranced by her beauty to notice the slip of paper pass into her gloved hand. Her sisters, too focused on protecting her from fools, didn’t spot the real danger.
The wolf had already gotten in.
He watched from across the room. There it was, her slight flinch. The tightening of her shoulders. The graceful turn of her head to shield the motion of her fingers unfolding the note.
She read it. Her jaw tensed. But she didn’t tear the paper. She didn’t hide it either.
Someone kept talking—Lord Pomfrey, probably—and she laughed on cue.
Library. In ten minutes.
Alasdair retreated just far enough to give her the illusion of choice. He wouldn’t chase her across the ballroom. Not tonight. She had to come to him.
She didn’t move for nearly a minute. Then her shoulders rose and fell once, twice.
“Excuse me,” she said sweetly, stepping away from the circle of eager lords.
A ripple of disappointment passed through them, but none dared stop her. Her sister, the Duchess of Oakmere, leaned in with a quiet word. Elizabeth blushed furiously. But she nodded.
And then she walked through the crowd, away from the light and the warmth and the safety of her future.
Towardhim.