Werewolf fairytales

No comparrison

*Paisley*

I don’t know how long we stood in the corridor. With my eyes closed, my only sensations are the press of Theo’s powerful body, the drugging sensation of his mouth, the way his hands shape and tease me.

Then I become aware he’s saying something. “I didn’t mean to insult you by talking of the she-wolves who offered to buy me.” His voice is low and rasping. “But I am constrained. I cannot ask you to marry me. The only conceivable relationship between a butler and a she-wolf of quality is if she… engages his services.”

I swallow, biting my lip when I see the pain in his eyes. “But I would marry you.”

The words have tumbled from my lips. “If you were to ask,” I add quickly.

“I am a servant, with a grand lineage on one side but no wealth,” Theo says bleakly. “And the truth of it is that I… I love you, Paisley.” It’s his turn to cup my face in his hands. “Which means I cannot make you a servant. If I could marry any she-wolf in the world, from queen to beggar, I would never choose another than you. And I mean that.”

My lips tremble. “I love you too,” I whisper.

“But I cannot marry,” Theo says, his eyes searching mine, begging for understanding. “If I were a different person, and this a different place and time, I would have had a wedding ring on your finger a week ago.”

“Oh, Theo,” I whisper, collapsing forward against his chest. A tear dampens his shirt.

“I would give anything to call you mine.” His voice is harsh and true.

“Then I shall have to buy you,” I say, brushing away that tear and another that follows it. I pull back and catch his eyes, because this is important. “I am not a child to be handed from one man’s hand to another.”

His brows draw together. “I do not…”

“You do.” I say it clearly, not angrily. “I love you.”

He swallows hard.

“And I am perfectly capable of making up my own mind about the disposition of my body.” I tell him.

“I know.”

I open the door behind me. “Then come.” I hold out my hand.

His voice emerges strangled from his chest. “Paisley, I cannot…”

“If you love me, if you respect me as a person who owns myself and my own body, who is a servant to no one and owned by no one...”

“A gentleman wouldn’t,” he says hoarsely.

I smile at that, pick up his hand. “You just told me, sir, that you are no gentleman.”

He follows me, through the darkened nursery, to the door at the far end, through the door.

From a chair at the side of the bedroom, I snatch my reticule, and open it. “If the only way I may have you is to buy you...”

He lets out a half groan, half laugh. “Paisley!”

I reach out, catch his hand, and wrap his fingers around a ha’penny. “Then I own you. And although you didn’t ask, my price was very low. I was yours from your first kiss. I suppose you could say that I came for free.”

The hunger in his eyes makes me feel more beautiful than I have in the whole of my life.

Still, he remains motionless, exercising that infernal self-control of his.

I let the silence grow, then: “I have bought a house, but not possessed it.” I am quite sure that the look in my eyes rivals that of any light skirts on the streets of London. “And I am sold, but not yet enjoyed.”

There is another beat of silence in the room, during which my heart drums in my throat.

“That was a terrible pun,” Theo observes. There is something deep and slow in his voice. I bite back a smile.

He puts one hand to his perfectly tied cravat. I hold my breath.

Eyes fixed on mine, he slowly, slowly lifts a fold of snowy linen, over, up, over, through… I see his hands from the corner of my vision, because I am drinking in his expression, the taut desire that shapes his face.

Then I raise my hands to the cord that holds my wrapper together. A moment later, I am wearing only a light muslin nightgown. One glance down at my chest and I feel myself turning pink with embarrassment. Instinctively, I fold my arms over my breasts, hoping to flatten my n*****s before Theo sees them.

I can’t tell if he has. He shrugs off his heavy coat and puts it over a chair.

“You,” I say, and clear my throat. “You look...”

“Without that livery,” Theo states, “I am a man, nothing but a man.”

Joy sparks my heart. “Do you wish me to remove my nightgown?”

He straightens, a shoe in one hand. “If you’re having second thoughts, I’ll leave.”

I gasp, “no,” and a smile quirks the corner of his mouth. Then I add: “I think I would feel more comfortable with my nightgown on.”

Theo nods. He dispenses with his other shoe, pulls off his stockings, then pauses, hands on his waistband.

I realize my voice has died. It’s just that his body is so taut and muscled, like nothing I’ve seen or imagined. It’s a Theo-esque smile he throws me, the kind that seducers throw maidens… though I am no maiden.

“I should probably warn you,” Theo says, but I hardly hear him. He removes his breeches, and now his hands are on his smalls.

“What?” I breathe.

“It could be that Rodney and I don’t…” Still his hands don’t move.

“Don’t what?” I say, unable to imagine what he’s getting at.

“Don’t resemble each other.” His smalls hit the floor, and my mouth falls open. I instinctively fall back a step, ending up against the wrought-iron bed frame.

“Oh dear.” My voice comes out in a squeak. The memory of Rodney’s member flashes through my mind: Rodney’s little member, I now realize. There is no comparison.

“I gather we don’t,” Theo says, a wry, yet tender note in his voice.

“No,” I breathe. “You don’t.”