Werewolf fairytales

So many kisses

*Paisley*

When Theo appears in the portrait gallery the following night, he doesn't say a word about my implicit proposal. Instead he inquire about Jonas’s belly troubles, and then tell me a story about his Great Aunt Sophonisba.I nod and smile, but inside, I'm wild with frustration.

Is he never going to mention what happened between us? I have lain awake half the night searching for magic words that will overcome his comment about my birth, and he wants to talk of trivialities? Then, quite suddenly, Jonas stops fussing, gives a little snort, and falls asleep.

And just as quickly, Theo snatches the baby from my shoulder and carries him back to the nursery.

I trot along behind, my heart pounding. I'm having trouble remembering my lines, just like an actress about to enter the stage. What should I say? What should I… should I…

In the end, I say nothing, because… the baby having been tucked in his bed… Theo pins me against the wall and kisses me until I'm melting against him, and instead of carefully crafted questions designed to make him realize that he should marry me… well, he seems to like those soft sounds I make when he kisses me, which is good because the way he kisses me, put together with the way he touches me, makes me intoxicated. Even more intoxicated than old Fettle, when he's lying in the road singing.

The next night is the same, and the night after that. All during the daylight hours, I mull over ways to make Theo marry me. Somehow. Because if he doesn’t ask me soon… well, I really do have to write my father. I've begun to feel horribly guilty, certain that he's worried to death about what has become of me.

But when the nighttimes come, and Theo finds me in the portrait gallery, our eyes meet, and all those anxieties fly from my mind. The world shrinks to fit that room. I shiver if his arm touches mine, bite my lip at the look in his eyes.

And then, when Jonas is in his cradle, I slip into Theo’s arms as naturally as the baby has settled down to sleep. Once I'm there, the world disappears entirely, and the only thought in my mind is a dazed wish to know more of him. Theo is like the best present I’ve ever received, a gift wrapped in hundreds of different layers. Every night I learn something new, something that the rest of the world doesn’t know.

He keeps vital parts of himself secret, even from his own brother. Yet I’ve found the magic key that shakes him free of that enormous reserve: I kiss him and kiss him. Slowly, his face changes, moves from its implacable cheer into something wilder and fiercer. A look that is for me alone. A look that comes close… very close… to revealing a Theo who is no longer in control.

But every time I try to coax him over that final barrier, allowing my hand… scandalously… to brush his thighs, or even, one night, arching against him like the worst kind of Jezebel…

He never breaks. I can feel him tremble, hear the groan in his voice, but his self-control holds.

And every time I try to bring up the subject of our relationship, he withdraws. In a second his face changes to that of a calm and unmoved butler. He bids me a polite good-bye and leaves, closing the door politely, and quietly, behind him. Still… he comes back the next night, as if he can’t stay away.

It drives me mad. The only way I can imagine changing Theo’s mind is to seduce him. True, I don’t know much about seduction. Rodney threw himself in the straw at my feet, after all, and even the memory of him scrabbling at my ankles makes me shudder.

One day when Ella takes the baby off to nurse, I drift around the castle until I find Theo inspecting the work of three footmen as they polish some silver. Gathering my resolve, I poke my head in, and say as calmly as I can, “Mr. Theodon, Her Highness would like to speak to you in the nursery.”

But when he emerges from the door, I pull him into the small sitting room next door. We don’t say a word, just come together with a giddiness that makes us both shake with silent laughter until the glitter in Theo’s eyes becomes something else, something hotter and more private than mirth.

I kiss him until we are both shaking, until my blood races, until I can feel him, hard and rigid against me.

And yet, after a few minutes he puts me away, looking down into my face with that impenetrable expression that I'm growing to hate. There's a frown in his eyes.

“You mustn’t do this,” he whispers, rubbing his thumb over my lip.

“Why not?”

“I’m not worth it. I’m not worth you. This cannot… we cannot… be together.”

“We are together,” I say. “I lo…”

His hand slips over my hand. “Don’t say it. You must not. I am not a gentleman.”

“I love you,” I say, pulling my head sharply from his hand. “I will tell my father that; I will tell anyone: your brother, Ella, the footmen, the cook.”

I can see him swallow. “I could not bear it if you did that.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“I would not wish that on my worst enemy.”

“What wouldn’t you wish?” I ask, genuinely bewildered.

“To ruin the she-wolf he loves,” he says.

“I’m already ruined.”

He runs one finger down my cheek, and then lets his hand drop. “You were not ruined by the loutish Rodney, no matter what you think. There’s many a she-wolf who anticipated the marriage bed. But make no mistake, you would be ruined by marrying a servant.” He turns and withdraws, leaving me there.