In Regency-era England, Constance is powerless to change her social status or find romance no matter how lonely she might be or how much her family might depend on her. But when she's locked in a werewolf Lord's bedroom on a full moon night, she'll...
A small group of musicians were already playing when Hugh met them at the double doors to the ballroom. Pine garlands festooned every doorway, and banister. Holly hung from the windows and candles lit the ballroom in a soft glow.
"You look lovely, sister," Hugh said. "Wife, you are," his eyes traveled his bride and Hannah had to look away as Constance's cheeks turned pink. "Radiant," he finished.
"Shall we?" Constance asked, sounding nervous.
"They're our friends," Hugh said gently.
"And nearly everyone from the village," Constance said.
"And you outshine them all."
Hannah smiled despite herself. When had her older brother become such a sappy romantic?
They made their rounds. Constance blushed and stammered, but overall she was an excellent host and lady of the house.
People greeted Hannah warmly, but she felt their gazes land on her scars and then slide away uncomfortably.
Everywhere she looked, there were happy couples; lined up to dance, whispering behind fans, laughing. She hated that she was jealous. That she couldn't find it in her to be happy for them. She made her way around the edge of the ballroom and slipped out into the great hall.
"Hannah?"
Owen stood there, his hair damp with snow. He was wearing a simple suit, and he looked so damnably handsome, this boy who had become the man she loved.
"Owen? I thought you were gone?"
"I just returned. I wasn't sure I'd make it back in time." He smiled shyly. "You look lovely."
Heat bloomed in her own cheeks and she thought she might be wrong. Then he ran his hand through his hair and cleared his throat awkwardly.
"Please don't lie to me." Her voice was barely a whisper.
He cocked his head in confusion. "What?"
"Something is strained between us. What used to be easy is gone and I think..." she looked down at her gloved hands, clasped tightly in front of her, "you don't love me."
"Hannah, no—"
"It's not your fault." She continued. "Maybe from afar these scars didn't bother you, and now you know they do. I don't blame you for that."
Suddenly, his hands wrapped around hers. "How could you think so little of me?"
She looked up at him. His face was awash with worry.
"Then what? Don't deny something has been different these past weeks. You didn't even want to come to the ball with me."
"Oh my sweet, dear Hannah. I'm here now. I rode straight through from the city because I wanted to dance with you. But what a fool I've been." He kissed her gloved knuckles. "I have been acting strange, and I thought you wouldn't notice. But of course, you've always known me better than anyone else."
Her stomach clenched. What terrible thing could he possibly have to tell her? Was he ill? Complicit in some illegal activity? Had he been selling his blood to a vampire den?
"I had to go to the city to procure something and I could not wait." He dropped onto one knee. "Hannah Connor, will you marry me?"
This was so far from all the sad and awful things she'd been thinking for the last few weeks, all that came out of her mouth was a barely intelligible; "Come again?"
He pulled a ring out of his jacket pocket. "I've been acting strangely because ever sine I asked Hugh's permission to marry you I've been a nervous wreck. I left the moment I'd saved enough money to buy you a proper ring because I couldn't live with the secret one moment longer."
"I don't need a ring."
"I wanted to give you a ring. Something for you to have from me, not from your wealthy heritage. But I'm so sorry I caused you pain." His eyes were full of regret.
Relief flooded Hannah so hard she burst into tears.
He was beside her in an instant, pulling her into his chest.
"What is it? What did I do?"
"Nothing," she sobbed. "I feel like such a ridiculous ninny."
"You are not." He kissed the top of her head. "The opposite, actually. Your only problem is you know me too well."
She allowed herself one moment to cry. Just enough to find herself among the power of so many strong feelings. Good heavens, how did Constance deal with so many all the time? And then she allowed herself a moment to collect her good graces, her face tucked into Owen's strong chest, the smell of winter still clinging to him.
"Are you well?" Owen asked, brushing his lips across her forehead.
Hannah nodded and took a hiccuping breath before she pulled back.
Owen handed her a handkerchief. "You never did give me an answer." He sounded unsure.
Hannah laughed. "I better say yes after all that."
He smiled down at her, the dimple in his cheek deep and enduring. "In that case."
He took her hand and pulled at the silk fingers until the elbow-length glove slid off.
She shivered as he ran his fingers down her arm. He took her hand in his and then slid the small ruby onto her finger.
She tipped her face up toward the man she had adored her entire life.
"I love you Owen Banfield."
He placed his lips against hers and she fit against him as her blood rushed through her body.
"I am going to take you into that ballroom and dance with you now," he whispered in her ear. "And no one will doubt how much I love you."
He kissed the inside of her wrist, which made her want to find a dark nook instead, but then he was leading her back into the glowing ballroom toward the rest of their lives.
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