A Hunt By Moonlight (Werewolves and Gaslight Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

in bed with the neighbor. He changed instantly and barely restrained himself from tearing both their throats out. Good thing he did, for his sake, though they would have deserved it.”
    Given Godwin’s unfortunate marriage, Royston could hardly fault him for his hostility toward adulterers.
    “The werewolf who killed the mugger did get off on self-defense. He was lucky—a witness came forward, and the cutthroat he killed was known to authorities. If he hadn’t been a werewolf, he probably would have won some sort of award for public service.”
    “So you’re saying the wolf who killed the Ladykiller could be one of Foster’s patients? But why did he rescue Miss Fairchild and not the others? Are you suggesting he had passionate feelings toward the woman?” He chuckled. “If so, Lord Bandon will not be best pleased.” He did not have to be one of the gentry to be privy to the upcoming nuptials. It was splashed all over the papers. The heiress to the Fairchild estate was to wed the last Bandon scion.
    “It might not have to do with Miss Fairchild at all,” Godwin said. “Given how Blackpoole was trying to redirect blame toward werewolves, any ’wolf in London would have reason to hate him.”
    Which made sense. Only, Royston’s gut told him that it did have something to do with Miss Fairchild, and a good detective never ignored that kind of a gut feeling. He was less sure that the werewolf or Miss Fairchild had anything to do with his current case, but with no other leads to follow, it might bear investigation. His mind kept coming back to the werewolf, and that had to mean something. When he found his thoughts worrying at a subject, like a dog at a bone, he had to pay attention. Sometimes the idea came to naught, but more often it came to something.. He would have never solved the Dalton case if he hadn’t followed up on his niggling feelings about the bowler left on the scene.

Two

    Richard Bandon frowned down at a selection of lace spread out over the breakfast-room table. The windows looked out over the garden on three sides of the room, so the light was particularly strong, glaring off the white lace.
    “They are all very fine,” he said to his intended. “But not one could do you justice.”
    Catherine laughed—a lovely, musical laugh he could never tire of. “We could just get married here. Then I wouldn’t need a veil.”
    Richard did think it silly that the Church required brides to wear a veil—‘for modesty’, the vicar said, which was ridiculous since his lady attended each Sunday without a veil, and no one had ever claimed that her attire was in the least bit immodest. And it was not as though he weren’t familiar with her face. It was as dear to him as the sun rising in the morning. The sharp nose—which some had slandered as a witch’s nose, though no one had been so bold within his hearing since they had announced their engagement, only complimented her delicate cheekbones. The grey eyes he had once mistaken for being cold and passionless were soft and warm as a summer’s rain.
    “The lace, Richard,” Catherine said. “Unless you’d rather I tell the gardener to start planning.”
    “No, my love. We’re doing this right. Aunt Rose will never speak to me again, elsewise.”
    Besides, he wanted the whole world to know how proud he was of his eccentric, outspoken lady, alchemy and all. He didn’t want a single whisper that he had married her for her money or her name or for any reason other than that he was completely and utterly besotted with her. His Catherine might not care what others thought of her, but he would care on her behalf.
    It was a fair day. The maid had drawn back the draperies and opened the window, letting the breeze carry in the sweetness of the first early roses. Catherine’s assistant was reading a book on the fakirs of India. As Catherine had no living family, Jane Waters served as chaperone. It was a good thing that his intentions were entirely honorable;