by Lydia Dare
“Would you mind if I take the next turn, Lady Elspeth?” he asked graciously, sending her a charming smile. The man probably had a slew of women dropping at his feet to kiss his boots on a daily basis.
“I was goin’ ta pass it ta William, but if he doesna mind,” she said as she looked around Brimsworth in Will’s direction. Her eyebrows raised in silent question. And sympathy.
There was no way Will could take the blindfold and catch Prisca if Brimsworth got it first. By not taking it, he guaranteed Prisca would be partnered by the strange Lycan during the scavenger hunt. She’d disappear alone with him. And there’d be nothing he could do about it. But to raise a fuss would appear suspicious with everyone looking on. Will simply shrugged and reclaimed his place against the wall, where he leaned negligently against the doorjamb as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
Yet Will’s heart raced within his chest. The earl tied the blindfold over his eyes himself, and then Emory came forward to spin him around.
“Oh, dear,” the earl grunted as he bumped into a tea table. Then glasses rattled as he bumped the sideboard. “I hope I didn’t break anything,” he joked.
“Not yet, Brimsworth,” Emory called back. “Though you get closer to doing so every second.”
“Hopefully, I’ll stumble into one of the lovely ladies in just a moment. One of the beautiful Giddings sisters would be a great find right now.”
Will looked over at them where Sarah Giddings fanned herself with her hand. She laughed a bit, followed by a loud snort. Blaine tucked his head into his chest and bit his bottom lip to hide his grin.
When Brimsworth was within a foot of Prisca, Will kicked away from the wall again and tensed. Simon sent a warning look, but Will paid it no heed. The blasted earl sniffed loudly, his nose close to Prisca’s hair.
“I believe I know that scent,” he said. Then his hand reached out and touched the back of Prisca’s head. A red haze passed before Will’s vision as the earl stroked down the length of the shiny sable mass, his hand finally landing at the small of Prisca’s back.
“Miss Hawthorne,” the earl said slowly with a smile that made Will want to rip his lips right off his face, “I do believe you’ve been caught.”
A round of applause sounded around the room as Brimsworth jerked the blindfold off and bowed dramatically before the occupants of the room.
“Looks like I’ll have the fortune of being paired with you during the hunt, Miss Hawthorne,” the earl said.
Prisca smiled back at him, as any gracious hostess should. “Bravo,” she congratulated. But her eyes lacked their normal sparkle. Was that disappointment in her gaze? Or was his foolish mind playing tricks on him?
Play continued around the room until each of the Giddings sisters were paired with a Hawthorne, except for Emory who was exempt from playing the game as he’d been the one to hide the scavenger items—something he looked rather smug about.
Will, thankfully, was paired with Garrick, who looked to be immensely relieved himself. “Thank heavens it’s you,” the vicar said as he and Will took off in search of their hidden item, a shepherdess figurine once belonging to the late Lady Hawthorne.
Will’s heart told him to stay close to Prisca, not to get far from her. But, with Garrick leading the charge and having great fun with the scavenger hunt, there was no possible way for him to bow out gracefully. As he brushed past Simon, his oldest brother murmured, “There are three of us. No worries.”
Will nodded slightly. But he was worried, all the same. And angry. And so damn jealous he couldn’t see straight.
Prisca bit back her disappointment at being paired with the earl. In truth, she’d hoped to end up with Will. She’d wanted an excuse to spend time with him. After their brief encounter, she didn’t even know what she’d say to him. But she did have a million questions all running together in her mind.
“Where shall we start looking, Miss Hawthorne?” Lord Brimsworth asked, a smile on his face that would probably charm the squirrels from the trees without even the promise of a nut.
“What is it we’re searching for, again?” she asked as she leaned close to him to look at the unfolded square of foolscap he held in his hand to see bust of Sir Alfred Hawthorne scrawled in Emory’s handwriting. Their grandfather’s likeness was usually in the gallery, but where would her oldest brother have hidden it?
As she pondered this question, Lord Brimsworth shifted closer to her, and she could almost swear he inhaled hard enough to suck her hair right up his nose. “Are you all right?” she asked.
“I must tell you that you’ve quite enchanted me, Miss Hawthorne,” he said slowly as she led the way down the corridor toward the study. She thought she might find the item listed in her father’s sanctum. “That scent you wear makes me take leave of my senses. If you’ll forgive me for saying so.”
Prisca hugged her arms around herself to fight a sudden desire to flee. “Forgive you for paying me a compliment? Is that normal practice? I’ll have to pen a note to the head mistress of my girls’ school and let her know, Lord Brimsworth.” She threw a smile in his direction.
He swallowed it like she’d thrown a bone to a dog.
“Would it be all right to dispense with the formalities? I’d love to hear you call me Dashiel.”
“Dashiel?” she asked, her mind still on Will.
“It’s so nice to hear it from your lips,” he said quietly as he brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. She shook his touch away as nicely as she was able. “May I call you Prisca?”
“As long as you don’t pick up any of the horrid monikers my brothers use for me,” she replied pertly. “I assume it’s all right.”
Dashiel took her elbow in his hand and turned her slowly toward him as he stepped into her space. Prisca firmly believed that she, like everyone else, had a space around herself she could call her own and which only those invited could invade. And William Westfield, of course. After all, there was an exception to every rule.
Dashiel was breaking her rule, which made her a bit uncomfortable.
“I’m not typically so forward, Prisca,” he began, his amber eyes glittering at her. “But I fear that if I don’t make my intentions known, I could miss out on something I want very badly.”
Prisca looked at him blankly. “I don’t…” she began.
But he cut her off. “I sense there’s something between you and William Westfield. Would I be correct?”
Had he not been holding her elbow, she’d have probably toppled over. Wait. Why was he still holding her elbow? She tugged it gently from his grasp. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do. Please tell me if I am treading on territory he’s already marked.”
“Marked?” Prisca shook her head to clear it.
“I would like to get to know you better, Prisca,” he said, bending to look into her eyes. Something dark lurked in their depths, but she wasn’t sure what she saw. Whatever it was, it scared her just a bit.
He had none of William’s charm. Nor wit. Nor anything else she adored about him. But, of course, he wouldn’t. He was a different man, after all. One who wanted to get to know her better.
“I’m not certain we’d suit, Dashiel,” she said quietly, shaking her head. She should call him off immediately. It was most definitely the appropriate thing to do.
“There’s only one way to find out,” the earl said.
“And what would that be?” She wished he would stop talking in riddles.
Before she even saw it coming, the earl bent down a bit and touched his lips to hers. They weren’t soft and supple like Will’s. And he had none of the silky glide that made her want to crawl into his lap and kiss him all day.
She should really stop comparing the man to Will, particularly when he was kissing her.
Dashiel finally lifted his head and looked down at her. “You’ve been kissed before?”
“W-why do you ask?” Prisca stammered.
“You’ll need a bit of practice,
I’m afraid,” he said slowly, his amber eyes watching her face closely.
A loud cough sounded from the corridor. A hacking cough. An I-am-about-to-expire-this-moment sort of cough. Prisca sprang back and resisted the urge to wipe the earl’s taste from her lips just as the Duke of Blackmoor entered the room.
“Ah, Brimsworth, there you are. I’ve been searching everywhere for you,” the duke drawled.
“Was there something you needed?” Dashiel growled.
“Not needed. I simply wanted to discuss the House of Lords with you and Eynsford’s place in it. He’s quite a powerful man, your father.” Dashiel tensed tight as a drawn bow beside her.
“Would you both excuse me?” Prisca asked of the gentlemen.
“Of course,” Blackmoor replied as he bowed slightly, but he raised one dark eyebrow at her. “You are all right, aren’t you?”
She waved him off with a toss of her hand. “I’m fine. I just need a bit of air.”
“You’ll be back to finish the game?” Dashiel asked her as she started for the door.
Prisca pretended she didn’t hear him and refrained from answering as she slipped from the room as quickly as she could. She ran down the corridor, thankful no one was about. After several turns this way and that, she neared the kitchens. Without a second thought, she opened a closet door and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind her.
Will left Garrick’s side at the first possible opportunity. He needed to keep an eye on Prisca, to make sure Brimsworth didn’t put his filthy paws on her. He rounded a corner and nearly ran over a poor little maid.
“Terribly sorry,” he muttered, reaching out to keep her from toppling over.
Her green eyes rounded in surprise and then a playful grin played about her lips. “No apologies necessary, my lord.” She batted her lashes and took a step toward him.
Will blinked at her. Was she flirting with him? “Thank you, I didn’t mean to knock you over, miss…”
“Molly,” she said, biting her plump bottom lip.
Molly, the little maid Blaine drooled over. Will took a deep breath and backed away from the chit. “Well, Molly, I’ll just be on my way.”
“Must you leave so soon, my lord? I think I may have turned my ankle.”
Was she flirting with him? Or had he truly injured the girl? “Does it hurt to stand?”
She nodded, batting her lashes again.
Will frowned but took her arm, directing her to the closest parlor. “Sit down, and I’ll find someone for you.”
“No.” She pouted. “Won’t you look at it for me, my lord?” She dropped onto the settee and tugged the hem of her serviceable grey gown up to her knees. An invitation, if ever he’d seen one, and he’d seen plenty. “Please? It hurts so terribly bad.”
The girl did have very nice ankles and a snug little bodice. No wonder Blaine was so enraptured. Pouty lips and sparkling green eyes that spoke of unbridled passion. Last week he would have been tempted. Two days ago he would have been tempted. But after holding Prisca yesterday, after their bargain, he couldn’t even consider the girl and what she offered.
“I think not.” He backed toward the entrance. “But I’ll find someone who can be of assistance.”
“But, my lord,” she continued, “I’m certain your hands could make it all better.”
Will didn’t even answer her. He strode from the room, wondering where Prissy had gotten to and spotted Blaine at the end of the corridor. He was mad for the little maid; he could heal her twisted ankle instead. “Blaine,” he called.
The youngest Hawthorne brother smiled, approaching him. “Have you disposed of Garrick already?”
Will shrugged. “I’m afraid I knocked into one of your maids just now. Molly, I think. I left her in the pink parlor with a twisted ankle. You should check on her.”
“Molly?” A stupid grin landed on Blaine’s lips. “The pink parlor, you say?”
Will nodded. “Indeed. I’d better find my way back to the vicar.” Though he had no intention of doing that. Prisca was somewhere alone with that vile Brimsworth, and if he didn’t find her soon, he would go out of his mind.
Eight
PRISCA STOOD IN THE DARK BROOM CLOSET AND HELD completely still, forcing herself to breathe slowly and evenly, as though that would help her calm her rapid heart. She had to admit it was cowardly and juvenile to stand in the closet. But she truly wanted to be alone, if only for five minutes. She needed that amount of time to collect her thoughts.
Intelligent women planned. They didn’t simply fall into situations from which they were unable to extricate themselves, as she was prone to doing. She was in a mess of disastrous proportions. Now, how to improve upon her situation?
The heavy clomp of boots stopped outside the closet door. It was Dashiel… she knew it! Prisca held her breath, sure he could hear her. Five minutes. All I need is five minutes. I need to think.
The steps faded as he walked away from the door. Prisca relaxed a bit, allowing herself to breathe. And that was a good thing, because as soon as she filled her lungs, the door to the closet was flung open. The bulky form of a man slipped inside, and then he closed the door behind him.
“Don’t scream!” Will grunted at her as his hand covered her mouth. He could just imagine her wailing loudly enough to call all her brothers, his brothers, and that damned Lycan into the hallway. “I’ll uncover your mouth if you promise not to scream.”
She nodded frantically beneath his hand.
“Good girl,” he soothed her.
“Who are…” she started. Her palms landed flat on his chest. “Will?” she asked.
“Yes, love. What are you doing in here?”
There was very little room in the closet and, although his Lycan eyesight allowed him to see her, he had no doubt she couldn’t see him. A broomstick brushed his shoulder.
“Ouch,” Prisca cried when it hit the top of her head.
“I have it. Never fear, I’ll strangle the worrisome beast,” he laughed softly. Then she took a step and landed on his toe. “Oww, be still!” he whispered.
“There’s not much room in here, Will, and you’re taking up most of it.”
He reached out and curled an arm around her waist, drawing her body against him. “There. Just be still.”
“Why are you in the closet, Will?” she asked.
“I asked you first,” he chuckled.
“I was hiding, if you must know. How did you know I was in here?”
“I could hear your heart beating.”
“I don’t doubt that. It was thumping like mad. Now, tell me the truth?”
“Your gown stuck out from beneath the door,” he lied smoothly.
“Then it’s a wonder Dashiel didn’t find me,” she mumbled.
Will managed not to growl. He hated hearing the man’s name on her lips. “When did the two of you become chummy enough that you call him Dashiel?”
“Tonight, I assume,” Prisca sighed.
“Why were you hiding from him?” Had the beast done something to hurt her? He’d march right out of there and strangle the life out of the Earl of Brimsworth.
She shrugged against him. “I don’t know. I just needed some time to myself.”
The smell of the Lycan was all over her. On her clothes. On her hair.
Damn it.
“And just what were you thinking about while you hid in the closet?” he asked.
“Kissing.”
Will swallowed so loudly that he could hear it. “And why were you thinking of kissing?” When she didn’t respond, he jostled her shoulder. “Priss, answer me.”
“Dashiel says I’m bad at it.”
How the devil would the earl know if she was good or bad at kissing? Will balled his hand up in a fist. “He said what?”
“He didn’t say I’m bad at it. He said I needed practice.”
And the earl had himself in mind to tutor her, Will was sure. “Brimsworth is an idiot. When did you kiss him?” He’d only been gone from h
er for a few moments. “That’s hardly being careful around the man.”
“I didn’t kiss him. He kissed me.”
Of course, he did. Will would kill him.
“You think I kiss all right, don’t you?” She turned her pretty little face up to his. Her eyes were closed, probably because she couldn’t see, even with them open. She looked perfectly kissable.
“I think you kiss just fine,” Will grumbled. He needed to move away from her because simply talking about kissing her made him so hard he was sure she’d be scared by it, if she took notice.
“Just fine?” she hissed. “That’s like being really cute. It’s steps below beautiful.”
“You are beautiful.” He smiled until she jabbed him in the gut. “All right, Priss, I believe your kiss was better than fine. But, it’s so hard to remember. We should do it again so I can give you a full report.”
“Are my kisses that forgettable, Will?” Or was it simply that he’d kissed so many that she didn’t stand out? If she didn’t kiss well enough to impress Dashiel, how could she ever measure up to all the women Will had kissed? Her confidence was quickly evaporating there in the dark with him pressed against her.
Will’s lips brushed her forehead. “Definitely not forgettable, Prissy.”
She couldn’t help but sigh loudly. He did sound sincere. “We can get out now. I think I’m done thinking.”
“You think you’re done thinking?”
“Yes, I believe so.”
His arm tightened around her. “I don’t know, Priss. You definitely need to think about this some more.”
“I should get back to my guests.”
“Then go, but your moment of peace will be shattered,” he reminded her. “As soon as you leave, Brimsworth will be chasing your skirts again.”
“My moment of peace was shattered the second you stepped in here with me.”
“That’s just because you’re thinking about kissing me,” he said, bending close to her ear. As he spoke, his warm breath brushed the shell of her ear.
“I am not.” Only a little bit, and only because she worried she’d disappointed him the day before.