Lydia Dare Wolf Bundle

by Lydia Dare

  “You might hate me,” he said softly as he exited. “But you still want me.”

  She slammed the door behind him.

  After a few moments alone in the hallway outside Prisca’s room, Will gathered his wits about him and readjusted his trousers. Prisca Hawthorne always left him affected in one way or another, and it would take time for his ardor to cool. Why couldn’t he have fallen for a sweet girl like Elspeth or a caring one like Lily?

  Loving Prisca was a punishment, a curse of sorts. He’d tried over the years to fight his feelings for her. In fact, he’d made quite a name for himself in London as a charming rogue. He’d entertained women of all classes and positions, hoping someone would make him forget her. No one ever had.

  He heaved a sigh. In a matter of days he’d have the girl, but her heart was another matter, and she didn’t seem willing to give it to him.

  Will ambled down the hallway, wishing he was already at Westfield Hall. He slowly made his way toward the grand front door. The Hawthornes’ ancient butler handed him his greatcoat and hauled the door open for him.

  Will stepped out into the bright December sunlight. The clouds were sparse, but the sky was bleak and grey. A cold breeze blew past him, and a chill tickled down his spine. He started toward the stables, but a voice behind him halted his step.

  “It appears as though you’ve won, Westfield.”

  Brimsworth.

  Will looked over his shoulder to find the earl just stepping over the threshold. “Your expectations were contrary to the outcome?” Will asked. “Sorry to disappoint. When do you plan to leave?”

  The young earl furrowed his golden brow. “I thought I might stay to toast the nuptials.”

  Will spun on his heels to face the earl. “If you do anything to hurt her…” Will began.

  Brimsworth sneered at him. “If you’d only played fair, I’d have accepted the outcome.”

  Will stalked toward the earl, his fist clenched. “And I’d do it again, pup. You’ve no choice but to accept it.”

  The man laughed. “Do I?” Will could barely keep himself from wrapping his hands around the man’s throat and choking the life out of him. “You’re the same as me. I can smell it.”

  “And I can sense your wildness, your lack of control. If you touch one hair on her head, there won’t be enough left of you to heal.” He stared Brimsworth down, until the earl looked away submissively.

  Will once again started for the stables.

  “Watch your back, Westfield,” Brimsworth called after him.

  Will didn’t even bother to turn around.

  Seventeen

  “I DON’T CARE, MOLLY,” PRISCA EXPLAINED FOR THE thousandth time. “I don’t care what he says.”

  “Please, Miss… It’s Mr. Hawthorne’s birthday,” her maid begged.

  Blaine could go straight to the devil along with the rest of them. “I’m well aware of the date. As I’m not feeling the least bit festive, I believe I’ll stay right where I am.”

  With an exasperated sigh, Molly sat on the edge of Prisca’s bed. “They can’t function without you. Sir Herbert is barking at everybody. All your brothers are grumbling at each other. If you’d just come down and see them, I’m sure—”

  “When my father sees reason, I’ll join him and my brothers. But not until then. And you can tell him I said so.” Reclined on her bed, she closed her copy of Emma and leveled her maid with her frostiest glare.

  Molly winced under the pressure. “I’d rather not be that messenger, Miss Prisca. He’d bite my head off, and I’m rather fond of it.”

  Prisca tapped her fingers against her book. For the first time ever, she wished she were a man. No matter what trouble Emory or any of the others had ever gotten themselves into, their father had never demanded they marry. It wasn’t fair.

  Of course, she was well aware that life wasn’t fair and women often got the shabbiest deal, but… She couldn’t marry Will. She wouldn’t marry Will. Not under these circumstances.

  It would be different, she supposed, if she could remember him asking her to be his wife. What could he have possibly said that made her accept his offer? Blast her foggy memory. She’d give anything to remember what he’d said and done that night. Not that it mattered now. Ever since her ruination, he’d behaved like a medieval brute. He’d simply told her that she would marry him. End of discussion. How completely unromantic. Not that she expected more of him. His charm generally lasted only a night.

  Years ago, Will had confessed to her he might not be the marrying sort, which she soon came to learn was the most truthful thing he’d ever said. He’d lured women to his bed by the dozens. More than she could count, and she’d been keeping track over the years. The society rags were awash with his exploits, and though Ben kept her generally well informed, she knew—he left much unsaid.

  William Westfield was a scoundrel of the first order, an unrepentant blackguard, and the worst sort of profligate. Yet, despite all that, he never failed to make her heart race or her breath catch, foolish woman that she was. He was still as handsome and charming as ever, which was maddening.

  How could she marry him knowing the sort of rogue he was? She wanted a husband who would be true to her, who would love her. William Westfield only loved himself. None of this was what she wanted.

  “Please, Miss Prisca,” Molly’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “Everyone else is here—even the duchess.”

  Prisca winced. She hated for Lily to perceive her as a spoiled brat, but it couldn’t be helped. She wouldn’t go downstairs if Prinny himself ordered it.

  For the hundredth time that evening, Prisca wished she had a place to run. But she had no funds at her disposal. Nowhere she could go for help. Anyone she would go to was already here—waiting to watch her marry Will. Disloyal brothers, the lot of them.

  She heaved a sigh. She was all alone in this, and she had to make a stand somehow. Unfortunately, refusing to leave her room was the best she could do under the circumstances.

  Prisca shook her head. “Molly, I believe I have given you my answer.” Then she picked Emma back up and opened the book. She lamented that the lenient Mr. Woodhouse wasn’t her father. Then again, if Emma had been discovered in Mr. Knightley’s bed, even Mr. Woodhouse might have noticed.

  Some of this was her fault. Though what should she have done when Will refused to take her home? Run out into the freezing night wearing nothing but the duke’s shirt, hobbling on her twisted ankle? She probably shouldn’t have kissed him, a voice in the back of her head said. That was foolish, but she always felt the urge to behave foolishly in Will’s presence. He was a bad influence.

  As the days passed and Christmas approached, Will grew as restless as a caged wolf. He’d always been fairly patient, always able to calm Simon when he was in a rage. But the last few days had been torturous, to say the least. He’d visited Langley Downs every day, but Prissy wouldn’t see him. She wouldn’t see anyone. Stubborn chit. Sir Herbert only knew she was well, since she sent back her food tray empty every night.

  “Don’t worry,” Sir Herbert said as he ushered Will into his study. “As soon as His Grace returns with the license, I’ll break the damned door down. There’s no point in my doing so yet.”

  “I understand Lord Brimsworth has departed.” Which was the only good news he’d had in days.

  Sir Herbert’s eyes darkened. “Under the circumstances, he thought it best if he returned to London.”

  At least Prisca wasn’t in danger of encountering a livid Lycan, other than himself anyway. He thanked the baronet for his time and returned to Westfield Hall.

  The days were shorter and drearier, and deep in his soul, Will worried that something would go wrong. However, as soon as he entered his brother’s manor, it was obvious that Simon had returned.

  Oliver York, the teenage Earl of Maberley whom Simon and Lily were raising, rushed down the hallway, smiling. “Will! Simon says congratulations are in order.”

  If only that was tru
e. Not that Will would discuss Prisca’s petulance with the lad. “I think you grew another foot, Maberley,” Will said instead, as he patted the top of the boy’s head.

  “I’m the biggest Lycan in school now,” Oliver beamed.

  “So, there’s more than one of you?” Will looked down his nose at the boy, hiding his grin.

  Oliver shuffled his feet. “Well, there are two of us, but Mr. Schofield says two more will be enrolling for the Hilary term.”

  “He’s quite right,” Will affirmed. “I met their fathers at Canis House a few weeks ago. I hope you’ll be a proper mentor to them as Leo has been to you?” He let the question linger in the air.

  “I’ll do my best,” Oliver assured him, before he turned to bolt up the stairs.

  “Oliver!” Will called after him. The lad turned in his direction. “Keep in mind that there’ll be no talk of Lycans when Miss Hawthorne is in residence.”

  “She doesn’t know?” Oliver’s jaw dropped open.

  It was just one of the many things she didn’t know. Will shook his head as he took his correspondence from Blackmoor’s loyal butler. “Thank you, Billings,” he said absently.

  “But won’t she need to know before you change with the full moon?” Oliver asked.

  Simon poked his head out of his office, frowning at the two of them. “What is the matter with you?” he hissed. “Certain things shouldn’t be discussed out in the open.”

  Will started for the study, with Oliver following in his wake. “How can she not know?” the boy persisted. “Don’t you plan to claim her?”

  Simon choked.

  Oliver met the duke’s eyes and shrugged. “I know you didn’t keep your promise. I saw Aunt Lily’s neck.” Then he dropped into the closest seat near the grate and grinned. “But Mr. Schofield explained it all to me—much better than you or your books did, so I figure it’s all right. She seems happy anyway.”

  “Out!” Simon barked, holding his door open widely.

  Oliver scowled but rose from his spot anyway. “I don’t know why I have to leave. You told me everything in the coach.”

  “Maberley,” Simon growled, “my love for your aunt is the only thing keeping my temper in check. If you’d like to reach your next birthday, you’ll leave my study this instant.”

  The boy slinked from the room, grumbling under his breath—though both Will and Simon heard him question the circumstances of the duke’s birth.

  Simon slammed the door behind Oliver and then rubbed his temples. “That boy will be the death of me.”

  “And yet you’re ready to start your own family?” Will asked as he took the seat Oliver had vacated.

  “Sir Herbert says that you fall in love with them when they’re born and it keeps you from killing them as they grow older. As he sired six of them, I’m inclined to believe him.”

  At the mention of Sir Herbert, Will leaned his head against the back of the leather chair.

  “That bad?” Simon asked as he settled himself on the corner of his desk.

  “She’ll come around,” Will said, more to convince himself than Simon.

  “What did I miss?”

  Will shrugged. “She’s barred herself in her room and refuses to talk to anyone but her maid.”

  “Perfect.” Simon scrubbed a hand across his face. “You’ve really gotten yourself into quite the mess.”

  Which he knew. Will just wasn’t prepared to give up yet. “She’ll get used to the idea. Once she’s away from Langley Downs, once she’s a Westfield…” He let his voice trail off, too uncertain of the future to say the words aloud.

  “Yes, I’m sure it’ll all be different then,” Simon remarked drolly. His brother tugged the chain to his pocket watch and flipped it open. “With that in mind, what time do we plan to leg shackle you to Prisca?”

  Last year would have been nice. “You do have the license, I assume?”

  “Would I have returned without it?”

  Of course not. Will took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Then I suppose the sooner the better. I only wish Mother was feeling well enough to travel.” And she did adore Prisca.

  Simon frowned. “Doctor Bramber’s tonic hasn’t helped?”

  Will shook his head. “And Ben and Elspeth have been quarreling over the situation since you left.”

  “Do you think she could really heal Mother?” Simon rubbed his jaw.

  Of that Will had no doubt. “She may look tiny, but she’s more powerful than any other woman of our acquaintance. But that is neither here nor there. Ben won’t allow it; and if she was my wife, I don’t think I would either. He has the babe to consider as well.”

  Simon heaved a sigh. “Then we’ll just have to pray the tonic does its job.”

  There wasn’t much else they could do. “So,” Simon began, his voice lighter as he changed the subject. “Are you ready to join the ranks of us married men?”

  More than he’d ever thought possible, not that he’d voice that to his older brother. He managed a cheerful smile. “I suppose it’s time to drag Prisca from her room, kicking and screaming, so we can be joined in wedded bliss.”

  “Good luck with that.” The corners of Simon’s mouth twitched upward, and then he glanced down at the correspondence that had piled up on his desk while he was away. “Hmm,” he said picking up a letter emblazoned with The Society’s emblem. “This one’s for the major.”

  “Going through your own post now?” Will asked, surprised. His brother was notorious for allowing letters to go months or longer without reply.

  Simon shrugged. “Lily is helping me stay a bit more organized. I somehow don’t believe your bride will be as accommodating.”

  Probably not. Will pulled the note from his pocket that he’d just gotten from Billings and tore through the seal.

  “Were you expecting something?” Simon’s brow arched as Will quickly exhaled.

  “I sent a query to an old friend in Kent to learn more about Brimsworth.”

  Dear Will,

  It was quite a surprise to hear from you this morning. To be honest with you, I do not know Eynsford’s heir. However, I have heard much about the Monster of Eynsford Park. Of course, that is just servants’ talk. I do not actually believe such a creature exists. My valet, however, swears that his cousin, who is in Eynsford’s employ, is convinced that an evil monster stalks the halls of the marquess’ residence and has torn the interior to shreds on more than one occasion. It sounds ridiculous, I know.

  When are you returning to London? We have much to catch up on and haunts to visit.

  Sincerely,

  Richard

  Will frowned at the letter in his hands. The Monster of Eynsford Park? It didn’t take a genius to realize the creature mentioned in the letter was a Lycan. The question was why did Eynsford destroy his own property? Every Lycan of Will’s acquaintance went out of doors to transform.

  Will and his brothers had been taught by their father to respect their Lycan traits and to do what it took to keep others safe. That meant retreating to the forest and into solitude when the moon was full. Indoors, a Lycan could react like a caged beast and could be a danger to those around them.

  Thank God, Prisca would be safe from him from now on.

  Eighteen

  PRISCA HEARD HER FATHER BELLOW HER NAME FROM the bottom of the staircase, but she ignored him completely. He’d already sent Molly, two other maids, and the butler to rouse her, but she refused to go down. When Molly informed her that the Westfields had arrived with a special license in hand, Prisca knew her time was up.

  Still, she wasn’t ready to give in. So she settled back in her bed and continued to stitch the gown she’d designed for Lady Elspeth. It was easy to escape into her own mind as she hemmed the gown, the task soothing in a way that would have been difficult to explain to someone else. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she hoped if she ignored them long enough, they would all go away.

  A knock sounded on her door, which Prisca promptly disregarded.


  “Miss,” Molly’s voice filtered into the room. “Everyone is at sixes and sevens. Please do come down. I’m afraid Sir Herbert is going to come up here himself.”

  Prisca could imagine her father doing just that. How long could she hold him off? Her brothers were probably all scowling at each other and pacing the floors, except for Garrick who would stand very stoically in Papa’s study, all pious with his Bible, ready to shackle her to William Westfield for life.

  Unfortunately, she could also imagine what life with William would be like—constantly wondering where he was and who he was with. Was he under a whore or on top of one? Was he searching for a mistress? Or a widow with whom to while away his days?

  Prisca opened the door marginally and jerked her maid into the room. The surprised look on the girl’s face quickly turned to annoyance as she rubbed her wrist.

  Prisca had to know. She’d never asked about the results of her little test the night she’d sent Molly to seduce Will. The very thought that he might have taken her up on it had nearly eaten Prisca up inside. So, she’d pushed it to the back of her mind.

  “Tell me,” she blurted out.

  “Beg your pardon?” Molly returned, the look on her face making Prisca feel horribly guilty for using the woman in the first place. Molly had a kind heart. And had always been good to Prisca.

  “The night I asked you to seduce Lord William, Molly.”

  Prisca knew the moment the girl remembered the event. A quick smile spread across her face. “What would you like to know?”

  “Did you offer yourself to him?” The very thought made tears well up in Prisca’s eyes.

  “In a manner of speaking…” Molly hedged.

  Prisca began to tap her foot against the rug. “Can you be more specific?”

  “I put myself in his path the night of your party. The one the duke and duchess attended.”

  “I remember. Please continue.”

  “He thought it was his fault, but I ran directly into him. He reached out to catch me and set me back on my feet.” Her face took on a dreamy quality. “He is a very nice man.”