by Lydia Dare
Will chuckled. “He pulled me aside tonight and told me he was glad to know I wasn’t the rogue he’d always thought me.” He slid his arms around her back and pulled her into his embrace.
Prisca sighed. She’d never tire of his love and attention. “Oh, but you were that rogue for many years.”
“Hmm,” he agreed, brushing his lips across her brow. “How lucky I am that you forgave all of my past misdeeds and married me anyway.”
“Not that you gave me any choice.”
Will looked down at her, his light-blue eyes intense with his gaze. “Any regrets?”
She shook her head. “Never.” Their child kicked her again, and she laughed. “And the baby is in complete agreement.”
DASHIEL THORPE, THE EARL OF BRIMSWORTH, PACED back and forth across the Duke of Blackmoor’s study, waiting for the sun to rise. Now that the pull of the moon was waning, he felt like a royal idiot for his actions earlier that night. It was no wonder Eynsford had pressed upon him the importance of shackling himself on such nights. He hadn’t been in his proper mind, not that it was an excuse. There wasn’t one. He’d stalked poor Prisca Westfield, knocked her to the ground, and even drooled on her, for God’s sake.
He shook his head in dismay before he raised his hand to his mouth and gnawed his fingernail, wondering if the duke and his brothers realized how fortunate they were. He hadn’t been taught the way the Westfield men had. He’d had no one to show him what it meant to be an honorable and trustworthy Lycan. Or even an honorable and trustworthy man—Eynsford was far from both.
Regarding him from Blackmoor’s mahogany desk, Major Forster frowned at him. The officer had just freed him from the room where they’d confined him for the past several hours.
“I’ve only released you because the duke and his brothers have taken their wives to the forest for the night. There are no other women about, aside from the maids and Miss Macleod, all of whom are fast asleep behind locked doors. You shouldn’t pose a threat any longer.”
Dash’s head swung around. “Who is Miss Macleod?”
Before Dash could react, the major had him dangling inches from the floor with his forearm below his neck. “She’s nothing to you. Do you understand?” the man growled.
“Perfectly,” Dash gasped out. The major released him and let him drop to the floor. “As long as she’s behind a locked door, I’ll be fine with her.” He thought a moment and added, “I think.”
The major’s eyes narrowed at him, but he nodded tightly. “I’ll leave you to face Blackmoor in the morning. Do not leave the grounds. Or he’ll be forced to come and find you.”
“Understood,” Dash confirmed. He had no desire to anger any of the Westfields, especially the duke, not now that he knew what they were capable of.
“Good. I’ve left my lady waiting all evening, and I’ll have to go explain.” Then Major Forster left the room with the little spring in his step.
Even the old officer had someone waiting for him. Dash couldn’t imagine how it must feel to have an intended mate, someone who would accept him exactly as he was, fangs and all. If Blackmoor or the major, or even someone at Canis House, would agree to be his mentor after all of this, he could make something of himself. His heart warmed at the thought.
Dash reached into his pocket and pulled out his small journal that detailed all the whores in and around the Covent Garden area. Physical descriptions, addresses, specialties, ratings. That’s what he needed. A talented whore. As soon as the moon waned, he would go and find one.
A sound caught his ear, and he dropped the journal to the desk beside him.
Dash stopped and tilted his head, listening intently to the soft footsteps that padded down the main staircase. They were too light to be the major’s.
Then he smelled her. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Feminine. Sweet. Wild. Wonderful. He moved behind Blackmoor’s desk as she stepped from the corridor into the study. It was a small barrier. But at least there was something between him and her.
She was stunning with flaxen curls that cascaded down her back. The frilly collar of her nightrail peeked from beneath a silk wrapper, and he wondered if it tickled her neck. Oh, God. It was best not to think of her neck.
The blond vision came up short, and her hand landed on her chest when she saw him. A small gasp reached his ears. “I’m sorry. I dinna ken anyone was up at this hour.” She turned to leave.
“Don’t go,” he said, then closed his eyes tightly. Why had he done that? He should let the woman get as far from him as she possibly could. It was the only way to keep her safe. “You needed something in Blackmoor’s study?”
“Aye, I left a book in here earlier.” She glanced quickly around the room. Her eyebrows pushed together. “Perhaps I left it in the library.”
“Having trouble sleeping?” he asked, trying to keep his tone as casual as possible.
“Aye. At times, I canna get thoughts out of my head.”
She looked like she wanted to say more, and her light eyes intrigued him more than they should. He walked around the desk and perched a hip on it.
Her eyes narrowed at him, and she murmured something that sounded like, “I canna tell yer future.”
“Pardon?” Certainly, he must have misheard her.
“Ah, there’s my book,” she said, smiling at him. A glorious smile that made his blood course faster in his veins.
She pointed to his journal on the duke’s desk. Don’t pick that up. He cringed. But his fear of her seeing his handwritten notes was nothing compared to the purely feminine scent of her, which washed over him in waves. Dash steeled himself. He could be strong. He could be a man. He could be an honorable Lycan. He could let her step closer to him, have her scent wash over him and…
In a flash, he reached out and grabbed her. She couldn’t even utter a gasp as he drew her body flush against his. Her breath stilled.
“What are ye…” she began, but he covered her mouth with his, his lips hard against hers.
In his head, he berated himself for not having more control. But she smelled so good. Felt so good. Tasted so good. And then she sealed her fate. She kissed him back.
Her tongue rose to meet his as a whimper of pleasure left her throat. Her heart beat wildly, he knew. He sank his hands into the hair at the nape of her neck and tugged, pulling her head back. Her lids were already heavy with passion. Then he trailed a kiss down the side of her jaw. She turned her head so he could tease her with his lips down the side of her throat.
Oh, God, that throat. Dotted with freckles, it was absolutely perfect. When he reached the place where her neck met her shoulder, he didn’t even think. He sucked at the tender spot and then nipped her gently. She moaned, and the sweet scent of her desire nearly overtook him.
He nipped her again, then opened his mouth wide, and without a thought, he bit through the silken skin of her shoulder.
“Ow!” she cried as she smacked his shoulder. “That hurts!”
Her words barely broke through his lust-drenched mind. But when they did, shame washed over him. He’d marked her beautiful skin. He placed his forehead against hers and drew in a deep breath. Then another.
She punched his chest. “Why did ye bite me, ye big lout?” she said as she rubbed the wound on her shoulder and scowled at him.
He wasn’t sure why. It just felt right, a natural instinct. She pulled from him, irritation in her gaze. Only irritation? No disgust? No mistrust? “I didn’t mean…”
But she didn’t let him explain as she turned and fled from the study.
“Come back,” he called feebly. But she was gone, disappearing down the corridor as quickly as she’d arrived.
Dash sank into a chair and buried his face in his hands. He’d have to make that right in the morning, though how he was to do that he had no idea. He’d marked the poor girl.
Then he remembered the journal she’d retrieved. His accounting of every debauched act he’d ever participated in. He knocked his head with the heel of his hand. And prayed
she wouldn’t open the cover.
Available November 2010
from Sourcebooks Casablanca
About the Author
Lydia Dare is an active member of the Heart of Carolina Romance Writers and sits on the organization’s board of directors. She lives in a house filled with boys and an animal or two (or ten) near Raleigh, North Carolina.