by Lydia Dare
Dark amber eyes peered down into hers, twinkling with mirth. And something else. Prisca wasn't sure what.
"Lord Brimsworth! I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention to where I was going." She reached out and laid a hand upon his chest, still trying to steady herself.
"My fault, entirely, Miss Hawthorne," he laughed. "I was just on my way to my room to collect something."
"Me, too," Prisca said, holding up the swatch of cloth she'd just recovered from her dressing room. "And you were ambling along quite nicely until I nearly knocked you off your feet. My apologies."
"No apologies necessary, my dear," he said, his voice deepening a bit. His hands settled more comfortably around her waist, which was her first indication that he'd not released her yet. "I quite enjoyed catching you, to be truthful."
"You can let me go, now."
"If I do that, I'll have to concoct another situation in which I can stumble into you."
"You concocted that one?" Surely he'd not stepped into her path on purpose.
"That one was by chance, Miss Hawthorne. Or luck, as it was on my part." He released her with what she assumed was a reluctant sigh.
"If you consider yourself to be fortunate when I bowl you over, I'll have to make an effort to stab you with a fork. Or crimp the rug before you come through the front door."
Lord Brimsworth threw his head back and laughed. "You are quite delightful."
"Tell that to my brothers, who would wholeheartedly disagree," Prisca scoffed.
"I doubt those brothers would be very happy to find you in a corridor with a strange man…" came a voice from behind them.
Prisca looked around the earl's shoulder to see Will striding toward them. His eyebrows were pushed harshly together, and he looked as though he could easily strangle someone, quite possibly her. She gulped. "Will? What are you doing up here?"
"I was looking for your father, actually," he said, avoiding her gaze. She could always tell when Will lied. He couldn't look her in the eye, and he'd done his fair share of lying to her over the years.
"Of course, you were." She nodded, narrowing her eyes at him. "Papa's study is
below
stairs." She knew how much he liked it when she talked to him as though he were an ignorant child. He thoroughly detested it. Which gave her great satisfaction. "Do you need a map, my lord?"
"I can find my way there, thank you," he returned crisply. Then he held out an arm to her. "Shall I escort you back to Lily and Elspeth?"
The look he shot at Lord Brimsworth would have felled a lesser man. But the earl just squared his broad shoulders and stood there, a quirk of his eyebrow his only response. He didn't even reply. He just regarded Will as though he were an incoherent aberration.
Prisca looked up at the earl. "Shall we accept Lord William's guidance? Or journey out on our own?" The horrified expression on Will's face was worth the amused look on Lord Brimsworth's.
"If I had my druthers," the earl began, smiling at her.
"You do not," Will said sharply. Then he took Prisca's hand in his and placed it on his arm. With a tug that nearly dragged her down the hallway, he turned on his heel and walked toward the stairs.
Prisca glanced back over her shoulder. "Lord Brimsworth, weren't you on the way to your room? To collect something?"
Brimsworth stopped and nodded. Did he suddenly look disappointed? "Oh, yes. I nearly forgot. Thank you for reminding me," the earl replied.
"I must get back to my friends. I'll see you later?"
"Most definitely. Perhaps another game of cards?" Brimsworth suggested.
Will nearly vibrated beside her, which was strange. Why should he care at all? She actually began to worry for the earl. He should stop talking this instant.
"Speaking of which," Brimsworth continued, "if the weather turns, Miss Hawthorne, would you care to take a short walk with me later?"
Prisca was nearly taken aback. Both by the earl's offer and by Will's low growl in response. He reminded her of a teakettle that was ready to boil.
"I'd love to," she said slowly, gauging Will's reaction. She didn't have to wait long.
"With a proper chaperone, of course," Will clipped out.
"Of course," Lord Brimsworth said, laughter coating his words. "Until later, then, my dear." He gave Prisca a tiny bow before turning the corner to go to his own room.
"You shouldn't be alone with him," Will grated out as he tugged her down the hallway. The muscle of his arm was tight under her fingers. So tight he felt as though it could break at the slightest provocation.
"You lost all rights to dictate to me, William. Besides, I didn't plan to be alone with him. We just bumped into one another."
"A poorly contrived coincidence," Will snarled.
"Are you insinuating that Lord Brimsworth's bumping into me wasn't accidental? How ridiculous." Prisca laughed, though her mind was spinning.
Prisca gasped as Will dragged her into the nearest sitting room. He closed the door, locked it, and leaned against it, drawing her close to him as he did so.
She shook her head. Had he lost his mind? "What are you doing?"
"Talking to you."
"Must you clutch me like a child would his governess' skirts while you
talk
to me?"
"I don't clutch you like a child, Priss," he said as his touch gentled. He brushed a lock of hair back from her forehead. "Never like a child." Slowly, his knuckles drew along her chin. Prisca closed her eyes, savoring the situation for a moment, until the memory of his betrayal sank back into her thoughts. Strange he should seem concerned about her now.
Perhaps it had something to do with Lord Brimsworth. Was he the reason why Will had dragged her into a room alone? "Are you jealous, William?" she asked as realization dawned.
***
Jealous? Was he? Bloody hell, of course he was. But he pressed his lips together.
"The consummate scoundrel
is
jealous. Oh, how far we have come," she sang as he looked at her.
"If I'm a scoundrel, you made me one," he said without thinking.
Prisca rolled her eyes. "You can't blame me for what you are, William. You were a scoundrel long before I came to my senses."
Will sighed. She would always believe the worst of him.
That night all those years ago came rushing back in his memory, not that it was ever far from his thoughts. If she'd only met him at the edge of the property like she was supposed to, they would have taken off for Gretna Green and all would be fine now. Everything would have worked out. But she hadn't, and nothing had been right since.
Did she still think he fathered Mary Osgood's child? No matter that the Osgood chit finally admitted the first footman was the responsible party, her original accusations had ripped Prisca from him. He still had the note she'd sent him the morning after they were supposed to meet, wishing him to the devil sooner rather than later.
Emory and the others had believed the tale in the beginning as well, which probably hadn't helped. He could only imagine her overhearing the Hawthorne brothers discussing the situation. She'd readily believed them. After all, they'd known him better than anyone, save his own brothers.
Still, Prisca should have known better, shouldn't she? Where was her faith in him? How could she believe he'd whisper sweet nothings in her ear, offer her his love and his name, and then go spend his nights with Mary Osgood?
If anyone had a right to still be furious about the past, it was him. But he didn't want to be furious anymore. He wanted his heart to stop aching whenever he was in her presence. He wanted her to look at him with the adoration that once shined in her eyes. He wanted her. Just as badly now as he ever had.
"We would have been married four years now, Priss. Do you ever think about that?" He did, all the time, though he tried his best to push thoughts of her far from his mind. Every widow, every lightskirt, that came his way was a distraction. Distractions that never filled the place in his heart tha
t was reserved solely for her.
"I don't think about you at all," she said. But he could tell she was lying as her pupils dilated.
His heart leapt a bit, and he brushed his fingertips across her jaw. "Liar."
She inhaled quickly at his touch. "Will," she started, placing a hand on his chest to push him away.
"Do you have an interest in Brimsworth?"
"I haven't given it much thought. I just met the man. And I don't see where it's any of your concern," she replied. "Do step back. I can't think with you so close."
But he didn't move. He loomed over her like some powerful warrior.
She tried once more to push him away. "Priss…" he said quietly, his hand coming up to cover hers. He just held it there, over his heart. He felt her touch all the way through his jacket and the fine lawn of his shirt.
"Let me go, Will," she said quietly as she looked up at him, her lips close enough that he could taste the scent of her.
"I can't," he said as he clenched his teeth. The other Lycan could probably hear them grind from wherever he lurked in wait for Prisca.
"It wasn't a request. Let me go." She tapped his chest with her fingertips and then jerked her arm free of his grasp. He released her hand but leaned in closer, preventing her from sliding out of the enclosure of his arms.
This was why he stayed away from her. Because he could not resist her. He couldn't trust himself to play the gentleman. She'd normally never allow him to get so close. When they were fighting, she was so stiff and unyielding that he had no chance of ever drawing her near. Why was she letting him do so now?
Will wasn't about to ask. He might not get another chance. He bent and kissed her forehead softly. She wiped his kiss away like the vilest of concoctions was touching her skin. Then she grimaced. Her pulse beat in the room like the
clip, clip, clip
of a horse at a trot. Her skin was so hot it was moist, the skin above her bodice flushed and shiny with dew.
He reached out and touched the small gold locket that hung beneath the pulse in her throat. "What's this?" he asked as he fingered the ornate decoration.
"Just a locket." She shrugged as she tried to pull it from his hands.
"What's in it?" He needed to know. He didn't understand why, but it was imperative that he see what was inside that locket.
"A picture of my one true love." She smiled coyly at him. Gone was the sour-faced imp who threatened his peace of mind. Gone was the tempting siren who taunted his daydreams.
"May I see?"
"It's just a likeness I painted, really," she said as she flipped the catch and opened it.
Will's heart stopped. A dark wolf stared back at him.
"A dog?" he asked as casually as he was able. "Your one true love is a
dog
?"
"He's not really a dog." She bristled at his words.
"Then what is he?" Surely she didn't know.
"He's
mine
. That's all that matters." She jerked the locket from his grasp.
"No need to be offended. I'll never tell anyone how much you love the dog." He attempted to chuckle, but it came out more as a cough.
"You wouldn't understand."
"I understand more than you think!" he snapped at her. He narrowed his eyes. She didn't know, did she? There was no way she could know that he and the wolf she wore so close to her heart were one and the same. He tipped up her chin with his crooked finger. "Stay away from Brimsworth, Prisca."
"Why?"
"Can you, for once, just do as I ask?" he barked.
Finally, she shoved his chest, and he let her push him back. She stood toe to toe with him, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving. "What I do or who I see is no concern of yours, William. You wouldn't appreciate it if I began to dictate your actions."
He had to keep her away from the other Lycan. No matter what. He held up his hands in surrender. "Dictate. Go ahead."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't do as I say. Just as I'll not avoid Lord Brimsworth simply to satisfy your overly inflated sense of self-worth."
"Dictate, Prisca. Tell me what you want."
"You don't care what I want," she scoffed. "You're simply jealous."
"Worried. It's quite a different emotion." Hell, he was jealous, too. So jealous he could choke the life from the man, any man, who held Prisca in his arms.
"If you'll promise to be careful about Brimsworth, I'll accept a dictate of yours," he finally sighed.
"Beg your pardon?" Her violet eyes rounded in surprise.
"Anything your little heart desires."
He tugged her back into his arms, and she went willingly. Poor girl must have been stunned mad. He chuckled.
"No wenches. No maids. No widows. No women at all." She spoke so softly against his chest that a normal man wouldn't have heard her. But he did. And his heart nearly stopped beating. The only woman he wanted was her. The others were simply to fill the void.
"Done," was all he said. "And you'll stay away from Brimsworth."
"No." Prisca squirmed in his arms. "I said I'll
be careful
around Brimsworth. Those are very different things."
"Will you tell me if he makes advances toward you?"
So I can kill him.
"No. But I promise to take great care around the man. And I will strive to never be alone with him."
He wanted much more than that, but it was better than nothing. "And, in return, I'll…" Will stopped to cough. Or choke. He wasn't sure which. "Stay chaste."
"For how long?"
"God, Prisca, I don't know. Until our deal is null and void!"
"Very well. It's worth it just to curtail the most famous rake in London, if only for a little while."
"You take great pleasure in this, do you?"
"More than you," she snorted.
"I'm not looking for pleasure. I want you to be safe. And I'll call on you to check. As often as possible."
"Perhaps you should ask me if I
want
you to call on me, William."
Only Prisca could vex him in such a manner. Yet he still felt a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. "May I call on you, Prissy?"
"You absolutely may not, if you plan to call me Prissy." She lifted her pert little nose into the air.
"Prisca, darling." Her harrumph stopped him only momentarily. "May I call on you?"
"I may be able to tolerate your presence." A small giggle erupted from her throat. She was enjoying this. But then she gasped as he jerked her roughly against him.
"Don't play with me, Prisca. Unless you would like me to return the favor."
"Will," she whispered as he caressed her jawline with the back of his knuckles again. The pulse in her throat called to him. Bending to touch his lips to it, he trailed a kiss up her neck, across her jaw, and finally, his lips touched hers. "You said you'd stay chaste."
"My exile from lusty pursuits does not pertain to you."
"It doesn't?" she breathed.
"You have to grant me a boon, Prisca. I am not a monk."
She raised one haughty eyebrow at him. "So, if I'm to be wary of Brimsworth, you're to stay chaste. That's our deal?"
"That's our deal," he agreed. "Shall we kiss on it to formalize the entire plan?"
"I think most people shake hands, Will."
"Do you want to shake my hand?"
"Not particularly," she mumbled.
"Thank God," he breathed as he lowered his head. He pressed his lips against hers insistently, tilting his head to take more of her mouth. And, joy of joys, she kissed him back. He rejoiced when her lips opened and he could tangle his tongue with hers. He touched her elbow and lifted her arm to wrap around his neck. Then followed with the other arm. He wasn't satisfied until her arms clutched him to her, her fingers threading all the way to his scalp, her nails abrading him, just like when she petted him in Lycan form.
Only now they were equals.
>
Will heard footsteps coming down the corridor and pulled back to press a finger to her lips. She didn't even mutter against it. The door handle jiggled lightly before the boots stomped down the corridor.
Brimsworth… he was sure of it. Well, the earl could go straight to hell. Prisca had agreed to his bargain. Prisca was within his grasp. She'd be safe there. The earl could make his way to Kent or wherever else he chose.