by Lydia Dare
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 her 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 sin cere. "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.
"Oh, have I just caught Prisca Hawthorne as she told an untruth?" he teased. Laughter made his chest rumble beneath her hands. The muscles of his chest were taut beneath her fingertips. She flexed her fingers, testing the muscles. "Don't do that," he growled.
"Do what?"
"You know what you were doing."
"As soon as you
tell
me, I'll know." Why did everything have to be an argument with this man?
"You were touching my chest. Not quite a caress but definitely exploring."
"I was not!" she gasped. Well, maybe she was. But she didn't have to admit it.
"If I did that to you, you would cry foul and run from the closet screaming."
"I would do no such thing." In fact, the thought of him exploring her body with his fingers made her heart thump. His body was hard, pressed against her, and warmth radiated from him in waves.
She tested him with her fingertips again. "You're just so hard."
"Yes, I am that," he growled. The primitive sound made her soul vibrate. Then she felt him against her lower belly. Perhaps he had something in his pocket.
"Prissy, let me try that kiss again so I can decide if it's worth having or not."
Did he really want to kiss her again? Prisca lifted her face toward him. "I can't even see you, much less kiss you."
A heartbeat later, his lips touched hers softly, sliding against her closed mouth for only a moment.
"Not bad." He lifted his head. "It'll do."
"It'll do?" she cried. That was hardly complimentary.
"Let's try it again." His lips met hers. This time, he tilted his head, his mouth pressing firmly against hers. His tongue tickled her lips, caressing the seam until she opened for him. Then he swept inside.
All conscious reasoning left her in that moment. She lifted herself onto her tiptoes and wrapped her hands around his neck. Her breasts pressed against the hard wall of his chest.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, and her hips rocked against his. There was definitely something in his pocket. Finally, he broke the kiss. But not before she was breathless and witless.
"Will it do?" she gasped out.
"And then some," he grunted.
"That's better."
"Only a fool would complain about your kisses, Prisca."
And if Brimsworth touches you again, he's an even
bigger fool.
"When I was with him…" She hesitated until he nudged her. "I mean, kissing him was not like kissing you."
"Good."
"Why is that good?"
She wanted to hit him. And kiss him again all at the same time.
His finger tipped her chin up. "When you're with him, he doesn't make you feel like this, does he?" His lips touched hers, a quick and profound kiss.
"No," she finally admitted.
"You're not made for him," he told her, as he caressed her jaw with his fingertips.
She couldn't see his face, which made it easier to ask, "Then who am I made for?" She steeled herself for his answer.
"Me," he said softly, and her heart soared.
Did he feel the same connection to her that she felt to him? "Will—"
Before she could ask, the closet door opened and the light from the hallway washed over them.
Nine
"Get out of the closet, William," Simon hissed at him. Then he turned his gaze on Prisca. "And you, too," he growled, making a jerking motion with his thumb.
Prisca squared her shoulders. "I think I may just stay in the closet the rest of the night. Please close the door on your way out." She paused briefly and then shot Simon a glare. "Your Grace," she sneered at him.
Will wasn't sure if he should laugh out loud or roll over and show Simon his belly. His oldest brother's face was ripe with rage, though Prisca didn't seem to notice.
"You will get out of the closet and then you will thank me, Miss Hawthorne," Simon clipped out. "As we speak, each of your brothers is searching the premises for the both of you. Have the two of you lost your fool minds?"
Will captured Prisca's hand in his and pulled her from the closet. "No need to bark at the girl, Simon. She was only looking for a little peace."
"And what were you looking for?" his brother countered.
Prisca tilted her face up to him. Will's heart nearly thudded to a stop when tears welled up behind her eyelashes. He never could bear to see her cry. "Priss, are you all right?"
She barely nodded. "You'd better go so they won't find us together."
He wasn't about to leave her. "Not while you're upset."
"William!" She frowned, snatching her hand back from his. "Surely it's not in your best interest to be caught in my presence. Please go with His Grace."
He could only stand there and gape at her.
Prisca shook her head irritably. "Never mind." She turned her glared on Simon. "You may tell them you found me and that I have retired to my room with a headache." And with that, she fled down the corridor and around a corner.
"And still no 'thank you,'" Simon grumbled.
Rage coursed through Will, and before he could stop himself, he grabbed Simon's jacket and thrust his older brother against the wall with such force he felt the manor's foundation tremble. "I'll 'thank you' right out the window," he seethed.
Simon growled low in his throat. No one ever challenged him, not ever. Will knew better, but his control was long since gone.
"If you want to keep those hands, you'll remove them from my person this instant," Simon threatened.
Will blinked, trying to regain his thoughts, and released his hold on Simon's jacket. "I don't know what came over me," he apologized, backing away.
Simon smoothed his jacket
back into place and straightened his ivory cravat. "That's not an excuse, William. Think for one moment about what you're doing."