by Lydia Dare
***
Prisca wanted to thrash him. How dare he take advantage of her in her drunken state? How dare he get her so foxed she couldn't even remember his lovemaking? If she was going to have to marry the lothario, she at least would like the memory of the sin. Or maybe she didn't. How wanton was she?
Prisca groaned again. Why had she agreed to marry him in the first place? William Westfield was the last man she should marry. If she hadn't been able to keep her heart safe from him before, how would she ever protect herself now? Now that they would live together. Now that he could share her bed whenever he wanted. Now that she didn't have a say in the matter. "Where are my clothes?" she snapped.
Will frowned and appeared a bit wounded, but Prisca couldn't bring herself to care at the moment. What was she going to do? The reprobate had seen to her complete ruination, and her own brothers had witnessed the event. Heaven help her, there was no way out. Blast them all. And still she could only remember the briefest of memories from the night before. Shouldn't she remember more? Shouldn't she remember everything? Shouldn't she feel different?
She remembered the feel of his lips as he'd kissed his way down her body. And the naughtiest kiss she could even imagine. Who'd have thought having someone kiss her
down there
would feel so sublime? Not in a million years. But after that, she couldn't remember anything else.
Will slid from the bed and retrieved her peach walking gown from a chair by the grate, where it lay drying. "Still a bit damp, I'm afraid," he said, handing it to her.
A bit damp? The thing was practically drenched, and she couldn't imagine sliding it over her head. She shivered at the very thought.
Will turned his back on her and began tossing his own clothes on. Muscles flexed in his back as he pulled on his trousers, and Prisca winced. She really would like to remember what he'd done with her the night before. She had a feeling it was worthy of remembering, especially if even half the tales about him were true.
"I know you're angry," he said as he pulled his shirt over his head. Of course,
his
clothes seemed perfectly dry. Blast him.
"I'm not angry, I'm…" What was she? Humiliated? Confused? Frightened? "Never mind."
Will turned back to face her, sympathy in his eyes. "I'll go speak with your brothers."
He tugged his boots on, and then without a word trudged outdoors where Emory and the others waited.
Prisca tossed her sodden dress across the room and wrapped the counterpane around herself in a panic. She tested her ankle by putting weight on it and gasped as pain shot up her leg. She hobbled to the small window to see what was going on outside.
All five of her brothers stood with their arms folded across their chests, identical frowns upon their faces. They resembled a small army of irritable soldiers. She winced. Poor Will.
Then a smile broke out on Emory's face. "I assume you plan on marrying our sister?"
She could only see Will's back, so she couldn't see his face, but he did nod. "I'm sure that took a few years off your life…"
Pierce stepped forward. "So you'll marry her as soon as possible?"
Again Will nodded. "She agreed last night, before…"
Why
had
she agreed? What had he said to convince her? She would never drink whisky again. The horrid stuff had ruined her life.
"You'll be by Langley Downs within the hour to speak to our father?"
"Of course," Will agreed.
Then Emory chuckled. Prisca inhaled sharply. How could her oldest brother
laugh
at her ruination? It was the most unlaughable situation she could imagine.
"Funny how things turn out," Emory began. "To be quite honest, I should tell you that we intended to trap you for Prissy before Christmas."
She pressed her face against the window. She couldn't have heard him correctly.
"I beg your pardon?" Will said. Apparently, he couldn't believe it either.
"In marriage," Blaine clarified.
Well, of course, in marriage. What other way was there to trap a man?
Darius had the good sense to frown. "Though we hadn't planned on you
truly
ruining her."
"You schemed to trap me as a husband for Prisca?" Will sounded indignant, as he should. In fact, if she was wearing more than an old counterpane as a wrap, Prisca thought, she'd give each of those insufferable louts a piece of her mind. Why would they plan such a thing? Didn't they care about her feelings at all?
Emory nodded. "Yes, but on our terms. We figured you were the only man of our acquaintance who could actually manage her."
Prisca's vision turned red. There wasn't a place in Britain where her brothers would be safe from her wrath.
"Of course," Pierce broke in, "you'll still have to answer to us for actually compromising her. We didn't really plan for that contingency."
Prisca was numb. If those five idiots thought she would take this lying down, they had another think coming. Ruined or not, she wouldn't marry William Westfield. Not like this. No matter what her brothers said or did. And they would rue the day they stoked her wrath.
Fifteen
"I can't believe she refused to come back with us," Blaine grumbled as Emory paced the length of their father's study. Garrick sat in a high-backed chair, staring at the floor and clenching his jaw every few seconds.
"What did you expect her to do? Be happy we arrived to rescue her? She'd never have been placed in that situation if not for our meddling." Garrick pointed a finger at Emory, Darius, and Blaine in turn, his expression so stern that Emory feared a lightning bolt would split the heavens and cleave the three of them into sixes.
"And why did Blackmoor have a musket in the blasted cottage? If she'd never found that, we'd have been able to force her to return."
"None of this is Blackmoor's fault." Garrick's frown darkened. He was correct, of course. The musket belonged to the duke, but the five of them had given Prisca the ammunition and the desire to pull the trigger.
"You should have seen the look on your face when she lifted that gun to her shoulder," Blaine said, a smile breaking across his mouth. "And the way Will dove for cover was priceless."
Of course, they'd all scattered when she'd flung the door open, wearing nothing more than a man's shirt that hung to her knees, and pinned them within her sights. The barrel of the gun had swung from one to another.
"She's probably up there in that little cabin crying her eyes out," Garrick snapped.
"Pfftt," Darius scoffed. "It's more likely she's plotting our demise. If she doesn't poison our food, we'll be quite lucky."
"I doubt any luck will be involved. Not for the five of us." Emory dropped heavily into a chair. "She'll make our lives miserable until the end of our days. On that you can depend."
"It was your brilliant idea to admit we'd been trying to pair her up with William."
In hindsight it hadn't been the best idea, not that Emory would admit that to his brothers. "How was I to know she was listening?"
"Because she's Prissy?" Blaine suggested as one dark eyebrow rose in half-amusement.
"It was foolish to say anything." Darius shook his head. "Will ended up walking into a trap of his own making. There was no
reason
to tell him what we'd planned!"
"She'll never forgive us," Garrick added dramatically.
Blaine shivered. "And poor Pierce is still out there."
"Someone had to stay and watch her. We couldn't just leave her," Emory complained.
"He's probably freezing to his death as we sit in relative comfort." Blaine pulled a silver case from his pocket and opened it to retrieve a cheroot. He silently offered one to the others, and Darius was only too happy to take one.
Garrick turned up his nose at both of them. "Don't think for one moment you're going to smoke that in here."
With a beleaguered sigh, Blaine returned the
case to his pocket while Darius rolled his eyes.
"Do you suppose she's allowed him within one hundred yards of that cottage yet?" Ever the soldier, of course, Darius would be concerned about the logistics.
A knock sounded on the door.
It must be Will, crawling through the door with his tail between his legs. "Enter," Emory called absently.
To his surprise, it wasn't Westfield at all. Brimsworth flung the door open, frowning at the lot of them. "I'm sure this isn't a good time," the earl began.
"No, it's not," Emory said blandly. Will was due any moment, and the family didn't need an extra pair of ears listening in on the discussions. "Can we talk a bit later? We're in the middle of a family crisis."
The earl didn't look surprised at all. "Yes, I heard," he said calmly.
"The servants must already have wind of it," Garrick groaned. "This is
not
good for Prisca."
Brimsworth hurried to assure him. "No, no. No one else is aware of Westfield's treachery."
"Treachery?" Emory asked.
"Treachery. Betrayal. Cozening. Shall I continue?"
"That's quite enough," Garrick muttered. "We understand how you could think William…"
"I'd like to renew my suit," the earl announced as he smoothed the lapels of his jacket, puffing his chest out with pride.
Garrick's jaw dropped.
"You'd like to do
what
?" Emory asked, coming to his feet.
"I'd still very much like to marry your sister."
"I believe it's all been settled," Emory interjected, hoping to stop his diatribe. "She's to marry Lord William."
"Not necessarily," Garrick interrupted, looking happier than Emory had seen him since their scheming had began.
"What?" Certainly, Garrick didn't want to encourage the earl. Blaine shot Emory a dark look and shook his head the tiniest of degrees.
"All I ask is that you allow Sir Herbert, along with Miss Hawthorne, to decide who she's to marry," the earl continued.
"You're aware she spent all of last night in Westfield's bed?" Darius always had been a bit crass. But that comment was the most uncouth thing he'd ever heard, as it pertained to their baby sister. Emory glared at the soldier.
"Her chastity is yet to be determined." Brimsworth puffed out his chest again. "At the very least, I'd like to discuss it with her."
Good God! Was it too early in the morning for whisky? Emory leaned his head back against his chair and groaned.
***
"You did what?" Lily gasped, her hand flying up to land on her chest.
"I compromised her," Will murmured. "But that's not the point. I need clothes for her. And I don't want to go to Langley Downs just yet."
"Afraid her brothers will lynch you?" Simon asked, his voice much too calm and quiet.
"Actually, no. As it turns out, Emory and the others were scheming to do the very same thing. Using me as their foil. So, I'm not afraid of recrimination from the Hawthorne brothers."
"And Sir Herbert?" Simon's finger began to tap a rhythm on the top of his desk.
"Uh, that'll be a different story altogether. He's liable to have my head on a platter before nightfall." The baronet was overly protective of Prisca, and the idea of relaying the previous evening's events to the old man made Will nauseous.
"Roast pig?" Lily asked, her eyes narrowing at him. That sounded more like something Prisca would say. Wonderful. His sister-in-law was disappointed in him, too. Actually, she looked more disgusted by him.
"Lily…" Will began as he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "I realize you're much taller than she is, but do you have anything Prisca can wear? I just need to take her home. She refuses to go in the wet gown from last night."
"Clothing does help a woman feel a bit less shamed after being ruined," Lily ground out as she stomped from the room.
Will glanced up at Simon, who simply sat back in his chair with his hands steepled before him. "I specifically warned you against taking this course, William."
Will sat forward in his seat and raked a hand through his hair. "The opportunity presented itself."
His brother's brow rose in question. "You think this was fair to Prisca?" Simon asked softly.
Guilt washed over Will. "She'll forgive me. In time." At least Will hoped so. She couldn't stay mad at him forever, could she?
"The only solution now is for you to marry her."
That was the plan. Will nodded.
"I'll go on to London and visit with the Archbishop before I collect Oliver from the Schofields'." Simon stood. "I'm certain under the circumstances he'll grant you a special license. I hadn't planned to leave today, but I don't have much of a choice now if I want to get the lad home in time for Christmas."
"Shall I go with you?" Will asked.
"And save yourself from the wrath of Prisca Hawthorne? And Sir Herbert?" His chuckle dripped with sarcasm. "I'd never let you get off so easily."
He left within moments, but his laughter could be heard all the way down the hall.
Will growled loudly with frustration.
"Let's go, William," Lily snapped at him from the doorway. He swung his head around. She let out an exasperated sigh, and Will jumped to his feet.
"Where are we going?"
"
You
are going to take
me
to Prisca so I can give her this set of clothes." She patted the bundle in her hands like he was a bedlamite. "And some food."
Will eyed the basket hooked around her elbow suspiciously. "You're certain that's just food?"
"What else might it be?" The toe of her shoe began to tap against the floor.
Gunpowder
and
a
ball
for
Simon's
musket,
Will couldn't help but think. But he'd be damned before he'd mention it. Lily already looked like she wanted to kill him. He'd not give her the means
and
the matter.
Will reached out to take Lily's load, but she backed away from him as her glare darkened. "I can handle it myself."
"After you," he grumbled.
Lily tossed her head back and started toward the entry hall. Will followed in her wake, feeling like more of a cad with each step he took. But what was he to do? Let that earl get his hands on Prisca? Of course not. He had had an opportunity to fix things in his favor, and he had taken it. He refused to be sorry about it now.
Why should Lily be angry with him anyway? None of this had anything to do with her. However, he opted to keep his mouth closed about that, as her back was straight and rigid, and he wasn't certain what she was capable of at the moment.
The carriage ride to the crofter's cottage was relatively short, though Will would have sworn it lasted half a lifetime. Lily's hazel eyes condemned him from across the carriage for being the worst sort of blackguard. He squirmed on the opposite bench, silently willing Jenkins to race like the wind.
"You do realize you've ruined any chance of happiness with Prisca?"
Will's mouth fell open. The situation couldn't be that dire. Besides, Prisca had enjoyed herself more than he had, up until her whisky-soaked mind caused her to fall asleep. "I wasn't the only one in the cottage last night," he clipped out, even as uneasiness gripped his heart. "I wasn't the only one swept away by passion."
Lily folded her arms across her chest. "There was a better way to go about all this, Will."
He frowned at her. "Yes, you and Simon keep saying that. But you didn't see the feral gleam in Brimsworth's eye the other night. I didn't want to take the chance she'd choose him simply to spite me." Which was something she would do. He'd always known her stubborn streak was longer than most.
Lily rolled her eyes. "For a lothario of your reputation, you know very little about women's hearts. Or at least Prisca's heart."
Befo
re he could respond, the carriage lurched to a stop and Lily fell to the floor at Will's feet with a thump. Stunned, Will offered his hand to assist her, but her scowl made him pull it back. "Lily?"
"I will have that man's head," she seethed. "Jenkins!" the duchess called. Then she threw open the door and stepped from the conveyance.
Will followed closely behind her.
She glared up at the coachman, with hands on both her hips. "Jenkins, what has gotten into you?"
The coachman scratched his balding pate. "I am sorry, Your Grace," he stumbled. "I didn't expect to see Mr. Hawthorne. He frightened me, is all."