by Lydia Dare
After he'd made his way to the kitchen, he'd found the light repast the footman had left. He held the plate with cheese and fruit in one hand and a bottle of brandy in the other.
He stood still and counted to twenty. He wondered if she'd still be draped across the bed naked. He knocked, then called out softly, "Prisca?"
"Yes?" Her voice was quiet and shaky.
"May I come in?"
"Can I say no?" she answered, her voice getting louder with each reply.
He cracked the door and poked his head into the room. He began to say, 'You absolutely may not say no,' but before he could get the words from his mouth, his breath left him in one big
whoosh
. He stepped the rest of the way into the room and nearly dropped the plate and bottle to the floor. "Now that I've seen you in
that
, there's no possible way you can tell me no," he said, quickly abandoning his refreshment and crossing the room in three strides.
"Do you like it?" she asked when he gazed down at her, her voice hesitant and uncertain. She patted her flat stomach and ran her hands slowly over the material.
"A better question would be, do
you
like it?" he said, as he stood back and just looked at her. A vision Venus would be jealous of.
Her black-as-night hair hung freely over her shoulders, the ends curling playfully around her breasts. He let his gaze linger there. She wore the wrapper that had come with the peignoir set, but the entire ensemble fit her like a silky second, lavender skin. He could see every bump and every dip of her beautiful body.
"Oh, I love it," she breathed, the hint of a smile playing around her mouth. But there was something wrong with it. He braced himself. "Thank you."
She sat down in a chair and crossed her ankles. "So, what happens now?" she asked.
Will scratched his head. He'd never had a woman ask that before. And for the first time in his life, he didn't know what to do next. Had she forgiven him? He took the chair across from her and placed the platter of food between them. "Hungry?" he asked.
She shook her head, which made her hair tickle at her breasts again. "No. Did you say you have brandy?" she asked, pinkening when his gaze lingered around her cleavage. She brought the sides of her wrapper together to cover herself.
"I do." He nodded.
She giggled when he didn't move. "May I have some?"
"Oh, of course," he said, jumping up in one lithe move. He splashed some of the amber liquid into a glass and held it out to her.
"Are you all right, Will?" she purred at him.
"I will be, as soon as I get you beneath me," he growled.
Prisca tapped her chin, her eyebrows drawing together while a smile that wasn't quite sincere played across her lips. "But since you like games so much, William…" she began as she stood up slowly and sensually, and then smoothly walked across the room. She flipped the counterpane from the top of the bed, revealing a chess set that lay in the middle. "Since you like games, I thought we'd play."
"Excuse me?" he choked, all hope of getting inside her escaping him in one big sigh.
"Chess, William. Let's play."
He didn't know what to say and could only gape at her. Did she intend to punish him then? "You don't like chess," Will finally growled.
"I will tonight," she said, smiling sweetly at him. "Besides, it's about as close as you'll get to having me in bed with you any time soon." She sat down on one side of the chess board, the slit at her thigh riding high.
Will's mouth watered.
"Shall I go first, Will?"
She couldn't be serious. She wouldn't do that to him. "Do you honestly intend to deny me my husbandly rights?"
"My, you are quick in understanding the situation." She moved her pawn forward one spot. "Your move."
Will gaped at her. What could he possibly say? He pulled the top off the brandy bottle and lifted it to his lips.
Twenty-One
The morning sunlight poured into the bedroom, and Will groaned as he squinted his eyes and threw an arm over his face. Blasted light! Who would pull back the drapes? "Priss," he grumbled.
But he couldn't hear a sound in the room. No breathing other than his own. Will's eyes flew open. He bolted upright in bed and then realized he was all alone in the little guest room of the dower house, still wearing his clothes from the day before.
Prisca had won the rights to the master's room at the end of their chess game the previous night. The memory of that made his blood boil. There was no way he should have lost the match, except that it was too difficult to concentrate on game play. Whenever he'd clear his head long enough to focus on the board, she'd lean forward and he could see straight down that damned ensemble he'd been foolish enough to give her.
Little tease.
He'd let her have her fun last night, but he'd endured all that he intended. Prisca was his wife, and that's all there was to it.
Will rose from the bed but then sat back down when the room began to spin. Damn brandy. "Prisca!" he called.
But of course, she didn't come running to his aid.
After a moment, he stood again and slowly made his way to the corridor. Finally having his bearings, he stalked toward the master chamber. "Prissy," he began as he threw open the door, "I think we need to have an understanding…"
But she wasn't there. It didn't appear that the bed had even been slept in. Will's breath caught in his throat. Had she left him in the dead of night? Stubborn chit!
Will sniffed the air and could smell lilacs all around him. She hadn't been gone for long. Perhaps she'd simply gone downstairs. "Prisca Westfield! Where are you?"
Nothing. Not a goddamned sound in the whole house!
The air whooshed from his lungs. She wouldn't up and leave him like that, would she? Will closed his eyes and concentrated on his hearing. The wind blew outside, and he could hear something small scamper in the woods nearby, but
nothing
inside the house.
He should have known better. He shouldn't have told her the truth. She said she wasn't going to make this easy on him, but he hadn't thought she'd run away.
Where would she go? Back to Langley Downs? And do what? Tell her father and the others about his duplicity? He shook his head at his own foolishness. He'd have to go after her. She was his wife. Just as he was about to stalk out, he spotted it. A small piece of foolscap folded up, lying in the chair beside the bed.
Will
was scrawled across the top in her delicate hand. He snatched the note and opened it.
Will,
I have gone to Westfield Hall.
Prisca
Gone to the manor house? Without him? He could just imagine what sort of trouble she was getting into up there all alone. Simon would have his head.
Of course, he was relieved that she hadn't taken off in the dead of night. But he couldn't help being annoyed that she was gone. Was it too much to ask for his bride not to trek out on her own the morning after their vows? Was it too much to ask for her to give him a chance to make things right between them?
He was a fool. Did he think she'd suddenly become malleable just because she'd married him? She'd proved just the opposite the previous night, hadn't she?
Well, no more. He'd had enough. Blood pounding in his veins, Will started off for Westfield Hall, ignoring the biting wind whipping at his face. When he found his wife, they'd have quite the discussion about her abandonment and then…
Will stopped in his tracks. He would do no such thing. She already held more power over him than was wise. If she knew how besotted he was, she'd lord it over him. He shoved his hands into his pockets and resumed his hike to the manor house.
Billings met him at the door with a smile. "My lord, I believe your wife is in the breakfast room with the other ladies."
"Perfect," Will grumbled. Everyone knew of her desertion, then. He'd never hear the end of it from his brothers. He doubted either of their brides left them lying alone in
their beds the morning after their weddings. Of course, their wives had also shared their beds the night their vows were spoken. He'd not been nearly as fortunate.
After handing his coat to Billings, Will started toward the breakfast room.
"William," Major Forster called from the green parlor.
Will turned on his heel and poked his head in the room. "Morning, sir."
The old officer smiled and started toward him. "Your lovely bride is visiting with your mother, if you're looking for her."
His frustration with Prisca vanished immediately. "Oh. How is Mother this morning?"
The major's eyes lost a bit of their twinkle. "She's not well, son." He sighed. "She's losing what life she has left in her. A little bit more each day."
Will's soul ached at the words. He should have taken more care. He'd been so caught up in his situation with Prisca that he had neglected his mother a bit. "I'll go see her."
The officer shook his head. "Your Prisca does make her smile. Leave them be for the time being."
Mother had always adored Prisca. She'd taken her under her wing as a young girl and acted as a motherly figure, as Priss only had a house full of males growing up.
"Besides," the major broke into his thoughts. "There's something else I'd like to discuss with you." He gestured for Will to take a seat on the divan and then resumed his spot in a brocade chair.
Obedient as ever, Will sat. "What else is wrong, sir?"
Major Forster reached into his pocket, retrieving a folded note. "I'm worried about this Brimsworth fellow whom you've made an enemy of."
"Brimsworth left the area."
"Are you sure about that?"
Well, he hadn't seen the man or smelled his scent in days. "Sir Herbert said he'd decided to return to London."
"Well, perhaps it's nothing then," the major said. "Still, I should tell you Ben asked me to find out what I could about Brimsworth and his sire. This letter arrived from The Society yesterday."
There was obviously something unsettling the man. "And?"
The major frowned. "And there's nothing to be found. It appears, William, that there's no history of Lycans in Brimsworth's family at all."
"Then on his mother's side?" Will asked. After all, that wasn't unheard of.
The major shook his head. "His mother was Philippa Hawkins, the eldest daughter of Viscount Aberdare. No history there either. It's as though he's an enigma of some sort."
"Are you saying you think he is some sort of aberration?"
"I don't know what I'm saying. I just want you to be careful. Benjamin said the man threatened you."
Will snorted. "Ben is a busybody disguised as a Lycan."
The major leaned back in his seat and chuckled. "He's just a gentler breed than either you or Simon."
That was probably true. He supposed it was kind that Ben was looking out for him. Unnecessary, but kind. Will sighed. "I do appreciate you doing Ben's bidding."
"Go on and find your wife."
Will nodded his good-bye to the man and set off for his mother's suite of rooms. Within moments, he stood outside her threshold and couldn't believe his ears.
"—and it was so lovely, Alice. I do wish you'd been able to attend," Prisca gushed.
"Tell me all about it," his mother rasped. She sounded years older than she had the day before.
"Well," Prisca began brightly, "the entire parlor was done up in white hothouse roses and silver ribbons strung across the walls. It smelled delightful and looked like a spring palace waiting to blossom. Papa wore his best jacket, the darkest black, and he looked so dapper, his chest puffed out with pride. And I wish you could have seen my dress. It was the prettiest shade of blue, matching Will's eyes."
"I'd always hoped the two of you would find your way to each other," his mother whispered.
Will pressed his ear against the door. What was she talking about?
"So did I. And we are so very much in love, Alice. Do take your tonic now. Lily said you needed to rest."
So very much in love? Will's heart pounded faster. Did she love him? Could she? What was the Banbury tale she was spinning?
"Of course," the dowager replied softly. "Do send Desmond up to sit with me while I sleep, would you?"
"I'm sure he wouldn't have it any other way."
A moment later, the door opened and Will had to brace himself to keep from falling inside his mother's room. Prisca scowled at him. "Listening at doors, William?" she muttered so quietly only he could hear.
He grasped her arm and pulled her into the corridor. "What were you telling my mother?"
Prisca shrugged. "She wanted to hear about the wedding."
The wedding? Will's mouth dropped open. "White roses, silver ribbons, and I think you forgot to mention the black bombazine."
She narrowed her violet eyes on him and wrenched her arm from his grasp. "So I embellished a bit. That's not a crime."
Her version was so much nicer than the actual event. "Is that what you wanted, Prissy? The flowers and the… blue dress?" The color of which matched his eyes?
"What I wanted didn't matter. You all saw to that. You, my brothers, Papa."
He hated to hear the pain in her voice, and he touched his finger to her jaw. "I'll get you a whole room full of white roses and silver ribbons."
Prisca tipped her nose in the air. "It was a tale to make Alice happy, Will. Don't read any more into than that." She started down the corridor toward the steps, but Will was quick on her trail. They still had many things to discuss, and she wasn't going to escape him again.
At that moment, Elspeth came flying up the staircase past them, fuming. Ben followed in her wake, looking more furious than Will had ever seen him. Apparently all the Westfield men were chasing their wives this morning.
"Come back here, Elspeth," Ben ordered.
"
Amadain!
" she called over her shoulder. Will wasn't quite certain of the meaning of the word, but he didn't relish being called such a thing if her tone was any indication.
The two of them burst into the closest bedchamber and slammed the door. "I told you that you're not to heal anyone," Ben hissed. "Not while you're carrying our child."
Elspeth's grumbled more Gaelic words and Will winced. Poor Ben.
Prisca sucked in a breath. "Heavens! What was that about?"
"It's a long story," Will said, taking her arm again as they continued down the steps.
***
Prisca could just imagine that it was. She'd never seen such a display of temper. What could Ben have done? And what did he mean about healing? "Well, then it's a good thing I've all day to hear it, isn't it?"
The major appeared in the corridor and glanced from Prisca to Will and back. "Did Alice ask for me?"
Prisca nodded. "Yes, she did, sir."
He brushed past them toward the staircase while Prisca made her way to the blue salon. She spun on her heel to face her new husband and thrust her hands to her hips. One way or the other, he would tell her. "What is wrong with Ben?"
He looked at her as though he didn't have a clue what was going on. She didn't believe him for a second.
"I am waiting, William."
"You'll never believe it," he hedged, closing the door behind them.
It must be worse than she thought. "Try me," Prisca pressed.
"Elspeth is from Scotland."
Was he trying to say the Scottish were more prone to dramatics? "I imagine that was Gaelic cursing by the sound of it. But, honestly, what does that have to do with anything?"
Will shrugged.
He was definitely hiding something from her. Prisca flounced down on the settee, folded her arms across her chest, and tapped her fingers impatiently. "Will!"
He sighed and stepped toward her. "Have you heard the tales of healers and other mystical beings?"
She thought back to the faerie tales she'd heard as a child; she did remember a few. "You're not making any sense."
"The thing
is, Elspeth is part of a coven."
She couldn't have heard him correctly. Was he trying to make a fool of her? More of one than he already had? "I beg your pardon?"
"A coven," he said a bit louder. She didn't know why he thought it would sound different if he said it louder. "A coven of witches, to be more specific."
Perfect! He intended to lie to her. "I do not find you remotely humorous." She rose from her spot and intended to march right past him. Perhaps Lily could tell her what was going on.