by Lydia Dare
Prisca grinned back at her. "I did consider it," she confessed. "But I decided it was one thing to make a statement to Will and my family and quite another to society in general. Besides, I would never intentionally embarrass you or Elspeth."
"It has been so long since I had a sister, Prisca. I am glad to call you one," Lily replied and squeezed Prisca's shoulder.
"I've never had a sister at all," Elspeth chimed in. "No' by blood anyway."
What a strange thing to say. "What other way is there?" she asked the pretty Scot. Elspeth met her eyes briefly and then looked away. Her earlier conversation with Will echoed in her mind. "You'll never believe the strange thing William said to me today."
Elspeth tilted her head to one side. "He told ye I'm a witch."
Prisca was certain the blood drained from her face. "I… umm… How did you know?" she sputtered, completely surprised that Elspeth would say those words aloud.
"Ben was furious with him. It's a bit of a secret," she explained with a sigh as they began to descend the stairs. "Though it's no' something I'm ashamed of. I come from a long line of witches, and over the centuries, we've helped a great many people."
Prisca glanced to her side at Lily. When the duchess smiled with an acknowledging nod, Prisca found herself at a loss for words. A witch! Elspeth seemed so sweet. Did she have frogs' legs and eyes of newt stashed in her chambers? The idea made her cringe.
As they reached the bottom of the staircase, Billings approached them with his usual somber expression. "Your Grace, Ladies, the gentlemen await you in the parlor."
"Thank you, Billings," Lily replied and then towed Prisca toward the appointed room. "Why are you dragging your feet?"
Prisca shrugged. "What if he's not here? What if he's taken off for London or parts unknown again?"
Lily shook her head. "You are being a ninny, Prisca. Of course he's here."
As soon as she stepped over the threshold, Prisca sucked in a startled breath. Will was there, dressed in his finest black evening-wear. The stark colors brought out the light blue of his eyes, which raked across her form. He nodded curtly and started toward her, just as the duke and Ben took their wives' hands.
In a matter of seconds, Will towered over her, seeming larger and more formidable than normal. "My lady," he said crisply.
The tone was one she couldn't recall hearing in his voice before. It was cold and brusque. Prisca gulped. "I wasn't sure if you would come."
A shadow of a smile played about his lips. "And leave you to face the dogs all alone? For better or worse, Prissy, you are my wife."
His words were like a cold dagger to her heart. For better or worse. He already regretted their union. "Well, you have no one but yourself to blame for that," she replied tartly.
"Prisca," Elspeth said from behind her, "we're takin' two carriages ta ye're assembly room. Do ye and Will want ta travel with Ben and me?"
Prisca didn't want to travel at all. She'd like to march back down to the dower house, lock the door, and hide from the rest of the world, including her husband. But she didn't have a choice. "Thank you, Elspeth, that's very kind of you."
***
Will wasn't certain who he was angrier with, himself or Prisca. She was infuriating at every level, from her sharp tongue to her unforgiving nature. And still, he loved every inch of her. He didn't know why he'd thought she'd make this easy on him. She'd been saying for days that she would make him suffer. As always, she was true to her word.
Beside her in Ben's coach, he couldn't help but notice how the moonlight made her sheer overdress sparkle. He wanted nothing more than to throw his younger brother and Elspeth out into the cold December night and ravish Prisca in the middle of the carriage. Her ebony hair was knotted and draped over one alabaster shoulder, leaving the other one bare for his perusal.
On the other side of the coach, Elspeth cleared her throat, and Will managed to pull his gaze from what there was of Prisca's décolletage. He found his brother regarding him with an amused twinkle in his hazel eyes. Will glowered at Ben.
"So," Elspeth began, "I understand all of yer charmin' brothers will be in attendance this evening, Prisca."
Prisca shrugged and stared out the window. "Charming is subjective. And I haven't decided if I'm speaking to any of them, so it's of very little interest to me whether they attend or stay away."
That little statement put a pall on the evening, and no one else spoke a word until half an hour later when they rambled up the lane toward the assembly room. However, throughout the ride, Ben shot Will more than one questioning glance, which Will promptly ignored.
When the coach thankfully came to a stop, Will could see from his window that people were already milling about the entrance. He chanced another glance at his blushing bride, who wasn't blushing at all. Instead, Prisca's beguiling face was chalky white, as though she was scared to death. He couldn't keep himself from brushing his knuckles across her cheek. "Are you all right, love?"
"Splendid," she quipped.
The coachman opened the door, and Ben barreled out first, followed by Will. As soon as his brother had helped Elspeth from the carriage, Will stuck his head back inside. "We'll only stay as long as you want."
She nodded curtly and took his offered hand.
***
Prisca shivered a bit as she stepped out into the chilly night air. She knew Will's eyes were trained on her, but she chose not to look up at him. This night would be difficult enough without staring into those icy blue depths. As they walked up the stony path to the assembly room, Prisca smiled at other couples and families that crowded the path.
The mousy vicar, Mr. Bostic, and his harpy of a wife stepped aside, both of them with their eyes trained on Elspeth. "Who do you suppose that is?" the man whispered as they walked past.
"Most likely some lightskirt," his wife replied with a scandalized tone. "You know how those Westfield men are."
Prisca pulled her arm from Will's and looked back over her shoulder at the couple. She pasted on a sickly sweet smile for the woman and stepped toward her. "Mrs. Bostic, I didn't even notice you until you opened your mouth."
The older woman's face went blank. "Miss Hawthorne, how wonderful to see you."
Prisca shook her head. "Is it really?"
"I beg your pardon?" the vicar's wife replied.
"Stop, Prissy," Will's deep voice whispered in her ear. "She's not worth it."
She'd spent years ignoring Will's advice, and she wasn't about to follow it now. Prisca gestured toward Elspeth's disappearing form. "I believe I heard you make a disparaging remark about my sister-in-law, and I wanted to correct your misguided notion."
Mrs. Bostic began to stutter, "Y-your sisterin-law?" A pained smile crossed the woman's face. "I had no idea that one of your brothers had married, Miss Hawthorne. Please accept my best wishes."
Prisca stood a little taller and tilted her head to one side. "You misunderstand me, ma'am. My brothers are all still bachelors, but I have married Lord William. The woman you maligned is Lord Benjamin's wife of the last four months."
Will placed his hand on her shoulder, but Prisca refused to look away from the nasty, old gossip. Mrs. Bostic was vicious and spiteful, and Prisca wasn't about to let her cruel words go unanswered. She felt some satisfaction as the woman's mouth fell open in surprise. Prisca couldn't help from pressing on. "I do hope your high opinion of me has not faltered since I am now married to one of
those
Westfield men."
Mrs. Bostic resembled a fish as she opened and closed her mouth, but no sound came out.
"Come along, my dear," Will said loudly. "I do hate to keep His Grace waiting." Then he nodded to the vicar and his wife. "Mr. Bostic, Mrs. Bostic."
"My lord," the vicar managed to say, his face blazing red with embarrassment.
Satisfied that she'd put Mrs. Bostic in her place, Prisca slid her hand into the crook of Will's arm and let him lead her back toward the entrance of the assembly hall.
"You do make quite the impression, love," Will said quietly as they pushed their way through the crowd.
Prisca tipped her nose in the air. "Please. I couldn't let her say something unkind about Elspeth. It's not her fault you and your brothers have been unable to keep your trousers on over the years."
Will laughed as they stepped over the threshold into the holly-scented assembly room, which was filled with friends, neighbors, and every one of Prisca's brothers. She barely made eye contact with Emory before looking away to find Lily and Elspeth in the far corner, talking with Lizzie and Sarah Giddings. All things considered, they would be better company than associating with her brothers. In fact, she ought to set the pair on the Hawthorne brothers as the first stage of her plan for retribution.
"Pierce is gesturing for us," Will said.
Prisca released his arm. "Do enjoy his company. I don't intend to." Then she started off toward her sisters-in-law and the Giddings sisters.
Twenty-Four
Will watched Prisca's enchanting backside sashay toward the other side of the room and he groaned. It was some sort of cruel justice, his marriage to her. For years he'd lusted after her, he'd dreamed of bedding her, allowed her to see his true wolfish self time and again—but she was no closer to sharing his bed than she had been before they married.
He'd spent the better part of the afternoon trying to figure out how to make things right with her, trying to figure out what he could do to earn her favor. Only one thing came to mind, though he was loathe to do it. But if it would help Prissy forgive him, even just a little, it was worth his honor.
He scanned the attendees until his eyes landed on Sir Herbert in the corner. The baronet's eyebrows were drawn together tightly while he watched Prissy cross the room alone.
Will gulped, dreading the conversation he was about to have, but delaying the inevitable wasn't going to do any good.
Will started for his father-in-law, surprised he actually felt a small flush of fear as he neared the baronet. He extended his hand fully in greeting.
"I would ask how my daughter is doing in your care, but I can see she's enjoying herself immensely by not listening to a single thing you say."
"
Enjoying
is a bit of a strong word for it," Will grumbled.
Sir Herbert simply shook his head, a bemused look upon his face. "Oh, no, William. You don't know her well enough to tell when she's thoroughly enjoying herself. You want her to make nice with her family. And she's determined to do the opposite." The baronet lifted his cup of punch to his lips and watched Prisca over the rim. "That's my daughter for you. She's very much the picture of her mother."
"There's actually more to it than that," Will said, clearing his throat. "She feels a bit betrayed."
Sir Herbert grunted. "Betrayed?"
Will tugged at his cravat. The room was suddenly growing quite warm.
"There's obviously something you want to say, William." The baronet's eyes narrowed with confusion. "I do wish you'd get on with it."
"Of course, sir," Will replied. But how to say the words? "Before I explain, I need for you to play along. It's the only way to make this situation bearable. For Prisca." Will stepped closer and glanced furtively about the room. "When I tell you what really happened that night in Blackmoor's cottage, I'll need for you to hit me."
Sir Herbert placed his punch glass on a nearby table, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "You want me to do what?"
"I want you to hit me." Will tapped his jaw. "Here." He pointed to his eye. "Or here." He shrugged his shoulders. "Bloody hell, I don't care where you hit me. Just do it."
"Are you foxed, William?" The man eyed him suspiciously.
Oh, how Will wished he
was foxed. It would mak
e this entire situation so much easier. But, unfortunately, he had all his wits about him. He shook his head to shake away his errant rambling. "Will you do it, or not?"
Sir Herbert just looked at him like he was an imbecile.
Will took a deep breath. "You know I love Prissy," he began slowly and quietly. The baronet stiffened. "Emory told me they planned to marry her off to Brimsworth, and I'm afraid I went a bit mad. Then the man offered for her, and I thought my chance with Prisca had passed me by."
Will glanced over at his wife. She was so beautiful, even with her back to them both. As though she sensed his attention, she turned and glanced at him over her shoulder. The smile that had been on her face vanished quickly. She looked at her father and scowled. And then she pushed her lips together in a thin line when her eyes settled once again on Will. She turned her body so that she faced them both.
Finally
. He needed her to see.
"I lied," he suddenly said.
"Pardon?" Sir Herbert frowned at him.
"I lied," Will said, sounding out the word
lie
as though it went on and on.
"About?"
Will tugged at that cravat again. "About what happened that night at the cottage. I lied, sir."
Sir Herbert bristled, squaring his shoulders.
"Nothing untoward happened between us. I found her in the woods where she was injured and cold. So, I took her to Blackmoor's crofter's cottage, mainly because I was so damn happy to find her virtually unharmed, and I didn't want to share her with anyone. It was convenient. Quite convenient for my plan."
The man sucked his lips in annoyance. "Your plan?"
"Making you think I'd ruined her."
"Westfield." The baronet's mouth fell open.
Will held up a hand. "Allow me to finish?"
Sir Herbert nodded once.
"I warmed her up," Will said quickly, holding his hand out when the baronet started to speak. "Not
that
way. In the save-her-life way, by putting her in front of a roaring fire. Then I gave her whisky. For the pain in her ankle, you know. It went straight to her head. So, I took the opportunity to tuck her into bed and climb in beside her. Prissy wasn't free with her favors, and it was wrong of me to tell you otherwise."
"I'll say," the man mumbled.
"It was a ruse to get Brimsworth out of my way and to coerce you into forcing her to marry me. Instead of him."
Will had never felt quite so exposed. Sir Herbert stood there looking at him like he should be transferred to Bedlam.
"And now she's quite angry with you for having lied and with me for having believed you," Sir Herbert said.
Will had fully expected him to be livid. But the man wasn't. He looked like he did every other day. "Furious," Will assured him.
"Is she making you miserable?" the baronet asked, his eyes twinkling a bit with mirth.
"Quite." Will nodded.
"Good," Sir Herbert said, nodding his head as though he was pleased. Then he clapped his hand on Will's shoulder. "I'm not an idiot. And I've been around the Westfield men my whole life." He lowered his voice so there would be no chance of anyone hearing him. "Beneath all that whoring, you're a decent lot. And I know you love her.
That
is why I
let you
marry my daughter. No one forced my hand. I could have accepted Brimsworth's offer, after all. Even after you brought her home, the man was certainly willing."
Will was so relieved to hear the baronet's words that he didn't even see Sir Herbert draw back his fist and slam it into his chin with the force of an anvil dropped from a great height. Will hit the floor with a thud.
***
"I do love her," Will muttered as Prisca knelt on the floor of the coach and stroked the side of his face.
"What did you say?" she asked absently. He'd been muttering since his brothers had picked him up and carried him from the assembly hall. They'd assured her he would be well in moments, though it would probably be best if she took him home, considering the gossip that might ensue.
"Priss," he murmured, his eyes still closed.
"Yes, Will?"
"Who do you love, Will?" she asked, swallowing hard to move the lump in her throat.
"Priss," was all he said. Will's blue eyes opened, now the color of sapphires in the dark confines of the coach. "What happened?" he asked.
Prisca stroked his jaw. The red bruising was quickly vanishing. "Papa hit you," she said, though she could see no evidence of it on his face now. "He hit you here," she said, pointing to his chin. "But now I can't even tell." She tipped his face to the moonlight. "How odd," she whispered.