Wolf Next Door

by Lydia Dare

  "I heal quickly," he replied, his voice rising to its usual timber.

  "How?" she asked. A moment before, he'd been unconscious. And now he was lifting his head from the floor and sitting up, as though nothing had happened. She'd seen the bruise. But now it was gone.

  "How, what?" he asked.

  Prisca sighed with impatience. "Never mind."

  Will moved to sit in the seat of the coach and pulled her up to his lap. "Let me hold you," he said quietly when she tried to pull away. His voice was deep and now roughly textured, which made a tickle climb up her belly. She settled against him.

  "Your father

  hit

  me?" he finally asked.

  "Yes, though I don't know why."

  "I told him the truth," Will said before his lips brushed the side of her neck. Without even thinking about it, she tilted her head to give him better access.

  "The truth about?"

  "The night in the cottage," he breathed against her skin.

  She sat up quickly. "You did?" Prisca covered her neck with her hand to stop his lips from distracting her. He tugged her arm, trying to dislodge her fingers. She swatted at his hands like he was a pesky fly.

  Will finally sighed and leaned back against the squabs, his eyes half closed as he looked at her. "Yes, I did. It was only right." He shrugged.

  "And what did he say?" Prisca asked.

  "Well, he was angry enough to hit me," Will said sarcastically.

  "I'll have to go and thank him tomorrow," Prisca said absently. Her heart warmed.

  "For hitting me?" Will cried.

  "No. For standing up for me," she replied, leaning forward to kiss Will quickly on the lips. "Don't you see? He stood up for me."

  "When I told him the truth," Will murmured.

  "Why did you do it?" Prisca asked. Surely, he had a motive. He always did.

  Will bent and tugged at the hem of her dress. "Because I wanted unlimited access to what's beneath your skirts," he laughed.

  "Will!" she cried, pushing his hands down.

  "And beneath your bodice," he said, his voice growing deeper as he tugged at her neckline, exposing the swell of her breast.

  "Will," she protested again, though this time she merely covered his hand with her own. "So selfserving," she scolded.

  "Speaking of self-serving…" he said quietly as he removed his hand from her breast and replaced it with her own. She began to balk at the intimate touch of her own fingers, until he covered her hand and lined his fingers and thumb up with hers. He tensed his hand, which made her knead her breast.

  "Stop," she protested weakly. In truth, it was highly arousing to see his hand over hers, as she touched herself.

  "I would love to see you cup your breasts in your hands as you ride me," he rasped. "You could even flick your thumb across your nipple," he said as he moved his hand and caused her to do so.

  Prisca closed her eyes. "I'm not ready for this," she whispered, though she felt more than ready.

  "Then I'll just have to pleasure them all by myself."

  Twenty-Five

  By the time they neared the dower house, Will had Prisca's bodice loose enough that his fingers could steal inside and tantalize her flesh. The shimmery overdress she wore restricted him a bit, but he refused to be deterred. After all, it was the first time all day she'd smiled at him, her eyes warm with passion.

  Will spent the ride tormenting his lovely wife. His fingers stole beneath her skirt to stroke her quivering flesh until she was just on the edge of completion. Then he withdrew. He could hear the beat of her heart and the way it quickened just before she reached climax. When her gasps turned to little pants, he left her teetering on the precipice.

  "Don't stop!" she cried out in frustration as he pulled his finger from her wetness. She opened her eyes to clutch at his hand, pulling it back toward her heat.

  He went back to his ministrations with a chuckle. "Greedy little thing, aren't you?" he teased as he strummed across her center, teasing the little bundle of nerves with the pad of his thumb until she finally fell over the precipice, quaking and sighing within his hold.

  Will touched his lips to the dewy skin of her neck softly and then said quietly, "Priss, the coach stopped ten minutes ago."

  She sat up and looked around and then lifted the curtain, seeing they had indeed stopped. "You could have told me," she hissed. "What will the coachmen think?"

  "They'll think I was making love to my wife." He nibbled at her ear. "Which I intend to do as soon as we enter the house."

  Prisca lifted her body to move off him but teetered when her legs refused to carry her weight. Will opened the carriage door and stepped out, happy to find that, despite the tent of his trousers, he could still walk. Prisca stepped out, her legs shaking as she took a step. He quickly picked her up and carried her toward the house.

  "Put me down!" she cried.

  "Why?"

  "Because the coachmen will think you intend to make love to me."

  Will's heart sped up at her words. "I do," he affirmed.

  "But, they'll—" Prisca started.

  "Prisca, all the coachmen left, aside from Clarke." Prisca craned her neck to look over his shoulder. He was correct. No coachmen were milling about. Only one man stood at the horses' heads, his stance relaxed as he softly whistled a tune. "The others left when we stopped."

  "Did you know that?" she asked, her bottom lip sticking out a bit, making her even more adorable.

  "I knew. I heard them when they discussed it."

  Prisca exhaled loudly. "Why didn't I hear them?"

  "Because I had my fingers inside you and you were a bit preoccupied by it."

  She colored prettily in the moonlight. God, he loved it when she did that. In one moment she went from writhing against him to blushing like a schoolgirl.

  "But what about him?" Prisca asked. "He

  knows

  what we were doing!"

  "Yes, he does, and his wife will be very happy when he crawls into bed with her tonight, as his ardor will be impressive, I'm sure." Will couldn't keep from chuckling at the look of mortification that crossed her face.

  "I'll never be able to look him in the eye again," she moaned.

  Will carried her all the way to the master chamber, and only then did he set her on her feet.

  "Will, wait," she said, putting one hand on his chest.

  She still wasn't ready for this? Ready for him? He was going to die a slow death if she dissuaded him again. "What is it, Priss?" Will brushed his knuckle along her jaw, hoping she would melt for him like she had in the coach.

  "I don't think I'm ready to…"

  ***

  Will's jaw fell open, and Prisca very nearly felt sorry for him. But she still hadn't forgiven him for the way he'd trapped her into this marriage. "You seemed ready enough on the way back," he complained.

  "I lose all sense of right and wrong when you touch me." Prisca sighed.

  "And you think me making love to you would be wrong?" The light of hope that was once present in his gaze flickered out, only to be replaced with resignation. He sighed.

  Maybe she should drop her silly pursuit for justice. "Will." She reached for him.

  "You'll be the death of me, Prissy," he said. Then he smacked her bottom with the flat of his hand.

  "Ow!" she shrieked as she rubbed the offended area.

  "But I'll take my punishment."

  "You will?" He would roll over that easily?

  "I

  will

  sleep with you tonight, though."

  She didn't know how to respond to that, but her heart leapt at the thought. Will laughed as he sat on the edge of the bed and tugged his boots from his feet and very meticulously placed them against the far wall.

  Prisca did nothing but gape at him. Did he truly intend to stay with her?

  He laid his jacket and waistcoat across the back of the chintz chair beside the bed. Then he slid his black, fitted trousers down his lo
ng legs.

  Prisca gulped when he pulled the shirt over his head. The sight of him shirtless robbed her of breath. He was splendidly sculpted, all muscle and sinew. Not even the slightest mark marred his perfect form. She couldn't even see the injury from her errant musket shot.

  A roguish grin played at his lips as though he enjoyed her perusal of his body. "Your turn, Priss."

  Then before she could respond, he divested her of her own clothes in short order, leaving her in nothing more than her chemise. He did know women's clothing much too well. How could the man have possibly undressed her so quickly?

  "My nightrail," she protested when he swung her into his arms, not even giving her time to complain about her near-nakedness, and carried her to bed.

  "You won't need it," he said as he peeled back the counterpane and laid her onto the cool bedclothes. She rolled to her back, and his head came to rest on her belly. The rigid set of his shoulders didn't relax until she slid her fingers into his thick, dark hair and began to stroke him. They settled into comfortable silence, but she continued to stroke through his hair. And that was where he fell asleep, his head resting on her belly, her hands in his hair.

  She watched his slow and even breaths, not even the slightest bit self-conscious despite their lack of nightwear. The soft sounds coming from his mouth made him seem almost boyish. From where he lay, she could see his left cheek and the side of his buttocks. She sat up on her elbows. He wasn't unmarked as she'd previously thought. A crescent-moon-shaped birthmark on the middle of his lower back caught her attention. It was good to know he wasn't completely perfect. She reached a finger down to touch it. As she stroked the mark, Will whimpered softly against her belly. Prisca put her fingers back into his hair and calmed him.

  ***

  Will heard his brothers' approach long before they entered the dower house. Once they were in the parlor, he could hear Simon grumbling, though he couldn't make out any words aside from his own name.

  Upon further reflection, asking Prisca's father to hit him in the middle of the assembly room might not have been the best idea. Hopefully, the event wouldn't mar Prissy's name. He was still amused over her set-down of Mrs. Bostic. His wife was a formidable woman, though he'd always known that. It was one of the things he loved about her.

  He took one of her ebony curls and brushed it against his cheek. She smelled delightful, like holly berries, lilacs, and Prisca all rolled into one.

  He heard something crash to the floor in the parlor and cursed under his breath. With those two buffoons below, they'd wake Prissy for sure. If he could get rid of them, he could come back to bed and properly ravish his wife, if she was willing.

  Will slid from bed and threw on a robe he knotted around his waist.

  As he reached for the door, Prisca's voice stopped him. "Will?"

  He glanced over his shoulder at the most beautiful sight ever. Prisca's dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, barely concealing the outline of her breasts. He groaned. "Don't go anywhere, love. I'll be right back."

  "Where are you going?" she persisted, sliding her legs over the side of the bed.

  "To get rid of some unwanted guests. Get back in bed."

  Of course, she didn't listen to him. She never listened to him. Prisca padded across the floor to him and stood on her tiptoes to press her soft lips to his throat.

  His mouth went dry. It took all the self-control Will had not to scoop her up in his arms and make love to her right then and there. But his brothers, his infuriating brothers, were right below them. "Priss," he growled. "You're making this very difficult for me."

  "Oh? I don't mean to make it hard." If she only knew how hard.

  "You always make it hard. Now get back into bed so I can properly ravish you as soon as I dispense with Simon and Ben."

  "Ravish me?" Her voice was husky with sleep. She touched her lips to his chest. "I think I would like that."

  It would take all of three seconds to send his brothers sprawling across the lawn. "On my honor."

  She giggled as she scrambled back toward the bed. "And I had no idea you had any."

  Will scrubbed a hand over his face to block out the tempting view of his wife's backside. "Don't go anywhere."

  Then he escaped from the room and down the steps. He didn't even spare a glance for the surprised footman who jumped out of his way. Will threw open the doors to the parlor.

  Simon reclined in an oversized chair and Ben sat on the settee, his elbows resting on his knees, holding his head in his hands. "Out. Both of you," Will ordered.

  It wasn't until Simon rose from his spot that Will realized how awful his older brother looked. The duke's hair was unkempt, and it appeared as though he'd slept in his clothes the night before. "Will, we're sorry to come by so early—"

  "Well, there's an easy solution to that. You and Ben can come back another time." He gestured toward the corridor.

  "Will, Mother—" Ben began, lifting his head just a bit.

  "I'll be along to visit her soon. In the meantime, do show yourselves out." Honestly, couldn't this wait? He finally had Prissy where he wanted her.

  "William!" Simon barked, his grey eyes flashing dangerously. "Kindly close your bloody mouth."

  Stunned, Will did so, clamping his lips tightly.

  "Mother is worse," Ben said from the settee as he tightened his hand to a fist.

  Will walked into the parlor and sat in a seat in the corner. "Worse?"

  "Since last night." Ben winced. "The tonic Elspeth made isn't strong enough. She needs something from her stores in Edinburgh.

  Epipactis youngiana

  ."

  Edinburgh? "I beg your pardon."

  "Ellie says it's the only ingredient that'll make the tonic more potent."

  "Did you say Edinburgh?" It would take forever to get there and back.

  "Unfortunately," Simon began slowly, as though he barely believed this situation himself. "The plant is extinct."

  "Then how can it be in bloody Scotland?" Will barked, feeling completely helpless.

  "Apparently, Ellie's mother had seeds from the particular plant. And with one touch, Sorcha can make them grow," Ben hastened to explain. "Ellie says the healing properties are nearly as strong as her touch."

  "So, we just need to go to Scotland, get the littlest witch to touch some seeds and make them grow, and then bring the plant back to Elspeth?" Will raked a hand through his hair.

  "I hate to ask you to go, Will," Simon began.

  "I can't leave Ellie," Ben explained. "And Sorcha's never met Simon, but she knows you."

  Will was on his feet in an instant. "We're sure these seeds exist?"

  "As sure as we are Lycans exist," Ben muttered.

  "Fine," Will started for the door. "I'll leave now. How do I know what to get?"

  Ben unfolded a piece of foolscap. "Ellie wrote it down for you. Show it to Sorcha, and she'll know what to do."

  "I'm sorry, Will," Simon said from across the room. "I wanted to send the major, but Mother won't let him leave her bedside. I had no idea they were so close."

  "It's no bother," Will assured the duke, while he exchanged a look with Ben.

  ***

  There were

  more

  witches? Prisca wondered from her spot on the staircase. Of course, Will had said there was a coven. Still, she hardly believed her ears. First witches, and now they could grow healing plants with the touch of their fingers? After all her years beside the Westfields, how did she not know they were all insane?

  She heard Will start for the corridor and hastened back up the stairs. If Alice wasn't sick, she'd give Will her best impression of the Spanish Inquisition but, as it was, she'd rather he not catch her eavesdropping. She rushed back into their chambers and slid beneath the counterpane moments before he entered the room.

  "You said you'd be right back," she reminded him, hoping her cheeks weren't red from bolting up the stairs, and that he wouldn't know she'd overheard his conversation with hi
s brothers.

  Will's gaze lingered on her only a moment before he went for wardrobe. "Sorry, Priss. I know you were listening at the stairs." He shot her a pointed glance. Heat crept up her face. "I have a lot to explain. And I will when I return. I have to run an errand for Simon. I'll be back as soon as I can."

  "Where are we going?"

  He looked back over his shoulder at her. "I am going to Scotland.

  You're