by Lydia Dare
“Because she was so foxed that she passed out, and the next morning I told her we’d consummated the relationship. If she’d known the truth, she would have batted her eyes at her father and limped on that ankle of hers, and he’d have swept it under the rug.”
Ben’s mouth dropped open wider than Will had ever seen it, and that was saying something.
“Don’t stare at me like that. You look like a fish. Close your bloody mouth. Everyone will know something is wrong.”
“Wrong?” Ben echoed. “Aren’t you always the one who says I don’t think things through clearly? I’d love to hear, dear brother, how you plan to tell your new wife that she is more innocent than she believes herself to be.”
Uneasiness settled in Will’s stomach. “Very carefully?” he suggested.
Ben exhaled slowly. “You’d best make sure there isn’t any weaponry in the dower house. I don’t think it’ll be your shoulder she aims for next time.”
No, knowing Prisca, she’d aim for his favorite appendage a bit lower. “I said I’ll go about it carefully, Benjamin,” he growled.
“As carefully as you’ve done everything else?” Ben rolled his eyes. “God help you with that then. And what will happen tomorrow when she tells her brothers how you’ve manipulated them?”
“And just who manipulated whom?” Simon asked from behind them.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Will said as he waved his hand nonchalantly. He shot Ben a look.
“It’s not nothing,” Ben protested.
“Ben, if you will come down off your pedestal, you will realize that this was the right thing to do.”
“And completely self-serving,” Ben said, nodding his head. “I thought you’d finally won her over. God, Will, your honeymoon is doomed before it starts.”
“Don’t you wish you had a magical faerie that could make Prisca tolerate you?” Simon laughed. “Otherwise, she’ll have you sleeping in the guest quarters.”
“Or worse,” Ben grumbled under his breath.
Will scratched his chin. He didn’t have a faerie. But he did have a witch. Or at least Ben did. And who would be better at performing magical miracles? “Do excuse me.” He left his brothers and hastened across the room to find Elspeth.
By the time he’d maneuvered himself though the throng of Hawthorne men to where the ladies stood huddled together, Will felt terribly awkward tapping Elspeth on the shoulder. She turned toward him, a question in her green eyes.
“May I speak with you a moment?” he asked quietly.
Her eyebrows drew together. “Of course. Is somethin’ wrong, Will?”
“I need to ask you a question,” he mumbled to her quietly as he led her away from the others. He glanced back at them and scowled when Lily giggled. What could she possibly find amusing at the moment?
“Is somethin’ wrong with ye, Will?” Elspeth reached to touch the side of his face, as though feeling for a fever. He tugged her hand down.
“I’m fine, Elspeth, but I need some… advice?”
“Are ye asking me if ye need advice? Or telling me ye do need it?” When he scowled, she mumbled, “I’ll go with the former.”
“It’s about the wedding night,” he began.
Elspeth rolled her eyes. No wonder she and Ben got along so well. “If that’s what ye want ta discuss, ye’ll have better luck talkin’ with yer brothers.”
Will shook his head, wondering if he would ever understand the female mind. “Never mind that. May I ask my question now?”
Elspeth nodded.
“Do you have any of that Lady’s Man-man-man… What is it called?”
Elspeth gaped at him. “Lady’s Mantle?”
That was it. Will nodded. How could he have forgotten? One of her coven sisters had wanted to use it on him this past autumn. “Yes. Do you have any with you?”
“I doona carry it around on me, no. It’s very powerful and…” Her eyes narrowed on him. “I doona make love potions anyway, Will.”
Frustrated, he shook his head. “It doesn’t have to be a love potion, Ellie. Do you have anything that would make a like potion? I’d take that.”
“I canna believe ye’d ask me that.” Elspeth’s green eyes flashed with anger.
Why not? He was in need, and she was family. “Come on, lass. I just need a little help persuading her to have a bit of affection for me.”
“Ye want me ta drug my new sister-in-law on her weddin’ day, without her knowing it.” Her glower deepened.
“Oh, no.” He held up two hands as though surrendering. “I’d never ask that of you.”
Elspeth tapped her foot against the floor in irritation.
“A potion isn’t drugging her,” he protested. “Not really.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, and pointed out the space between. “I just need a little help.”
“Will, I have always adored ye, but I’m goin’ ta pretend ye dinna ask me that.”
Defeated, Will sighed. What was he going to do now?
“But I may be able ta help ye without that.” She glanced furtively around the room, as though gauging who was listening. “My suggestion for ye is that ye do the opposite of what ye normally do when ye’re in her presence.”
This time, Will rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the advice.”
Elspeth giggled. “Please accept my condolences on yer marriage.” She giggled again.
“That is not humorous. How did Ben find such a paragon? You’re beautiful, and you have wit.” He tried not to make it sound like a compliment. But he smiled despite himself.
“I’m glad ye can see the humor in the situation,” she laughed again.
“I believe you’re seeing enough humor in my situation for the both of us.” He walked away from Elspeth to go stand by the window alone and think over his dilemma.
The night at the cottage in the woods, Prisca had been amazingly responsive to him. Of course, she’d been foxed at the time, but she still received his advances well. Will remembered the little noises she’d made as he took her over the top. He’d been hard ever since. If he took care with her, made her respond to him again…
He looked over his shoulder, across the room at her, where she smiled as she talked to Lily. She must have felt his perusal because her gaze settled on him. Her smile turned upside down. Quickly. How could he convince her that he was worthy of the same consideration as Lily? As anyone else in the room?
He let his gaze linger on her hair, still covered in back by the black veil. He couldn’t wait to take down the silky locks and run his fingers through them. He wanted to see her heavy mane spread out across the bedclothes as he looked upon her naked body.
His gaze moved down to her face. A pretty blush crept up her cheeks. Obviously, she was aware of his heated stare. He slowly inhaled. Oh, yes. She was quite aware. As a Lycan, one developed a certain awareness of one’s mate’s physical signs of attraction. If they were fated to be together, the male Lycan would share this bond with her always. Just as Simon could sense Lily’s desire. And Ben could smell Elspeth.
It was time to fan the flames of Prisca’s desire. And there was no better time to start than now.
———
Prisca fanned herself with her hand as she tried to ignore Will’s appraisal of her body. She was sure that’s what it was, as his eyes moved across her breasts and down her torso. Her nipples hardened, and her breasts grew heavy.
Will stalked across the room, moving slowly in her direction. His gaze was predatory. Her heart skipped a beat, and he smiled as though he knew. One corner of his mouth lifted in silent amusement.
“How are you, wife?” he asked as he came to stand behind her. His words brushed across the shell of her ear like a warm caress.
“Perfectly well, husband.”
“I have it on good authority that all the Westfield men abscond with their wives before the wedding celebration is even over.”
“Is that so?” she asked, covering her neck with a cupped hand to keep him from blowing across he
r tender skin.
“Family tradition.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “I do wonder if you would go willingly if I tried to spirit you away.”
“That would make it much too easy for you, Will.” She smiled in return. “You knew when you married me that it would be hard.”
“Hard. That’s me,” he murmured as he bumped into her bottom with his lower body. “Pardon me,” he said, his voice growing softer and deeper. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
A likely story. What on earth did the man carry around in his trouser pockets anyway? Perhaps she’d sneak a peek if he ever took them off. You’re foolish, Prisca. Of course, he’ll take his trousers off. He couldn’t possibly sleep in them. She fanned herself again as she thought of him naked. She’d only spied his backside in the cottage, but it was impressive.
Will reached around her to take a fresh glass of whisky from a footman. His arm brushed the side of her breast. Without even thinking, she gasped. Her breasts were already full and heavy. When he brought his arm back to his chest, he let his inner arm slide down her side again.
“Pardon, my dear. I didn’t mean to do that, either.” He smiled at her.
Her belly did a little flip. She’d so hoped to stay composed until their wedding night. Then she could tell him she had no plans to begin their marital relations. After all, he’d already taken her innocence, hadn’t he?
But every time he touched her with his eyes, his hands, his body, she warmed like a candle set ablaze. And then she smoldered.
Will drew her away from the people milling about the room. He leaned casually against the wall, a small smile hidden in his serious expression. He toyed with a lock of hair that hung down over her shoulder. “I want to make love to you,” he said quietly.
Prisca felt an immediate flood of warmth as her belly clenched. She took a sip of her drink and swallowed hard. She squeaked a little when she said, “I thought you’d already done that, though I don’t quite remember the event.”
Will put one arm around her waist and drew her so close their bodies brushed one another. He leaned over to say quietly in her ear, “The next time, there will be no doubt in your mind about it having happened, Prissy.”
Prissy? Would she never outgrow the moniker? Not as long as she lived. “My name is Prisca,” she said, sounding out the last syllable slowly. “Do not mistake me for one of your whores with whom you can use a term of endearment and have her fall at your feet.”
“I never expected you to fall at my feet. Nor would I want you there.” He stood a bit taller.
She nodded and rolled her eyes. “For you, I am nothing more than another woman to lie in your bed.”
Will’s eyes flashed with something at her statement. Anger? Lust? She wasn’t sure which. But then Will growled at her. “If that’s what you are to me, then why are we standing here? You should be in my bed.”
Prisca could do no more than squeal as Will bent at the waist, threw her over his shoulder, and stalked toward the exit. “Put me down,” she cried, pounding at his back.
Not even one of her traitorous brothers came to her rescue. Emory actually had a smile on his face. Her father looked… satisfied.
Before Will walked through the doorway, he said, “Duck, wife.”
She did, and only a moment soon enough. Had she not dipped her head, he’d have knocked it clean from her shoulders. “I hate you,” she said loudly once they were outside.
“Tell me something I don’t know, will you?” he asked, a chuckle in his voice as he started for one of the Westfield coaches.
Twenty
Prisca glared at Will as the coach lurched forward, with him stealing her away from her family and the only home she’d ever known like a medieval barbarian. “I cannot believe you did that!” How dare he toss her over his shoulder and throw her into his carriage? Arrogant beast!
“Believe it, my lady. And I have much more in store for you.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “Go to the devil!”
“I probably will,” he grumbled. “Sooner than later, I’m sure.”
There wasn’t much she could say to that, so she simply glowered at him instead. “Well, I hope you’re satisfied, William. You’ve ruined my whole life.”
Will leaned against the squabs, and his light blue eyes darkened. “I’d say that’s a bit of an exaggeration, Prisca.”
“Well, you’ve certainly ruined Christmas for me in any event. And it has always been my favorite holiday.” She turned and looked out the window, watching the Hawthorne land slip away.
“I’ll make it all up to you,” he promised. “I even have a Christmas present for you.”
Prisca scoffed. “Oh? Are you leaving already then? Will I have the entire Westfield dower house all to myself?” She hoped he would leave while she was still furious. She couldn’t lose her heart to him all over again. She’d never survive it a second time. And the more time she spent in his company, the more she longed for things that could never be. Therefore, ending this farce before it started was her only hope.
“Prisca,” Will growled, “I am trying to be pleasant. I know you’re angry about the situation, but I am your husband now and you will show me the respect due me.”
Her eyes darted back to his and she lifted her chin defiantly. “Or what?”
He leaned forward and clasped her hands in his. “For once, don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”
“I’m not afraid of you, Will.” Only of losing my heart to you.
“Perhaps you should be,” he replied enigmatically. Then he released her hands and leaned back against the squabs. “Lily has been droning on and on about the Yule Ball for days. I suppose tomorrow night will be as good a time as any to announce our nuptials to the village.”
“Whatever you wish, my lord,” she replied in the most obedient voice she could muster. It sounded hollow to her ears and must have to him as well, because Will regarded her with suspicious eyes.
———
Prisca was quiet. Too quiet, Will decided as the coach rambled to a stop in front of the dower house. He was almost certain she had some devious plan up her scratchy, bombazine sleeve. How long before she unveiled it?
He knew the idea of staying here had been his mother’s in order to give them privacy, and Will couldn’t have been more grateful for the decision. With his hearing, he couldn’t be in the same house with Simon and Lily or Ben and Elspeth and not hear their intimate encounters. He wasn’t at all anxious for his brothers to catch an earful of his and Prissy’s lovemaking, or of whatever else she had in store for him.
“We’re here,” he said, opening the coach door and offering her his hand.
Prisca placed her black glove in his grasp and swallowed. Will could hear the thump, thump, thump of her heart, and he squeezed her fingers. “I won’t hurt you, sweetheart.”
“Hmm,” she replied with an arrogant tilt of her head. “That’s what you keep saying.”
As they approached the stone steps, Will scooped Prisca up in his arms and marched toward the front door.
“William! Put me down this instant.”
He chuckled, enjoying the feel of her curves in his arms and the pretty blush on her cheeks. “I will carry you over the threshold, Prissy. All traditions will be followed.”
The front door opened, thanks to a borrowed footman from the main house. Will didn’t know the fellow’s name, though he nodded his thanks. “Please make certain a hearty repast is waiting in the kitchen and then you are excused.”
The footman smiled. “Of course, my lord.”
Prisca squirmed in his arms, and Will tightened his hold to keep her from falling as he started for the stairs. He’d been waiting years for this moment, but she was rigid as a board and he was well aware that softening her up might take a little doing.
Then he looked back at the amused footman. “Oh, and brandy. Make sure there is a bottle with the food.”
At the footman’s nod, Will climbed the stairs,
two at a time, anxious to have his wife all to himself.
“Brandy?” Prisca’s soft voice reached his ears.
“I seem to recall your preference for it over whisky,” he replied as he ambled down the corridor and stopped in front of the large master’s chamber. “I thought it might give you a bit of courage.”
“Courage?” Her brow furrowed. “I’m not afraid of you, Will.”
An idea flashed in his mind, and Will couldn’t hold back his smile. Her bravado would be her undoing. “Is that so?” he asked as he pushed open the door and placed her back on her feet. “You seem like a terrified little girl to me.”
Prisca’s back stiffened, and her chin rose stubbornly. “How dare you?”
Will forced a serious look to his face. “It’s all right, Prissy. I’ll never tell a soul.”
She poked his chest with her finger. “I’m not afraid of you or anyone else, William Westfield.”
He raised his brow in disbelief. “Well, then, do you need help getting out of your dress?”
Prisca sucked in a breath and took a step away from him. “I think you misunderstood me. Just because I’m not afraid of you doesn’t mean I’m going to climb into your bed.”
Will scratched his chin. “Whatever you say, Priss.”
“I think most of the women who land in your bed make the task much too easy for you.”
“And you plan to be different?” he goaded her.
Her face darkened a shade before she put her hands on her hips and said, “I don’t plan to land in your bed at all.”
Will shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. But, in reality, his gut twisted at the thought that she might not let him make love to her that night or ever. “We don’t have to land in bed.” His voice lowered as he walked closer to her. She took another step back. And another until a chair blocked her retreat. “I can ravish you on the chair.” He touched his lips to hers. “Or on a table, if you prefer.” He palmed her hips and drew her to him until their bodies touched. “We can do it anywhere you please.”
“I don’t plan to make this easy for you,” she said as he began to unpin her veil from her hair and proceeded to remove her hair combs, one by one. When her hair fell over her shoulders, his hands massaged her scalp gently. “I plan to make it very hard.” She gulped.