The Wolf Next Door

by Lydia Dare

  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 make 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?”

  “I love her,” he said again. This time she clearly understood him.

  “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 t
he 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.

  “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?” H
e 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 long 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.