Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

"Miss Hawthorne," the earl said slowly with a smile that made Will want to rip his lips right off his face, "I do believe you've been caught."

A round of applause sounded around the room as Brimsworth jerked the blindfold off and bowed dramatically before the occupants of the room.

"Looks like I'll have the fortune of being paired with you during the hunt, Miss Hawthorne," the earl said.

Prisca smiled back at him, as any gracious hostess should. "Bravo," she congratulated. But her eyes lacked their normal sparkle. Was that disappointment in her gaze? Or was his foolish mind playing tricks on him?

Play continued around the room until each of the Giddings sisters were paired with a Hawthorne, except for Emory who was exempt from playing the game as he'd been the one to hide the scavenger items— something he looked rather smug about.

Will, thankfully, was paired with Garrick, who looked to be immensely relieved himself. "Thank heavens it's you," the vicar said as he and Will took off in search of their hidden item, a shepherdess figurine once belonging to the late Lady Hawthorne.

Will's heart told him to stay close to Prisca, not to get far from her. But, with Garrick leading the charge and having great fun with the scavenger hunt, there was no possible way for him to bow out gracefully. As he brushed past Simon, his oldest brother murmured, "There are three of us. No worries."

Will nodded slightly. But he

was

worried, all the same. And angry. And so damn jealous he couldn't see straight.

***

Prisca bit back her disappointment at being paired with the earl. In truth, she'd hoped to end up with Will. She'd wanted an excuse to spend time with him. After their brief encounter, she didn't even know what she'd say to him. But she did have a million questions all running together in her mind.

"Where shall we start looking, Miss Hawthorne?" Lord Brimsworth asked, a smile on his face that would probably charm the squirrels from the trees without even the promise of a nut.

"What is it we're searching for, again?" she asked as she leaned close to him to look at the unfolded square of foolscap he held in his hand to see

bust of Sir Alfred

Hawthorne

scrawled in Emory's handwriting. Their grandfather's likeness was usually in the gallery, but where would her oldest brother have hidden it?

As she pondered this question, Lord Brimsworth shifted closer to her, and she could almost swear he inhaled hard enough to suck her hair right up his nose. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I must tell you that you've quite enchanted me, Miss Hawthorne," he said slowly as she led the way down the corridor toward the study. She thought she might find the item listed in her father's sanctum. "That scent you wear makes me take leave of my senses. If you'll forgive me for saying so."

Prisca hugged her arms around herself to fight a sudden desire to flee. "Forgive you for paying me a compliment? Is that normal practice? I'll have to pen a note to the head mistress of my girls' school and let her know, Lord Brimsworth." She threw a smile in his direction.

He swallowed it like she'd thrown a bone to a dog.

"Would it be all right to dispense with the formalities? I'd love to hear you call me Dashiel."

"Dashiel?" she asked, her mind still on Will.

"It's so nice to hear it from your lips," he said quietly as he brushed a lock of hair from her forehead. She shook his touch away as nicely as she was able. "May I call you Prisca?"

"As long as you don't pick up any of the horrid monikers my brothers use for me," she replied pertly. "I assume it's all right."

Dashiel took her elbow in his hand and turned her slowly toward him as he stepped into her space. Prisca firmly believed that she, like everyone else, had a space around herself she could call her own and which only those invited could invade. And William Westfield, of course. After all, there was an exception to every rule.

Dashiel was breaking her rule, which made her a bit uncomfortable.

"I'm not typically so forward, Prisca," he began, his amber eyes glittering at her. "But I fear that if I don't make my intentions known, I could miss out on something I want very badly."

Prisca looked at him blankly. "I don't…" she began.

But he cut her off. "I sense there's something between you and William Westfield. Would I be correct?"

Had he not been holding her elbow, she'd have probably toppled over. Wait. Why

was

he still holding her elbow? She tugged it gently from his grasp. "I don't know what you mean."

"Yes, you do. Please tell me if I am treading on territory he's already marked."

"Marked?" Prisca shook her head to clear it.

"I would like to get to know you better, Prisca," he said, bending to look into her eyes. Something dark lurked in their depths, but she wasn't sure what she saw. Whatever it was, it scared her just a bit.

He had none of William's charm. Nor wit. Nor anything else she adored about him. But, of course, he wouldn't. He was a different man, after all. One who wanted to get to know her better.

"I'm not certain we'd suit, Dashiel," she said quietly, shaking her head. She should call him off immediately. It was most definitely the appropriate thing to do.

"There's only one way to find out," the earl said.

"And what would that be?" She wished he would stop talking in riddles.

Before she even saw it coming, the earl bent down a bit and touched his lips to hers. They weren't soft and supple like Will's. And he had none of the silky glide that made her want to crawl into his lap and kiss him all day.

She should really stop comparing the man to Will, particularly when he was kissing her.

Dashiel finally lifted his head and looked down at her. "You've been kissed before?"

"W-why do you ask?" Prisca stammered.

"You'll need a bit of practice, I'm afraid," he said slowly, his amber eyes watching her face closely.

A loud cough sounded from the corridor. A hacking cough. An I-am-about-to-expire-this-moment sort of cough. Prisca sprang back and resisted the urge to wipe the earl's taste from her lips just as the Duke of Blackmoor entered the room.

"Ah, Brimsworth, there you are. I've been searching everywhere for you," the duke drawled.

"Was there something you needed?" Dashiel growled.

"Not needed. I simply wanted to discuss the House of Lords with you and Eynsford's place in it. He's quite a powerful man, your father." Dashiel tensed tight as a drawn bow beside her.

"Would you both excuse me?" Prisca asked of the gentlemen.

"Of course," Blackmoor replied as he bowed slightly, but he raised one dark eyebrow at her. "You are all right, aren't you?"

She waved him off with a toss of her hand. "I'm fine. I just need a bit of air."

"You'll be back to finish the game?" Dashiel asked her as she started for the door.

Prisca pretended she didn't hear him and refrained from answering as she slipped from the room as quickly as she could. She ran down the corridor, thankful no one was about. After several turns this way and that, she neared the kitchens. Without a second thought, she opened a closet door and stepped inside, closing it firmly behind her.

***

Will left Garrick's side at the first possible opportunity. He needed to keep an eye on Prisca, to make sure Brimsworth didn't put his filthy paws on her. He rounded a corner and nearly ran over a poor little maid.

"Terribly sorry," he muttered, reaching out to keep her from toppling over.

Her green eyes rounded in surprise and then a playful grin played about her lips. "No apologies necessary, my lord." She batted her lashes and took a step toward him.

Will blinked at her. Was she flirting with him? "Thank you, I didn't mean to knock you over, miss…"