Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

"Don't blame me," he insisted. "You know how stubborn she is. I've tried a million times over to get her to consider a suitor, any suitor. I haven't been picky."

"But she

said

she was husband hunting." Pierce, the merchant, raked a hand through his dark hair.

Emory rose from his seat. "She may have said that—"

Garrick cleared his throat. It was hell having a man of the cloth at his very own table to keep him honest, Emory thought.

He shook his head. "All right, she

did

say that. But I don't think she meant it."

"What's wrong with her?" Garrick complained. "Most chits want to get married. I've performed enough weddings to know the truth behind that. They always have starry eyes. Every last one of them."

Prisca's eyes were never starry. Emory shrugged his answer. If he knew what was wrong with their sister, he'd have done his best to fix it long before now.

"It's William Westfield," Blaine, the youngest and furthest down the table, finally spoke.

A hush fell across the room and lasted until Darius chuckled. "God help her if that's true."

"Do you think," Garrick began, glaring at the recently returned army lieutenant, "that you can keep the Lord's name out of this, Dari? That's the third time in as many minutes."

Darius ignored the vicar and focused on their youngest brother. "I know she fancied herself in love with him when she was in leading strings, but you don't think she still does, do you?"

Blaine sighed. "She still looks at him like a mooncalf."

Did she? How had Emory missed that? He'd always thought she looked at Will with barely concealed disgust.

"It was just an infatuation," Pierce muttered. "At least I thought it was."

Emory sank back down in his seat. Will and Prissy bickered like an old married couple. They'd done that for more years than he could remember. In fact, Prissy saved her most vicious barbs for his old friend. Did she truly fancy herself in love with the scoundrel? It seemed far-fetched.

"Well, if Westfield is what she wants," Pierce began, "I say we get him for her."

Garrick dropped his cup of coffee back to the table, sloshing the contents on either side. "Have you lost your mind?

William

Westfield?"

Pierce shrugged. "Well, of course, Will. Simon and Benjamin already have wives. Besides, she has her heart set on him."

"At one time or another, each of you has caroused with the man," the pious vicar complained. "I hardly think William Westfield would make a suitable match for our sister."

Darius broke out into a fit of laughter. "Would you rather thrust her at some unsuspecting man who thought he was gaining a malleable wife?"

Malleable

didn't begin to describe Prisca. Emory couldn't believe he actually agreed with the army lieutenant. But Will was one of the few men of their acquaintance who could actually handle their baby sister. "I say we do it."

"And just how do you propose that?" Garrick gaped at him, as though he'd grown a horn and sprouted a tail. "The man is far from the marrying sort."

At this pronouncement, Blaine rose from his seat. "I think I have the solution."

As Blaine was fresh from Cambridge and still wet behind the ears, Emory doubted that his youngest brother had the answer to their problem. Still, he had no ideas himself about how to proceed. "And?"

Blaine shrugged. "Will plans to spend the holiday at The Hall. He's going to be around for a while, and we're all in residence here at the moment. We can finagle reasons and opportunities to thrust her in his path. There are five of us and only one of him. Besides, he has a hard time avoiding pretty women as it is."

"For a tumble!" Garrick's face resembled an outraged tomato. "Do you want Prissy ruined?"

"No, not ruined—married." Emory shook his head. Despite whatever character flaws Will possessed, he was honorable. "Perhaps we can trick him into compromising her. Will would do the right thing in that

unfortunate

circumstance."

The air escaped from Garrick's lungs, and he sunk back in his seat like a deflated hot-air balloon. "You want William Westfield to compromise her?"

Darius grinned and nodded with enthusiasm. "Brilliant! Think about it, Gar. How many times have you said the ends justify the means?"

Pierce raised his hand as though he were a schoolboy and had the answer the instructor wanted. "Wrong brother, Dari. That was me. Business is business, after all."

"Never mind." Emory rose from his spot at the table, and though he hadn't eaten a bite, he felt more rejuvenated than he had in quite a while. Together, they could pull off this charade and see their sister finally walk down the aisle. Of course, if they failed, she'd probably kill each and every one of them. Still, one needed to take chances in life as often as one did at the hazard table. "I say we do it."

"Put it to a vote," Pierce suggested.

"Very well. It has been proposed that we will seek out ways to thrust Prisca and Will together at every conceivable opportunity. And if there are no opportunities, we will create them ourselves. All in favor, raise your hand."

Three arms shot up in the air. Emory smiled as he raised his own and sent a meaningful glare in Garrick's direction. "If you don't join us in this, you may not be happy with how we go about it."

Grudgingly, the vicar raised one finger in assent. "You're still a bully, Emory."

Emory shrugged. "We all have our talents."

Darius leapt to his feet. "We need a campaign."

"A campaign for what?" Prisca asked from behind them.

Emory turned and bowed slightly to their sister and smiled. His mind raced, hoping to come up with a plausible response. "A, um, campaign for Father."

"For Papa?" She raised one delicately arched brow.

"Yes," Pierce answered, coming to stand beside Emory and clapping him on the back. "I've been looking at a piece of property in South Hampton, but Father doesn't think it's sound. Darius suggests we put a campaign together to change his mind."

She looked from one brother to the next, finally settling her gaze on Garrick. "Is that true?"

The blasted vicar squirmed in his seat. "Father can be difficult at times. You know that."

Emory bit back a smile at Garrick's evasion. Still, if questioned again, his pious brother would break. He stepped toward Prisca. "Speaking of difficult, I was at Westfield Hall yesterday and the dowager has taken a bit ill. Perhaps you should pay her a call. You know how your visits always cheer her up."

Prisca sighed. "A bit ill?"

"I do think you should visit," Emory pressed.

"I'll go this morning."

This morning would be perfect. Will was due to arrive at any time.

Two

Lord William Westfield awoke to find afternoon sun streaming through the window of his rented room at The White Lion. It took him a moment to realize where he was, and then the foolishness of the prior night washed back over him.

Damn, what was wrong with him?

He'd tried so hard to stay away from Prisca. Seeing her always tore at his heart. He should have learned his lesson long ago. She didn't care for him, not anymore, not like she once had. He

knew that; he just didn't want to accep

t it. And it was so hard to do so when her eyes sparkled with joy whenever she saw him, or at least the wolf he became during a full moon. Her delicate fingers stroked through his fur, and her soft touch, so unrestrained and unhesitant, soothed him. What he wouldn't give to have her fingers trail over him when he was a man.

That want must have been what led him to make reckless decisions. He'd been foolish to stay as long as he had the night before. But whenever he was with Prissy, time seemed to stand still. He'd barely managed to get away before dawn.