Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

"Prisca!" he called, but he heard nothing. He stopped and closed his eyes. The wind shifted, and her scent was stronger than ever. It stayed with him as he ran. In the back of his mind, he tried to calculate the number of miles she must have walked today. He could only imagine her exhausted, wet, and freezing cold.

Finally, his eyes caught the shimmer of pale fabric ahead. There she was. She rested beneath the overhang of low branches, her legs drawn up close to her chest.

"Prisca!" he shouted. He could hear her teeth chatter from where he stood.

Will ran to her, not stopping until he reached her. Prisca's alabaster skin was even more pale than usual, her lips blue. Will watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, the only indication that she still breathed.

"Will?" she asked, her voice cracking with the effort.

"Yes, it's me, love," he sighed as he slid his arms from his coat and wrapped her body in it. She instinctively turned toward his warmth as he cradled her gently in his arms. If his bearings were right, they were on Westfield land and there was a small cottage nearby. It was the shelter Simon sometimes retreated to when the moon was full, when he needed to seek solitude. It would have to do, as it was much closer than Westfield Hall.

She weighed nearly nothing in his arms. He ran with her cradled against his chest. Twice she groaned, but she didn't complain even once.

Will looked up when he heard the slosh of boots across the sodden earth.

"Will, did you find her?" Ben called out.

"I have her!"

Ben stopped in front of him, his breathing labored. "Is she all right?"

"She's cold."

"I'll run ahead and start a fire at the cabin. I assume that's where you're heading." He didn't wait for a response. Will would never underestimate the bond between brothers again.

When Will arrived at the small cottage, Ben had a roaring fire in the hearth and the chill was already being replaced by heat.

The rustic little cabin had just one bed. Will placed Prisca on it, and then he began to remove her shoes.

"You can go, Ben," he said without looking up.

"And send the others?"

Will met his brother's eyes. He might not get another chance if he let this one pass. "Not yet."

"What is your plan?" Ben asked, and he didn't sound the least bit surprised.

"Firstly, to make sure she's safe." He tugged her boot from her left foot. "Turn around," he said as he reached beneath Prisca's skirts and pulled off her sodden stocking.

Ben did as he was bid. "And then…?"

Will sighed. "You're a bloody nuisance, Benjamin."

"That's nothing new."

"If you must know…" Will heaved a sigh. He couldn't believe it had come to this. It certainly wasn't the best possible plan, but he didn't have much of a choice, not with Brimsworth waiting to snatch her up. This experience had taught him something. He knew he couldn't lose her, and he couldn't be without her any longer. "I plan to keep her here long enough to thoroughly compromise her."

Ben chuckled at him from behind his back. "Bravo. About time someone took my advice." He started for the door. "I'll check on you in the morning."

"No need. I'll bring her back when I'm ready."

Will looked at Prisca's sleeping form, so beautiful despite her current circumstances. He closed his eyes and prayed she'd forgive him.

Twelve

Pain gripped Prisca. She woke and gasped loudly as Will jerked her right foot to tug her boot off. "Don't!" she cried.

He immediately stilled. "What's wrong?" Worry crossed his features.

"I twisted my ankle," she groaned as he jostled her leg. "Please, stop!"

"Priss, I need to take this boot off so I can see how bad it is. Can you stand it?"

Prisca bit her bottom lip as he slipped the boot from her foot with the utmost care. "How bad is it?"

"Honestly, I'm not sure," he said as he flexed her foot. "Bad enough to keep you off it for the time being."

Will's hands moved to her bodice.

"And just what are you doing?" she gasped as she shoved his hands away.

"You need to take off those wet clothes. You're shaking. And your lips are blue."

"Oh." Prisca glanced around the small one-room cabin. "Where are we?"

"A crofter's cottage," Will replied. "Are you going to take those wet clothes off, or shall I do it for you?" He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I can manage quite well on my own, thank you," she grunted.

"Yes, you were managing quite well there on the forest floor," he murmured as he turned to stoke the fire. Was that disappointment she'd glimpsed so briefly in his gaze?

She glanced up at him and stared as he shrugged out of his jacket. Then his waistcoat. When he made a move to tug his shirt over his head, she was thoroughly engrossed in watching him accomplish the task. She'd never seen a man in nothing but his small clothes. He was magnificent. She snapped her mouth closed as she realized it was hanging open and tried to look at something else. But the image of him was still there. Blast him.

Will tossed her a shirt from a trunk at the end of the bed.

"Whose is this?" she wondered aloud.

"Simon's," was Will's only reply.

Why did the duke have a set of clothes in a crofter's cottage? Prisca shook the thought from her mind and busied herself by putting on the duke's shirt. She pulled it down to cover her bottom and then she swung her legs over the side of the bed.

"Don't do that," he said slowly.

"Don't do what?" She frowned at him.

Will covered her legs with the counterpane. "A man can only take so much," he said.

"Please," she snorted. "With as many bare legs as you've seen, I'm sure you're immune to such sights. Besides, I want to sit by the fire."

Before she could even blink, Will scooped her up and carried her across the room, taking great care with her injured ankle. He set her down softly in an overstuffed leather chair by the grate, and she tucked her legs beneath her shirt and wrapped her arms around herself. It was so cold.

Prisca took in her surroundings—one wroughtiron bed, an old musket mounted above the hearth, a settee she thought she remembered from years earlier in Westfield Hall, a writing desk, an oak table with a couple of chairs, and a plush rug that didn't seem to belong in a small crofter's cottage. The entire ambiance was very strange.

"I'm afraid the cupboards are bare except for some whisky," Will said, interrupting her perusal.

Prisca blinked up at him. Whisky and soft rugs, the duke's extra clothing… "Does Lily know about this place?"

Will laughed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Don't you think you have enough of your own problems without worrying about what Lily does or does not know?"

"I'll take that as a no." She narrowed her eyes on him. Blasted Westfield men. All of them were deceitful scoundrels. "Why would he keep this a secret from Lily? What does he do out here?"

Will sighed as though it was a chore even to speak with her. "Lily knows all about this place, Prissy. And it isn't in your best interest to go around stoking Simon's ire."

As if she cared what the Duke of Blackmoor thought. He was a boorish creature who barked at everyone around him. Though he must have some sort of charm to him, as he'd somehow managed to make Lily fall in love with him. "Honestly, His Grace's opinion means very little to me."

"Only because you can't manage him."

Prisca turned back to the fire. "I have my hands full with my own brothers. What do I care about yours?"

"You are exasperating, you know?"

Despite his words, his light blue eyes twinkled, and Prisca's breath caught in her throat. He had always been devilishly handsome, even as a boy. When she was a child, she'd been mesmerized by his charm and bravado. No. She couldn't go down this path again.