Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

Lily folded her arms across her chest. "There was a better way to go about all this, Will."

He frowned at her. "Yes, you and Simon keep saying that. But you didn't see the feral gleam in Brimsworth's eye the other night. I didn't want to take the chance she'd choose him simply to spite me." Which was something she would do. He'd always known her stubborn streak was longer than most.

Lily rolled her eyes. "For a lothario of your reputation, you know very little about women's hearts. Or at least Prisca's heart."

Before he could respond, the carriage lurched to a stop and Lily fell to the floor at Will's feet with a thump. Stunned, Will offered his hand to assist her, but her scowl made him pull it back. "Lily?"

"I will have that man's head," she seethed. "Jenkins!" the duchess called. Then she threw open the door and stepped from the conveyance.

Will followed closely behind her.

She glared up at the coachman, with hands on both her hips. "Jenkins, what has gotten into you?"

The coachman scratched his balding pate. "I am sorry, Your Grace," he stumbled. "I didn't expect to see Mr. Hawthorne. He frightened me, is all."

Pierce Hawthorne stepped from the brush into view. "Apologies, Your Grace."

Will looked past his old friend to see that they were within feet of the crofter's cottage.

"What, Mr. Hawthorne, has gotten into you?" Lily demanded.

Shivering slightly in the cold, Pierce gestured to the cottage with a hopeful look in his eye. "I am so glad to see you," he told the duchess. "I don't think she'll take aim at you."

"Take aim?" Lily echoed.

Will stalked past his friend toward the door. "For God's sake, Pierce. She doesn't have any ammunition in there."

"She doesn't?" the merchant exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so before? I'd have dragged her back to Langley Downs long before now."

Which is exactly why he hadn't divulged that bit of information to her brothers. God forbid her memory return when he wasn't around. "I didn't realize until after I reached The Hall."

He reached the handle, but Prisca called out, "If you open that door, I won't hesitate to put a ball in your chest."

No wonder Pierce was so frightened. Though the situation was far from humorous, Will couldn't help but smile. She was a spitfire, soon to be

his

spitfire. And if her passion from the previous evening was any indication of how they would get on, he was an incredibly fortunate man. "Priss, it's me."

"Don't you think I know your voice after nineteen years, William? You're the one I

most

want to shoot."

It was a lucky thing Simon's musket wasn't loaded, then. "Come on, Priss. We're in this together."

She laughed without a hint of merriment. "You should have taken me home when you found me last night."

And lose her completely? Not a chance. "Prisca. I am coming in."

He threw open the door, but before he could even focus on her, a shot rang out. Good God! She'd actually shot him, if the pain radiating from his shoulder was any indication.

Sixteen

Prisca screamed. What had she done? Will fell backward against the doorjamb, clutching it with his fingers. Then he slowly descended to the cottage floor.

Prisca leapt from the wrought-iron bed and managed to hobble over to him. "Will! Oh, Will, are you all right?"

She hadn't meant to actually shoot him. She'd only meant to scare him.

"Dear God!" Pierce muttered from the doorway, staring at the scene. "I never should have taught her to shoot."

She reached Will, ignoring the pain in her ankle and dropped to the floor beside him.

His light-blue eyes had a glassy look to them. "You shot me?" He sounded more surprised than angry.

"I told you not to come in," she said, not meaning it to sound as heartless as it probably did. But all the same, she

had

warned him. How was she to know he would ignore her threat and come barreling inside? She'd been so startled that she'd pulled the trigger.

Will shook his head as though to clear his mind. "I didn't think it was loaded."

She hadn't either, if she was to be honest. "Are you hurt?" She peered closer at his shoulder. A sticky redness seemed to coat the outside of his jacket. "Oh, Will! I'm so sorry."

"I'll be fine," he grumbled.

Lily stepped forward, horror emblazoned on her face. "Heavens, Prisca!"

"I didn't mean to," she protested.

Lily turned her attention to Pierce. "I have a basket and a set of clothes for Prisca in the carriage, Mr. Hawthorne. Retrieve them for me, will you?"

Reluctantly, Pierce nodded and started toward the Blackmoor coach. Prisca's heart pulsed. What if she'd killed Will? How would she ever live with herself?

"Will, can you stand?" Lily asked.

The two of them exchanged the strangest look. Finally, Will nodded.

"Good," the duchess exclaimed. "Go sit on the bed. I want to take a look at your shoulder."

Will shook his head. "I'll be fine, Lily."

Her hazel eyes narrowed. "I'm sure you will. But Prisca and Mr. Hawthorne are certain to be frightened. If only to appease them, go sit on the bed."

With more energy than he should possess, Will rose to his feet and crossed the room as though nothing was wrong. How strange. Whenever Prisca's brothers were ill or injured, one would think the world was coming to an end. They behaved like infants over the smallest things. Prisca had assumed all men were the same in that regard. But Will's face didn't seem to reflect even the slightest discomfort. Not like it had when she'd first shot him.

He sank onto the bed and Lily followed him, blocking Prisca's view of her inspection. After a minute, the duchess sighed with relief. "Thank heavens, you've only been nicked. Don't even know where all that blood came from."

"I told you I was fine," Will complained.

Lily stepped away from him just as Pierce returned with a picnic basket and small valise. "Is this what you need, Your Grace?"

The duchess gifted him with a beatific smile. "Indeed, Mr. Hawthorne. Thank you so much. William has the smallest of scrapes. Nothing at all to worry about. The two of you can wait in the carriage while Prisca dresses. Then we can all proceed to Langley Downs together."

***

Will sat across from Pierce in the Blackmoor coach and kept reminding himself to act as though his shoulder hurt. As it had already healed and he was trying to overhear Lily and Prisca's conversation from where they stood inside the cottage, which wasn't the easiest of tasks. Damn his sister-in-law for whispering. She knew he couldn't hear properly when she did so.

The bits he could make out were less than reassuring. Prisca couldn't remember much of the night before, and while that was a relief for him, the circumstances of this rather hasty betrothal had her on edge in more ways than one. The panic in her voice did not bode well for their future.

"Terribly sorry about the shoulder," Pierce finally offered, breaking his concentration.

Will touched his already healed shoulder with his opposite hand. "Just a scratch. I'll be good as new in no time."

"In time for the wedding," Pierce added.

Will nodded. "Simon is already on his way to London to acquire a special license."

"Awfully admirable of you, considering my sister tried to take your head off."

A laugh escaped Will's lips. "I wouldn't want her any other way." Well, perhaps he'd want her not so obstinate, but other than that she was perfect.

Pierce snorted. "You are a strange man, William Westfield. Assuming I ever marry, it won't be to a girl who opened fire on me."

"Trying to talk me out of it?"

Pierce laughed. "After you compromised her last night?" He shook his head. "Darius is a better shot than Prissy. If you didn't marry her now, you wouldn't live to tell the tale."