Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

and leveled her maid with her frostiest glare.

Molly winced under the pressure. "I'd rather not be that messenger, Miss Prisca. He'd bite my head off, and I'm rather fond of it."

Prisca tapped her fingers against her book. For the first time ever, she wished she were a man. No matter what trouble Emory or any of the others had ever gotten themselves into, their father had never demanded

they

marry. It wasn't fair.

Of course, she was well aware that life wasn't fair and women often got the shabbiest deal, but… She couldn't marry Will. She

wouldn't

marry Will. Not under these circumstances.

It would be different, she supposed, if she could remember him asking her to be his wife. What could he have possibly said that made her accept his offer? Blast her foggy memory. She'd give anything to remember what he'd said and done that night. Not that it mattered now. Ever since her ruination, he'd behaved like a medieval brute. He'd simply

told

her that she would marry him. End of discussion. How completely unromantic. Not that she expected more of him. His charm generally lasted only a night.

Years ago, Will had confessed to her he might not be the marrying sort, which she soon came to learn was the most truthful thing he'd ever said. He'd lured women to his bed by the dozens. More than she could count, and she'd been keeping track over the years. The society rags were awash with his exploits, and though Ben kept her generally well informed, she knew—he left much unsaid.

William Westfield was a scoundrel of the first order, an unrepentant blackguard, and the worst sort of profligate. Yet, despite all that, he never failed to make her heart race or her breath catch, foolish woman that she was. He was still as handsome and charming as ever, which was maddening.

How could she marry him knowing the sort of rogue he was? She wanted a husband who would be true to her, who would love her. William Westfield only loved himself. None of this was what she wanted.

"Please, Miss Prisca," Molly's voice interrupted her thoughts. "Everyone else is here—even the duchess."

Prisca winced. She hated for Lily to perceive her as a spoiled brat, but it couldn't be helped. She wouldn't go downstairs if Prinny himself ordered it.

For the hundredth time that evening, Prisca wished she had a place to run. But she had no funds at her disposal. Nowhere she could go for help. Anyone she would go to was already here—waiting to watch her marry Will. Disloyal brothers, the lot of them.

She heaved a sigh. She was all alone in this, and she had to make a stand somehow. Unfortunately, refusing to leave her room was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Prisca shook her head. "Molly, I believe I have given you my answer." Then she picked

Emma

back up and opened the book. She lamented that the lenient Mr. Woodhouse wasn't her father. Then again, if Emma had been discovered in Mr. Knightley's bed, even Mr. Woodhouse might have noticed.

Some of this was her fault. Though what should she have done when Will refused to take her home? Run out into the freezing night wearing nothing but the duke's shirt, hobbling on her twisted ankle? She probably shouldn't have kissed him, a voice in the back of her head said. That was foolish, but she always felt the urge to behave foolishly in Will's presence. He was a bad influence.

***

As the days passed and Christmas approached, Will grew as restless as a caged wolf. He'd always been fairly patient, always able to calm Simon when he was in a rage. But the last few days had been torturous, to say the least. He'd visited Langley Downs every day, but Prissy wouldn't see him. She wouldn't see anyone. Stubborn chit. Sir Herbert only knew she was well, since she sent back her food tray empty every night.

"Don't worry," Sir Herbert said as he ushered Will into his study. "As soon as His Grace returns with the license, I'll break the damned door down. There's no point in my doing so yet."

"I understand Lord Brimsworth has departed." Which was the only good news he'd had in days.

Sir Herbert's eyes darkened. "Under the circumstances, he thought it best if he returned to London."

At least Prisca wasn't in danger of encountering a livid Lycan, other than himself anyway. He thanked the baronet for his time and returned to Westfield Hall.

The days were shorter and drearier, and deep in his soul, Will worried that something would go wrong. However, as soon as he entered his brother's manor, it was obvious that Simon had returned.

Oliver York, the teenage Earl of Maberley whom Simon and Lily were raising, rushed down the hallway, smiling. "Will! Simon says congratulations are in order."

If only that was true. Not that Will would discuss Prisca's petulance with the lad. "I think you grew another foot, Maberley," Will said instead, as he patted the top of the boy's head.

"I'm the biggest Lycan in school now," Oliver beamed.

"So, there's more than one of you?" Will looked down his nose at the boy, hiding his grin.

Oliver shuffled his feet. "Well, there are two of us, but Mr. Schofield says two more will be enrolling for the Hilary term."

"He's quite right," Will affirmed. "I met their fathers at Canis House a few weeks ago. I hope you'll be a proper mentor to them as Leo has been to you?" He let the question linger in the air.

"I'll do my best," Oliver assured him, before he turned to bolt up the stairs.

"Oliver!" Will called after him. The lad turned in his direction. "Keep in mind that there'll be no talk of Lycans when Miss Hawthorne is in residence."

"She doesn't know?" Oliver's jaw dropped open.

It was just one of the many things she didn't know. Will shook his head as he took his correspondence from Blackmoor's loyal butler. "Thank you, Billings," he said absently.

"But won't she need to know before you change with the full moon?" Oliver asked.

Simon poked his head out of his office, frowning at the two of them. "What is the matter with you?" he hissed. "Certain things shouldn't be discussed out in the open."

Will started for the study, with Oliver following in his wake. "How can she not know?" the boy persisted. "Don't you plan to claim her?"

Simon choked.

Oliver met the duke's eyes and shrugged. "I know

you

didn't keep your promise. I saw Aunt Lily's neck." Then he dropped into the closest seat near the grate and grinned. "But Mr. Schofield explained it all to me—much better than you or your books did, so I figure it's all right. She seems happy anyway."

"Out!" Simon barked, holding his door open widely.

Oliver scowled but rose from his spot anyway. "I don't know why I have to leave. You told me everything in the coach."

"Maberley," Simon growled, "my love for your aunt is the only thing keeping my temper in check. If you'd like to reach your next birthday, you'll leave my study this instant."

The boy slinked from the room, grumbling under his breath—though both Will and Simon heard him question the circumstances of the duke's birth.

Simon slammed the door behind Oliver and then rubbed his temples. "That boy will be the death of me."

"And yet you're ready to start your own family?" Will asked as he took the seat Oliver had vacated.

"Sir Herbert says that you fall in love with them when they're born and it keeps you from killing them as they grow older. As he sired six of them, I'm inclined to believe him."

At the mention of Sir Herbert, Will leaned his head against the back of the leather chair.

"That bad?" Simon asked as he settled himself on the corner of his desk.

"She'll come around," Will said, more to convince himself than Simon.

"What did I miss?"

Will shrugged. "She's barred herself in her room and refuses to talk to anyone but her maid."