Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

Will reached around her to take a fresh glass of whisky from a footman. His arm brushed the side of her breast. Without even thinking, she gasped. Her breasts were already full and heavy. When he brought his arm back to his chest, he let his inner arm slide down her side again.

"Pardon, my dear. I didn't mean to do that, either." He smiled at her.

Her belly did a little flip. She'd so hoped to stay composed until their wedding night. Then she could tell him she had no plans to begin their marital relations. After all, he'd already taken her innocence, hadn't he?

But every time he touched her with his eyes, his hands, his body, she warmed like a candle set ablaze. And then she smoldered.

Will drew her away from the people milling about the room. He leaned casually against the wall, a small smile hidden in his serious expression. He toyed with a lock of hair that hung down over her shoulder. "I want to make love to you," he said quietly.

Prisca felt an immediate flood of warmth as her belly clenched. She took a sip of her drink and swallowed hard. She squeaked a little when she said, "I thought you'd already done that, though I don't quite remember the event."

Will put one arm around her waist and drew her so close their bodies brushed one another. He leaned over to say quietly in her ear, "The next time, there will be no doubt in your mind about it having happened, Prissy."

Prissy?

Would she never outgrow the moniker? Not as long as she lived. "My name is Pris

ca

," she said, sounding out the last syllable slowly. "Do

not

mistake me for one of your whores with whom you can use a term of endearment and have her fall at your feet."

"I never expected you to fall at my feet. Nor would I want you there." He stood a bit taller.

She nodded and rolled her eyes. "For you, I am nothing more than another woman to lie in your bed."

Will's eyes flashed with something at her statement. Anger? Lust? She wasn't sure which. But then Will growled at her. "If that's what you are to me, then why are we standing here? You should

be

in my bed."

Prisca could do no more than squeal as Will bent at the waist, threw her over his shoulder, and stalked toward the exit. "Put me down," she cried, pounding at his back.

Not even one of her traitorous brothers came to her rescue. Emory actually had a smile on his face. Her father looked… satisfied.

Before Will walked through the doorway, he said, "Duck, wife."

She did, and only a moment soon enough. Had she not dipped her head, he'd have knocked it clean from her shoulders. "I hate you," she said loudly once they were outside.

"Tell me something I don't know, will you?" he asked, a chuckle in his voice as he started for one of the Westfield coaches.

Twenty

Prisca glared at Will as the coach lurched forward, with him stealing her away from her family and the only home she'd ever known like a medieval barbarian. "I cannot believe you did that!" How dare he toss her over his shoulder and throw her into his carriage? Arrogant beast!

"Believe it, my lady. And I have much more in store for you."

She folded her arms across her chest. "Go to the devil!"

"I probably will," he grumbled. "Sooner than later, I'm sure."

There wasn't much she could say to that, so she simply glowered at him instead. "Well, I hope you're satisfied, William. You've ruined my whole life."

Will leaned against the squabs, and his light blue eyes darkened. "I'd say that's a bit of an exaggeration, Prisca."

"Well, you've certainly ruined Christmas for me in any event. And it has always been my favorite holiday." She turned and looked out the window, watching the Hawthorne land slip away.

"I'll make it all up to you," he promised. "I even have a Christmas present for you."

Prisca scoffed. "Oh? Are you leaving already then? Will I have the entire Westfield dower house all to

?" She hoped he would leave while she was still furious. She couldn't lose her heart to him all over again. She'd never survive it a second time. And the more time she spent in his company, the more she longed for things that could never be. Therefore, ending this farce before it started was her only hope.

"Prisca," Will growled, "I am trying to be pleasant. I know you're angry about the situation, but I

am

your husband now and you will show me the respect due me."

Her eyes darted back to his and she lifted her chin defiantly. "Or what?"

He leaned forward and clasped her hands in his. "For once, don't make this more difficult than it has to be."

"I'm not afraid of you, Will."

Only of losing my heart

to you.

"Perhaps you should be," he replied enigmatically. Then he released her hands and leaned back against the squabs. "Lily has been droning on and on about the Yule Ball for days. I suppose tomorrow night will be as good a time as any to announce our nuptials to the village."

"Whatever you wish, my lord," she replied in the most obedient voice she could muster. It sounded hollow to her ears and must have to him as well, because Will regarded her with suspicious eyes.

***

Prisca was quiet. Too quiet, Will decided as the coach rambled to a stop in front of the dower house. He was almost certain she had some devious plan up her scratchy, bombazine sleeve. How long before she unveiled it?

He knew the idea of staying here had been his mother's in order to give them privacy, and Will couldn't have been more grateful for the decision. With his hearing, he couldn't be in the same house with Simon and Lily or Ben and Elspeth and not hear their intimate encounters. He wasn't at all anxious for his brothers to catch an earful of his and Prissy's lovemaking, or of whatever else she had in store for him.

"We're here," he said, opening the coach door and offering her his hand.

Prisca placed her black glove in his grasp and swallowed. Will could hear the thump, thump, thump of her heart, and he squeezed her fingers. "I won't hurt you, sweetheart."

"Hmm," she replied with an arrogant tilt of her head. "That's what you keep saying."

As they approached the stone steps, Will scooped Prisca up in his arms and marched toward the front door.

"William! Put me down this instant."

He chuckled, enjoying the feel of her curves in his arms and the pretty blush on her cheeks. "I will carry you over the threshold, Prissy. All traditions will be followed."

The front door opened, thanks to a borrowed footman from the main house. Will didn't know the fellow's name, though he nodded his thanks. "Please make certain a hearty repast is waiting in the kitchen and then you are excused."

The footman smiled. "Of course, my lord."

Prisca squirmed in his arms, and Will tightened his hold to keep her from falling as he started for the stairs. He'd been waiting years for this moment, but she was rigid as a board and he was well aware that softening her up might take a little doing.

Then he looked back at the amused footman. "Oh, and brandy. Make sure there is a bottle with the food."

At the footman's nod, Will climbed the stairs, two at a time, anxious to have his wife all to himself.

"Brandy?" Prisca's soft voice reached his ears.

"I seem to recall your preference for it over whisky," he replied as he ambled down the corridor and stopped in front of the large master's chamber. "I thought it might give you a bit of courage."

"Courage?" Her brow furrowed. "I'm not afraid of you, Will."

An idea flashed in his mind, and Will couldn't hold back his smile. Her bravado would be her undoing. "Is that so?" he asked as he pushed open the door and placed her back on her feet. "You seem like a terrified little girl to me."

Prisca's back stiffened, and her chin rose stubbornly. "How dare you?"