Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

Prisca released his arm. "Do enjoy his company. I don't intend to." Then she started off toward her sisters-in-law and the Giddings sisters.

Twenty-Four

Will watched Prisca's enchanting backside sashay toward the other side of the room and he groaned. It was some sort of cruel justice, his marriage to her. For years he'd lusted after her, he'd dreamed of bedding her, allowed her to see his true wolfish self time and again—but she was no closer to sharing his bed than she had been before they married.

He'd spent the better part of the afternoon trying to figure out how to make things right with her, trying to figure out what he could do to earn her favor. Only one thing came to mind, though he was loathe to do it. But if it would help Prissy forgive him, even just a little, it was worth his honor.

He scanned the attendees until his eyes landed on Sir Herbert in the corner. The baronet's eyebrows were drawn together tightly while he watched Prissy cross the room alone.

Will gulped, dreading the conversation he was about to have, but delaying the inevitable wasn't going to do any good.

Will started for his father-in-law, surprised he actually felt a small flush of fear as he neared the baronet. He extended his hand fully in greeting.

"I would ask how my daughter is doing in your care, but I can see she's enjoying herself immensely by not listening to a single thing you say."

"

Enjoying

is a bit of a strong word for it," Will grumbled.

Sir Herbert simply shook his head, a bemused look upon his face. "Oh, no, William. You don't know her well enough to tell when she's thoroughly enjoying herself. You want her to make nice with her family. And she's determined to do the opposite." The baronet lifted his cup of punch to his lips and watched Prisca over the rim. "That's my daughter for you. She's very much the picture of her mother."

"There's actually more to it than that," Will said, clearing his throat. "She feels a bit betrayed."

Sir Herbert grunted. "Betrayed?"

Will tugged at his cravat. The room was suddenly growing quite warm.

"There's obviously something you want to say, William." The baronet's eyes narrowed with confusion. "I do wish you'd get on with it."

"Of course, sir," Will replied. But how to say the words? "Before I explain, I need for you to play along. It's the only way to make this situation bearable. For Prisca." Will stepped closer and glanced furtively about the room. "When I tell you what really happened that night in Blackmoor's cottage, I'll need for you to hit me."

Sir Herbert placed his punch glass on a nearby table, crossed his arms over his chest, and said, "You want me to do what?"

"I want you to hit me." Will tapped his jaw. "Here." He pointed to his eye. "Or here." He shrugged his shoulders. "Bloody hell, I don't care where you hit me. Just do it."

"Are you foxed, William?" The man eyed him suspiciously.

Oh, how Will wished he

was foxed. It would mak

e this entire situation so much easier. But, unfortunately, he had all his wits about him. He shook his head to shake away his errant rambling. "Will you do it, or not?"

Sir Herbert just looked at him like he was an imbecile.

Will took a deep breath. "You know I love Prissy," he began slowly and quietly. The baronet stiffened. "Emory told me they planned to marry her off to Brimsworth, and I'm afraid I went a bit mad. Then the man offered for her, and I thought my chance with Prisca had passed me by."

Will glanced over at his wife. She was so beautiful, even with her back to them both. As though she sensed his attention, she turned and glanced at him over her shoulder. The smile that had been on her face vanished quickly. She looked at her father and scowled. And then she pushed her lips together in a thin line when her eyes settled once again on Will. She turned her body so that she faced them both.

Finally

. He needed her to see.

"I lied," he suddenly said.

"Pardon?" Sir Herbert frowned at him.

"I lied," Will said, sounding out the word

lie

as though it went on and on.

"About?"

Will tugged at that cravat again. "About what happened that night at the cottage. I lied, sir."

Sir Herbert bristled, squaring his shoulders.

"Nothing untoward happened between us. I found her in the woods where she was injured and cold. So, I took her to Blackmoor's crofter's cottage, mainly because I was so damn happy to find her virtually unharmed, and I didn't want to share her with anyone. It was convenient. Quite convenient for my plan."

The man sucked his lips in annoyance. "Your plan?"

"Making you think I'd ruined her."

"Westfield." The baronet's mouth fell open.

Will held up a hand. "Allow me to finish?"

Sir Herbert nodded once.

"I warmed her up," Will said quickly, holding his hand out when the baronet started to speak. "Not

that

way. In the save-her-life way, by putting her in front of a roaring fire. Then I gave her whisky. For the pain in her ankle, you know. It went straight to her head. So, I took the opportunity to tuck her into bed and climb in beside her. Prissy wasn't free with her favors, and it was wrong of me to tell you otherwise."

"I'll say," the man mumbled.

"It was a ruse to get Brimsworth out of my way and to coerce you into forcing her to marry me. Instead of him."

Will had never felt quite so exposed. Sir Herbert stood there looking at him like he should be transferred to Bedlam.

"And now she's quite angry with you for having lied and with me for having believed you," Sir Herbert said.

Will had fully expected him to be livid. But the man wasn't. He looked like he did every other day. "Furious," Will assured him.

"Is she making you miserable?" the baronet asked, his eyes twinkling a bit with mirth.

"Quite." Will nodded.

"Good," Sir Herbert said, nodding his head as though he was pleased. Then he clapped his hand on Will's shoulder. "I'm not an idiot. And I've been around the Westfield men my whole life." He lowered his voice so there would be no chance of anyone hearing him. "Beneath all that whoring, you're a decent lot. And I know you love her.

That

is why I

let you

marry my daughter. No one forced my hand. I could have accepted Brimsworth's offer, after all. Even after you brought her home, the man was certainly willing."

Will was so relieved to hear the baronet's words that he didn't even see Sir Herbert draw back his fist and slam it into his chin with the force of an anvil dropped from a great height. Will hit the floor with a thud.

***

"I do love her," Will muttered as Prisca knelt on the floor of the coach and stroked the side of his face.

"What did you say?" she asked absently. He'd been muttering since his brothers had picked him up and carried him from the assembly hall. They'd assured her he would be well in moments, though it would probably be best if she took him home, considering the gossip that might ensue.

"Priss," he murmured, his eyes still closed.

"Yes, Will?"

"I love her," he said again. This time she clearly understood him.

"Who do you love, Will?" she asked, swallowing hard to move the lump in her throat.

"Priss," was all he said. Will's blue eyes opened, now the color of sapphires in the dark confines of the coach. "What happened?" he asked.

Prisca stroked his jaw. The red bruising was quickly vanishing. "Papa hit you," she said, though she could see no evidence of it on his face now. "He hit you here," she said, pointing to his chin. "But now I can't even tell." She tipped his face to the moonlight. "How odd," she whispered.

"I heal quickly," he replied, his voice rising to its usual timber.