Lydia Dare - Wolf Next Door

"The consummate scoundrel

is

jealous. Oh, how far we have come," she sang as he looked at her.

"If I'm a scoundrel, you made me one," he said without thinking.

Prisca rolled her eyes. "You can't blame me for what you are, William. You were a scoundrel long before I came to my senses."

Will sighed. She would always believe the worst of him.

That night all those years ago came rushing back in his memory, not that it was ever far from his thoughts. If she'd only met him at the edge of the property like she was supposed to, they would have taken off for Gretna Green and all would be fine now. Everything would have worked out. But she hadn't, and nothing had been right since.

Did she still think he fathered Mary Osgood's child? No matter that the Osgood chit finally admitted the first footman was the responsible party, her original accusations had ripped Prisca from him. He still had the note she'd sent him the morning after they were supposed to meet, wishing him to the devil sooner rather than later.

Emory and the others had believed the tale in the beginning as well, which probably hadn't helped. He could only imagine her overhearing the Hawthorne brothers discussing the situation. She'd readily believed them. After all, they'd known him better than anyone, save his own brothers.

Still, Prisca should have known better, shouldn't she? Where was her faith in him? How could she believe he'd whisper sweet nothings in her ear, offer her his love and his name, and then go spend his nights with Mary Osgood?

If anyone had a right to still be furious about the past, it was him. But he didn't want to be furious anymore. He wanted his heart to stop aching whenever he was in her presence. He wanted her to look at him with the adoration that once shined in her eyes. He wanted her. Just as badly now as he ever had.

"We would have been married four years now, Priss. Do you ever think about that?" He did, all the time, though he tried his best to push thoughts of her far from his mind. Every widow, every lightskirt, that came his way was a distraction. Distractions that never filled the place in his heart that was reserved solely for her.

"I don't think about you at all," she said. But he could tell she was lying as her pupils dilated.

His heart leapt a bit, and he brushed his fingertips across her jaw. "Liar."

She inhaled quickly at his touch. "Will," she started, placing a hand on his chest to push him away.

"Do you have an interest in Brimsworth?"

"I haven't given it much thought. I just met the man. And I don't see where it's any of your concern," she replied. "Do step back. I can't think with you so close."

But he didn't move. He loomed over her like some powerful warrior.

She tried once more to push him away. "Priss…" he said quietly, his hand coming up to cover hers. He just held it there, over his heart. He felt her touch all the way through his jacket and the fine lawn of his shirt.

"Let me go, Will," she said quietly as she looked up at him, her lips close enough that he could taste the scent of her.

"I can't," he said as he clenched his teeth. The other Lycan could probably hear them grind from wherever he lurked in wait for Prisca.

"It wasn't a request. Let me go." She tapped his chest with her fingertips and then jerked her arm free of his grasp. He released her hand but leaned in closer, preventing her from sliding out of the enclosure of his arms.

This was why he stayed away from her. Because he could not resist her. He couldn't trust himself to play the gentleman. She'd normally never allow him to get so close. When they were fighting, she was so stiff and unyielding that he had no chance of ever drawing her near. Why was she letting him do so now?

Will wasn't about to ask. He might not get another chance. He bent and kissed her forehead softly. She wiped his kiss away like the vilest of concoctions was touching her skin. Then she grimaced. Her pulse beat in the room like the

clip, clip, clip

of a horse at a trot. Her skin was so hot it was moist, the skin above her bodice flushed and shiny with dew.

He reached out and touched the small gold locket that hung beneath the pulse in her throat. "What's this?" he asked as he fingered the ornate decoration.

"Just a locket." She shrugged as she tried to pull it from his hands.

"What's in it?" He needed to know. He didn't understand why, but it was imperative that he see what was inside that locket.

"A picture of my one true love." She smiled coyly at him. Gone was the sour-faced imp who threatened his peace of mind. Gone was the tempting siren who taunted his daydreams.

"May I see?"

"It's just a likeness I painted, really," she said as she flipped the catch and opened it.

Will's heart stopped. A dark wolf stared back at him.

"A dog?" he asked as casually as he was able. "Your one true love is a

dog

?"

"He's not really a dog." She bristled at his words.

"Then what is he?" Surely she didn't know.

"He's

mine

. That's all that matters." She jerked the locket from his grasp.

"No need to be offended. I'll never tell anyone how much you love the dog." He attempted to chuckle, but it came out more as a cough.

"You wouldn't understand."

"I understand more than you think!" he snapped at her. He narrowed his eyes. She didn't know, did she? There was no way she could know that he and the wolf she wore so close to her heart were one and the same. He tipped up her chin with his crooked finger. "Stay away from Brimsworth, Prisca."

"Why?"

"Can you, for once, just do as I ask?" he barked.

Finally, she shoved his chest, and he let her push him back. She stood toe to toe with him, her hands on her hips, her chest heaving. "What I do or who I see is no concern of yours, William. You wouldn't appreciate it if I began to dictate your actions."

He had to keep her away from the other Lycan. No matter what. He held up his hands in surrender. "Dictate. Go ahead."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You wouldn't do as I say. Just as I'll not avoid Lord Brimsworth simply to satisfy your overly inflated sense of self-worth."

"Dictate, Prisca. Tell me what you want."

"You don't care what I want," she scoffed. "You're simply jealous."

"Worried. It's quite a different emotion." Hell, he was jealous, too. So jealous he could choke the life from the man, any man, who held Prisca in his arms.

"If you'll promise to be careful about Brimsworth, I'll accept a dictate of yours," he finally sighed.

"Beg your pardon?" Her violet eyes rounded in surprise.

"Anything your little heart desires."

He tugged her back into his arms, and she went willingly. Poor girl must have been stunned mad. He chuckled.

"No wenches. No maids. No widows. No women at all." She spoke so softly against his chest that a normal man wouldn't have heard her. But he did. And his heart nearly stopped beating. The only woman he wanted was her. The others were simply to fill the void.

"Done," was all he said. "And you'll stay away from Brimsworth."

"No." Prisca squirmed in his arms. "I said I'll

be careful

around Brimsworth. Those are very different things."

"Will you tell me if he makes advances toward you?"

So I can kill him.

"No. But I promise to take great care around the man. And I will strive to never be alone with him."

He wanted much more than that, but it was better than nothing. "And, in return, I'll…" Will stopped to cough. Or choke. He wasn't sure which. "Stay chaste."

"For how long?"

"God, Prisca, I don't know. Until our deal is null and void!"

"Very well. It's worth it just to curtail the most famous rake in London, if only for a little while."