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  "Go away," she called back.

  "You don't even know who it is," he said softly, fully aware that she stood close to the door.

  "I do now," she sang. "So, go away."

  "Do you hate me?" he asked of her.

  The door flew open with such force that Will nearly fell inside. "You will be very fortunate if you don't find a knife in your back before the end of the honeymoon, my lord." She smiled sweetly. But the evidence was right before him in her red-rimmed eyes. She'd been crying. And he hated the very thought of her being so miserable because of him.

  Stubborn as always, even when she was miserable, Will thought as he shook his head. "I am better for you than Brimsworth," he growled. "I'd never hurt you."

  "I'm already hurt." A lone tear slid slowly down her cheek.

  He brushed the tear away with the pad of his thumb and replaced it with his lips.

  "I don't want to marry you, Will," she said softly. "Please, don't do this."

  "You don't want me?" he asked, his pride warring with his heart. "Are you sure about that?"

  "I

  shot

  you, didn't I? Doesn't that give you an idea of how I feel?"

  "You didn't mean it." Will caught her lips with his, but she refused to kiss him back. Within seconds, he'd picked her up, sat down in the vacated chair, and pulled her onto his lap. She struggled against him until he locked his arms around her waist.

  Will pulled her head down to his and took her mouth. But there was no tenderness in the kiss this time. There was only passion. And a need to prove to her how much she wanted him, to prove it to himself. Finally, she softened against him and he gentled his kiss. When she began to kiss him back, he loosened his hold on her waist and slid his hands up her sides to finally cup her breasts. He began to thumb her nipples as his tongue continued to war with hers. He offered no quarter, no rest from his assault.

  When she was mewling and arching against his hands, he stopped his ministrations. But she was so far gone that she didn't notice for several moments. He simply watched her, her eyes closed. He couldn't help but smile. There was no lovelier sight on earth.

  When Prisca finally realized he'd stopped, her eyes flew open. It was probably a really bad thing for her to catch him smiling at her.

  "You do want me," he said softly. He could smell her desire. "You want me so much you ache with it, like I do for you."

  "Oh, you scoundrel!" she said as she heaved herself quickly from his lap. Her violet eyes flashed with anger. "I hate you." She pointed one finger toward her door. He rose and walked slowly through it.

  "You might hate me," he said softly as he exited. "But you still want me."

  She slammed the door behind him.

  ***

  After a few moments alone in the hallway outside Prisca's room, Will gathered his wits about him and readjusted his trousers. Prisca Hawthorne always left him affected in one way or another, and it would take time for his ardor to cool. Why couldn't he have fallen for a sweet girl like Elspeth or a caring one like Lily?

  Loving Prisca was a punishment, a curse of sorts. He'd tried over the years to fight his feelings for her. In fact, he'd made quite a name for himself in London as a charming rogue. He'd entertained women of all classes and positions, hoping someone would make him forget her. No one ever had.

  He heaved a sigh. In a matter of days he'd have the girl, but her heart was another matter, and she didn't seem willing to give it to him.

  Will ambled down the hallway, wishing he was already at Westfield Hall. He slowly made his way toward the grand front door. The Hawthornes' ancient butler handed him his greatcoat and hauled the door open for him.

  Will stepped out into the bright December sunlight. The clouds were sparse, but the sky was bleak and grey. A cold breeze blew past him, and a chill tickled down his spine. He started toward the stables, but a voice behind him halted his step.

  "It appears as though you've won, Westfield."

  Brimsworth.

  Will looked over his shoulder to find the earl just stepping over the threshold. "Your expectations were contrary to the outcome?" Will asked. "Sorry to disappoint. When do you plan to leave?"

  The young earl furrowed his golden brow. "I thought I might stay to toast the nuptials."

  Will spun on his heels to face the earl. "If you do anything to hurt her…" Will began.

  Brimsworth sneered at him. "If you'd only played fair, I'd have accepted the outcome."

  Will stalked toward the earl, his fist clenched. "And I'd do it again, pup. You've no choice but to accept it."

  The man laughed. "Do I?" Will could barely keep himself from wrapping his hands around the man's throat and choking the life out of him. "You're the same as me. I can smell it."

  "And I can sense your wildness, your lack of control. If you touch one hair on her head, there won't be enough left of you to heal." He stared Brimsworth down, until the earl looked away submissively.

  Will once again started for the stables.

  "Watch your back, Westfield," Brimsworth called after him.

  Will didn't even bother to turn around.

  Seventeen

  "I don't care, Molly," Prisca explained for the thousandth time. "I don't care what he says."

  "Please, Miss… It's Mr. Hawthorne's birthday," her maid begged.

  Blaine could go straight to the devil along with the rest of them. "I'm well aware of the date. As I'm not feeling the least bit festive, I believe I'll stay right where I am."

  With an exasperated sigh, Molly sat on the edge of Prisca's bed. "They can't function without you. Sir Herbert is barking at everybody. All your brothers are grumbling at each other. If you'd just come down and see them, I'm sure—"

  "When my father sees reason, I'll join him and my brothers. But not until then. And you can tell him I said so." Reclined on her bed, she closed her copy of

  Emma

  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."

  "Perfect." Simon scrubbed a hand across his face. "You've really gotten yourself into quite the mess."

  Which he knew. Will just wasn't prepared to give up yet. "She'll get used to the idea. Once she's away from Langley Downs, once she's a Westfield…" He let his voice trail off, too uncertain of the future to say the words aloud.

  "Yes, I'm sure it'll all be different then," Simon remarked drolly. His brother tugged the chain to his pocket watch and flipped it open. "With that in mind, what time do we plan to leg shackle you to Prisca?"

  Last year would have been nice. "You do have the license, I assume?"

  "Would I have returned without it?"

  Of course not. Will took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Then I suppose the sooner the better. I only wish Mother was feeling well enough to travel." And she did adore Prisca.

  Simon frowned. "Doctor Bramber's tonic hasn't helped?"

  Will shook his head. "And Ben and Elspeth have been quarreling over the situation since you left."

  "Do you think she could really heal Mother?" Simon rubbed his jaw.

  Of that Will had no doubt. "She may look tiny, but she's more powerful than any other woman of our acquaintance. But that is neither here nor there. Ben won't allow it; and if she was my wife, I don't think I would either. He has the babe to consider as well."

  Simon heaved a sigh. "Then we'll just have to pray the tonic does its job."

  There wasn't much else they could do. "So," Simon began, his voice lighter as he changed the subject. "Are you ready to join the ranks of us married men?"

  More than he'd ever thought possible, not that he'd voice that to his older brother. He managed a cheerful smile. "I suppose it's time to drag Prisca from her room, kicking and screaming, so we can be joined in wedded bliss."

  "Good luck with that." The corners of Simon's mouth twitched upward, and then he glanced down at the correspondence that had piled up on his desk while he was away. "Hmm," he said picking up a letter emblazoned with The Society's emblem. "This one's for the major."

  "Going through your own post now?" Will asked, surprised. His brother was notorious for allowing letters to go months or longer without reply.

  Simon shrugged. "Lily is helping me stay a bit more organized. I somehow don't b
elieve your bride will be as accommodating."

  Probably not. Will pulled the note from his pocket that he'd just gotten from Billings and tore through the seal.

  "Were you expecting something?" Simon's brow arched as Will quickly exhaled.

  "I sent a query to an old friend in Kent to learn more about Brimsworth."

  Dear Will,

  It was quite a surprise to hear from you this

  morning. To be honest with you, I do not know

  Eynsford's heir. However, I have heard much about

  the Monster of Eynsford Park. Of course, that is