Desire n-3

by Nicole Jordan

  “I want a son, Miss Caldwell. A legitimate heir. Unfortunately that requires I wed someone of the female persuasion. Preferably a lady.”

  “But it needn’t be me. By all reports, you could have any woman you want.”

  “I want you. I thought I had made that perfectly clear.” The slow half smile that shadowed his mouth was meant to disarm her, but Brynn refused to be disarmed. His attempts to charm her could be fatal.

  “And I,” she retorted, “made it perfectly clear, my lord, that your lusts are irrational.”

  “Since we are soon to be wed, surely we needn’t be so formal. My name is Lucian.”

  She stared fixedly at him. “Lucifer, did you say?”

  A hint of amusement lit his eyes. “I have been called worse.”

  Brynn raised her gaze to the ceiling, summoning patience. “I wish I could make you understand the danger of the curse.”

  “Lamentably, I am not the superstitious sort.”

  “Perhaps not, but there is proof. If you don’t believe me, you should examine the church records. Nearly every generation of women in my family has faced a tragedy in love.”

  “So you said. But I expect those tragedies can be explained by mere coincidence.”

  “You dream about me, don’t you?”

  The expression on Wycliff’s face suddenly turned enigmatic, and Brynn could see she had struck a nerve. “Your dreams are not mere coincidence, I assure you. I haunt men’s dreams, as did my other female ancestors.”

  He glanced across the drawing room at a portrait hanging on the wall. “Is that a relation of yours?” The portrait was of an elegant woman with auburn hair and a look of sadness in her dark eyes.

  “That was my mother.”

  “She is very beautiful. It would not have taken a curse to make men dream about her, or even to lose their heads over her.”

  Clenching her hands together, Brynn exhaled slowly. She was obviously not going to persuade Wycliff. “Very well, ignore the danger, if you will, but don’t expect me to. My first suitor died because I showed a partiality toward him, and I cannot allow that to happen again. I won’t have your death on my conscience. Ours must be a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”

  Wycliff hesitated a moment. “A marriage of convenience would be perfectly acceptable on my part,” he said lightly. “I am not interested in a love match. I only want a son. But I won’t be ruled by fear, either, siren. I am not afraid of your developing a partiality for me.”

  “But don’t you see-”

  He held up a hand, forestalling further argument. “I consider myself warned and absolve you of any responsibility.”

  His easy smile was meant to take the sting out of his dismissive words, but she wasn’t mollified. Nor was she pleased when he abruptly changed the subject.

  “Now then, perhaps we should discuss our upcoming nuptials. Do you object to marrying by special license?”

  It was Brynn’s turn to frown. “A special license? It is usual to be married in a church.”

  “The ceremony can still be held in church. I prefer not to wait for the banns to be read. I thought Friday next a good date. Six days from now.”

  “Six days!” Brynn’s mouth dropped open as she regarded him in dismay.

  “That should allow me sufficient time to send to London for a special license.”

  “Surely there is no reason for such haste!”

  “Regrettably I cannot afford the time away from my pressing affairs.”

  “An appointment with your tailor, no doubt?”

  She saw his eyes narrow momentarily at her barb, but she didn’t apologize. She already resented Wycliff’s highhandedness, and a dashed, slipshod wedding was one more mark against him.

  “A rushed union will only seem rash and give rise to gossip,” Brynn pointed out.

  “I expect my consequence is great enough to ward off most gossip. Earls are generally accorded more license in bending the rules.”

  “More than mere mortals, you mean?”

  Not responding directly to her tart tone, he rose gracefully to his feet. “Does sea travel make you ill?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “I came to Cornwall by sea. My yacht is docked at Falmouth. I thought we would return to London that way, since sailing will be faster than traveling by coach, and more comfortable as well.”

  Brynn felt a surge of panic rise in her at the realization that she would have to travel with Wycliff. Sweet heaven, she would soon become his wife. Their marriage was truly going forward.

  “Are you agreeable to sailing?” he prodded when she sat silent.

  “Either way makes no difference,” she murmured, her thoughts distracted.

  “Very well.” Moving to stand before her, Wycliff reclaimed her attention by reaching down for her hand. Holding her gaze, he brought her fingers to his lips, totally unsettling her composure.

  Brynn snatched her hand away, feeling the sensual tingling of her skin.

  “Forgive me for leaving you so abruptly,” he murmured, “but I should see to the details of our nuptials.”

  “I don’t mind in the least if you go,” she declared. “Indeed, the less I see of you the better.”

  His lashes lowered slightly over his blue eyes as he studied her. “It does not bode well, sweet, for our marital bliss if we are constantly doing verbal battle.”

  “That presumes marital bliss a worthy goal,” Brynn returned coolly. “I told you, I have no interest in a blissful union. A discordant marriage will be much safer for you.”

  “But not nearly as pleasant,” he returned smoothly.

  “I will not fall for your practiced charm, my lord Wycliff,” Brynn said stubbornly. “You cannot make me succumb.”

  His beautiful mouth eased into that potent, masculine half smile she was coming to know. “I see I will have to enlist all my powers of persuasion to convince you differently. I must confess,” Wycliff added in a wicked murmur, “I look forward to the challenge.”

  The following six days passed with deadly swiftness. Brynn alternated between dread of her upcoming nuptials and attempting to convince herself that she had exaggerated the possible danger.

  The arrogant Lord Wycliff was constantly underfoot at Caldwell House, putting himself out to be charming. By the time the wedding grew close, he had won over both her youngest and oldest brothers.

  Theo was eating out of his hand and suffering a severe case of hero worship, in part because Wycliff willingly spent time in the boy’s precious laboratory. Even Grayson seemed at ease, despite his humiliation of needing the earl’s generous settlement.

  Only Brynn refused to relent. She had to maintain a strict aloofness from Wycliff. She couldn’t allow any amount of devilish charm or seductive smiles to sway her or to penetrate her defenses.

  Although required by the conventions of courtship to suffer his company, she made every effort to avoid being alone with him. In his presence, she endured his admiring, brilliant gaze with as much fortitude as she could muster, pretending to function in a rational way. When he was away, she tried to block from her mind any thought of him or what their impending union would bring.

  At least there was one advantage of wedding in such haste, she discovered. Between arranging the details of the service, settling her youngest brother’s future, and preparing to totally uproot her life, she had less time to worry.

  And just possibly her concern was inflated out of proportion. The women in her family, Brynn reminded herself, could marry without disastrous consequence if they took care not to fall in love. And she was entering into a marriage of convenience, nothing more.

  Moreover, her dark dream of Wycliff hadn’t returned. Perhaps her feeling of impending doom was mere bridal nerves.

  Lucian’s dreams of Brynn, however, turned more vivid-visions of his death mingling with erotic images of their marriage bed. The unsettling dreams, along with the warnings he encountered about his future bride, did give him a moment’s pause.


  His elderly host, the Duke of Hennessy, reacted to the betrothal with surprising distress.

  “It troubles me, Wycliff, that you chose Miss Caldwell when you could have countless other brides. There is a history in her family you should know about-”

  “I’m aware of the tales,” Lucian replied. “But I don’t give them much credence. I confess surprise that you do.”

  His grace looked uncomfortable. “I am not superstitious as a general rule, but I knew her mother. In fact, I courted Gwendolyn myself once. I must say, I consider myself fortunate to have escaped. But if your mind is made up, I suppose I have no right to protest.”

  “My mind is made up,” Lucian asserted.

  The duke’s genteel neighbors seemed just as disturbed by the news. They eyed Lucian with disbelief and whispered behind his back, although they didn’t presume to express their opinions. The villagers, too, seemed dismayed by the turn of events. And Lucian’s valet was concerned enough to venture his master’s displeasure by relating tales he’d heard from the ducal servants. There were even veiled accusations about Brynn Caldwell being a witch.

  Lucian, however, dismissed the tales and maintained his course. He didn’t investigate the church records as Brynn had suggested, for he disliked bowing to superstition. And when his betrothed suggested once more that he withdraw his suit, that he still had time to change his mind, he shook off his misgivings.

  He didn’t believe in curses. He wanted Brynn Caldwell for his wife, and he wouldn’t be intimidated into giving her up.

  It felt magical, his skillful touch. His lips moved over her flushed face, her throat, her breasts, claiming her nipples, his mouth wet and warm. She arched her back, seeking his gentle torment. As if he understood her desperate need, his hand brushed her loins. She trembled, her flesh burning for hint…

  Brynn awoke with a start, her body suffused with heat as the remnants of her erotic dream faded. Lucian-Lord Wycliff-had been kissing her, touching her, arousing her to passion.

  She shivered in remembrance. Her dream bore no resemblance to her dark nightmare where she’d envisioned his death. This one had been lush, searing, strangely alluring. She could still feel a sweet throbbing between her thighs, still feel a yearning ache in her heart.

  Surely her dream wasn’t a premonition. She hadn’t wed Wycliff yet-

  Brynn sat up abruptly, realization dawning. This was her wedding day. She would soon be his bride. A feeling of panic curled inside her as she hugged the covers to her still throbbing breasts, wondering if she was making a terrible mistake.

  She tried to put her dream from her mind and treat the day as any other, yet it was all Brynn could do to choke down a morsel of breakfast. Afterward, with the aid of their one maid, she bathed and donned her best gown of pale peach sarcenet.

  As she stared at herself in the cheval glass, she bit her lip hard. She had slept poorly, and there were smudges of circles under her eyes, while her face seemed ghostly pale. Yet even her wan appearance didn’t adequately show her turmoil.

  A wedding day was supposed to be a special- perhaps sacred-time in a woman’s life. But for her there would be no joy, no sweet anticipation. Only loneliness and dread.

  Even had there been no risk involved in wedding Wycliff, this still was the end of her life as she knew it. Today she would leave behind her girlhood forever. More despairing to contemplate was that she would forsake her home and her family for good. Early tomorrow morning she would set sail with her new husband for London.

  “Sweet mercy,” she whispered to the insipid person in the mirror.

  She was leaving behind everything she knew, everyone she held dear, to wed a stranger. Lamentably, she couldn’t even say farewell to her three other brothers, Arthur and Stephen and Reese. None of them would be attending today’s ceremony, for there had been no way to get word to their various ships in time, although it was doubtful they would have been able to obtain leave in any case.

  Brynn felt a tightness in her throat. She wasn’t certain which was worse: the pain of losing her family, or the prospect of spending a lifetime with a man she didn’t dare love.

  Either way, the irrevocable moment loomed. In less than an hour, Grayson would escort her to the village church, where the ceremony would be officiated by the vicar. The wedding “breakfast”-a feast funded by Wycliff, organized by the Duchess of Hennessy, and prepared by the duke’s vast staff of servants-would follow immediately afterward and last most of the afternoon.

  The wedding night would be spent at Caldwell House, rather than the duke’s castle or Wycliff’s ship. Gray had insisted on that detail for her own protection, a demand for which Brynn was grateful.

  Until now she had shied away from contemplating exactly what the physical intimacy of marriage would entail, but despite Wycliff’s vaunted prowess with the female sex, he was a man like any other. Under the influence of the Gypsy’s spell, he might very well let his passions become carried away and require restraint. She felt safer, knowing she could call on her brother should things get out of hand. But she would still have to face her own apprehension about sexual matters-

  A quiet rap on her door interrupted her distressing thoughts. It was Theo, wearing his best jacket, which he had long outgrown. His gangly wrists stuck out a good two inches below the sleeves.

  His mouth formed an O when he caught sight of her. “You look so beautiful, Brynn.”

  “I think you must be a trifle biased,” she said, trying to strike a light tone as she stepped back to let him enter her bedchamber.

  “I came to see if I might help you in any way… packing your trunks, perhaps.”

  She looked at her beloved youngest brother and had to smile. “Since when have you ever been interested in such trifling corporeal matters as packing? If so, I am honored that you plan to bring your head down from the clouds for my sake.”

  Theo grinned, a grin that slowly faded. “Well, actually I… I came because I wanted to give you something.” He opened his hand to reveal a small vial of yellowish liquid. “I’ve made you a potion. Perhaps it will help to ward off the curse.”

  Accepting the vial, Brynn unplugged the stopper and grimaced at the pungent odor that assaulted her nostrils. “What in heaven’s name is in this? Bat’s wing and toad’s tongue?”

  “Only a few chemicals. You should wear it like perfume. I don’t believe it will burn your skin.”

  “I am vastly relieved,” Brynn said wryly. “Thank you, darling. This should indeed ward off anyone who decides to become over amorous. Even Wycliff. He doesn’t believe in the Gypsy’s curse, but if nothing else, I can pour it over him.”

  “It isn’t wise to ignore such things,” Theo said seriously. “There are some phenomena even science cannot explain.”

  Brynn thought her brother would take his leave then, but his face grew even more solemn. “Brynn… I know you are doing this for my sake… marrying his lordship so I can attend school. And I… I want you to know how grateful I am.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said, forcing the words past the sudden ache in her throat. “I’ve always fancied myself as a countess.”

  Theo gave her a reproving glance. “You always taught me not to tell plumpers.”

  “So I did.” She feigned a smile. “Don’t mind me, love. I’m the one who is being silly. I suppose I am suffering from bridal nerves. They are quite common, I understand.”

  “Well, if you must marry, I think Wycliff is a good choice. He seems a capital fellow.”

  “You only say so”-Brynn tried to feign a teasing tone-“because he has bribed you with promises of fresh supplies for your laboratory.”

  “He has also promised that I may visit you in London on my first holiday from school. Is that all right with you?” Theo had chosen to attend Harrow and would soon be leaving for the start of the term.

  “Of course it is all right! I would like nothing better than to see you,” she said fervently. “I am sure to be lonesome in London. I know no on
e there except Meredith, and she repaired to her husband’s country seat for her confinement. Even when she returns, she will doubtless be busy with her new baby.”

  The look her young brother gave her held wisdom far beyond his age. “I don’t want you to be sad, Brynn.”

  She swallowed hard. “I won’t be sad in the least. Not if I know you are happy.”

  Gathering Theo to her, she gave him a fierce hug, unmindful of her gown. Yet she could feel the tears threatening.

  With fierce determination she compelled herself to release him and step back. “Now go away,” she scolded, “and let me finish dressing in peace. It would be ill-bred to be late for my own wedding.”

  Fearing she would break down, she pressed a motherly kiss on his brow and ushered Theo forcefully out the door.

  Shutting the door behind him, Brynn pressed her forehead against the oak panel, trying desperately to hold back tears. After a moment, she managed to regain control of herself. She would not wallow in self-pity. She had made the decision to wed Wycliff for her family’s sake, and she would have to live with it.

  Lifting her chin, she took a steadying breath, grateful for the cold sense of resignation that crept over her as she turned to finish dressing.

  Even so, the numbing chill couldn’t deaden the pain in her heart at leaving the family she loved, or the dread she felt about the future.

  Chapter Six

  The church was filled to overflowing. Many of the attendees were friends and well-wishers. Some were merely curiosity seekers, eager to see a peer of such exalted rank take a bride of such dangerous repute. All of the guests, Brynn reflected as she stood before the vicar with her intended husband, doubtless believed she had enticed the Earl of Wycliff into matrimony with her unnatural powers.

  As the ceremony progressed, she avoided even glancing at her tall, wickedly handsome groom. It was safer not to look into vivid blue eyes that were the same hue as his superbly fitting coat, or to contemplate how his pristine, intricately tied cravat set off his striking, aristocratic features. Yet she knew every woman present felt a spark of envy.