Brynn shook her head miserably. She couldn’t blame Lucian for being angry that she had sullied his name and her reputation. Even though she hadn’t purposely precipitated the scandal, she had known where the curse could lead. “I… I’m sorry, Lucian.”
“Sorry is hardly adequate. Either of those witless whelps could have died.”
“I know,” Brynn whispered, aching inside. “I am to blame. I knew what could happen.”
“Apologies will serve you little purpose, even if I believed them,” Lucian gritted out, unmollified.
When she didn’t reply, he said even more harshly, “Mark me, Brynn, I won’t allow you to continue like this. You will behave with discretion, or I will remove you from London altogether.” He cursed under his breath. “Perhaps it was a mistake, bringing you here in the first place.”
Brynn swallowed her tears, her chin lifting defensively. “Our entire marriage was a mistake. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen.”
“It is far too late now to undo it. And I won’t tolerate your continued wantonness.”
“I have not been wanton.”
“What do you call luring helpless young bucks to pant after your skirts?”
“I call it the effects of the curse.”
“I can more easily believe you’ve been dallying behind my back.” Her husband grasped her upper arm tightly, forcing her to look at him. “I warn you, Brynn. I intend my heir to resemble me.”
Taken aback, she stared at Lucian in genuine shock as she comprehended his meaning. “I would never be unfaithful to my marriage vows.”
“No? You draw the line at driving fools wild? ”
Brynn felt a measure of alarm at the dark glitter in his eyes. She had seen Lucian angry before, but she had never been treated to the full force of his temper or his outraged sense of pride and male jealousy. He was wrong about her, though. She would never dream of cuckolding him. Nor would she be his doormat.
Brynn reined in her anger and hurt and stared at him rebelliously.
The atmosphere was suddenly charged with a new tension. Danger and desire.
He wanted her, she could see it in the fierce blaze of his expression. Against her will, Brynn felt a now-familiar curling sensation stirring in the pit of her stomach: sexual longing.
Their gazes clashed; hers defiant, his heated with primal emotion. His hands closed over both her shoulders in a tight grip.
“Don’t touch me,” she warned, trying to pull back.
The blue of his eyes became deeper, stormier. “Are you daring me, wife?”
She shivered, knowing the peril of challenging him, yet she couldn’t stop herself. “What if I am?”
Something dark and thrilling flared in his expression. In a single smooth motion, he raised the skirt of her gown.
“I shouldn’t think you would want to risk any more scandal,” she taunted.
His expression was hard and sensual, his eyes dilated and dark with arousal as he insinuated his hand between her thighs.
Brynn suddenly felt breathless, stunned by her body’s instinctive response. Lucian had only to touch her and she grew wet for him. A scalding heat flared between her thighs while her nipples tightened to rigid peaks. She had no doubt he could feel her readiness, smell her musky scent.
His finger brushed the bud of her sex and she had to stifle a moan. His bold touch inflamed her senses, igniting the explosive emotions simmering between them.
She drew a sharp breath as he released her to unfasten the buttons of his breeches. His erection sprang long and thick and hard from the base of his groin.
He was going to take her right there, she knew, yet she didn’t want to stop him.
Lost in the blaze of his eyes, she began to tremble, wild arrows of sensation shooting through her body, excitement coursing through her veins. There was an inevitability about it that frightened and thrilled her.
He reached for her again, pulling her against him. When his mouth slanted down upon hers, passion flared instantly between them. His tongue was wet and scalding as it thrust into her mouth, the turbulence of their clashing wills only adding to the heat.
Then his fingers found the center of her femininity and slid deeply inside her, as his tongue was doing to her mouth. Brynn forgot everything else in a fiery burst of pure, erotic hunger.
As did Lucian.
His temper had turned to burning fever. He wanted to shatter that cool control of hers with passion, wanted to turn her determined resistance to heated surrender.
Not giving himself time to think, he lifted her up and set her astride him, crumpling her skirts around her waist. Brynn gasped as he slowly impaled her, yet her body accepted him easily, sheathing him in silk fire.
And suddenly they were kissing with frantic intensity, all the tension of the past weeks exploding in the heat of animal hunger. His hands slid up her back to twist in her hair, while the rock and sway of the carriage drove him deeper into her.
His tongue delved into her mouth, devouring and demanding, the taste of her making him wild. He had expected a fight and instead found the fury of a consuming desire sweet on her lips. He kissed her more fiercely, stoking the fire that flamed between them.
She wasn’t feigning her desire; he felt it in her kiss, in the frantic, melting way she clung to him, in the hoarse sounds of pleasure she was making. Their tongues mated in a fever of need, and he arched his hips, burying himself even deeper inside her quivering body. He was feverish, but no more so than she. She matched the primitive force of his passion, moving with him in a frenzied rhythm.
Her eagerness shattered Lucian’s restraint, shredded any remnant of self-control. He was helpless to resist-but so was she. Breaking off their kiss, she threw back her head and gave a raw cry.
She was beautiful, hot and wild, her face flushed with passion, her mouth open. It was only an instant later when Lucian followed her in a fiery climax.
His chest rising and falling as he gulped air, he came slowly to his senses. Brynn had collapsed in his arms, her face buried in his throat. He was shuddering in the aftermath, roiling with the turmoil of emotions he’d felt-still felt-tenderness, fury, fire.
It was shocking how swiftly he had lost control. His explosion was the culmination of weeks of frustrated lust, and of jealousy as well. He’d been driven by possessiveness, by the primal need to stake his claim to her… Yet his violent reaction had been stronger than mere possessiveness, Lucian knew. It was stark fear that Brynn could have been hurt. That he could have lost her. Once she was safe, all his feelings had come spilling out. He’d taken her with primal urgency, not even knowing when anger had turned to desire, to ravenous hunger.
Devil take it, he knew better. He knew how to be gentle. Knew how to rouse her slowly, to make his caresses so sensual she would nearly die of pleasure before he took his own.
He drew a ragged breath, fighting for control. His muscles still trembled with the burning need to possess her. And Brynn… She would no doubt regret their explosive passion even more than he did. God, but he wanted to turn that regret to willing surrender.
His lips grew soft on her face, his fever mellowing to tenderness as he held her and stroked her, sliding his palms slowly down her naked thighs…
“You’re a witch,” he whispered huskily against her hair. “A beautiful, sweet witch.”
It was clearly the wrong thing to say. He felt Brynn’s sudden stiffening, as if he’d doused ice water over her heated body. Pushing against his chest, she detached herself from his embrace and scrambled off him.
Retreating to her corner of the carriage, Brynn smoothed out her disheveled skirts with trembling hands.
“I am not a witch,” she murmured unsteadily, hating that designation. For much of her life she’d attempted to live down that tainted label.
“No, of course not,” he replied in a low voice that was unexpectedly conciliatory. “It was merely a figure of speech… an endearment spoken in the heat of the moment.”
&nb
sp; Brynn sent him a despairing glance, feeling the silky wetness of Lucian’s seed slicking her inner thighs. Shame, desire, hurt, dismay all swirled in her breast. Her gown was rumpled and stained, yet Lucian hadn’t even wrinkled his perfectly tailored coat. And he thought her a witch.
Forcing back the pain, she tried to respond with indifference. “You just informed me that you wouldn’t countenance my wantonness, Lucian. It is hardly fair of you to demand unimpeachable conduct from me and then promptly contradict your own commands.”
“Wantonness with me,” he said carefully as he fastened his breeches, “is not the same as wantonness in public, Brynn. I am your husband, after all.”
“Perhaps so, but I prefer not to be mauled as you have a penchant for doing.”
His blue eyes narrowed. “Mauled? You can’t pretend you were an unwilling participant, siren. Your raw cries of pleasure would argue otherwise.”
Brynn felt dark color flush her cheeks. She hadn’t expected that wild hunger in herself. Lucian had turned her into a wanton creature, little different from her passion-crazed suitors. He had a deplorable talent for drawing intense reactions from her, whether passion or fury. Her heart twisted with despair. Whatever had happened to her plan to remain totally unmoved and indifferent to him?
“Well, you are hardly better than those fools you profess to disdain,” she retorted, forcing coolness into her voice.
It was all she could do not to wince at the darkening expression on Lucian’s handsome features. Brynn averted her gaze from the scorching intensity of his eyes. He was regarding her with disdain, as if they hadn’t just made forbidden love with frantic, explosive need. A sudden ache welled up in her throat.
Just then she felt the landau rolling to a stop. They had arrived home, she realized, blinking back tears. Thank God they hadn’t a few minutes earlier.
Without waiting for a footman, Brynn reached for the door handle, intending to descend from the carriage on her own. But Lucian put a hand on her arm to detain her.
“I meant it, Brynn. I’ll send you to my family seat to rusticate in the country if I must.”
The burning ache in her throat intensified, but she locked her jaw, determined not to cry in front of him.
“Then do so,” she replied. “I would welcome the respite.”
She fled then, before her tears threatened to spill over.
Lucian found himself biting back an oath as he watched his wife run up the entrance steps and disappear inside his house. The hurt he’d seen in her eyes flayed him with guilt.
Against his better judgment, he found himself following her, all the while arguing with himself over the wisdom in prolonging their latest battle.
He received no reply when he rapped softly on her bedchamber door. When he opened it, his heart leapt in alarm. Brynn was on her knees, her face buried in a chair before the hearth, sobbing as if her heart were broken.
For a long moment, Lucian stood there, wondering if he had been the cause of such anguish. Finally he shut the door behind him and crossed to her.
When he reached down and touched Brynn’s shoulder, she gave a violent start and looked up, her tears arrested.
She wiped furiously at her cheeks, as if ashamed of being caught by him. “What do you want?” she asked hoarsely.
“Did I hurt you?”
She looked away. “No…” She took a shuddering breath. “Yes. That horrible name…”
“What name?”
“Witch. The village children used to call me that. Even my friends… I heard their whispers behind my back after James died.”
Feeling his defenses crumble, Lucian withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and sank down beside her. “James?” he murmured gently as he wiped her face.
“My suitor. I killed him.” Her eyes welled with fresh tears and spilled over before she covered her face with her hands.
Lucian hesitated, recalling what Brynn had once told him. “I thought you said your suitor drowned at sea.”
“He did.”
“That isn’t an uncommon fate for a Cornishman, is it?”
“No. But he died because I came to c-care for him.”
When her voice broke in a sob, Lucian felt his heart melt. Brynn was agonizing about something she had absolutely no control over, yet she clearly believed she was to blame for causing a man’s death. She must have lived with her burden of guilt for a great while, he realized-
Lucian felt himself flinch as he recognized the parallel to his own situation. He understood guilt. He’d killed one of his closest friends with his own hands. But Brynn was condemning herself without real cause.
Almost against his will, Lucian reached for her. He knew the danger of touching her, but his need to comfort her was stronger than his need for self-preservation.
Drawing her into his arms, he settled back against the chair and pressed her face into his shoulder, offering solace. It was a measure of her distraction, he knew, that she permitted such closeness.
“I suspect his death was just an accident,” Lucian said quietly into her hair. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for an act of nature.”
“I wish I could believe that.” She was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “Perhaps I am a w-witch. Those two men today… they could have died… because of me.”
He could feel her tremble, and his arms tightened instinctively around her. “I doubt you were to blame for that, Brynn. Those witless hotheads fought over you because you’re a beautiful woman. If not you, they would have found another reason to duel.”
“But you said-”
“I know what I said, but I was angry… and concerned for you. You could have been hurt, intervening the way you did.”
She drew back, studying his face. “You don’t believe in the curse at all, do you? ”
He managed a smile. “I’ve told you, I’m not the superstitious sort.”
“Then how do you explain your dreams, Lucian? How do you explain mine? ”
He didn’t immediately reply, having no explanation for his disturbing dreams of Brynn. “You have dreams?” he asked finally.
“I dreamed about James before his death. And you… sometimes I see images of you.”
He saw the helplessness in her eyes, the vulnerability, and he reached up to touch her cheek-
Abruptly Brynn drew back, as if suddenly becoming aware of the impropriety of his tenderness. Averting her gaze, she rose to her feet and crossed her bedchamber to the door between their rooms. She hesitated for a long moment. Then, opening the door, she stood to one side, clearly inviting him to leave.
“I think you should go,” she said, her tone once more holding a distinct chill.
Rising more slowly, Lucian went to her, but then paused, reluctant to abandon their unsettling discussion. “I’m certain there is a logical explanation for our dreams,” he said finally.
Brynn tilted her head, her look almost one of sadness. “Oh? And what about Giles?”
Lucian flinched involuntarily. “What about him?” he asked, suddenly wary.
“In my dreams I saw you fighting him, Lucian. I saw what happened between the two of you.”
You saw me kill him.
Lucian forced himself to relax his rigid muscles. “I have nightmares about Giles sometimes, I admit. No doubt you heard me calling his name in my sleep.”
Her smile was bleak. “Perhaps. And then perhaps I am a witch after all.”
Chapter Twelve
Entirely unaroused by the night’s entertainment, Lucian shifted restlessly in his seat. This was the first Hellfire gathering he’d attended since his marriage- a musical performance by a dozen bare-breasted “Muses” who were partially garbed in diaphanous Grecian robes, their nipples rouged to entice and delight. The music was surprisingly good, but he found the Cyprians’ charms sadly wanting in comparison to Brynn’s. Breasts not as tempting and firm, limbs not as long and slender, hair lacking the untamed, vibrant luster of hers, eyes nowhere n
ear as bright. And most critically, none of the intriguing spirit that Brynn possessed in such irresistible measure…
Lucian mentally voiced an oath. He’d come here to escape thoughts of his beautiful wife, not to be reminded of his frustrations.
Rising, he took his snifter of brandy and stepped through the French doors of the salon, out onto the terrace. A chill edged the September night air, presaging fall. Welcoming the coolness against his heated body, Lucian leaned against the stone balustrade, his restless reflections centered around Brynn.
Their strained union was not what he wanted of his marriage-a contentious dance of mutual lust and resistance. They were fighting each other and themselves. More baffling was the strange matter of their dreams. He couldn’t explain the haunting bond he had with Brynn, why their night visions seemed intertwined. Unless the Gypsy’s curse was somehow real…
Hell and damnation, he wouldn’t be ruled by a damned curse he didn’t even believe in-
“What the devil are you doing out here alone?” he heard his friend Dare ask behind him. “You don’t find the entertainment to your liking?”
“Nothing is wrong with the entertainment,” Lucian prevaricated.
“It must be women troubles, then. Your wife, I take it?”
“You might say that.” His tone was mocking.
Dare joined him at the terrace balustrade. “How novel. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you at a loss with a woman before, Luce.”
Perhaps, he thought darkly, because he had never been at such a loss before. He had frequented the lavish and licentious courts of Europe and had lovers beyond counting. Women had come easily for him… until Brynn. “You forget that I’ve never faced such novel circumstances before.”
“Marriage?”
Lucian’s mouth twisted. “Exactly. My marriage of convenience has turned out to be anything but convenient. The consequences of taking a reluctant bride, I surmise.”
“You can always lose yourself in the arms of someone more willing. Acquire a mistress.”
“That is your answer to every problem, isn’t it?” Lucian asked impatiently. “Moving on to another woman.”
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