Setting her gloves on his desk, she opened the box and found an old parchment inside. “A deed? To… Gwyndar Castle? ”
“One of my properties in Wales. The coastal waters are warm enough that you can swim almost year-round. I’ve signed it over to you.” When Brynn’s expression turned troubled, Lucian scrutinized her. “You don’t seem pleased.”
Wondering if she should answer honestly, she took a deep breath. “I am not pleased that you are trying to buy me, Lucian.”
“Buy you?”
Her eyes met his steadily. “You are so wealthy that you’ve grown accustomed to purchasing whatever you want. But you cannot win me over with extravagant presents. Allegiance cannot be bought.”
His blue eyes grew hooded. “I don’t deny trying to win you over, or that I would like you to be content in our marriage. But you mistake my motive in this instance. I was merely considering what you said about being dependent on me, about how powerless it made you feel. I thought having a residence to call your own would allow you a measure of independence. If you still wish us to go our separate ways once my heir is born, you can retire there and be free of me.”
Brynn stared at him, realizing she had misjudged Lucian once again. Rather than trying to win her affections with expensive gifts, he was offering her at least some small measure of choice for her future.
“I am grateful for your thoughtfulness,” she murmured finally. “Lucian…” She hesitated, trying to determine how to ask the question that had been burning in her mind for days. “If I fulfill my duty, will you allow me to retire to Wales alone?”
“I would want you to remain in London for your confinement since the best doctors are here, but afterward, you may go anywhere you like.”
“And leave our child with you?”
His eyes were unwavering. “Giving up my son is more than I’m prepared to do, Brynn. I would hire the best nurses, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured more bitterly than she intended. She glanced down at Lucian’s gift, her heart aching at the choice she would have to make… wondering if it really was any choice at all. Could she possibly abandon a child of her flesh?
“What if I were to bear a girl instead of a boy?” she asked finally.
He was silent for a long moment. “Our agreement was for a son, Brynn.”
“So it was.” She closed the box carefully and set it on the desk. “Thank you for your gift.” Giving him a wistful, almost sad smile, she picked up her riding gloves and turned away without another word.
Lucian watched her go, grappling with his own tangled emotions. He no longer felt so adamant about wanting his child to be a son; a daughter might be just as satisfying. And if Brynn bore him a girl, he would have every right to demand that she remain with him until she fulfilled their pact to give him an heir. Admittedly not a selfless sentiment.
She wasn’t entirely mistaken, either, about his motives in gifting her with the castle. Whether consciously or not, he was attempting to buy her contentment. If Brynn no longer felt dependent on him, at his mercy, then she might willingly choose to remain with him.
And God knew, he wanted her to remain. More than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. He took a determined breath. Somehow he had to find a way to win Brynn’s heart. Love could bind them together more eternally than any marriage vows. Love could-
Lucian froze, startled by the alien notion that had crept into his thoughts. Love? Was that the name for his affliction? This all-consuming desire for his wife that gnawed at the roots of his being?
There was no question that he was obsessed with Brynn. Cursed or not, her beauty made him ache, her passion drove him mad with wanting. But love?
It had always been an elusive concept for him, yet he was undoubtedly behaving like a man caught in the throes of love. He’d seen two of his friends suffer the same torment. Both Damien and Nick had found passionate love when they least expected it.
He keenly envied the happiness they had found with their wives, Lucian admitted. And he wanted it for himself. For Brynn.
Lucian squeezed his eyes shut. Whether or not he loved her, she was a fever in his blood. He desperately wanted to make her feel the same fever. He wanted to bind her to him with primal need, to brand her soul with the fire that was searing him. And yet…
Opening his eyes, he stared down at the box. Considering her unenthusiastic reaction to his gift, his goal of winning Brynn seemed as far away as ever. And not because of any real incompatibility between them. His greatest enemy was a damned curse he didn’t even believe in.
“Is something troubling you, Brynn?” Raven asked a short while later as they rode together in Hyde Park.
Brynn forced her attention away from her dark thoughts and managed a brief smile of apology. “Forgive me, what were you saying?”
“Nothing of importance. I merely asked if you might like to attend a fair.” She pointed to a handbill nailed to a tree, advertising an upcoming fair to be held in Westminster.
Brynn edged her mount closer so she could read the touted list of entertainments: Jugglers, Puppeteers, Rope Dancers, Gypsy Fortune-tellers- The last words leapt out at her. She frowned, wondering if the band of Gypsies she knew from Cornwall would be performing at the fair. She seemed to remember they were usually in London this time of year…
Brynn drew a slow breath. If Esmerelda truly were here, perhaps she might be able to offer some advice. Perhaps she might even, Brynn reflected hopefully, help explain her dark dreams of Lucian.
Before she could reply, however, Raven gave a faint sigh. “No matter. I don’t suppose Halford would approve of my attending. He has very narrow opinions regarding the conduct of his future duchess, and I doubt a fair would fit into the acceptable category.” Her tone held a perceptible note of disappointment in her betrothed, but then she shook her head. “Still, Halford did loosen his starch enough to agree to my request for the balloon ascension this week.” With a determined smile, Raven spurred her horse on.
Brynn followed, although she cast a glance over her shoulder at the handbill, noting again the dates and location of the fair. If she could manage it, she would try to attend in the hopes that Esmerelda might be found there, for she desperately needed advice about her future with Lucian from someone who knew the deadly history of the Gypsy’s curse.
The curse remained the dark blot on Brynn’s horizon. She had attempted to repress the warnings of her conscience, yet she was brutally reminded of the danger a few days later when Lucian escorted her to the balloon ascension held by the Duke of Halford in honor of his betrothed.
Several brightly colored balloons awaited flight, Brynn saw with delight upon reaching the field on the outskirts of London. Her attention claimed by the spectacle, she accepted Lucian’s assistance from the carriage and was crossing the road on his arm when she heard the sound of galloping hooves. Brynn looked up to see a team of straining horses hurtling directly toward them, apparently out of control.
She froze in her tracks, her mind registering the specter of a driver in a hooded cloak wielding a savage whip.
Lucian, fortunately, didn’t share her paralysis. With a desperate lunge, he shoved Brynn out of the path of the lethal threat and flung himself after her, a bare instant before the coach thundered past.
Both of them lay on the ground stunned, staring after the runaway vehicle.
Lucian recovered first. Uttering a low curse, he climbed to his feet and helped her up. “Are you hurt?” he asked, both his gaze and hands examining her for injuries.
Her face was white as she regarded him numbly.
“You could have been killed,” she whispered, her voice raw.
“Either of us could have been killed,” he replied, his own tone grim. “But it most likely was an accident. A bolting team isn’t uncommon.”
Yet she didn’t believe him, Lucian could see clearly from her petrified expression.
And in truth, he didn’t have total faith in his own reassurances. It wasn
’t implausible that someone had just attempted to kill him; in his line of work, he tended to make enemies. But he doubted a centuries-old curse was to blame for the near-fatal accident.
Yet convincing Brynn of that, Lucian reflected darkly, was as unlikely as their ascending to the skies without the assistance of a balloon.
Chapter Sixteen
After the ominous carriage incident, Brynn’s feelings of dread returned with a vengeance. So did her dark dream of Lucian dying while she stood over him, her hands stained with his blood. Her sense of urgency, however, deepened to near panic when she actually found herself with child.
It was her maid, Meg, who first recognized the symptoms. Brynn was dressing for her morning ride when she began to feel strangely nauseated. When she pressed a hand to her stomach, Meg took one look at her face and went to fetch the chamber pot.
“You should sit, milady. Put your head down, between your legs… There, that’s it.”
Sinking down into a chair, Brynn obeyed, wondering what was wrong with her. She was rarely ill, and she had eaten nothing to cause this bilious sensation. She covered her mouth with her hand and tried to take slow, deep breaths as her maid ordered.
“It will pass in time,” Meg said soothingly, stroking her mistress’s forehead. “Once your stomach starts to swell, you’ll not feel ill. I scarce feel it now.”
“Swell?”
“With the babe.”
Startled, Brynn stared down at her abdomen. Was it possible? Was she carrying Lucian’s child within her body? But of course, considering their determined efforts to conceive. And somehow she knew it was true.
A ripple of joy flowed through her, followed by a sharp pang of dismay. A child only made her dilemma more difficult. Lucian had promised they could live separate lives in exchange for her giving him a son, but heaven help her, she didn’t want to leave her child behind.
Brynn raised a hand to her temple. In all likelihood, she would have no choice. She had to protect Lucian, whatever the personal cost. Indeed, if she were wise, she would leave him now, immediately, before the risk to his life grew any greater.
“Will his lordship be pleased, do you think?”
Brynn nodded slowly. Lucian would be elated when she gave him the news, but what then? Once he knew of her pregnancy, there would be no chance of her evading him. He would insist on her remaining by his side, under the care of the best doctors. She would have to endure his tenderness day and night…
She doubted she could be strong enough for so long a duration. Each day that passed, her feelings for Lucian grew ever more acute. She couldn’t envision keeping her heart’s defenses intact until she gave birth. Certainly she could never spend a lifetime with Lucian and maintain an emotionless detachment. Perhaps she should indeed leave him at once, before it was too late…
No, Brynn reflected, she didn’t dare tell him about her pregnancy. Not until she had decided her course of action.
“I don’t intend to inform him just yet, Meg,” she murmured, trying to swallow her nausea. “Not until I’m certain I truly am with child. Please, I would like to keep it between ourselves.”
“Of course, milady. Whatever you wish.”
Brynn went to him that night, her emotions in turmoil, the wonder of having part of Lucian growing inside her body battling her fear of the future. But he kissed her with a slow, soul-destroying tenderness, sending passion, sweet and heavy, flowing through her, shattering her reticence. She melted against him, welcoming him with all the longing within her.
The intensity of their mating was stunning. Lucian took her body with fierce hunger, muttering hoarse, unintelligible words against her throat as he demanded her surrender, but he gave her indescribable pleasure in return. Her sobs of rapture were not only physical, though. Brynn felt a bond with him she had never experienced with any other human being.
Afterward she lay in his arms, her breath tangling with his, his fingers caressing her bare skin with soft strokes. She could feel the solid beat of his heart beneath her palm, feel her own heart aching. What they had shared had been, for her, beyond words.
He had made her feel thoroughly possessed, utterly desired, truly cherished. She had never felt so defenseless, so vulnerable. So filled with longing.
She wanted the child inside her, without question, but what was far worse… She wanted her child’s father. She wanted Lucian as her husband, wanted a real marriage. She wanted his love, wanted to love him in return…
Dear God, Brynn thought, shutting her eyes in dismay. She dared not love Lucian or he would die.
She sat at her dressing table the following morning, clutching her mother’s locket in her hand. Her nausea was just as strong today, dispelling any lingering doubts that she was carrying Lucian’s child-and strengthening her dread. What if their child was a daughter? If so, the curse would be passed down and the whole terrible cycle would begin all over again.
Please God, no, Brynn thought fiercely. Let it be a son. She couldn’t bear to think of her daughter suffering her fate.
She knew now how her mother had felt. Blindly Brynn stared down at the locket her mother had given her as a reminder of the peril she faced. Inside was the miniature portrait of her legendary ancestor, Flaming Nell, but it was her beloved mother’s face Brynn saw. A face ravaged by the pain of a fatal childbirth.
You cannot give in, her mother had whispered hoarsely on her deathbed. Promise me, Brynn. Swear to me you won’t let yourself love any man. It will only bring you terrible heartache. Though weak from the loss of blood, she had forced the locket into Brynn’s hand. Look at this… whenever you feel tempted. Look and remember.
Brynn felt tears burn her throat now at the memory. Her mother had succumbed to the temptation of love-and suffered untold grief as a result. Her final words had been of warning, a plea to beware. Gwendolyn Caldwell had understood all too well the unquenchable hungers of the heart. The aching need to love and be loved.
The soul-deep longing that was tearing at Brynn now.
She felt her fingers clench reflexively over the locket. She had sworn solemnly that day never to let herself love, but she was in danger of breaking her promise. She very much feared she was falling in love with Lucian. Her desire for him was becoming a torture she could no longer endure. No longer wanted to endure.
Setting her jaw, Brynn dropped the locket into her jewel case, banishing it from sight. She would have to leave Lucian at once, unless…
She went still. Unless she could find some way to fight the curse. She drew a slow breath, remembering the handbill advertising Gypsy fortune-tellers at the upcoming Westminster fair. Was it possible that Esmerelda was in London? Could the Gypsy woman offer her any hope?
Years ago she’d gone to Esmerelda, grieving over her dead suitor, seeking any sort of comfort, perhaps even some measure of absolution. At the time she had been too distraught by the tragedy to question the possibility of breaking the spell. Indeed, just the contrary, Brynn reflected. Because of James’s death and her own ominous dreams foretelling it, she’d finally accepted the destructive power of the curse and resigned herself to her fate.
But she was desperate enough now to grasp at any straw. If there was any remotely possible way for her to remain with Lucian without causing his death, she had to try.
Not wanting to give rise to scandal by attending a fair alone, Brynn seriously considered asking Raven to accompany her. Yet she would feel awkward discussing such intimacies as her marital relations and pregnancy with her virginal, unmarried friend. Besides, Raven was close to Lucian, and she might feel obligated to reveal the secret. And Meredith was too happily engrossed in her own family, Brynn felt, to become involved in her troubles. She took Meg instead, knowing it wasn’t totally uncommon or beyond the pale for an adventurous lady and her maid to enjoy such an escapade.
Fortunately the autumn day was overcast and chilly enough for her to wear a cloak without arousing comment. Brynn kept the hood drawn close around her face to prevent
being recognized and hired a hackney to take them to the fairgrounds in Westminster.
The fair, she discovered, was typical of other ones she’d attended in Cornwall with her brothers, with jugglers and puppeteers vying with vendors hawking oranges and gingerbread and hot meat pies, as well as dealers in finer wares-satin ribbons and gloves and knives.
The grounds were not yet crowded so early in the day, but finding the Gypsy fortune-teller was more difficult than expected. Brynn passed numerous stalls and performers before finally reaching a tent at one end.
She was greeted eagerly by a young beauty garbed in scarves and bangles and colorful skirts who immediately offered charms and dried herbs for sale. Requesting instead to have her fortune told, Brynn left Meg to await her outside and entered the tent.
The interior was dimly lit with a golden glow cast by a handmade oil lamp. When her eyes adjusted, Brynn could see that an old woman sat on a carpet before a low table. It was indeed Esmerelda, Brynn realized, her heart beating faster.
The Gypsy was gray haired and nearly toothless, with a swarthy complexion the texture of leather. Her black eyes, however, were sharp as daggers.
“My lady,” she said in a cackling voice. “I heard of yer good fortune. Ye’ve become a countess.”
“Yes, Mother,” she said, using a term of respect the Romany people employed when speaking to their elders. “And yourself? Are you faring well?”
“Well enough,” Esmerelda replied with a grin. “‘Tis a good year for gullible Gorgios.” With a sweep of her bony, silver-beringed fingers, she invited Brynn to be seated before her at the table.
When the Gypsy reached for her hand, however, Brynn shook her head. “I have not come to have my palm read, Mother. Rather, I have a specific question.” Taking a deep breath, Brynn drew several guineas from her reticule and placed them on the table. “A matter of grave importance.”
“Yer dreams have returned,” the Gypsy replied solemnly, even as her eyes glinted at seeing the gold coins.
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