Desire n-3

by Nicole Jordan

  She flinched as the words set themselves like tiny barbed arrows into her flesh. “Pray don’t call what you did lovemaking.”

  “Fucking, then,” he said, his voice even lower, dangerously hard. “Is that an adequate description? Well, be prepared, love, for I intend to have you like that every night-and make you enjoy it.”

  Not giving her a chance to reply, he rose and caught up his dressing gown, shrugging it on before he crossed the bedchamber. Moments later she heard the door between their rooms shut with harsh finality.

  Brynn rolled over, clutching the sheet to herself as a wave of hurt coursed through her.

  She suddenly felt lonelier and more wretched than in recent memory. She had wanted to wound Lucian, to drive him from her bed. So why was she the one aching with misery?

  Fighting back tears, she gazed up at the canopy overhead, cursing her husband. Fucking, then… I intend to have you like that every night-and make you enjoy it.

  Wincing, Brynn drew a quavering breath. She very much feared he would make good his promise to make her enjoy it, and then what would happen?

  Chapter Nine

  Except for his nightly visits, Brynn saw little of Lucian the following week. She was perfectly satisfied, however, to live separate lives. As far as marriages went, theirs was not an unusual arrangement for the upper classes and the nobility, although her reason for their distance-the danger of a curse- was rather unique.

  During the days, her husband spent a great deal of time away from home, presumably at his work, Brynn concluded from conversations with Raven. Lucian reportedly had offices at Whitehall, where he toiled for the Foreign Office.

  The first inkling she had of Lucian’s unusual job came one afternoon when she accompanied Raven shopping for bride clothes. After inspecting a bolt of ivory lace, Brynn rejected it, saying the quality was inferior.

  “How can you tell?” Raven wanted to know.

  “See the dropped stitches here? And the dye? The pattern isn’t uniform. We can do better, I’m certain.”

  As they left the shop, their footmen following dutifully behind carrying parcels, Raven asked Brynn how she knew so much about lace.

  “I have sold a good deal of it to modistes and milliners over the past few years.”

  Raven raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Your family is in trade?”

  Brynn hesitated, wondering how much of her background to reveal. “Of a sort,” she replied, realizing Raven could be trusted not to be judgmental. “But not the merchant trade. In Cornwall, when we speak of trade, we mean the Free Trade.”

  “Smuggling?” Raven’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “How intriguing.” Glancing over her shoulder then to see who might overhear, she evidently remembered she was on a public street and lowered her voice. “Do tell me about it.”

  Brynn returned a wry smile at her friend’s delight. “I don’t consider smuggling to be intriguing. Actually, it is very hard work, and rather dangerous. But it is a fact of life where I come from, a way to make ends meet. I know of few families who aren’t involved in some fashion or another.”

  “And you take part yourself?”

  “Not often. Mostly I handle disposing of various kinds of contraband.”

  “I think it would be gratifying,” Raven said almost wistfully, “to be able to engage in adventures forbidden to women. Still… I wouldn’t advertise your connection to Lucian, if I were you.”

  It was Brynn’s turn to be curious. “Why not?”

  “Because he has a great aversion to smugglers. I’ve heard him express his opinion in no uncertain terms. Smuggling cheats the government of badly needed tax revenue that Britain and the allies must have to vanquish the French. I can understand his point of view, even if I don’t share it. Lucian has spent years trying to bring down Napoleon. He takes pride in his work-even though spying is considered a vulgar enterprise by most of the ton.”

  “Spying?”

  At Brynn’s quizzical look, Raven added, “Lucian is a genuine spymaster, did he not tell you?”

  Brynn felt her heartbeat quicken with alarm. “My brother said he worked for the Foreign Office.”

  “He does. In intelligence. It is all very clandestine and hush-hush. Sometimes Lucian disappears for weeks at a time, no doubt on some mission or other. He won’t discuss his work, but in fact he is considered something of a hero.”

  Brynn scarcely heard that last remark, for she was still recovering from the shock of her friend’s revelation. Disquieted, she thought back over her various conversations with Lucian, wondering if she had ever said anything in his presence to implicate her brother in the illegal act of smuggling. She hadn’t considered Lucian as a danger to her family, only to her, but now she realized he could very well be a threat to Gray.

  And Lucian hadn’t mentioned a word about his occupation to her, Brynn thought, vexed. His secretiveness and lack of candor was yet another cause for resentment, while the danger was one more reason to be wary of her new husband.

  “Forgive me, Brynn…”

  She shook herself mentally when she realized Raven had spoken to her. “I’m sorry, I was woolgathering. What did you say?”

  “I know it is none of my business, but is something wrong between you and Lucian?”

  “No. Why would you think so?”

  “You are scarcely ever together, for one thing. You don’t behave at all like newlyweds.”

  Brynn forced a smile. “Ours was a marriage of convenience, nothing more. I am perfectly content with our arrangement.”

  And even if that was a lie, Brynn reflected, she was glad she seldom encountered Lucian.

  Other than his work, several other business enterprises apparently occupied his time, including the vast Wycliff shipping concerns. When he was home, he was often closeted with his secretary as well as numerous business mangers and clerks.

  And according to the Wycliff butler, Lucian regularly engaged in the typical gentlemen’s sports of riding, fencing, and fisticuffs. In the evenings he frequently dined at his club. And afterward, well… Brynn suspected Lucian was carousing with his Hellfire colleagues, since he never returned until late at night.

  The evenings were the worst for her. After lonely dinners with only herself for companionship, she would lie in wait for him, dreading his visits, although she had usually fallen asleep by the time he came to her bed. Emotionless, silent, he would awaken her with his dispassionate caresses, arousing her as if performing a perfunctory and not particularly pleasant chore. Just as silently, he would return to his own rooms, leaving her burning with the pleasure he had given her.

  Brynn fought his carnal mastery with fierce determination. He might possess her in the flesh, but she would never allow him to touch her spirit.

  The days were more pleasant, at least. Not surprisingly, Lucian possessed an extensive library, and Brynn discovered countless subjects within the shelves of leather-bound tomes that interested her. Additionally, she spent hours reading the newspapers to which her husband subscribed, catching up on the events of the world, events that were rarely even discussed in the backwaters of home.

  And thankfully Raven proved a delightful companion. Brynn thought she might be truly miserable without their friendship. They rode in the park each morning and paid calls or visited the shops each afternoon. Raven was grimly determined to assemble a trousseau befitting her impending marriage to a duke. And she proved to be a stern taskmaster in demanding that her own advice regarding Brynn’s apparel be followed.

  Brynn found her wardrobe growing at a shameful rate-dresses for morning, afternoon, and evening, walking and riding and traveling, shoes and bonnets and reticules to match, spencers and pelisses…

  She regarded the expense a shocking waste, especially when she considered how much good she could do at home with even a tiny fraction of what she was so nonchalantly spending. The centuries-old stone church of the St. Mawes parish was crumbling. Her own home badly needed repairs. Most of the fishing vessels owned by th
e villagers were held together by prayers… It was dismaying to realize that a single one of the new gowns Raven insisted she purchase could lift a Cornish family out of squalor into relative prosperity.

  Yet beautiful gowns were necessary for the role she must play. Raven was right, Brynn conceded; she needed to be fashionably attired if she intended to stare down the despots of the ton. And while she had no profound desire to enter Lucian’s aristocratic world of luxury and license, or to become a useless ornament for his earldom, she did indeed want a place in society for Theo… and for her possible future children, if it came to that.

  Moreover, Brynn admitted only to herself, after being shunned for so many years, it was gratifying to be accepted into a group where no one knew anything of her past, instead of being treated like a leper.

  As the week passed, she found it harder to allow herself to mope and wallow in loneliness. The moments when she longed for even a Latin grammar to help occupy her thoughts were gone.

  She gradually began making acquaintances as she allowed Raven to coax her out of seclusion. Perhaps it was time, Brynn rationalized, to stop hiding at home like a prisoner, letting the curse rule her life. But she made a concerted effort to dull her demeanor, remaining polite but distant in company, speaking only when spoken to.

  She liked most of Raven’s friends, and some she even found clever and fascinating. Raven, with her own brand of beauty and lively allure, proved a potent draw, and handsome young gentlemen regularly flocked around her like honeybees-gentlemen who regrettably soon turned their attention to Brynn, despite her earnest attempts to act the wallflower.

  Lucian wasn’t pleased to find his wife the object of such ardor, either. One afternoon he came home to discover Brynn surrounded by a half dozen young bucks gathered in his drawing room, with only Raven providing female chaperonage.

  A dandy with an outrageously high cravat was reciting a sonnet praising the lure of Lady Wycliff’s emerald eyes, but since the verse didn’t quite rhyme, it was received with winces and convivial laughter.

  “No, no, I am being unjustly maligned,” the poet protested amiably.

  Brynn’s low voice held a smile when she agreed. “Indeed, Mr. Pickering. You should be commended for your effort.”

  Lucian felt an unreasonable shaft of jealousy as he paused in the doorway. For the most part he’d succeeded in resisting his desire for Brynn this past week, but seeing her looking so fresh and lovely in a jonquil-shaded gown aroused him, while the presence of so many admiring beaux incited an uncustomary instinct of primitive male possessiveness.

  The company grew suddenly quiet when Lucian moved into the room. Clamping down on his jealousy, he kept his expression bland as he crossed to Brynn and bent to kiss her cheek.

  “Why don’t you introduce me to your friends, my dear?” he said lightly, ignoring her flush and the way she visibly stiffened.

  Raven stepped in to perform the duty, however, while Brynn fell silent. It was soon clear that the lively mood of the company had changed to reserved formality. And when Lucian settled himself beside his wife on the settee, he found himself the recipient of continual wary glances.

  After a short while the gentlemen began to excuse themselves. When the last one had gone, Raven gave Lucian a disapproving frown as she rose to her feet. “I am sorry that we have seen so very little of you lately, Lucian.”

  “Regrettably I have been busy.”

  “You seem to have forgotten that you are recently wed. I would not have expected you to neglect your bride so.”

  He glanced at Brynn. “My bride doesn’t seem to be suffering. Not when I find her holding court for admirers who compose sonnets to her emerald eyes.”

  Brynn returned her husband’s gaze with a cool look before she rose from the settee. “You needn’t champion me, Raven. I am quite content. Come, I will show you out.”

  She started to follow her friend from the room, but halted when Lucian called softly to her, feeling a warm shiver run down her spine. It disturbed her that just the sound of his voice could affect her.

  “Need I warn you, love, that you have a position to uphold in society now?”

  Wincing at his implied criticism, she glanced back at him. “I have done nothing wrong.”

  “Perhaps not, but encouraging the attentions of those wild young bucks could give the wrong impression.”

  His accusation stung, yet she knew Lucian was right. She had indeed forgotten herself this afternoon. She would have to take greater care to remember the dangers of becoming too friendly with her admirers.

  Squaring her shoulders, Brynn sidestepped his charge with an indirect reply. “Is there a reason you deigned to grace us with your company this afternoon, my lord?”

  “Must I have a reason to return to my own home?”

  “You have been here so seldom, I thought perhaps you might have one.”

  “Actually I wanted to deliver an invitation to you. My great-aunt, Lady Agatha Edgecomb, is holding a garden party in our honor Saturday next.”

  Brynn stared at him in surprise. “In our honor? When I first met her, Lady Agatha swore she would never acknowledge our marriage. She thinks me nothing but a tart.”

  Lucian’s mouth curved dryly. “I persuaded her to reconsider. She understands she has no choice but to accept you as my wife if she doesn’t want me to cut the connection.”

  “That does so relieve my mind,” Brynn said with false sincerity. “Your aunt will make such a delightful acquaintance.”

  A muscle in his jaw flexed at her facetious tone, but he answered mildly, “I don’t care much for my relatives, particularly Aunt Agatha, but I trust you will behave with circumspection and give them no cause to impugn our marriage.”

  Brynn smiled coolly. “They will doubtless impugn our marriage, no matter how I behave. And if you wanted a model of circumspection, you should have considered that before you wed me,” she retorted before walking from the room.

  She had to pause to compose herself, however, before joining her friend. It vexed her that Lucian should take her to task for her behavior. Despite appearances, she hadn’t purposefully encouraged the reckless ardor of her admirers. A few poems were nothing compared to what had happened in the past.

  Indeed, she wondered what Lucian would say if he saw gentlemen truly losing their heads over her. It would serve him right, Brynn reflected with indignation, if she allowed it to happen. Perhaps then he would believe her.

  Still, she reminded herself, she wasn’t willing to risk the danger for a few moments’ satisfaction of thumbing her nose at her autocratic husband.

  She was dreaming again, another dark dream of Lucian. This time the danger came not from her, hut from a man wielding a deadly rapier.

  Caught off guard by the unexpected attack, Lucian leapt back, barely eluding the slashing blade. His opponent followed, thrusting viciously, a look of feral rage on his face.

  Unarmed, Lucian spun away defensively, trying to avoid becoming a target in the uneven contest. When he took refuge behind a table, the man reached out and sent it thudding to the floor, then lunged again.

  This time Lucian was ready. Sidestepping, he caught the hilt of the rapier and held hard, trapping the weapon between their bodies.

  The man tried to wrest it free, to no avail. For an endless moment, they stood locked together, straining in a desperate struggle for control, teeth bared, breath coming harshly. Finally the man gave an anguished cry and launched himself against Lucian, throwing them both off balance. Grunting, they fell together, crashing over the table.

  Instinctively Lucian rolled to one side and sprang to his feet, firmly in possession of the rapier. Yet his opponent lay there on the floor, groaning, blood seeping from a mortal wound in his chest.

  Dropping the blade with a clatter, Lucian went down on his knees beside the dying man, cradling his head almost tenderly.

  “Giles…” he whispered, his face taut with agony.

  “Forgive me, Luce… It is better this
way… Please…don’t tell…”

  His last rasped words were lost in a violent fit of coughing as blood bubbled up from his throat.

  Brynn came awake suddenly, her heart strangely aching for Lucian. She felt his torment, his despair, in killing his friend.

  “No…!”

  Hearing the muffled groan, she gave a start and turned her head on the pillow to find Lucian lying beside her. They must have both fallen asleep after he’d made love to her, she realized; her inner thighs were still wet with his seed, while her body still throbbed from his possession.

  He was in the throes of a nightmare, it seemed.

  Her heart wrenching with compassion, Brynn reached out to touch his shoulder-a mistake, she discovered when Lucian jolted awake. She gasped as he grasped her wrist in a fierce grip.

  His blue eyes fixed wildly on her before he finally recognized his surroundings. She could see his confusion in the dim light of the bedside lamp. Usually he left her bed directly afterward.

  Releasing her wrist as if burned, Lucian ran a hand roughly down his face. Then, pushing the covers away, he sat up abruptly, giving Brynn his naked back as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

  “Lucian,” she asked quietly, needing to know. “Who is Giles?”

  He flinched visibly. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Who told you about Giles?”

  “No one told me. I saw him in my dreams.”

  His back remained so rigid, Brynn knew he didn’t believe her.

  “You must be mistaken,” he said finally. “Giles is dead.”

  Without another word, he rose from the bed and snatched up his robe, then crossed the bedchamber. The door shut softly behind him, leaving her alone.

  Brynn lay there unmoving, her thoughts still whirling. Her dreams could be deadly premonitions, but somehow she was certain her dark images of Giles were part of Lucian’s past, not his future. And she was just as certain that she had probed an open, festering wound in his conscience.

  Despite her professed indifference, Brynn did care deeply about how she was received by society. By the time Saturday arrived, she felt as if an army of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach, for she knew she would be on trial at her first major public appearance.