Desire

Chapter Eight

Despite his best intentions, Lucian felt his heartbeat quicken with anticipation as he mounted the front steps of his London residence. His desire to see Brynn was a powerful yearning inside him-a yearning he had vowed to crush. He wouldn’t allow his craving for his beautiful wife to make him shirk his duty again.

“Welcome home, my lord,” his butler intoned, stepping back to permit him entrance.

“Thank you, Naysmith.” Lucian glanced around him as he handed the servant his hat and gloves, repressing an unreasonable disappointment that Brynn wasn’t there to greet him. “Where is my wife?”

“Her ladyship is not at home,” Naysmith answered.

Lucian raised an eyebrow. His secretary had sent him two different reports of Brynn over the past week, but there had been no mention of any social functions that would keep her out at this late hour.

“She is attending a soiree with Miss Kendrick, I believe,” was the butler’s explanation. “At the home of Lord and Lady Sinclair.”

“Ah.” Damien Sinclair was one of Lucian’s closest friends and one of the few peers who usually remained in London during the warm summer months. Like Lucian, Damien had governmental responsibilities he couldn’t forsake simply for personal convenience, although Damien’s skills lay in the area of finance, not espionage.

“Will you be joining Lady Wycliff, my lord? Shall I order your carriage?”

Lucian considered a moment, then shook his head. It was nearly ten o’clock, and he’d sworn he would try to distance himself from Brynn, try to quell his obsession. It would hardly be in keeping with his new resolve to go running after her the moment he arrived home. “No, I won’t be going out again. I’ll spend the remainder of the evening in my study.”

“Very well, my lord.”

Naysmith preceded him into the study to light the lamps and pour a glass of brandy. He left the hearth untouched, since the August evening was too warm for a fire.

Accepting the crystal snifter, Lucian dismissed the butler and settled in his favorite leather armchair. Yet his thoughts were too restless for him to enjoy the peace and comfort of his home.

His fury and frustration had only grown over the past week. The investigation into the murders and missing gold had reached a dead end, while his search for the elusive mastermind, Caliban, had been just as fruitless.

His ineffectiveness galled Lucian. He had vowed to find and punish the ringleader, but meanwhile the only action he could take to prevent further thefts was purely defensive. He’d ordered a new schedule of gold transfers drawn up, a schedule that only a handful of people would be privy to this time. But that still couldn’t guarantee the gold would be safe in the future, or that he could avert further murders.

For a moment Lucian shut his eyes, unable to drive away the images in his mind-the bodies of the dead guards littering the road like refuse. The slaughter had left him shaken.

Lucian took a deep swallow of brandy, welcoming its fierce burn. Guilt was a familiar companion to him, he reflected darkly. It had driven him to join the intelligence section of the Foreign Office nearly six years ago, eschewing the self-indulgent, frivolous life of a wealthy nobleman. He’d taken that unusual course to relieve his conscience; he’d felt a vague shame that he had lived while so many others had not.

Many of the dead had been friends-some killed in battle against the French while serving in the army or navy, others while engaged in the dangerous business of espionage. And then, during his last visit to France, he’d experienced the ultimate guilt: killing his friend Giles with his own hands.

Lucian flinched at the memory, even as his mouth curled with cynical self-reproach. He had always possessed the devil’s own luck. He’d been involved in any number of dangerous situations and escaped entirely unscathed-until he’d confronted Giles, barely eluding death himself. Since then his luck had changed radically. He felt it in his soul. And in his dreams. The dreaded nightmare had recurred last night: the stark vision of his own death, Brynn standing over him, her hands wet with his blood.

Lucian stared into his glass, scoffing at his own fanciful imagination. Brynn was no assassin. She was merely a dangerous enchantress who would cause him to shirk his duty if he allowed it.

But he wouldn’t allow it. He would keep his distance emotionally, maintain a cool reserve even in their most intimate moments. He still badly wanted a son, but enjoying the physical pleasure of getting her with child didn’t necessarily mean succumbing to her unquestionable allure.

Even so, Lucian realized as he recklessly downed the last of his brandy, he found it impossible to quell his sense of anticipation at the thought of seeing her again, of crossing swords with her, of surprising a quick smile from Brynn, perhaps even winning a laugh. He missed her rapier wit and her tart tongue. He missed her vibrancy.

His near brush with death had made him yearn for life, to feel alive. Brynn made him feel alive. Everything about her set his nerve endings singing, from her sensual beauty to her spirited defiance to her fiery hair.

A dangerous sentiment, he knew. Brynn was an unmistakable danger to him, curse or no curse.

Yet despite his vow to remain detached, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting her, craving her, or from fantasizing about taking her in his arms and rousing her to passion.

“His lordship awaits you in his study, my lady,” the butler said, admitting her to the house.

Brynn froze in the act of surrendering her wrap. Lucian was here? Feeling a moment of panic, she thought about fleeing upstairs and taking refuge in her rooms. But he would know she had returned home, and she was not ordinarily a coward… Not that these circumstances were ordinary. She had to face a husband she barely knew, one who had coerced her into marriage and then promptly deserted her.

All the resentment Brynn had kept banked during the past week came surging to the fore.

Steeling herself for the encounter, she made her way to his study and found Lucian sitting before a cold hearth. When he looked up and met her eyes, Brynn felt her heartbeat falter. The impact of his crystalline blue gaze was as breathtaking as she remembered, his stark handsomeness just as riveting-devil take him.

For an instant she thought his eyes brightened with welcome, perhaps even joy, at seeing her again, but then a mask descended over his face, and he raised a crystal goblet to her in salute. “Greetings, my sweet.”

His voice was slightly unsteady, she realized, while his appearance was more disheveled than she’d ever seen it, lacking its usual elegance. He had removed his coat and loosened his cravat carelessly, and the dark glitter that reflected in his eyes made her wonder if he was in his cups. She halted just inside the room, determined to keep her distance.

“Aren’t you going to give your husband a proper welcome?” he asked, his tone low and silken.

“Not by choice,” Brynn responded, her own tone determinedly frosty. She had no intention of encouraging any intimacy between them. She had dreamed of Lucian again this past week, dark dreams that frightened her. She wouldn’t let her premonitions become reality by falling blithely into his arms.

He sent her a brooding look, but then his eyes narrowed, sweeping the bodice of her pale blue silk evening gown, which left a good deal of her neck and arms bare.

“Is that a new gown?”

Brynn stiffened as his probing gaze fixed on her breasts. “I trust you don’t object. Raven said I am badly in need of a new wardrobe if I am to fulfill the role expected of me as your countess. And you left before giving me any indication of how much I could spend-”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t object in the least. I won’t have my wife in rags.”

Brynn pressed her lips together, refraining from defending the former lamentable state of her attire.

“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” he asked when the awkward silence drew out.

“Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?”

She gave an uncomfortable shrug. Her new title and Raven’s sponsorship had afforded her entree into the glittering salons of the ton, but she didn’t like admitting to Lucian that she found the lavishness a bit overwhelming, or that in Cornwall she was accustomed to a much simpler life and far more humble trappings.

“Some of your friends are very agreeable,” she finally said. “Vanessa Sinclair, especially. But others…have been more judgmental. If it weren’t for Raven, I should have been at a grave loss this past week. I am supremely grateful to her for coming to my rescue when I found myself thrown into a lion’s pit.”

His lashes lowered, hooding his eyes. “I apologize for having to leave you so abruptly.”

“Your apology is hardly adequate,” Brynn said coolly. “You might have sent me word sometime during this past week, perhaps informed me of your whereabouts.”

“Davies knew where to find me.”

“How flattering. The servants know far more about your activities than does your wife.”

Lucian remained stonily silent, his expression inscrutable. Brynn dared to stare back at him, but her stance was one of false calmness. This man was far different from the enticing lover who had seduced her on their wedding night. She could find no trace of his celebrated charm or beguiling warmth. Instead he was cold, detached, distant. He had already given her ample cause for resentment, and absurdly his remoteness only wounded her further.

“Is your business concluded?” she forced herself to say in an emotionless tone.

His features hardened. “For the most part.”

“A pity. I won’t mind in the least if you take yourself off again.”

She had struck a nerve, she could see from the glittering glance he shot her. His sensual mouth tightened in a grim line, yet she wouldn’t back down. Their future dealings together depended on her resistance now. If she began by allowing herself to care when he came and went, she would have no hope whatever of keeping their relationship on safe ground.

Having scored a hit, though, she thought it wiser to make a dignified retreat. “You are evidently in a poor humor, and I am rather tired. I believe I will retire. If you wish, we can continue this discussion in the morning.”

“I think not,” he said softly.

She had started to turn away but his quiet retort brought her up short. She gave Lucian a sharp, questioning glance.

His eyes were as brilliant as sapphires and just as hard. “Go upstairs and prepare for bed. I will join you shortly.”

Brynn’s hands clenched into fists at his imperious order. “If you think I will welcome you into my bed after the way you treated me-”

“I don’t believe I require a welcome, sweeting,” he replied, his mouth curling in a humorless smile. “I am your husband, you will remember.”

“How could I forget?” she muttered bitterly before turning abruptly and leaving the room.

Alone, Lucian sat staring moodily into the golden depths of his suddenly tasteless brandy. He had not handled that at all well. He should have expected such belligerence from Brynn, but he’d been too occupied erecting his own defenses to be concerned with soothing her wounded pride.

He hadn’t been prepared for seeing her in the flesh. The instant she entered the room, his groin had tightened. All he could think about was having her, pulling her down with him before the hearth and possessing her body.

Bloody hell. He’d been hot to have her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but the heat he’d felt just now, the lust, was more dangerous, more compelling than mere attraction.

Lucian swore again under his breath. She was his wife, not his mistress. Once a man was wed, he wasn’t supposed to find his wife so enchanting, so incredibly bewitching. Or be filled with such a fierce longing to possess her.

It was going to be harder than he’d imagined to hold himself aloof, Lucian realized with a groan. Somehow, though, he would have to find the will to clamp down on his obsessive urges. His life had no room for wildfire passions raging out of control. He would have to harden his heart toward Brynn, or more appropriately, soften his loins.

Perhaps he was unwise even to press the issue just now. It might be more judicious to wait for her resentment to cool before insisting upon his marital rights. But then, that might take a great while. He still wanted a son. And he couldn’t shake the dark premonition that time was running out for him.

No, he couldn’t afford to wait, Lucian told himself.

Grimly he took another long swallow of brandy, needing the additional fortitude to face his beautiful wife and make love to her without losing himself in her powerful enchantment.

A bundle of angry nerves, Brynn sat at her dressing table while a sleepy Meg brushed her hair. They both jumped when Lucian spoke from behind them.

“That will be all,” he said, dismissing the maidservant. “I wish to be alone with my wife.”

He had come through the connecting door that linked their suites, Brynn realized. Any hope that Meg would shield her died a swift death as the girl dropped the brush and scurried from the room.

Alone with her husband, Brynn averted her gaze from his tall, lithe form. He wore a brocade dressing gown of midnight blue that accented the sapphire color of his eyes and proclaimed very clearly his intent to sleep with her.

She kept her back to him, refusing to look at him or even to acknowledge his presence. She could feel his gaze raking her through her concealing nightdress.

Brynn gave a start when she felt his hand lingeringly touch her hair. She hadn’t heard his soft footfall over the heavy beating of her heart.

“What do you want?” she demanded, stiffening and pulling away.

“I should have thought I’d made that clear,” he said quietly. “I want a son.”

She turned her head to glare up at him. “What is clear is that I’m nothing more to you than chattel. You think you can simply command me and I will leap to do your bidding.”

“You are not chattel. You are my wife.”

Rising to her feet, she faced him fully. “I am hardly your wife. Admit it, I am nothing more to you than a broodmare. A convenient means to slake your lust.”

“That isn’t true.”

“If not, then why are you here in my bedchamber against my wishes?”

“I intend to sleep here tonight, Brynn.”

“And you are giving me absolutely no choice in the matter?”

His features remained enigmatic. “Must I remind you of the vows we spoke before the altar?”

“Ah, yes, our holy vows. I’m certain you respect those so highly.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he met her hot gaze levelly. “Come to bed with me, Brynn.” His words were soft, imperious, and made her go rigid.

“And if I refuse?”

There was a moment of silence. “You haven’t the right to refuse. You’re my wife.”

Her jaw clenched. She had always been proud, perhaps to a fault, but even though she despised being thought of as merely Lucian’s possession, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Under English law, a man’s wife was his property to do with as he saw fit. She didn’t have the legal right to deny him her bed. But that didn’t mean she had to welcome him.

She gave Lucian a scathing look, which she saw had no effect. His face could have been carved from granite for all the emotion he showed.

The silence lengthened, gathering tension with every drawn-out moment. As she stood defiant before him, he spoke again, this time in a voice that was low and silken.

“I think you’ve already proven you don’t have the willpower to resist me, any more than I can you.”

Brynn felt sudden despair well up in her. That was the problem. She found Lucian irresistible. But she couldn’t give in to her urges. All she could do was try to protect them both with cold indifference. She lifted her chin, giving him an icy stare.

Lucian viewed her chill expression with feigned apathy. A sharp longing knotted his insides as his gaze swept over her. Her vibrant hair shimmered, cloaking her shoulders in a mass of fire and silk. He had to set his teeth to keep from dragging her into his arms. It would be wiser, he reminded himself, to get this over with at once, before the hunger burning within him eroded the last of his self-control.

“You had best accustom yourself to my visits,” he said, keeping his own tone cool. “I intend to sleep with you each and every night, at least until you conceive.”

“Until I conceive?” Brynn narrowed her gaze, finding a glimmer of hope in his declaration. “And then you will leave me alone?”

There was a long pause. “If you wish it. Once you present me with an heir, there will no longer be any urgent need for me to ‘slake my lust,” as you put it.“

“I shall hold you to that promise.”

Regally she went to the bed, then slid beneath the covers, giving him her back. Moments later she felt the mattress shift as he sat beside her. She stiffened when his fingers plucked the sleeve of her nightdress.

“You won’t need this.”

“I prefer to keep it on,” she said tightly. “It isn’t necessary to remove it to do what you intend to do.”

His voice was low, compelling, and darkly masculine as he replied, “There is no reason to make this difficult, Brynn. Conceiving a son should be pleasurable for us both.”

“I don’t wish it to be pleasurable. I only wish you to be done with it.”

“Very well.”

She heard a quiet rustle as his dressing gown fell to the floor. He pulled down the covers before joining her in the bed.

Brynn shivered. She could feel him at her back, feel his hot skin as his body pressed against hers. His heavy arousal was obvious through the fabric of her nightdress.

When his hand moved to her arm, she tried not to flinch. She kept herself rigid, even when he began stroking her… her arm, her waist, her stomach… touching her purposefully, silently. After a moment, his hand rose to her breasts hidden by her nightdress. His fingers splayed over the sensitive mounds, deliberately brushing her tingling nipples until they peaked and thrust against the delicate fabric.

Brynn drew a sharp breath, finding it difficult to remain unresponsive. There was no warmth, no real tenderness in his caresses, but he was arousing her all the same, despite her effort to resist.

Eventually his hand swept lower, and he drew up her nightdress, baring her body to the waist. Brynn bit her lip hard as his palm skimmed her buttock, then slowly slid over her hip around to her belly, seeking her woman’s mound. When he touched her there, she clamped her thighs together, knowing he had found her cleft wet. Not accepting her resistance, he urged her thighs apart and slid two fingers deep into her.

Heat seared through her. Brynn shuddered, involuntarily arching against his tormenting hand while his thumb rubbed the tiny bud of femininity with her own sleek moisture. It was impossible to remain passive.

Her breath quickened audibly in the silence.

Finally he left off arousing her and grasped her shoulder, rolling her toward him so that she lay on her back.

“Look at me, Brynn,” he urged hoarsely.

She did look-at his chiseled face dark and grim with concentration, and lower, at his hard, lean, graceful body with its powerful, swollen erection. Brynn shivered, despite the mildness of the August night. Lucian had possessed her body once before, but he was still a stranger, one who was prepared to invade her with his foreign hardness.

Shifting his position, he mounted her, lowering himself till their bare loins just touched. Impossibly, the muscles of her lower body tightened and clamped down in eager anticipation of his possession.

He entered her then, thrusting slowly into her with a detached control, relentlessly filling her. Brynn gasped, tremors moving through her body at the shock of his uncompromising maleness inside her.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she averted her face. She felt helpless lying like this, impaled by his flesh, totally at his mercy. Yet when he began to move, the traitorous warmth in her began to blur the edges of her resistance.

As he withdrew, her quivering inner flesh clutched helplessly at his thick length, not easing until he sheathed himself fully again.

He kissed her then, covering her mouth firmly with his. He tasted of brandy, hot and sweet and potent. She tried to turn away, but he thrust his tongue deeply into her mouth, penetrating the way his engorged shaft was doing between her spread thighs.

Against her will Brynn felt herself responding wantonly to him. When he withdrew only to thrust harder, she found it impossible to remain still. In spite of her fierce determination, she whimpered.

His kiss grew more forceful, and so did his rhythm. When her hips began to writhe, he gripped them firmly with his hands to still her and plunged into her again and again, devastating her control. Moaning now, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, clutching him tightly to her as he drove into her. Spears of searing heat lanced her as his hard flesh went deeper and harder, ravishing her with pleasure.

Then suddenly wave after wave of shuddering tremors began to ripple remorselessly through her. Brynn cried out as she shattered in ecstasy.

She was scarcely aware when Lucian permitted himself his own harsh release. When he finally went still, she was gasping for breath. His heavy weight lay sprawled across her, his own ragged breath loud in her ear.

Burning with resentment and worse, passion, Brynn squeezed her eyes shut. He had forced a response from her that was deeper and far more powerful than her first incredible time. Far from simply enduring his emotionless sexual attentions, she had welcomed them. He was indeed Lucifer, a devil who could arouse her body at will.

Frightened that he could have dredged such a response from her, she tried to push him away.

“Please get off me,” she ordered tightly, as if she’d never come apart in his arms and burned with desire. “You are crushing me.”

He raised his head slowly, as if not believing her hoarse command. A span of several heartbeats passed. When she stared coldly at him, though, Lucian obliged her, easing from between her thighs.

Abruptly Brynn pushed her nightgown down to cover her naked limbs and drew the sheet up over her. “I trust you are finished,” she ground out.

There was another long pause before his hand reached for her. Relentlessly he cupped her chin in his fingers, his blue eyes cold.

“Don’t pretend you didn’t enjoy my lovemaking, sweeting,” he said softly. “You were hot enough to melt a glacier.”

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?