Desire

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 near 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.”

“It usually works,” Dare said softly.

Lucian shook his head. “I’m not in the market for a mistress. Nor do I intend to supply the gossips with more fodder for scandal. My marriage is the talk of the ton as it is.”

Leaning a hip against the railing, Dare stared out into the dark garden. “Well, I certainly am no expert on matrimony. Only once in my life did I ever consider becoming leg-shackled.”

Surprised by the admission, Lucian sent his friend a sharp glance. “I never knew you contemplated marriage.”

Dare shrugged. “It was a long time ago, and I’ve done my damnedest to forget it.”

“What happened?”

“I was foolish enough to think myself in love. I went so far as to propose before discovering my mistake.” His tone hardened. “My innocent young betrothed wasn’t quite as pure as I thought her.” Dare gave a brusque shake of his head and flashed his charming grin, as if dismissing his dark thoughts.“But I’ve had some small amount of experience with women,” he added with his customary wry humor. “I think I might be qualified to advise you in winning over a lady.”

Lucian had to smile at this understatement. Dare could melt stone if he wished to. “All right then, what do you advise? I am all ears.”

“You could start by showing your bride more consideration. From what I hear, you’ve been a touch high-handed with her. Dragging her into a whirlwind union so you could get an heir upon her, then disappearing and leaving it to your servants to transport her to London, where she had to face society’s wolves alone. Rather arrogant of you to believe she might welcome such treatment, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been accused of arrogance.”

“Even so, you should never have left her so soon after the wedding, Luce. Not at all chivalrous of you. Or astute. Neglecting your new lady is no way to win her heart.” Dare paused. “Are you interested in winning her heart?” he asked curiously. “Or in giving yours?”

It was odd to hear Dare North, London’s most notorious bachelor, speaking of love, Lucian reflected. His own feelings about the subject were nebulous. He had never loved any of the soft, willing beauties who’d shared his bed, but he envied other men who had managed the feat. He’d recently seen his American cousin Nick Sabine fall deeply in love. And his friend Damien Sinclair was madly enamored of his wife…

Lucian grimaced. Falling in love with Brynn would be the height of lunacy. He’d been smitten since he first set eyes on her seductive beauty, and his condition had only grown worse with time. When she was near, the passion he felt for her was never far beneath his surface-

He muttered a low oath. The emerald-eyed siren had quite bewitched him, tied him in knots. He wasn’t even certain he could trust her. For all he knew, Brynn could be mired knee-deep in treason with her brother. It would be dangerous to risk giving her even more power over him. And yet the idea of ending the strain in their marriage… of truly winning her… had a definite appeal.

“I honestly don’t know,” he finally answered. “Love was never part of my plan. I only wanted a son.”

“Perhaps your plan was too logical. Too calculating. The heart doesn’t follow logic.” Quite suddenly Dare made a scoffing sound in his throat. “What the devil-listen to me waxing poetic. I must be growing maudlin in my waning years.”

“Ah, yes, you’re quite ancient,” Luce said with an edge of sarcasm. “You’re a year older than I, Dare. You’ll have us in invalid chairs before the night is through.”

His friend eyed him steadily. “No need to take your foul temper out on me.”

“Just so. My pardon.”

Dare slapped him lightly on the back. “Forgiven.” Then he turned and lazily rested his elbows on the railing. “One thing I do know,” he added with more seriousness. “If you neglect your wife, others are bound to step in.”

“Others already have stepped in,” Lucian responded, his tone turning dark again. “That is a large part of the problem, or hadn’t you noticed?” He took a long swallow of brandy. “Fools losing their heads over her all because of a curse.”

“Curse?”

“My wife claims to be cursed, didn’t I tell you? Men lust after her because a damned Gypsy put a hex on one of her ancestresses. She even haunts their dreams.”

“How intriguing,” Dare said, grinning.

“It’s not the least intriguing if you’re the poor sap in danger of being cuckolded.”

“Is that what troubles you?”

Lucian hardened his jaw. “Brynn claims I needn’t worry on that score.”

“And you believe her?”

“Oddly enough, I think I do. In Cornwall she went to great lengths to avoid provoking male interest, even mine. Especially mine, in fact. When she first came to London, I thought she might be encouraging her admirers out of revenge, to repay me for the way I treated her, but I no longer think her provocation was deliberate. She was undoubtedly virginal when I first took her.”

There was a long pause while Dare considered that. “‘A virtuous woman is a prize beyond rubies,”“ he quoted softly.

“Perhaps so, but it’s damned uncomfortable, having a wife every man jack sees as a prize.”

“Well then, perhaps you should enter the lists. Join the competition for her favors.”

“What are you suggesting? That I challenge those witless young whelps to a duel?”

“Not at all. Why don’t you simply try your hand at seducing her? Use that vaunted charm of yours. The best way to conquer a woman is to woo her. I’ll wager you haven’t seriously tried that approach.”

“Not seriously. Not since we wed.”

“You should have. I own myself astonished, Luce. You never properly court your bride and then you essentially abandon her? Any female with an ounce of pride would be put out by such conduct. Can you blame her if she isn’t content with her lot?”

No, he couldn’t blame her, Lucian admitted. He had made numerous mistakes with Brynn from the first, violating his normal sense of fair play with a vengeance. He had demanded her submission, then deliberately treated her coldly, too worried about himself and fighting his obsession to show her the consideration she deserved. He’d been possessive and jealous, and when her admirers fought over her, he’d reacted like an outraged husband, accusing her of playing the wanton, which had only wounded her and roused her resentment further. He’d harbored suspicions about her possible involvement in treason without any real proof…

His behavior indeed was inexcusable, Lucian admitted.

“You’re right,” he said quietly. “I’ve made a shambles of it.”

It was Dare’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Surely you don’t mean to accept failure so readily- legendary lover that you’re reputed to be? I doubt it’s too late for you to repair the damage, in any case.”

Was he too late? Lucian wondered. Their marriage had begun shakily and plunged in a downward spiral with each icy clash. He had welcomed Brynn’s resentment, indeed purposely cultivated it, deliberately destroying any chance for warmer relations in their marriage. He regretted that the most, the coldness between them.

Yet he wasn’t totally powerless when it came to changing the current state. He had a measure of physical control over Brynn. He knew how to command her passion, how to make her body respond with desperate hunger… But he wanted more than that. He wanted her willing and eager in his arms. He wanted peace between them, and trust, perhaps even friendship. He wanted to know her better, her thoughts, what she felt. He wanted to be able to share his thoughts, his feelings, his hopes and fears…

“No woman has ever resisted you for long,” Dare observed, watching him closely.

“I can see you don’t know my wife very well,” Lucian said almost with wistfulness.

“Perhaps not, but I certainly know women. I suggest you take yourself home and devote yourself to your bride. Spend some time with her. Take her off to the country, perhaps. With all the distractions you’ve faced pursuing traitors, you’ve had no chance to become intimate or put your powers of seduction to the test.”

Lucian shook his head. “I can’t leave London just now.”

“Why not? What is more important-saving England or ending this wretched misery you’ve let yourself wallow in? Besides, I don’t imagine you’ll be much good to your country until you settle this situation with your wife.”

Dare had a point, Lucian realized, frowning. Until now, his country had always come first for him; duty was more important than personal desire. Yet for weeks now his conflicting feelings for Brynn had proven a relentless distraction, despite his vow to the contrary. He would do well to settle the strife between them before it rendered him totally ineffectual.

Perhaps he should try a different approach with Brynn: wooing her.

It would be difficult to win her over. She would likely spurn his advances after the way he’d acted, especially given her staunch belief in the Gypsy’s curse. Certainly he wouldn’t change her convictions overnight, yet he could take small steps that wouldn’t arouse her alarm or provoke her to tears…

The vivid image of Brynn crying in his arms yesterday made Lucian wince. He wanted very much to dispel her fear that she was a witch. He wanted still more to end the coldness between them, to repair the tattered fabric of their relationship, perhaps establish a bond of trust. It was even possible they could have a marriage with mutual affection, if not love…

Tilting his head back, Lucian drained the last of his brandy, not certain if embarking on a new course with Brynn was at all wise. Yet for the first time in the weeks of his contentious relationship with her, he felt a sense of eager anticipation.

It startled Brynn when her husband joined her in the breakfast room the following morning. Usually Lucian had left for the day by the time she rose.

She stared when he greeted her amiably, her cup of chocolate raised halfway to her lips. While she watched, Lucian filled a plate from the sideboard, accepted coffee from the hovering footman, and then dismissed the servant. He gave Brynn a brief smile before settling back in his seat and opening one of the morning papers that she wasn’t reading.

She found herself at a total loss.

He’d arrived home late last night, she knew, for she’d lain in her lonely bed tossing and turning, listening for him. But he hadn’t visited her bed. Most likely it was because he had found other pleasures to occupy him. Absurdly it hurt to think of Lucian in the arms of another woman-

Forcing those foolish thoughts away, Brynn made herself chew her suddenly dry toast and concentrate on the editorial before her.

Silence reigned for a time. Eventually Lucian closed his paper and applied himself to his breakfast. Brynn nearly jumped when he addressed her moments later.

“You aren’t wearing a riding habit. You don’t mean to ride this morning? ”

He knew of her customary early morning rides in the park with Raven, Brynn supposed, but she was surprised he had noticed her attire.

“No,” she answered carefully.

“Why not?”

She gave him a wary glance. “I never plan to go out again.”

“Why?”

“Because it is safer.”

His eyebrow lifted. “Isn’t that a rather drastic measure?”

She tried to flash an arch smile but feared it merely came out bitter. “You were the one who insisted I keep away from the young bucks ‘panting after my skirts.” The only way I know how to accomplish that is to avoid them entirely.“

“I expect you’ll find such confinement restrictive,” he said finally.

“Certainly I will. It is lonely having to do without company, but I am accustomed to it. And remaining quietly at home here is better than being forced to rusticate at your country estate, where I know absolutely no one.”

She felt his light gaze examining her face. “You needn’t do without company entirely. Do you enjoy Shakespeare?”

Brynn eyed him warily. “Yes, why?”

“I thought we might attend the theater this evening.”

“We?”

A smile flickered at his mouth. “I should like to escort you, if you will allow me.”

“Why?”

“I hoped you might accept it as an olive branch.”

She considered that for a moment. “I can’t imagine why you would want to offer an olive branch.”

“Because I don’t enjoy this constant state of antagonism between us, Brynn. I would like it to end. We cannot spend a lifetime like this, fighting each other.”

She didn’t enjoy their antagonism, either, or the explosive results. The memory of their rash, brazen lovemaking in the carriage still haunted her. But keeping discord between them was the safest thing for Lucian.

“I never wanted our marriage to become a battleground,” he said when she was silent, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “I regret that more than you know.”

Brynn caught her breath, unable to look away from the unwavering intensity of his gaze. She wished his eyes were less compelling and not quite so blue.

His voice lowered even further. “I know I haven’t been the most ideal husband, Brynn. I would like to try to make it up to you.”

She couldn’t answer, not with the sudden tightness of her throat.

Finally he gave a soft sigh. “Whatever our private disputes, I would prefer to present a more amiable image in public. It will help quiet the scandal for us to be seen together and pretend to enjoy each other’s company.”

“Yes… I suppose that would help.”

He rose then and came around to her side of the table. Taking her hand, he raised it to his lips. “Until this evening, then.”

Brynn shivered, feeling the tingle of his hot mouth all the way down her arm to her loins.

She stared after Lucian long after he was gone. Finally she felt her breath escape in a sigh. She had her own regrets about their relationship; she yearned for an end to hostilities as Lucian claimed he did. Yet she didn’t dare lower her defenses.

It worried her, this contrite, gentle side of him. If he were to begin treating her with tenderness and consideration, he would be impossible to resist.

Brynn shook her head, desperately fighting the emotions he unleashed in her. How had her feelings for Lucian become so complicated? Their relationship would be so much safer if she could simply hate him. But she feared that was well beyond her power. It wasn’t hate Lucian woke in her, but hungry longing.

As they entered their box at the Drury Lane Theatre, Lord and Lady Wycliff were the focus of all eyes. A sense of excitement claimed Brynn as Lucian took his seat beside her. It was a treat for her to attend a performance of skilled actors. The country troupes that toured southern Cornwall were the dregs of their profession, so watching actual masters was sure to be a delight.

But it was Lucian himself who caused the involuntary lightness of her spirits. He had dined at home with her, playing the role of solicitous husband-a performance, she knew. Yet he acted as if he were truly enjoying her company instead of fighting his attraction to her. Clearly he was making an effort to begin anew.

The change in him was profoundly appealing- and unquestionably dangerous. In return, Brynn did her best to maintain a cool demeanor and subdue her own appeal. She wore her fiery hair sedately tamed, while her ivory slip with its overskirt of silver tissue was modestly cut for an evening gown. Yet she could tell by the sudden darkening of Lucian’s blue eyes that he admired the effect.

He continued his exhibition of amiability when they reached the theater. The moment Lucian was settled beside her, he took her hand and brought her fingers to his lips to kiss, gazing deeply into her eyes, just as if he were in love. His amorous gesture was for the benefit of the audience, Brynn presumed, but the sheer intimacy of it made her soften inside…

Abruptly she scolded herself for her susceptibility; Lucian well knew the power of his sensuality, and she would be wise to keep up her guard.

They were barely seated when visitors started arriving at their box, wanting to be introduced to his lordship’s new lady. Lucian showed all the heart-melting charm and rakish wit that had so fascinated her when they’d first met, as well as a possessiveness that was as curiously gratifying as it was disturbing. He remained so close she could feel his body heat, his arm lightly draping her shoulder, as if staking his claim on her. And when they were left alone once more for the start of the play, he kept hold of her hand.

Despite her resolve to keep him at a distance, to protect him with her indifference, Brynn found herself loath to pull away; his touch felt so right. All through the first act, her nerves were alive and acutely tuned to him.

Almost as distracting were the whispered conversations in the neighboring boxes and from the pit below. Few in the audience were actually watching the stage but had turned their opera glasses on herself, suggesting their fascination with the woman who had claimed the elusive Lord Wycliff’s hand in marriage.

Even with all the disturbances, however, Brynn found the performance riveting. When the first intermission came, she gave a sigh of delight.

“Your eyes are fairly sparkling,” Lucian murmured in her ear. “I take it you approve of the performance.”

“It’s marvelous,” Brynn said with heartfelt agreement. “Although I suppose I sound rather provincial to admit it.”

A breathtaking, whimsical smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. A pretense of ennui is certainly considered fashionable. But I think your candor refreshing.”

“Thank you for bringing me here, Lucian,” she said sincerely.

He bowed gallantly. “Your enjoyment is my pleasure.”

“You don’t find the play enjoyable?”

“Somewhat. But I’ve seen this performance a half dozen times. It isn’t difficult to become jaded on the entertainments London has to offer.”

“I can’t imagine becoming so jaded that Shakespeare begins to pall. If that is the consequence of your wicked life, then I will gladly pass.”

His lashes veiled his sapphire eyes, and Brynn could have bitten off her tongue. She hadn’t meant to spoil the moment by reminding him of their discord.

She was relieved when a new visitor appeared in their box. Brynn felt nervous about meeting so illustrious a personage as the Foreign Secretary, whom the papers frequently vilified. But Lord Castlereagh apparently was a close friend of Lucian’s. Although his lordship initially displayed a stiff reserve toward her, he conversed easily with Lucian and soon had Brynn admiring his sharp intelligence.

The admiration became mutual when she quizzed him about the Duke of Wellington’s progress on the battlefields of Spain, which she had been reading a great deal about. Castlereagh had long been a champion of Wellington and shed any trace of aloofness when he spoke proudly about his confederate’s stunning victory at Vitoria.

“You’ve done well choosing your bride, Wycliff,” Castlereagh said as he was preparing to leave the box. “It is surprising that you found her in the wilds of Cornwall. I’ll wager you’re glad you decided to mix pleasure with business.”

“Very glad,” Lucian said, giving Brynn a glance so warm, she felt herself blush.

“And you, Lady Wycliff,” Lord Castlereagh added, “have snared one of the keenest minds in Britain. I trust you won’t object if I keep your husband in my employ for a while longer, until we win the war. We can’t do without him. Boney would be ruling the world by now if not for heroes like Wycliff.”

“I am hardly a hero,” Lucian said dryly.

“You’re far too modest, sir. And I believe March would argue strenuously with that.” Castlereagh turned to Brynn. “He saved the Earl of March last spring from the Frogs-stole him right out of their damned jaws at considerable risk to his own skin. You should persuade your husband to tell you about his adventures sometime.”

Brynn raised an eyebrow. “I fear my husband doesn’t share his secrets with me.”

“Wise, I suppose. Loose lips have been known to change the course of history-and not for the better. But since Wycliff won’t allow himself to be lauded, I must. I cannot tell you how thankful I am to have him on our side. I wish I could have a dozen of him.”

Such praise did not come lightly, Brynn was certain, and it strongly renewed her curiosity about the depth of Lucian’s involvement with the war effort.

It was only when they were driving home, however, that Brynn had the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity a small measure. She could barely see Lucian sitting beside her; the carriage lamps were unlit, leaving his perfect profile in shadow.

She studied him silently a moment before venturing to ask the question that had been burning in her mind ever since hearing Lord Castlereagh’s praise. “What do you actually do for the Foreign Office?”

“Whatever needs to be done,” Lucian answered cryptically.

“Including risking your life?”

“Rarely that.”

“The Foreign Secretary obviously disagrees. Castlereagh called you a hero. And I know Raven considers you one.”

“Raven is somewhat biased,” he replied, his tone dry.

“But you still took a risk in rescuing Lord March.”

“I was merely doing my duty.”

Brynn shook her head. “Few noblemen would consider it their duty to work for the government- or work, period. I wonder how you became involved in such an endeavor.”

Lucian turned to gaze at her in the darkness. “Do you want the polite version or the honest truth?”

“The truth, please.”

“To be frank, I was bored with my wicked life.”

He let that sink in before adding lightly, “There was nothing heroic about my decision. I was raised in privilege and ease and came into my inheritance young-my parents succumbed to a fever while traveling abroad just after I reached my majority, leaving me with more wealth than I knew how to spend. My greatest victories were winning at faro or wagering on a horse race. For a long time I felt…”

Lucian hesitated as if searching for the right words. “I felt something missing in myself. I scarcely knew or cared what was happening to Europe. And then six years ago, my closest friend was killed in a naval battle, fighting the French. His death made me realize there was more to life than choosing what tailor I should patronize or which entertainments I should attend in an evening.”

Brynn could hear the pain in his voice at losing his friend, as well as his self-condemnation.

Lucian’s tone was quieter, more reflective when he continued. “I offered my services to the government, thinking the occupation would help to fill the days… the emptiness. But it became much more. I finally found a worthy challenge,” he said softly. “A sense of purpose. Whatever I’ve risked, I have gained far more.”

Brynn was taken aback to hear him sharing such confidences with her. Perhaps it was due to the darkness, or to the truce they had declared between them, but Lucian was actually divulging something intimate about himself.

She digested his admission in silence. Evidently she owed him a sincere apology. She’d thought him a rake and a wastrel, when he was really risking his life saving others. She’d accused him of neglecting her when he had had matters of national importance at stake.

The remembrance made her feel rather… small. A sense of regret pierced Brynn for the petty resentment she had felt toward Lucian these past weeks.

“I didn’t realize,” she said quietly, “that what you were doing was so… vital.”

Lucian shrugged. “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming.”

“Is that why you left me on our wedding night? Because of your work? ”

His gaze found hers in the dim light. “Yes. Believe me, nothing else could have dragged me away that night.” He paused. “Had I better explained the reason, would you have forgiven me?”

Brynn felt her breath catch at the gentleness in his tone. Yet even knowing the danger of encouraging any intimacy between them, she answered honestly. “If I recall, I was in no mood for forgiveness. But I believe I would have understood that your duty came first.”

Lucian laughed softly, without amusement. “Defeating Napoleon is no longer merely a duty with me, love. It’s a driving passion. I admit, I have no objectivity when it comes to winning the war. Not after losing so many friends and countrymen. I want Boney to pay for the destruction he’s wreaked on England, on all of Europe. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to achieve his downfall, even if it means taking on tasks no true gentleman would ever consider.”

“What sort of tasks?”

She felt rather than saw him go still. Then Lucian shook his head abruptly, as if recollecting who she was. “They aren’t tales for a lady’s ears.” His tone had turned suddenly grim, but she could sense his despair.

Perhaps they were ugly tales, yet Brynn would have liked to hear them, to better understand this surprisingly complex man she was bound to for life.

She fell silent, contemplating his unexpected revelations. When the carriage drew up before the Wycliff mansion, however, she was filled with a disturbing new awareness. Thus far the evening had been disquietingly pleasurable, but what would the remainder of the night bring? Most pointedly, did Lucian intend to share her bed again and resume claiming his rights as her husband?

Her heart quickening with nervous anticipation, she entered the house on Lucian’s arm and surrendered her satin cloak to the butler. Yet, just as on their wedding night, a visitor was waiting for his lordship.

Informed that Mr. Barton was in the study, Lucian gave Brynn a brief glance, knowing it could only be bad news this late in the evening. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I must speak with him.”

She returned a slight smile that actually seemed relieved. “Of course,” she said quietly.

Lucian watched her ascend the grand staircase, her back slim and straight, hips swaying gently beneath her elegant ivory-silver gown. He had never regretted an interruption more.

Cursing the poor timing, he strode quickly to his study, where Philip Barton rose immediately to his feet.

“I regret the intrusion, my lord, but I knew you would wish to hear the news. The last shipment of stolen gold reached France, there is no longer any doubt. It landed in Boulogne.”

Lucian cursed again. “Where was it taken?”

“That isn’t known, for the trail ended abruptly. It seems to have disappeared into thin air.”

“How can an entire wagonload of bullion,” he demanded with angry rhetoric, “simply disappear?”

“Perhaps it was split up. Regardless, my men lost track of it. I am very sorry, my lord.”

Lucian clenched his teeth, forcing back his anger. “You aren’t to blame, Philip.”

“It is the work of Lord Caliban, most likely.”

“Was he sighted?”

“No, not this time. I thought you might wish to travel to France to investigate yourself.”

Lucian hesitated, considering. He wanted to apprehend Caliban so fiercely, he could taste it. But he wanted to remain in England just as badly. Leaving Brynn now just as he was trying to cultivate a new relationship with her was out of the question. He couldn’t possibly woo his bride if he was slinking across France in search of illusive contraband and its treacherous thief. In any case, by now the gold had most certainly reached Napoleon’s coffers. Even sending Philip to France might be pointless; the cunning Lord Caliban would be long gone.

Then again, they might learn some vital crumb regarding the traitor’s identity.

“No,” Lucian replied, “I won’t be going to France this time. But I would like you to go in my place, Philip.”

“I, my lord?”

“This is one of our few leads to Caliban. We can’t risk letting even a scrap of information go unsought. And I cannot leave London just now.”

An eager light brightened the young man’s dark eyes. “Very well, my lord. I will make arrangements to depart at once.”

Seeing his enthusiasm, Lucian added a pointed warning. “Philip, don’t be discouraged if you unearth nothing. You will likely hit another dead end.”

“I understand. And it is quite possible Caliban never went to France at all, but left the gold to be delivered by his lackeys.” Barton frowned, looking disheartened once more. “It’s damned galling to know he is right under our very noses, performing his treason.”

“Indeed,” Lucian agreed darkly. “That’s why I have been thinking… perhaps it’s time to modify our course and begin searching for him here.”

“Here, my lord?”

“London society. Lord Caliban could be any of a hundred men. All we know is that he’s wealthy and that he possibly possesses a title. But when the Little Season starts, he may well take part in the activities. I’m considering asking Wolverton to help us discover Caliban’s identity.”

Barton frowned. “I realize Lord Wolverton is a close friend of yours, but he does not strike me as the sort of man who cares a fig about anything but-” He came to a stammering halt, his features coloring at his boldness.

“But his own pleasures?” Lucian finished.

“Yes, my lord. Forgive my bluntness, but can Wolverton really be entrusted with matters of such importance as espying a traitor?”

“Dare can be trusted, believe me. He doesn’t seem serious, but he moves about the ton with ease-goes everywhere, sees everyone. He could help us narrow down the field of suspects at the very least. And while he will doubtless consider it a lark, it may give him a sense of purpose he’s been lacking thus far.”

“Then I suppose it would be wise to employ his assistance,” Barton said, though sounding reluctant.

Lucian bit back a grim smile. This would not be the first time Philip had questioned his unorthodox methods, but they’d been proven right far more often than not.

He saw his visitor to the front entrance, then slowly mounted the stairs, finding it hard to dispel his suddenly bleak mood. The report that the stolen gold was now in French hands was a taunting reminder that he had failed in his duty, that men had died because of his negligence while he was off seeing to his own personal affairs, acquiring a bride…

Tearing off his cravat angrily, Lucian entered his bedchamber, then came to a halt, remembering that bride. The doors that connected their apartments were ajar, with soft lamplight coming through.

To his surprise, he found Brynn in her sitting room, still fully dressed, as if she had purposefully waited up for him.

When she looked up from her book, her eyes met his, giving him the same jolt of sexual excitement as always. Yet the emerald brilliance was more subdued than usual, her wary gaze questioning.

“I trust the news was not too bad?” she murmured.

Here was a chance to extend their intimacy, Lucian knew. Yet he hesitated, his instincts at war with his longings.

On the one hand, if Brynn understood the reasons for his dark moods and his necessary absences, she would likely be more yielding toward him. She was already softening a finite degree, Lucian could feel it. But he couldn’t totally ignore the possibility that she might be involved with her brother’s nefarious activities. If so, he would be taking a dangerous risk to say anything at all. Sharing information with the enemy could be deadly.

Are you my enemy, Brynn?

Still, he could sound her out about her knowledge without divulging any crucial details.

“Bad enough,” he answered, keeping his tone even.

He settled in the wing chair across from her, casually stretching his long legs out before him. “A shipment of stolen contraband was recently smuggled to France.”

“Contraband?” Her eyebrows rose politely as she waited for an explanation.

“This isn’t the usual trafficking in black-market goods, but gold belonging to the British government. For some months now a band of smugglers has been stealing shipments of gold bullion and clandestinely transporting it to France.”

“Why France?” Brynn frowned, looking genuinely perplexed, Lucian noted with keen interest.

“Because Boney needs gold to fund his armies. French paper currency has been virtually worthless for years.” Lucian felt his mouth twist humorlessly. “These thefts are doubly galling. Not only does it deprive our government of the gold needed to pay our troops and allies, which is vital to Britain’s war effort, but Boney uses it to finance their slaughter.”

She digested this intelligence in thoughtful silence.

“This smuggling ring is particularly vicious,” Lucian continued. “They don’t hesitate to kill to achieve their ends.” He gave Brynn a pointed glance. “You grew up in Cornwall. Surely you must be familiar with the Free Trade.”

Her lashes lowered over her striking eyes. “A little. Most families there are involved in some fashion. It is a way of life.”

“Well, we have no good leads as to the perpetrators or their leader. Perhaps your brother could advise me on how to go about searching.”

“My brother?” she asked cautiously.

“Sir Grayson seems a savvy sort. He might have knowledge that could lead us to apprehend the gold smugglers.” At her wary expression, Lucian offered a slight smile. “I’m not interested in ending the livelihood of your fellow Cornishmen, Brynn. Only in keeping the gold out of French hands. If we hope to stop the bloodshed and put an end to the war, these smugglers must be caught.”

She suddenly looked troubled, distracted even. Lucian felt a sinking weight in his heart.

“I don’t know if Gray could be of any help,” she said finally. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to ask him.”

Lucian forced a smile. Her reply was not the one he had hoped for-that she would disavow any knowledge of her brother’s activities. Rising, he crossed to her, then bent and pressed his lips to her brow. “Sleep well, siren.”

Taken off guard, Brynn eyed him warily. It had been a tender gesture, as if there were real affection between them.

“You don’t intend to stay?” she asked.

“Are you inviting me to stay?”

Their gazes locked. A long moment passed while he studied her. Eventually, though, Brynn looked away, uncomfortable with his penetrating scrutiny.

“Well then,” Lucian said lightly, “I see I had best summon all my willpower.” When she didn’t respond, he reached out to brush her cheek with a knuckle. “Don’t worry, love. I intend to wait for an invitation. I won’t press my unwanted attentions on you.”

“You must do as you please,” she said, her voice low.

“Must I?” he asked softly.

Brynn watched him turn away, still surprised and unaccountably disappointed that he hadn’t remained.

When he was gone, she let out an unsteady breath of relief. Yet her inner turmoil wasn’t caused solely by her husband’s potent masculinity. This time Lucian had given her too much to think about-and raised a disturbing possibility.

She’d always believed Grayson was smuggling wine and brandy and silk; never had she dreamed he would become involved in something treasonous such as stealing gold and delivering it to the enemy. Brynn bit her lip. Surely she would have known if Gray were engaged in so wicked a crime. He would not be able to keep such a secret from her-and yet she hadn’t been home in weeks.

And Gray had been unusually troubled during his last visit, agitated even. Brynn suddenly recalled the questions he had put to her then… his keen interest in Lucian’s connection to the Foreign Office, particularly Lucian’s role as a spy.

And what of her husband’s enigmatic comments just now? Did he somehow suspect Grayson?

A stab of fear shot through her as she realized the possible danger to her brother. She had greatly underestimated Lucian. He wasn’t a bored nobleman playing at being a hero. After losing close friends to the war, he was personally driven to prevent further bloodshed, even at the risk of his own life. Admittedly, his revelations tonight had given her a new respect for him. Yet she had also gained a new wariness. Lucian was keenly intelligent, intuitively clever. And he was determined to find the gold smugglers. If he were to suspect Grayson-

Another frightening thought struck her. Had he suspected Gray all along? Had that been Lucian’s purpose for coming to Cornwall in the first place? Even more damning, had he courted her to get closer to her brother? Had he used her that way? Just as he was using her to sire a son?

And something else… Gray’s desperate interest in Lucian’s seal ring. Her breath caught in her throat. Sweet heaven… Was Gray truly involved in treason? And had she unwittingly aided him?

It was a horrifying thought.

Brynn shook her head, pressing her lips together in a tight line. She wouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet, condemning her brother without a fair hearing. But she would certainly have a great number of questions to put to him when she wrote to him first thing in the morning.