“You, Miss Caldwell.” Adopting a relaxed smile, Lucian moved forward. “I would like a private word with you, if I may.”
“We are in the middle of a lesson.”
The boy piped up. “That is quite all right, Brynn. I don’t mind leaving.”
Brynn flashed him a repressive glance. “This is my brother Theodore, my lord.”
Lucian offered his hand to shake, to the boy’s obvious surprise and pleasure. “Do I conclude correctly that you have an interest in chemistry, Mr. Caldwell?”
“Very much, sir.”
“I am acquainted with a number of members of the Royal Society,” Lucian commented casually, referring to the exclusive club of the country’s premier scientists. “And I had the pleasure of attending a lecture at the Royal Institution by Mr. John Dalton earlier this year.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Do you know Mr. Dalton, sir?”
“I have the honor of being one of his patrons. He wrote A New System of Chemical Philosophy.”
“Yes! It regards the weight of atoms. I have been attempting to isolate one of the elements he discovered-” The youth flushed and fell silent, evidently flustered by his loquaciousness.
“Mr. Dalton is my brother’s hero,” Brynn interjected. “Theo practically sleeps with that book under his pillow.”
“Then perhaps you would like to meet him,” Lucian suggested. “That could easily be arranged when you next come to London.”
Theo’s expressive face had brightened with anticipation, but then fell just as swiftly. “I will not be able to come to London, sir.”
Lucian met Brynn’s glance and discovered her frowning at him. “Perhaps in future you may. Would you permit me to speak to your sister alone?”
“Yes, my lord, certainly,” Theo responded without even waiting for his sister’s permission.
Brynn held her tongue until the boy had gone before fixing a stern gaze on Lucian. “It is cruel to raise his hopes that way when you have no intention of fulfilling them.”
“What makes you think I won’t fulfill them?”
“I cannot credit a man like you would concern yourself with a boy you don’t even know.”
Lucian answered mildly. “Your protectiveness toward your brother is admirable, Miss Caldwell, but I assure you, I am not making idle promises. Theodore seems extremely bright, and Dalton would be pleased to know he has a devoted admirer-and to encourage the boy’s interest in chemistry.”
Her expressive eyes turned troubled. “Even so, we don’t have the funds to afford a trip to London.”
“Circumstances can change,” he said cryptically. “Tell me,” Lucian added before she could reply, “has Theodore always been bookish?”
The question seemed to distract her, for her expression softened. “Always. It takes an exerted effort to lure him out-of-doors for a few moments each day. I don’t think it healthy that he locks himself away in a dark chamber with all those fumes and odors. But for some reason Theo finds his experiments fascinating.”
“I imagine it isn’t easy tutoring him in subjects that are beyond your ken.”
The slight flush on her cheeks was charming. “I do wish I were better equipped to teach him. We had to let our longtime governess go several years ago, and are not able to hire genuine tutors or send Theo to school as he would like.”
“He truly is eager to attend school?” Lucian asked, amused. “He must be a boy in a million.”
“He is,” she agreed with evident pride. “His greatest ambition is to become a scientist. He hopes someday to attend Cambridge to study chemistry.”
“Actually, that could be arranged.”
Her impatient look returned. “You are suggesting I believe in pipe dreams?”
“What if it were not a pipe dream? What if I were willing to fund your brother’s education entirely?”
She stared at him, suddenly wary once more. “What is your price?” she said finally.
“Must there be a price?”
“With you, I don’t doubt it, my lord. You have stooped to using extortion twice before-both times we’ve met, in fact. I am not so green as to believe your interest in aiding my brother stems purely from altruism. You would expect something in exchange for your generosity, surely.”
Lucian winced wryly at her poor opinion of his character, even though he couldn’t dispute her point about their encounters thus far. “Very well, if you prefer bluntness, my sweet firebrand… the price of my generosity is your hand in marriage.”
She backed up a step, clearly shocked.
Her retreat brought out the primitive male urge to chase fleeing prey in Lucian, but he forced himself to remain still, to keep his expression bland.
“You needn’t look as if I have suddenly sprouted horns, Miss Caldwell. I am asking you to marry me.”
“Marry you?” Her voice was breathless. “Why ever would you wish that?”
“Because I find myself at the point in life that I must wed and produce an heir,” he answered, almost truthful.
“But why me?”
“You don’t know?” His gaze swept her appreciatively, from her vibrant, momentarily tamed tresses, to her brilliant green eyes and lush mouth, her full, tempting breasts, her empire-waist gown that hid an enticing figure and slender, lithe legs… “You have only to look in a mirror to have your answer.”
She shook her head in exasperated denial. “I explained all that, my lord. The attraction you feel isn’t real.”
Lucian felt himself biting back a smile. The waves of attraction thrumming through him were very real. So was the heat, the lust he felt for her.
“I sincerely dispute that. It’s true I find your beauty alluring, but you have any number of attributes that are just as appealing. Intelligence and wit, for instance. And I’ve seen how you care for your brother. You would make a good mother, I think.”
Her exasperation only increased. “You have concluded that after, what? Three brief encounters?”
It did seem strange, his conviction that she was the bride he had been searching for. He had only just met her. Yet intuitively he knew a great deal about her. She had a fiery passion that could stir his blood. Doubtless she could be taught to be an exceptional lover. “Call it instinct, if you will.”
“I think your instincts have utterly failed you. There are countless reasons we would not suit. For one thing, I am not at all the sort to make a good countess.”
“Why do you say so?”
“Because I am not easy in society. I am known as a recluse. And I am indeed a bluestocking, just as you accused me of being. I am considered unconventional, even ungenteel. I regularly help my brother-” She stopped herself, apparently reconsidering her admission.
“Those are crimes indeed,” he murmured.
Her chin rose at the teasing note in his voice. “Laugh if you will, my lord, but I assure you, I would not make you a comfortable wife.”
No, comfortable was not a word he would use to describe her, nor, come to think of it, was wife. Rather she was like a prize courtesan, one who made him think of tumbled silk sheets, of hot, exquisite wildness. He had only to look at her and he wanted to stir that wildness.
“I am not interested in comfort…” Lucian began, then caught himself. “Or if I am, it’s an entirely different sort of comfort. I think you’ll suffice on that score. I’ve kissed you-more than once. I have no doubt you could make a satisfactory bed partner.”
Her ivory cheeks took on a becoming flush, although she didn’t seem to have a ready answer. Finally she adopted a look of cool indifference. “I should think you would want a chaste bride, Lord Wycliff. If so, you will be disappointed in me. I have a well-earned reputation for promiscuity.”
He fixed his gaze on her mouth, remembering the luscious taste of it, the innocence. “Somehow I think you are stretching the truth again.”
Her flush deepened. “Well, it is not stretching the truth to say I don’t wish to have you for my husband. I have no desire to wed a libertine.”