“Of course it is. I don’t want him to have anything to do with smuggling, or the sea. He isn’t cut out for such physical danger. He becomes ill every time you take him out-”
Gray cut short her familiar diatribe. “Then you should be grateful to Wycliff for the chance to spare Theo the danger.”
Perhaps she should indeed be grateful, Brynn acknowledged. “You truly think I should marry Wycliff?”
“Yes. For Theo’s sake if nothing else.”
Brynn felt despair well up inside her as she realized the truth of her brother’s quiet pronouncement. “Very well, I will consider it.”
She pushed back her chair and rose abruptly to her feet, needing to be alone. Without another word, she left the room.
When she reached her bedchamber, she shut the door and went to one of the windows that overlooked the coast. A sense of desperation tightened her chest as she stared out beyond the rocky shoreline to the sea.
Was Gray right? Should she wed Lord Wycliff? Did she dare take the risk?
Unable to remain still, Brynn turned to pace the floor. Wycliff was clearly anything but a gentleman when it came to winning what he wanted, dangling a generous marriage settlement in front of her to compel her acceptance. But he was the last man on earth she should ever marry.
If she were to take a husband, she should choose someone the absolute opposite of him. A quiet mouse of a man for whom she felt no attraction, not someone who stirred her blood with merely a glance. There would be no danger of falling in love then…
Her jaw clenching, Brynn went to her dressing table and brought out her jewel case, which held only a few inexpensive trinkets and one extremely valuable piece. Withdrawing the locket that had been passed down to her from her ancestor, she opened the clasp to reveal a miniature portrait of Lady Eleanor Stanhope-Flaming Nell-the legendary temptress who centuries before had driven men mad with her alluring features and fiery hair and who had been cursed for her profligate sins.
Not for the first time did Brynn wish her ravishing relative could have tempered her wanton behavior and avoided causing her female descendants such grief. But there was no escaping the curse. Wycliff, despite his skepticism, had become so entangled in it, he was disregarding her every objection, all her warnings, in his determination to coerce her into marriage.
Brynn’s fist closed tightly over the locket, pressing the gold filigree painfully into her palm. She desperately wished there were someone she could talk to, someone other than Grayson, who had a vital interest in her compliance.
Her mother would have been adamant about her refusing Wycliff’s suit, Brynn knew. But what would Esmerelda advise?
The elderly Gypsy woman was a descendant of the curse’s original creator. For the past century her small band had been allowed to camp on the Caldwell estate when they visited the district, in hopes of making amends for Flaming Nell’s offense.
When Brynn’s first suitor died, she’d gone to Esmerelda to interpret her dark dreams. The Gypsy’s cryptic insights had proved both confusing and contradictory, but Brynn had come away with the firm conviction that she was to blame for her suitor’s death.
She couldn’t consult the old woman this time, however, for she had no idea where to find her. Her band roamed the south of England from Cornwall all the way to London.
Closing the locket, Brynn returned the piece to the jewel case. Perhaps she was mistaken. Perhaps her troubling dream of Wycliff didn’t mean he would actually die, but was merely a warning that she had to take care. If so…
She didn’t want to agree to his marriage proposal, yet did she really have a choice? If she wed Wycliff, she could free Grayson of the threat of debtors’ prison. Moreover, Theo would have the education he’d always wanted, the future she’d always hoped for him. If not, he would remain under her inadequate tutelage at home, where his life would be at risk. He would be sucked into the dangerous underworld of smuggling.
Torn by her conscience, Brynn squeezed her eyes shut. For her beloved brother’s sake, she would have to concede. She would have to become Wycliff’s countess, bear him a son. Sweet heaven.
Opening her eyes, she lifted her chin with grim determination. Very well, she would wed him. She would give Lord Wycliff the heir he wanted in exchange for a marriage settlement that would put paid to her family’s debts.
Yet caution was imperative. She would have the responsibility for saving Wycliff from his lust, and from her own. Most critically, she would have to prevent any affection whatsoever from forming between them.
She could manage that, Brynn fervently hoped, drawing a deep breath. She only prayed he wouldn’t come to regret entering into such a dangerous union.
Chapter Five
Brynn formally received Lord Wycliff in the drawing room the following afternoon. If she thought to postpone the issue of his marriage proposal, however, she was doomed to disappointment, for he came straight to the point.
“May I hope you have reconsidered my offer?”
“Yes,” she replied stiffly. “You know very well that for my family’s sake, I cannot afford to refuse.”
“Then you consent to become my wife?”
“Yes.”
“I am honored,” Wycliff said pleasantly, as if he had never doubted her answer.
Brynn felt her frustration return at his certitude. She took a steadying breath, knowing she had to attempt once more to persuade him of the danger he faced in wedding her. “Truthfully, I don’t wish to honor you, my lord. I would prefer to make you see reason. You would be much wiser to withdraw your suit before it is too late.”
“I want a son, Miss Caldwell. A legitimate heir. Unfortunately that requires I wed someone of the female persuasion. Preferably a lady.”
“But it needn’t be me. By all reports, you could have any woman you want.”
“I want you. I thought I had made that perfectly clear.” The slow half smile that shadowed his mouth was meant to disarm her, but Brynn refused to be disarmed. His attempts to charm her could be fatal.
“And I,” she retorted, “made it perfectly clear, my lord, that your lusts are irrational.”
“Since we are soon to be wed, surely we needn’t be so formal. My name is Lucian.”
She stared fixedly at him. “Lucifer, did you say?”
A hint of amusement lit his eyes. “I have been called worse.”
Brynn raised her gaze to the ceiling, summoning patience. “I wish I could make you understand the danger of the curse.”
“Lamentably, I am not the superstitious sort.”
“Perhaps not, but there is proof. If you don’t believe me, you should examine the church records. Nearly every generation of women in my family has faced a tragedy in love.”
“So you said. But I expect those tragedies can be explained by mere coincidence.”
“You dream about me, don’t you?”
The expression on Wycliff’s face suddenly turned enigmatic, and Brynn could see she had struck a nerve. “Your dreams are not mere coincidence, I assure you. I haunt men’s dreams, as did my other female ancestors.”
He glanced across the drawing room at a portrait hanging on the wall. “Is that a relation of yours?” The portrait was of an elegant woman with auburn hair and a look of sadness in her dark eyes.
“That was my mother.”
“She is very beautiful. It would not have taken a curse to make men dream about her, or even to lose their heads over her.”
Clenching her hands together, Brynn exhaled slowly. She was obviously not going to persuade Wycliff. “Very well, ignore the danger, if you will, but don’t expect me to. My first suitor died because I showed a partiality toward him, and I cannot allow that to happen again. I won’t have your death on my conscience. Ours must be a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”