She paused, then gave a start of alarm when the dark figure of a man moved out from the shadows of the house, into the lantern light. She hadn’t suspected anyone was there.
“My lord, it is I, Davies,” the man murmured in a cultured accent.
He was an older, distinguished-looking gentleman, Brynn saw, with graying hair and a tall, somewhat portly figure. Lucian must have recognized him, for she could feel his tension ease beside her.
“Yes, Davies,” he said with apparent casualness. “I presume you have a good reason for traveling all this way from London?”
“I do, my lord. I have news, which I fear is not good.” The man glanced at Brynn. “Perhaps we might speak in private?”
“Of course. Brynn, this is my secretary, Mr. Hubert Davies. Davies, my new wife, Lady Wycliff.”
The man sketched her a deep bow. “I am honored, my lady.”
Brynn murmured a polite reply, then glanced up at Lucian, who gave her a brief smile.
“Will you forgive me, my dear? It appears I have some dull business affairs to deal with. Why don’t you go upstairs? I will join you shortly.”
Short of making a scene, Brynn had no choice but to oblige. She made her way up to her bedchamber, rife with puzzlement and curiosity-and disquietude as well.
When she caught sight of herself in the cheval glass, though, she drew a sharp breath in dismay at her wanton appearance-her hair tumbling wildly down her back, her gown disheveled, her cheeks flushed with color.
Her flush deepened when she realized her husband’s secretary had spied her this way. It was shameful to have been caught in such brazen behavior, especially after she had vowed she wouldn’t succumb to Lucian’s practiced charm.
She washed the vestiges of his lovemaking from her body and restored order to her appearance, pinning her hair up again, and then discovered she didn’t know what else to do with herself-whether to change her gown for her nightdress or simply wait for Lucian to come.
At loose ends, she tried to read, but found she couldn’t concentrate. Her mind kept wandering to Lucian, both to the incredible passion he had shown her and to darker thoughts of what effect this night would have on their future.
It was perhaps a half hour later when her restlessness grew to a fever pitch. Shutting her book, Brynn rose to her feet and began to pace the floor, wondering what could be keeping Lucian.
She was about to go downstairs in search of him when she heard a soft rap on her bedchamber door. When she bid entrance, she was taken aback to see his secretary, Mr. Davies.
“Forgive me, my lady, but I have a message from his lordship.”
“A message?”
“Yes. He regrets being called away on an important matter.”
“I’m not certain I understand,” Brynn replied, frowning. “What could possibly require his attention at this time of night?”
“Business that cannot be avoided. Lord Wycliff has left for Falmouth, where his ship is anchored. He gave me instructions to escort you by coach to London on the morrow. I am to help settle you in your new home.”
Brynn felt herself stiffen. “I wonder that he could not spare the time to tell me himself.”
“The matter was urgent, my lady. Lord Wycliff begs your forgiveness.”
Brynn wasn’t certain she could believe the apology, but she tightened her jaw and bit back a tart comment, saying merely, “When may I expect to see him again?”
“I regret I cannot predict, my lady. Doubtless it will be several days at least, perhaps a week, before he can join you in London. As for tomorrow, it will be best to get an early start as the journey will be rather long. I came in his lordship’s traveling coach. If you are agreeable, I will have your trunks loaded at first light.”
“Very well, Mr. Davies,” she said rather numbly.
With a deep bow, the secretary stepped back and shut the door quietly behind him, leaving Brynn to stare after him, stiff with shock and hurt and welling resentment.
What business, she wondered, was so urgent that her new husband must abandon his bride on their wedding night? And why in heaven’s name could he not even do her the simple courtesy of saying farewell?
Chapter Seven
London
“We should arrive at his lordship’s town residence shortly,” Mr. Davies remarked, speaking for the first time in two hours. “Are you comfortable enough, my lady? ”
“Yes, thank you,” Brynn prevaricated, shifting in her seat to relieve her cramped muscles. Nearly three days of coach travel, even in a coach as well-sprung and luxuriously appointed as her new husband’s, was not her idea of comfort.
The journey had been lonely as well, with only the reserved, impeccably proper Mr. Davies for company. They had set out for London early on the morning following her wedding. The elderly gentleman maintained a formal distance and seemed reticent to answer even the most elementary questions about his employer, Lord Wycliff.
With nothing to distract her thoughts, Brynn found herself dwelling on her feelings of loneliness and trepidation. It had been even harder than expected to say farewell to her home and family. And the ache in her breast at giving up Theo could not have been deeper had she truly been his mother rather than his older sister.
Worse, with so much time on her hands, her reflections kept returning to her wedding night and her new husband. No matter how she tried to push it out of her mind, she couldn’t help reliving her one incredible carnal interlude with Lucian. She had expected him to be skilled, but his lovemaking had been more stunning than anything described by poets. The sheer ecstasy he’d aroused in her was beyond what she could have imagined in her wildest dreams. Even now a sharp sense of pleasure curled low in her stomach whenever she remembered him moving between her thighs…
Brynn pressed her lips together, completely vexed with herself. She had intended to hold herself aloof, but at the first challenge, she’d melted into a mindless puddle in his arms. It was small consolation that Lucian Tremayne was a practiced rake whose erotic finesse was as vast as the ocean. She had succumbed to his seduction like the veriest gull.
And then he had forsaken her without a word of farewell, leaving her to be dealt with by his stately secretary as if she were a possession-a horse or a dog-that could be turned over to the care of servants. At the very least Lucian could have had the common decency to say farewell. Or better yet, permit her to remain in Cornwall with her family.
Brynn muttered a silent oath. She shouldn’t give a fig that her husband had abandoned her so abruptly after consummating a union she had never wanted. It was irrational for her to feel dismayed and hurt.
Indeed, she should be glad to be able to nurse a resentment toward him.
It would be far easier to resist a husband who showed her so little consideration. There would be no danger of coming to care for him-and she had definitely been in danger that night. For a brief while during their passionate tryst on the beach, their intimacy had aroused feelings in her that she didn’t dare acknowledge.
But whatever momentary warmth she’d cherished toward Lucian in those moments, whatever fleeting optimism about their life together, was dashed when he decided so abruptly to desert her, leaving her to face a strange future alone but for his properly decorous secretary.
Brynn gave a deep sigh. She was not usually one to give in to despondency, but just now it was a struggle.
Her spirits rose when the coach reached the elegant London district of Mayfair, where the cream of the ton resided. As the coach drew to a halt, Brynn leaned forward in anticipation to peer out the window, wondering what her new home would be like.
She caught her breath at the magnificent sight in the fading evening light. The mansion of imposing gray stone was not quite a palace but nearly so. Unaccustomed to such grandeur, Brynn was filled with both awe and dismay when the coach was met by a cadre of bustling footmen.