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.