Smoldering silence met her question, while his virile face hardened.
Brynn took a steadying breath. “That is what you want, is it not? A child? Well, I’ve begun to want the same thing. You promised that when I conceive an heir, I no longer must endure your carnal attentions. So the sooner I comply, the sooner we can be free of each other. I trust after this, however, when you do visit my bed, you’ll make an exerted attempt to control your lustful urges.”
Having delivered that blow, she turned and forced herself to walk regally from the room.
Alone, Lucian stood shaking as the vestiges of passion began draining from his body. What in hell’s name had come over him? He had been wild to have her. If she hadn’t taunted him about his lack of control, he would have stripped her naked and taken her right then, ravishing her without any thought to tenderness.
He could have raped her, his hunger had been that raw, that explosive.
Lucian clenched his teeth, willing his muscles to unlock, willing the fiery ache in his groin to dissipate. He had never been so powerless, so mindlessly out of control.
He swore a vivid oath. And what of next time? If he touched her, would he be unable to resist the flame-haired, green-eyed witch who was his wife?
Chapter Ten
She dreamed of Lucian again. His tongue was on her, gently plying her sex between her thighs, softly licking, arousing, savoring. His tenderness was exquisite.
She arched against the pleasure, whimpering at the sharp sensation that rippled through her. His caresses brought her to the edge of explosion, yet he drew back, leaving her unfulfilled, aching with excitement.
“Lucian… please…” She wanted them joined, yearned for his possession.
He understood her craving.
His kisses moved upward, his breath searing on her naked skin… her belly, her breasts, the curve of her throat. Her body shuddered in welcome as he covered her. His swollen hardness slid into her yielding, wet flesh, deeply penetrating… but then he held himself still.
With unbearable sweetness, his lips brushed softly over her face, dredging a sigh of joy from deep in her throat. When he smiled down at her, his poignant tenderness made her want to weep. Helpless with desire, she molded herself to him, heat and desperate need welling up in her.
Then he began to move inside her, a rhythm that was ancient, mindless, elemental. Her longing built as he loved her, blossoming to a sweet anguish that made her shake, until with one final thrust he unleashed a storm of fire and she cried out at the piercing ecstasy…
Brynn stirred awake, her body throbbing with need in the darkness. Beside her the bed was empty. She was alone.
She had only been dreaming. Lucian wasn’t with her, arousing her with his soul-stirring caresses. She had driven him away with her coldness.
She reached up and touched her face, surprised to find it wet with tears. In her dreams she had found the tenderness she craved from Lucian, the warmth, the joy.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Brynn clutched a pillow to her breasts, remembering her dream and her desperate longing to cherish him.
She couldn’t allow herself such indulgence, though. She might deplore the cold reserve between them, but she knew it could be no other way.
Lucian didn’t visit her bed that night, or at any time during the following week-a reprieve for which Brynn told herself she was grateful. His avoidance, however, only renewed her sense of loneliness.
Her strained relationship with her husband wasn’t her sole cause of despondency, either. Eager to prevent a recurrence of the recent contretemps with her gentlemen admirers, Brynn deliberately cut back on her social engagements. When she did go out, she was careful to keep a crowd of female friends around her, and she refused to speak to Pickering and Hogarth altogether.
Her efforts only made her feel more isolated. Yet she found herself experiencing a strange melancholy that couldn’t be attributed simply to loneliness. Her courses came and went, which meant she hadn’t conceived, which meant the unsettled state of her marriage would continue. Even though Lucian was avoiding her bed at the moment, that would have to change.
At least her loneliness briefly abated toward the end of her first month as a countess when Grayson paid her a visit on his return from Harrow.
So glad was Brynn to see him that she flew down the stairs and practically launched herself at Gray as he awaited her in the entrance hall.
“Lord, don’t choke me, puss,” he said, laughing as he pried himself loose from her stranglehold on his neck.
Realizing she was being observed by the butler and several footmen, Brynn took her brother’s hand and pulled him into the nearby salon, shutting the door behind them for privacy.
“I hope you’ve brought me news of Theo. I’ve received scarcely a word from home since I left.”
“Because we have all been busy trying to run the household. I never realized how much you contributed to making the place comfortable, Brynn.”
She turned aside the compliment impatiently. “What of Theo?”
“You’ll be pleased to know he is safely and happily ensconced at Harrow. I left him debating the efficacies of certain acids with one of his new masters.”
“Happily? He truly seemed happy?”
“Ecstatic.” Grayson’s gaze turned searching. “What of you, Brynn? Are you at all happy?”
She shrugged, not wanting to discuss her marriage. “I never desired happiness. Now, please, tell me more about Theo.”
She settled with Gray on the settee and interrogated him for half an hour over their youngest brother’s reaction to school and the details of his attendance, down to how many pairs of stockings he had packed. Finally satisfied, Brynn sat back and let Gray enjoy his tea, which the attentive butler had delivered some moments before.
When eventually they got around to discussing Gray’s plans, he responded by looking oddly self-conscious. “I hoped I could wrangle an invitation to stay here, if Wycliff doesn’t object. I would rather not waste funds on taking rooms at an inn.”
“But of course you must stay,” Brynn declared, adding in a defiant undervoice, “whether or not Wycliff objects.”
She rang for the butler and made arrangements to have the ancient Caldwell carriage and horses stabled, then showed Gray to a guest bedchamber herself. Her relationship with the housekeeper, Mrs. Poole, was still strained, and she didn’t want the woman’s sour remarks to spoil her reunion with her brother.
Intending to allow Grayson time to refresh himself and rest, Brynn suggested they meet for dinner at six. “It is unfashionably early for London, I know, but I prefer to keep country hours.”
“Will Wycliff be joining us?” Gray asked with a studied casualness.
“I doubt it,” Brynn replied. “I usually dine alone. Lucian doesn’t spend much time at home.”
That brought her brother’s searching look again, but he didn’t comment directly on her marriage. Instead he asked her an odd question. “Brynn, what do you know about Wycliff’s work at the Foreign Office?”
“Not much. We have never discussed it.”
“I heard he is involved in national intelligence- spying, if you will.”
“So I’ve been told.” Her eyebrows lifted in puzzlement. “Why do you ask?”
Gray shrugged. “Just curious. I will see you at dinner, then.”
“Very well.”
Returning to her sitting room, Brynn read for a while, then changed for dinner and went in search of her brother. When she didn’t find him in his bedchamber or the drawing room, she extended her search to the lower floor. He wasn’t in the salon or dining room, either. When she finally found him, it was in the study, of all places. He was sitting at the desk, rummaging through one of the drawers.