For a long moment, Lucian stood there, wondering if he had been the cause of such anguish. Finally he shut the door behind him and crossed to her.
When he reached down and touched Brynn’s shoulder, she gave a violent start and looked up, her tears arrested.
She wiped furiously at her cheeks, as if ashamed of being caught by him. “What do you want?” she asked hoarsely.
“Did I hurt you?”
She looked away. “No…” She took a shuddering breath. “Yes. That horrible name…”
“What name?”
“Witch. The village children used to call me that. Even my friends… I heard their whispers behind my back after James died.”
Feeling his defenses crumble, Lucian withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and sank down beside her. “James?” he murmured gently as he wiped her face.
“My suitor. I killed him.” Her eyes welled with fresh tears and spilled over before she covered her face with her hands.
Lucian hesitated, recalling what Brynn had once told him. “I thought you said your suitor drowned at sea.”
“He did.”
“That isn’t an uncommon fate for a Cornishman, is it?”
“No. But he died because I came to c-care for him.”
When her voice broke in a sob, Lucian felt his heart melt. Brynn was agonizing about something she had absolutely no control over, yet she clearly believed she was to blame for causing a man’s death. She must have lived with her burden of guilt for a great while, he realized-
Lucian felt himself flinch as he recognized the parallel to his own situation. He understood guilt. He’d killed one of his closest friends with his own hands. But Brynn was condemning herself without real cause.
Almost against his will, Lucian reached for her. He knew the danger of touching her, but his need to comfort her was stronger than his need for self-preservation.
Drawing her into his arms, he settled back against the chair and pressed her face into his shoulder, offering solace. It was a measure of her distraction, he knew, that she permitted such closeness.
“I suspect his death was just an accident,” Lucian said quietly into her hair. “You can’t hold yourself responsible for an act of nature.”
“I wish I could believe that.” She was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “Perhaps I am a w-witch. Those two men today… they could have died… because of me.”
He could feel her tremble, and his arms tightened instinctively around her. “I doubt you were to blame for that, Brynn. Those witless hotheads fought over you because you’re a beautiful woman. If not you, they would have found another reason to duel.”
“But you said-”
“I know what I said, but I was angry… and concerned for you. You could have been hurt, intervening the way you did.”
She drew back, studying his face. “You don’t believe in the curse at all, do you? ”
He managed a smile. “I’ve told you, I’m not the superstitious sort.”
“Then how do you explain your dreams, Lucian? How do you explain mine? ”
He didn’t immediately reply, having no explanation for his disturbing dreams of Brynn. “You have dreams?” he asked finally.
“I dreamed about James before his death. And you… sometimes I see images of you.”
He saw the helplessness in her eyes, the vulnerability, and he reached up to touch her cheek-
Abruptly Brynn drew back, as if suddenly becoming aware of the impropriety of his tenderness. Averting her gaze, she rose to her feet and crossed her bedchamber to the door between their rooms. She hesitated for a long moment. Then, opening the door, she stood to one side, clearly inviting him to leave.
“I think you should go,” she said, her tone once more holding a distinct chill.
Rising more slowly, Lucian went to her, but then paused, reluctant to abandon their unsettling discussion. “I’m certain there is a logical explanation for our dreams,” he said finally.
Brynn tilted her head, her look almost one of sadness. “Oh? And what about Giles?”
Lucian flinched involuntarily. “What about him?” he asked, suddenly wary.
“In my dreams I saw you fighting him, Lucian. I saw what happened between the two of you.”
You saw me kill him.
Lucian forced himself to relax his rigid muscles. “I have nightmares about Giles sometimes, I admit. No doubt you heard me calling his name in my sleep.”
Her smile was bleak. “Perhaps. And then perhaps I am a witch after all.”
Chapter Twelve
Entirely unaroused by the night’s entertainment, Lucian shifted restlessly in his seat. This was the first Hellfire gathering he’d attended since his marriage- a musical performance by a dozen bare-breasted “Muses” who were partially garbed in diaphanous Grecian robes, their nipples rouged to entice and delight. The music was surprisingly good, but he found the Cyprians’ charms sadly wanting in comparison to Brynn’s. Breasts not as tempting and firm, limbs not as long and slender, hair lacking the untamed, vibrant luster of hers, eyes nowhere near as bright. And most critically, none of the intriguing spirit that Brynn possessed in such irresistible measure…
Lucian mentally voiced an oath. He’d come here to escape thoughts of his beautiful wife, not to be reminded of his frustrations.
Rising, he took his snifter of brandy and stepped through the French doors of the salon, out onto the terrace. A chill edged the September night air, presaging fall. Welcoming the coolness against his heated body, Lucian leaned against the stone balustrade, his restless reflections centered around Brynn.
Their strained union was not what he wanted of his marriage-a contentious dance of mutual lust and resistance. They were fighting each other and themselves. More baffling was the strange matter of their dreams. He couldn’t explain the haunting bond he had with Brynn, why their night visions seemed intertwined. Unless the Gypsy’s curse was somehow real…
Hell and damnation, he wouldn’t be ruled by a damned curse he didn’t even believe in-
“What the devil are you doing out here alone?” he heard his friend Dare ask behind him. “You don’t find the entertainment to your liking?”
“Nothing is wrong with the entertainment,” Lucian prevaricated.
“It must be women troubles, then. Your wife, I take it?”
“You might say that.” His tone was mocking.
Dare joined him at the terrace balustrade. “How novel. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you at a loss with a woman before, Luce.”
Perhaps, he thought darkly, because he had never been at such a loss before. He had frequented the lavish and licentious courts of Europe and had lovers beyond counting. Women had come easily for him… until Brynn. “You forget that I’ve never faced such novel circumstances before.”
“Marriage?”
Lucian’s mouth twisted. “Exactly. My marriage of convenience has turned out to be anything but convenient. The consequences of taking a reluctant bride, I surmise.”
“You can always lose yourself in the arms of someone more willing. Acquire a mistress.”
“That is your answer to every problem, isn’t it?” Lucian asked impatiently. “Moving on to another woman.”
“It usually works,” Dare said softly.
Lucian shook his head. “I’m not in the market for a mistress. Nor do I intend to supply the gossips with more fodder for scandal. My marriage is the talk of the ton as it is.”
Leaning a hip against the railing, Dare stared out into the dark garden. “Well, I certainly am no expert on matrimony. Only once in my life did I ever consider becoming leg-shackled.”
Surprised by the admission, Lucian sent his friend a sharp glance. “I never knew you contemplated marriage.”
Dare shrugged. “It was a long time ago, and I’ve done my damnedest to forget it.”