Almost as distracting were the whispered conversations in the neighboring boxes and from the pit below. Few in the audience were actually watching the stage but had turned their opera glasses on herself, suggesting their fascination with the woman who had claimed the elusive Lord Wycliff’s hand in marriage.
Even with all the disturbances, however, Brynn found the performance riveting. When the first intermission came, she gave a sigh of delight.
“Your eyes are fairly sparkling,” Lucian murmured in her ear. “I take it you approve of the performance.”
“It’s marvelous,” Brynn said with heartfelt agreement. “Although I suppose I sound rather provincial to admit it.”
A breathtaking, whimsical smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Perhaps. A pretense of ennui is certainly considered fashionable. But I think your candor refreshing.”
“Thank you for bringing me here, Lucian,” she said sincerely.
He bowed gallantly. “Your enjoyment is my pleasure.”
“You don’t find the play enjoyable?”
“Somewhat. But I’ve seen this performance a half dozen times. It isn’t difficult to become jaded on the entertainments London has to offer.”
“I can’t imagine becoming so jaded that Shakespeare begins to pall. If that is the consequence of your wicked life, then I will gladly pass.”
His lashes veiled his sapphire eyes, and Brynn could have bitten off her tongue. She hadn’t meant to spoil the moment by reminding him of their discord.
She was relieved when a new visitor appeared in their box. Brynn felt nervous about meeting so illustrious a personage as the Foreign Secretary, whom the papers frequently vilified. But Lord Castlereagh apparently was a close friend of Lucian’s. Although his lordship initially displayed a stiff reserve toward her, he conversed easily with Lucian and soon had Brynn admiring his sharp intelligence.
The admiration became mutual when she quizzed him about the Duke of Wellington’s progress on the battlefields of Spain, which she had been reading a great deal about. Castlereagh had long been a champion of Wellington and shed any trace of aloofness when he spoke proudly about his confederate’s stunning victory at Vitoria.
“You’ve done well choosing your bride, Wycliff,” Castlereagh said as he was preparing to leave the box. “It is surprising that you found her in the wilds of Cornwall. I’ll wager you’re glad you decided to mix pleasure with business.”
“Very glad,” Lucian said, giving Brynn a glance so warm, she felt herself blush.
“And you, Lady Wycliff,” Lord Castlereagh added, “have snared one of the keenest minds in Britain. I trust you won’t object if I keep your husband in my employ for a while longer, until we win the war. We can’t do without him. Boney would be ruling the world by now if not for heroes like Wycliff.”
“I am hardly a hero,” Lucian said dryly.
“You’re far too modest, sir. And I believe March would argue strenuously with that.” Castlereagh turned to Brynn. “He saved the Earl of March last spring from the Frogs-stole him right out of their damned jaws at considerable risk to his own skin. You should persuade your husband to tell you about his adventures sometime.”
Brynn raised an eyebrow. “I fear my husband doesn’t share his secrets with me.”
“Wise, I suppose. Loose lips have been known to change the course of history-and not for the better. But since Wycliff won’t allow himself to be lauded, I must. I cannot tell you how thankful I am to have him on our side. I wish I could have a dozen of him.”
Such praise did not come lightly, Brynn was certain, and it strongly renewed her curiosity about the depth of Lucian’s involvement with the war effort.
It was only when they were driving home, however, that Brynn had the opportunity to satisfy her curiosity a small measure. She could barely see Lucian sitting beside her; the carriage lamps were unlit, leaving his perfect profile in shadow.
She studied him silently a moment before venturing to ask the question that had been burning in her mind ever since hearing Lord Castlereagh’s praise. “What do you actually do for the Foreign Office?”
“Whatever needs to be done,” Lucian answered cryptically.
“Including risking your life?”
“Rarely that.”
“The Foreign Secretary obviously disagrees. Castlereagh called you a hero. And I know Raven considers you one.”
“Raven is somewhat biased,” he replied, his tone dry.
“But you still took a risk in rescuing Lord March.”
“I was merely doing my duty.”
Brynn shook her head. “Few noblemen would consider it their duty to work for the government- or work, period. I wonder how you became involved in such an endeavor.”
Lucian turned to gaze at her in the darkness. “Do you want the polite version or the honest truth?”
“The truth, please.”
“To be frank, I was bored with my wicked life.”
He let that sink in before adding lightly, “There was nothing heroic about my decision. I was raised in privilege and ease and came into my inheritance young-my parents succumbed to a fever while traveling abroad just after I reached my majority, leaving me with more wealth than I knew how to spend. My greatest victories were winning at faro or wagering on a horse race. For a long time I felt…”
Lucian hesitated as if searching for the right words. “I felt something missing in myself. I scarcely knew or cared what was happening to Europe. And then six years ago, my closest friend was killed in a naval battle, fighting the French. His death made me realize there was more to life than choosing what tailor I should patronize or which entertainments I should attend in an evening.”
Brynn could hear the pain in his voice at losing his friend, as well as his self-condemnation.
Lucian’s tone was quieter, more reflective when he continued. “I offered my services to the government, thinking the occupation would help to fill the days… the emptiness. But it became much more. I finally found a worthy challenge,” he said softly. “A sense of purpose. Whatever I’ve risked, I have gained far more.”
Brynn was taken aback to hear him sharing such confidences with her. Perhaps it was due to the darkness, or to the truce they had declared between them, but Lucian was actually divulging something intimate about himself.
She digested his admission in silence. Evidently she owed him a sincere apology. She’d thought him a rake and a wastrel, when he was really risking his life saving others. She’d accused him of neglecting her when he had had matters of national importance at stake.
The remembrance made her feel rather… small. A sense of regret pierced Brynn for the petty resentment she had felt toward Lucian these past weeks.
“I didn’t realize,” she said quietly, “that what you were doing was so… vital.”
Lucian shrugged. “I haven’t exactly been forthcoming.”
“Is that why you left me on our wedding night? Because of your work? ”
His gaze found hers in the dim light. “Yes. Believe me, nothing else could have dragged me away that night.” He paused. “Had I better explained the reason, would you have forgiven me?”
Brynn felt her breath catch at the gentleness in his tone. Yet even knowing the danger of encouraging any intimacy between them, she answered honestly. “If I recall, I was in no mood for forgiveness. But I believe I would have understood that your duty came first.”
Lucian laughed softly, without amusement. “Defeating Napoleon is no longer merely a duty with me, love. It’s a driving passion. I admit, I have no objectivity when it comes to winning the war. Not after losing so many friends and countrymen. I want Boney to pay for the destruction he’s wreaked on England, on all of Europe. And I’ll do whatever is necessary to achieve his downfall, even if it means taking on tasks no true gentleman would ever consider.”
“What sort of tasks?”