Nicole Jordan - Desire

Dazed, trembling, Brynn fell limply back, shutting her eyes.

It might have been an eternity before she regained enough awareness to feel the gentle kisses Lucian was pressing over her face. He was still buried within her, his breath hot and soft on her skin, while she was still throbbing, pulsing with intolerable pleasure.

“Was that as distasteful as you expected?” he asked, his voice warm with intimacy.

“Not quite,” she breathed, reluctant to admit that he had been right.

His laughter was soft and vibrant, as full of promise as the night air around them. Carefully he eased from her body and gathered her in his arms.

Wincing with twinges of pain, Brynn pressed her face into the smooth, muscular wall of his chest. She could feel his warmth, smell the exciting male muskiness of his skin. His embrace felt unbearably intimate, yet after what had just passed between them, it was rather tame, she supposed.

She was glad he couldn’t see her embarrassment. The caressing darkness had made her cast away all inhibition and logic, turning her into a wild, lustful creature she couldn’t even recognize.

She was stunned by the wonder of a passion she’d never anticipated. She hadn’t realized such a degree of wanton feeling existed. But then her new husband was a captivating man, magnificently virile, seductively male…

Brynn drew a sharp breath.

With very little effort, Lucian had breached her defenses. Like every other woman he pursued, she had succumbed to his disarming tenderness and smoldering sensuality… heaven help him.

Brynn squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to think of the danger. Not now. Not at this incredible moment.

She buried her nose deeper into his chest, wishing she could hide inside him.

“Has any female ever resisted your attempts to charm?” she murmured finally.

“You, love.” His tone was gentle and faintly amused. “You’re the only one I can recall. Except for my mother, perhaps. She was usually immune to my efforts.”

It seemed he could laugh at himself. That surprised her. And worried her. She didn’t want to find anything else appealing about Lucian. Didn’t want to come to like him.

Even so, she was indescribably grateful he had been so considerate of her virginal state, that he had been so gentle with her. He was still being gentle, his fingers drawing lazy patterns on the bare skin of her shoulder…

At last acknowledging that she shouldn’t encourage such familiarity, Brynn edged away, then flinched at the tender throb deep inside her where she’d stretched to accommodate his raw power.

“Perhaps we should return,” he murmured as if he sensed her discomfort. “You would be more comfortable in a real bed.”

Sitting up, she fumbled to straighten her clothing but found it difficult with her mind still in turmoil. In a moment Lucian brushed her fingers aside and helped her dress. Brynn bit her lip at this telltale evidence of his licentiousness. Even in the dark, he knew his way around a woman’s undergarments.

She held her tongue, though, and suffered his attention in silence. When he pressed a kiss on her temple, she pulled away and rose to her feet. She was startled to feel a wetness between her thighs. It was Lucian’s seed, she realized, reminded of the brazen carnal relations they had just shared.

“Wait a moment,” he murmured. “I brought a lantern.”

She could hear him opening the basket and then striking a lucifer. The sudden brightness as he lit a box lantern made her wince, but it was the sight of his naked torso that made her avert her gaze. His lean, muscled frame rippled with fluid strength and sent butterflies curling low in her belly, as well as fresh pulses of sensation throbbing between her thighs.

When he had put on his shirt, he returned the champagne and strawberries and glasses to the basket. Then, gathering the rest of his clothing and the blankets, he handed her the lantern.

“Lead the way,” he said.

She would not look at him as she negotiated the path along the cliff face, or when she accompanied him across the lawn and onto the terrace, heading for the French doors that led to the dimly lit library.

She had just climbed the marble steps when her husband came to a sudden halt.

“Brynn, wait,” he ordered in a low, urgent voice.

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?

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.