Winning the war, putting an end to the death and destruction and devastating misery the Corsican monster had caused, was far more crucial than any one man’s personal considerations, Lucian reflected darkly. He might have regretted having to leave his marriage bed-virtually being dragged away on his wedding night-but his own private desires could not be allowed to matter.

And in truth, he’d been glad for the opportunity to gain some distance from his new bride. It unsettled him, how enamored he’d become with Brynn in such a short time. He didn’t believe in such things as curses, but admittedly he found it hard to explain the driving urgency he’d felt to possess her, the stunning satisfaction of making love to her… his dark dreams.

He’d sent his secretary to make his farewells that night, rationalizing that had he gone to Brynn himself, he would have had to offer some explanation as to his purpose. He had no intention of disclosing his investigation of the gold thefts when her brother might very well be up to his neck in treason.

But the real reason he’d sailed away without a word, Lucian acknowledged grimly, was because of fear: if he went to her, if he touched her again, he might not be able to leave her at all. Away from her, he could try to forget her vibrant beauty, her defiant, intriguing spirit… the dark images that filled his mind.

Or so he’d mistakenly hoped.

Since he’d wed her, Brynn had obsessed his thoughts. Obsessed even his sleep. His dreams were filled with her now. Never before had he dreamed about any specific woman, but since making love to Brynn, he couldn’t stop seeing her whenever he closed his eyes.

Lucian cursed silently. This was not the sort of marriage he’d planned-becoming foolishly enchanted with his beautiful wife. But he couldn’t, wouldn’t indulge his growing obsession for her.

Brynn was no doubt offended that he’d abandoned her so abruptly after compelling her to wed him. But he couldn’t worry about placating her wounded sensibilities. Not when so many men had died as a result of his negligence.

His jaw hardened with determination. For the moment he had to put his country before his marriage and focus every ounce of his attention on his duty.


London

“Of course she will receive me!” a cold feminine voice intoned from the lower reaches of the house. “You will inform her to come down at once!”

Brynn, hearing the imperious command all the way from her upstairs sitting room, gave a start of surprise to think she had a caller. This was her second afternoon in her new home, and thus far her only companions had been loneliness and boredom. She wasn’t accustomed to such inactivity, or to having servants cater to her every whim.

After quickly smoothing her simple blue muslin gown and checking to see that her hair was still tamed, Brynn descended the grand staircase to find a tall, regal, silver-haired lady awaiting her impatiently.

“I should like a word with you in private, miss,” the dame snapped. Turning, she swept from the grand hall and into the adjacent salon, obviously expecting Brynn to follow.

Brynn sent the butler a bewildered glance. “Who in heaven’s name is that?”

Naysmith’s usually stern expression came surprisingly close to a grimace and, more surprisingly, held a hint of sympathy. “Forgive me, Lady Wycliff, but she would not permit me to announce her. That is his lordship’s great-aunt, Lady Agatha Edgecomb. Do you wish me to tell her you are not receiving?”

“No, thank you, Naysmith. I will speak to her.”

Squaring her shoulders, Brynn made her way to the salon. Lady Agatha was facing the door, her spine ramrod straight, as if girded for battle.

“What is the meaning of this outrage?” she demanded at once, brandishing a newspaper in her hand. “I was left to learn of my nephew’s marriage from the society pages, of all things!”

“Our marriage was very sudden,” Brynn answered as calmly as she could, considering the woman’s rudeness. “I expect there was not time for you to be informed.”

“Why the need for such haste? Are you enceinte?”

Brynn blinked at such bold speaking. “No, I am not, my lady. Although I fail to see how that could be any of your concern.”

“Certainly it is my concern! I am head of this family!” Lady Agatha’s gray eyes narrowed in dislike. “What sort of impertinence is this, missy? I will not countenance such disrespect! My nephew will hear of this, I can assure you.”

“You may tell him whatever you wish, Lady Agatha. Indeed, if you have objections to our marriage, you must take them up with my husband.”

“If I have objections! Of course I have objections! Wycliff has completely disregarded what he owes his family and his title. Who are you? Who is your family? Tell me that!”

“My father was Sir Samuel Caldwell of St. Mawes, Cornwall. My mother, Miss Gwendolyn Vaughn.”

“Just as I thought! Wycliff has gone off and married a nobody. And that hair of yours. Only a jezebel would have hair that wild color!”

Brynn drew herself up to her full height. “If you have come simply to harangue me, Lady Agatha, you may take your leave. Otherwise, I would be pleased to invite you to stay for tea.”

The lady’s face turned purple. “I would sooner take tea with a Hottentot!”

Deliberately Brynn stepped aside, making way for her unwanted guest to leave.

Lady Agatha glared in indignation, the feathered plumes of her bonnet all aquiver with rage. “I feared the worst and now that I see you, I realize I was right. Wycliff was seduced by a hussy! A scheming interloper! Well, I am here to tell you, you will not succeed!”

With that dire prediction, she swept from the room in a rustle of silk skirts and creaking stays.

In her wake, Brynn stood rooted to the floor, unable to move. She was unsurprised to find herself trembling with fury and perhaps even a little shock.

It was a long moment before she realized she was no longer alone and that someone stood behind her at the salon door. Stiffening, Brynn turned and looked up, her expression tight with the strain of holding her temper.

“Oh my, I see you have met Lucian’s great-aunt Agatha,” the young woman there said in a low, husky voice.

She was an absolutely stunning beauty, Brynn saw, with raven hair and intensely blue eyes.

“If it is any consolation,” the visitor added, offering a smile, “Lady Agatha treats everyone that way. Please don’t let her distress you. She can be perfectly dreadful-almost as difficult as my own aunt.”

Her smile held a genuine warmth that Brynn hadn’t felt since leaving Cornwall, and Brynn felt her anger easing.

“May I come in?” the young lady asked. “I should have waited for Naysmith to announce me, but I heard the contretemps and thought you might be in need of reinforcements.”

“Yes, of course, do come in. Forgive my manners.”

“I am Raven Kendrick.” Stepping into the room, she held out her gloved hand. “A friend of Lucian’s. You might say he is my guardian in absentia, since my true guardians recently returned to America. I have been staying with my grandfather in the country for the summer, but when I heard Lucian had married, I had to come to London to welcome you… Which seems fortuitous,” Miss Kendrick added wryly, casting a glance over her shoulder where Lady Agatha had disappeared, “considering the reception you are likely to get from Lucian’s relations. I’m afraid few of them are likely to greet you with open arms, at least at first. They’re eager to claim a part of his fortune and hoped he might remain a bachelor forever.”

“I didn’t expect them to welcome me, but after meeting his great-aunt, I see I should be prepared for outright hostility.”

“At least Lady Agatha is the worst. Lucian calls her a battle-ax.”

“I cannot say I disagree.”

Raven’s laugh was musical and sweetly infectious, and her blue eyes danced when she regarded Brynn thoughtfully. “I heard you were a beauty, and I feared you might be the arrogant sort, but you aren’t in the least, are you? I think I am going to like you.”

Brynn couldn’t help but smile. “You can conclude that after barely meeting me?”

“Oh, I’m an excellent judge of character. And I don’t care at all for the starched attitude of London society. I was raised in the West Indies, where everything is much less formal and conventional.”

“Perhaps you should be concerned that you might be contaminated by a hussy and a jezebel.”

“If you are a hussy, then we will be well-matched. Lady Agatha considers me an utter hoyden. I confess, I have been aching for eons to put her nose out of joint as you just did. No one else dares speak back to her except Lucian.”

Brynn laughed. “Would you care to sit down, Miss Kendrick?”

“Thank you, but do call me Raven. And I would love some tea, if your offer is still open.”

Brynn glanced toward the door to find Naysmith hovering respectfully just outside. He gave a brief nod to indicate that he understood and then disappeared.

When they were settled-Raven on the chintz settee and Brynn in a chair opposite-Raven said with a frown, “Lucian is still out of town, I take it? It was really too bad of him to abandon you so soon after your nuptials, leaving you to face the wolves alone, but I suppose his job requires him to be away. Where is he this time?”

Brynn hesitated, not liking to admit she had no idea where her husband was. “He didn’t say, exactly. Just that he had urgent business to attend to.”

“Well, he is always gallivanting over the globe.” Raven gave Brynn a considering look that was both shrewd and sympathetic. “So you should not take his neglect personally.”