“That does so relieve my mind,” Brynn said with false sincerity. “Your aunt will make such a delightful acquaintance.”

A muscle in his jaw flexed at her facetious tone, but he answered mildly, “I don’t care much for my relatives, particularly Aunt Agatha, but I trust you will behave with circumspection and give them no cause to impugn our marriage.”

Brynn smiled coolly. “They will doubtless impugn our marriage, no matter how I behave. And if you wanted a model of circumspection, you should have considered that before you wed me,” she retorted before walking from the room.

She had to pause to compose herself, however, before joining her friend. It vexed her that Lucian should take her to task for her behavior. Despite appearances, she hadn’t purposefully encouraged the reckless ardor of her admirers. A few poems were nothing compared to what had happened in the past.

Indeed, she wondered what Lucian would say if he saw gentlemen truly losing their heads over her. It would serve him right, Brynn reflected with indignation, if she allowed it to happen. Perhaps then he would believe her.

Still, she reminded herself, she wasn’t willing to risk the danger for a few moments’ satisfaction of thumbing her nose at her autocratic husband.


She was dreaming again, another dark dream of Lucian. This time the danger came not from her, hut from a man wielding a deadly rapier.

Caught off guard by the unexpected attack, Lucian leapt back, barely eluding the slashing blade. His opponent followed, thrusting viciously, a look of feral rage on his face.

Unarmed, Lucian spun away defensively, trying to avoid becoming a target in the uneven contest. When he took refuge behind a table, the man reached out and sent it thudding to the floor, then lunged again.

This time Lucian was ready. Sidestepping, he caught the hilt of the rapier and held hard, trapping the weapon between their bodies.

The man tried to wrest it free, to no avail. For an endless moment, they stood locked together, straining in a desperate struggle for control, teeth bared, breath coming harshly. Finally the man gave an anguished cry and launched himself against Lucian, throwing them both off balance. Grunting, they fell together, crashing over the table.

Instinctively Lucian rolled to one side and sprang to his feet, firmly in possession of the rapier. Yet his opponent lay there on the floor, groaning, blood seeping from a mortal wound in his chest.

Dropping the blade with a clatter, Lucian went down on his knees beside the dying man, cradling his head almost tenderly.

“Giles…” he whispered, his face taut with agony.

“Forgive me, Luce… It is better this way… Please…don’t tell…”

His last rasped words were lost in a violent fit of coughing as blood bubbled up from his throat.

Brynn came awake suddenly, her heart strangely aching for Lucian. She felt his torment, his despair, in killing his friend.

“No…!”

Hearing the muffled groan, she gave a start and turned her head on the pillow to find Lucian lying beside her. They must have both fallen asleep after he’d made love to her, she realized; her inner thighs were still wet with his seed, while her body still throbbed from his possession.

He was in the throes of a nightmare, it seemed.

Her heart wrenching with compassion, Brynn reached out to touch his shoulder-a mistake, she discovered when Lucian jolted awake. She gasped as he grasped her wrist in a fierce grip.

His blue eyes fixed wildly on her before he finally recognized his surroundings. She could see his confusion in the dim light of the bedside lamp. Usually he left her bed directly afterward.

Releasing her wrist as if burned, Lucian ran a hand roughly down his face. Then, pushing the covers away, he sat up abruptly, giving Brynn his naked back as he swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“Lucian,” she asked quietly, needing to know. “Who is Giles?”

He flinched visibly. His voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Who told you about Giles?”

“No one told me. I saw him in my dreams.”

His back remained so rigid, Brynn knew he didn’t believe her.

“You must be mistaken,” he said finally. “Giles is dead.”

Without another word, he rose from the bed and snatched up his robe, then crossed the bedchamber. The door shut softly behind him, leaving her alone.

Brynn lay there unmoving, her thoughts still whirling. Her dreams could be deadly premonitions, but somehow she was certain her dark images of Giles were part of Lucian’s past, not his future. And she was just as certain that she had probed an open, festering wound in his conscience.

Despite her professed indifference, Brynn did care deeply about how she was received by society. By the time Saturday arrived, she felt as if an army of butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach, for she knew she would be on trial at her first major public appearance.


The day of the garden party dawned bright with sunshine. At the appointed hour of two, she found Lucian awaiting her in the entrance hall.

His eyes followed her as she descended the grand staircase. There was nothing in her costume to earn his disapproval, Brynn knew; her high-waisted gown of pale jade jaconet, with a floral-patterned shawl draping her arms, was almost modest. Her hair was sedately tamed in a chignon, except for a few errant curls wisping at her temples, and mostly hidden by a jaunty, close-fitting hat adorned with knots of jade ribbon.

Brynn endured his inspection silently, mentally daring him to comment, but he merely offered her his arm in silence and escorted her to the waiting carriage.

Only when they were settled did she really notice Lucian’s appearance. He was dressed with his usual damn-your-eyes elegance in a blue coat and buff breeches, and his striking features were so handsome that she found it hard to catch her breath in such close quarters with him.

There was little conversation between them at first, until Lucian bestirred himself to tell her about the guests she was likely to meet, particularly his many relatives. He had more than a dozen cousins in London alone.

Brynn found her curiosity aroused, despite her resolve to keep their relationship impersonal. “Raven says your favorite cousin isn’t even English.”

Lucian’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “No, Nicholas Sabine is American. He was here in England this past summer, in disguise.”

“Why in disguise? ”

“Because he was accused of piracy. Nick is an adventurer who ran afoul of the British navy and wound up marrying an Englishwoman.”

“Raven told me of his marriage, but nothing about why.”

“It is an interesting story, but I was out of the country during most of Nick’s visit, so I’m not privy to the details. I expect you should ask Raven. The two of you seem to be growing close.”

Brynn fell silent at Lucian’s suggestion, remembering her vow to have no intimate interaction with him other than what was strictly necessary to maintain civility.

She gave a cool, curt reply, and turned her attention to the passing landscape outside the carriage window. If she saw the way his lips tightened, she ignored it.

The Edgecomb estate was on the outskirts of London, near Richmond, and along the bank of the Thames River. Brynn felt her nervousness rise as they drew closer, wondering how she would endure the scrutiny of Lucian’s scornful relatives and disdainful acquaintances.

By the time they arrived, a goodly number of guests were milling about the grounds to the rear of the estate. The elegant gardens bore a formal design, with stately rows of yew trees and myrtles lining the smooth gravel paths, interspersed with occasional statuary and giant urns. Beyond, an immaculate lawn led down to the river. Brynn could see rowboats on the water and an archery range that had been set up to provide entertainment.

Lady Edgecomb received Brynn with the same frosty stare as before, yet unlike during their last meeting, the lady seemed prepared to bite her tongue. She extended a stiffly courteous welcome, even though her mouth puckered as if she were sucking lemons.

After a moment of polite conversation, Lucian took Brynn’s arm to stroll the garden avenues and meet the various guests. Several of his cousins were present-both genders and of varying ages. If he disliked any of them, Brynn couldn’t tell, for he exchanged pleasantries with every evidence of his usual charm and appeared to overlook their obvious fawning.

Much to Brynn’s surprise, Lucian seemed almost proud to proclaim her his wife. Even more surprising, he was oddly protective of her. She felt the heat of his body as he stood close beside her, the strength of his hand that rested so casually at the small of her back, but for once she accepted his possessive touch with gratitude rather than dismay. Despite the cold reserve that existed in their marriage, he apparently had decided to shield her from the sniping and criticism of his relatives.

Brynn was quite aware that they were the center of attention-not just herself, but Lucian as well. Other women followed him with their eyes, hunger evident in their expressions, a hunger Lucian appeared not to notice.

The first half hour passed without incident, even when they encountered Lady Agatha again. The dowager’s chill seemed to thaw marginally, but when Lucian ushered Brynn toward another group, she audibly let out her breath.

“Relieved?” he murmured, as if understanding.

“Yes. That wasn’t as bad as I feared. At least your aunt didn’t swallow me alive.”