“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?”

She felt rather than saw him go still. Then Lucian shook his head abruptly, as if recollecting who she was. “They aren’t tales for a lady’s ears.” His tone had turned suddenly grim, but she could sense his despair.

Perhaps they were ugly tales, yet Brynn would have liked to hear them, to better understand this surprisingly complex man she was bound to for life.

She fell silent, contemplating his unexpected revelations. When the carriage drew up before the Wycliff mansion, however, she was filled with a disturbing new awareness. Thus far the evening had been disquietingly pleasurable, but what would the remainder of the night bring? Most pointedly, did Lucian intend to share her bed again and resume claiming his rights as her husband?

Her heart quickening with nervous anticipation, she entered the house on Lucian’s arm and surrendered her satin cloak to the butler. Yet, just as on their wedding night, a visitor was waiting for his lordship.

Informed that Mr. Barton was in the study, Lucian gave Brynn a brief glance, knowing it could only be bad news this late in the evening. “I’m sorry, my dear, but I must speak with him.”

She returned a slight smile that actually seemed relieved. “Of course,” she said quietly.

Lucian watched her ascend the grand staircase, her back slim and straight, hips swaying gently beneath her elegant ivory-silver gown. He had never regretted an interruption more.

Cursing the poor timing, he strode quickly to his study, where Philip Barton rose immediately to his feet.

“I regret the intrusion, my lord, but I knew you would wish to hear the news. The last shipment of stolen gold reached France, there is no longer any doubt. It landed in Boulogne.”

Lucian cursed again. “Where was it taken?”

“That isn’t known, for the trail ended abruptly. It seems to have disappeared into thin air.”

“How can an entire wagonload of bullion,” he demanded with angry rhetoric, “simply disappear?”

“Perhaps it was split up. Regardless, my men lost track of it. I am very sorry, my lord.”

Lucian clenched his teeth, forcing back his anger. “You aren’t to blame, Philip.”

“It is the work of Lord Caliban, most likely.”

“Was he sighted?”

“No, not this time. I thought you might wish to travel to France to investigate yourself.”

Lucian hesitated, considering. He wanted to apprehend Caliban so fiercely, he could taste it. But he wanted to remain in England just as badly. Leaving Brynn now just as he was trying to cultivate a new relationship with her was out of the question. He couldn’t possibly woo his bride if he was slinking across France in search of illusive contraband and its treacherous thief. In any case, by now the gold had most certainly reached Napoleon’s coffers. Even sending Philip to France might be pointless; the cunning Lord Caliban would be long gone.

Then again, they might learn some vital crumb regarding the traitor’s identity.

“No,” Lucian replied, “I won’t be going to France this time. But I would like you to go in my place, Philip.”

“I, my lord?”

“This is one of our few leads to Caliban. We can’t risk letting even a scrap of information go unsought. And I cannot leave London just now.”

An eager light brightened the young man’s dark eyes. “Very well, my lord. I will make arrangements to depart at once.”

Seeing his enthusiasm, Lucian added a pointed warning. “Philip, don’t be discouraged if you unearth nothing. You will likely hit another dead end.”

“I understand. And it is quite possible Caliban never went to France at all, but left the gold to be delivered by his lackeys.” Barton frowned, looking disheartened once more. “It’s damned galling to know he is right under our very noses, performing his treason.”

“Indeed,” Lucian agreed darkly. “That’s why I have been thinking… perhaps it’s time to modify our course and begin searching for him here.”

“Here, my lord?”

“London society. Lord Caliban could be any of a hundred men. All we know is that he’s wealthy and that he possibly possesses a title. But when the Little Season starts, he may well take part in the activities. I’m considering asking Wolverton to help us discover Caliban’s identity.”