Nicole Jordan - Desire

The grounds were not yet crowded so early in the day, but finding the Gypsy fortune-teller was more difficult than expected. Brynn passed numerous stalls and performers before finally reaching a tent at one end.

She was greeted eagerly by a young beauty garbed in scarves and bangles and colorful skirts who immediately offered charms and dried herbs for sale. Requesting instead to have her fortune told, Brynn left Meg to await her outside and entered the tent.

The interior was dimly lit with a golden glow cast by a handmade oil lamp. When her eyes adjusted, Brynn could see that an old woman sat on a carpet before a low table. It was indeed Esmerelda, Brynn realized, her heart beating faster.

The Gypsy was gray haired and nearly toothless, with a swarthy complexion the texture of leather. Her black eyes, however, were sharp as daggers.

“My lady,” she said in a cackling voice. “I heard of yer good fortune. Ye’ve become a countess.”

“Yes, Mother,” she said, using a term of respect the Romany people employed when speaking to their elders. “And yourself? Are you faring well?”

“Well enough,” Esmerelda replied with a grin. “‘Tis a good year for gullible Gorgios.” With a sweep of her bony, silver-beringed fingers, she invited Brynn to be seated before her at the table.

When the Gypsy reached for her hand, however, Brynn shook her head. “I have not come to have my palm read, Mother. Rather, I have a specific question.” Taking a deep breath, Brynn drew several guineas from her reticule and placed them on the table. “A matter of grave importance.”

“Yer dreams have returned,” the Gypsy replied solemnly, even as her eyes glinted at seeing the gold coins.

“Yes.”

“I see. And what is yer question, my lady?”

“I hoped you might tell me if… Is there anything I might do to end the curse?”

“Ye fear for yer lover,” the old woman surmised.

“Yes,” Brynn replied. “My husband.”

Picking up a coin, Esmerelda bit down on it with her few remaining teeth, testing. “‘Twill not be easy. The curse on Flaming Nell was wondrously powerful.”

“But can it be broken?”

For a long moment, the Gypsy scrutinized her. Finally she nodded. “Do ye love ‘im, yer ’usband?”

“I… I am not certain,” Brynn replied quietly, not wanting to face that question. “If I allowed that to happen, I would be endangering his life. I cannot bear the thought of causing his death.”

“But are ye ready to die for ‘im? That is what ye must ask yerself.”

“Die for him?”

“Aye, m’lady. Ye must love ‘im enough to sacrifice yerself. ”Tis the secret of true love. Are ye ready to give yer life for ’is? Only ye can know yer own ‘art.“

Brynn stared at the wizened Gypsy, her thoughts spinning. Could she love Lucian that much?

Finally she shook herself. “You are saying I must die for him?”

Esmerelda gave her a sympathetic look that held a touch of sadness. “Perhaps ‘twill not come to that.”

“But you cannot tell me what I must do to save him?”

“No, I cannot tell ye that, my lady. Only what I ken for certain. A love that is true can battle the most evil spell.”

It seemed a contradiction, Brynn thought with growing frustration. If she loved Lucian, he would die-yet she must love him deeply enough or he would die.

“Take ‘art, my lady,” Esmerelda said, reaching across the table to grip Brynn’s hand. “All is not lost.”

“Thank you, Mother,” she murmured, offering a distracted smile.

Rising slowly, Brynn left the tent, feeling somewhat numb. She had been given an answer of sorts: she must be willing to sacrifice her own life to save Lucian’s. And yet…

Could she actually credit Esmerelda’s enigmatic counsel? And if so, how could she initiate such a sacrifice, even if it was the key to breaking the curse?

Surprisingly, Lucian was at home when Brynn arrived. She found him descending the grand staircase as she entered with her maid.

As Meg scurried past him toward the rear of the house, Lucian bent to kiss Brynn’s cheek. “There you are. I wondered where you had gone. I trust you had a pleasant morning?”

Brynn hesitated. She didn’t want Lucian to know she had visited the Gypsy fortune-teller; she couldn’t have him asking disturbing questions about her reasons. If he probed too deeply, she would have to acknowledge her growing feelings for him, which alone might be disastrous.

“Yes,” she said finally. “I went with Raven to the lending library.”

She saw his eyes narrow a fraction. “Odd. I encountered Raven just now on my way home from Whitehall. She was bemoaning the fact that her aunt had required her attendance all morning.”

Brynn found it hard to contain her flush. “How scatterbrained of me. I meant, my friend Meredith. I visited the library with Meredith.”

Lucian glanced down at her empty hands. “You must not have found any books to your liking.”

“No, nothing,” Brynn replied, trying to appear undismayed as he searched her face. She gave him her most brilliant smile. “If you will excuse me, I must change for luncheon.”

Lucian watched her go, remembering the guilt he’d seen flash in her green eyes. Brynn had lied to him just now, he had no doubt.

His fists clenched involuntarily as he followed her retreating back. She had never shared her secrets with him in the beginning of their marriage, but lately, with the evolving of their relationship, he’d come to expect a measure of honesty between them. Perhaps he was a fool.

Lucian felt his features harden. He’d once suspected Brynn of complicity in her brother’s unlawful activities, but he’d determinedly quelled his suspicions, resolving to make a new start between them. Had he been too hasty? Why would Brynn lie to him? More critically, was this the first time? Or was it merely the first time he had caught her?

* * *

If Lucian was troubled to discover her lie, he was more disturbed the following morning when he encountered Meg hurriedly leaving his wife’s room with a chamber pot.

“Is something amiss?” he asked of the maid.

“No, milord. Nothing to fret about. Her ladyship is feeling poorly because of the babe, ”tis all.“

Lucian felt shock run through him. “Babe?”

Seeing him stare, Meg clapped a hand over her mouth in dismay. “Oh my, I wasn’t to tell. Her ladyship didn’t want you to know.”

He willed himself to smile. “Well then, it will be our secret that you told.”

After the maid was gone, Lucian stood in the corridor a long moment, feeling stunned. Was he truly to be a father? Was he one step closer to achieving the goal he had desperately longed for?

His emotions ran the gamut from pride to possessiveness, to wonder, to anger that Brynn would purposefully keep such a revelation from him. Why hadn’t she told him? Why had she permitted him to learn secondhand that she was pregnant with his child, especially when she knew how much it would mean to him?

And yet… perhaps there was a reasonable explanation. Perhaps Brynn simply wanted to tell him herself.

Forcing his suspicions aside, he rapped softly on her bedchamber door. When there was no response, Lucian entered quietly. Brynn was sitting before the fire, staring into the flames, a faraway look on her beautiful face.

Tenderness filled him as he watched her. A child bound them together in a way their marriage vows never could. Perhaps now Brynn would come to accept their union…

Lucian drew a slow breath. Only now was he realizing how desperately he wanted her acceptance. She had become increasingly precious to him, more precious even than the child she was carrying.

“Brynn?” he murmured.

She gave a start and looked up.

“Meg said you were feeling ill.”

Flushing, Brynn shook her head. “It’s nothing really.”

Feeling a sudden chill sweep over him, Lucian gave her a measuring look. She intended to keep silent on a matter of such import? Even when he gave her an obvious opening? “You’re certain you are all right?”

She tried to smile. “I’m fine now. Perhaps something I ate at dinner last night disagreed with me.”

Disappointment, sharp and bitter, stung Lucian, before another, more dreaded explanation occurred to him. Was it possible she planned to escape before he could learn about her pregnancy, so that he wouldn’t claim her baby? He’d warned Brynn he meant to keep his son with him, even if she wanted to live apart. Was that why she was determined to remain silent? She was planning to leave him?

Grimly Lucian forced his thoughts away from such a possibility. He couldn’t believe Brynn would serve him such a devastating blow, not when she knew how much siring a child meant to him.

Yet he found his trust greatly strained. Perhaps he was merely searching for excuses to exonerate her. What did he really know about his bewitching wife after all?

“Very well, then.” Willfully Lucian schooled his expression into passivity, but inside his thoughts were roiling.

Brynn was deceiving him, there was no question. And if she could conceal something as momentous as her pregnancy, what other secrets-perhaps even sinister ones-was she keeping from him?

Lucian stared blindly down at a dossier compiled about a dangerous French agent, not comprehending a word. Much of his intelligence work involved poring over boring reports, routinely searching for anomalies, coincidences, odd recurrences, clues- but he had never resented the tedium as much as now. He had weightier issues on his mind than enemies of the state: namely, his wife.