As a girl her own education had been typical for a young lady-French, Italian, the use of globes, basic sums. Latin and Greek, history, and higher maths were considered the province of masculine minds, and she’d had to scramble to educate herself in those subjects after her family was forced to let their longtime governess go because of the pitiful state of their finances.

Brynn had settled comfortably on the settee and was deep in concentration when an intimate male voice sounded behind her.

“So this is where you’ve hidden yourself.”

Giving a violent start of surprise, Brynn straightened and cast a wary glance over her shoulder. “You do have the most vexing habit of startling me, my lord.”

Wycliff strolled into the room casually, as if he owned the place. Circling the couch, he stood before her a moment, measuring her. “Miss Brynn Caldwell, the genteel but impoverished daughter of a baronet. Imagine my delight to discover you weren’t an apparition after all-and my surprise to discover your true identity.”

She felt herself flush, but remained mute.

His intent masculine gaze raked over her, making her keenly aware of her femaleness. His mere presence set her pulse leaping, while that slow, heated look made her suddenly warm.

“Why the deception?” he asked.

“What deception?”

“You told me your name was Beth.”

“It is. I am Brynn Elizabeth.”

“Why did you conceal it from me?”

“Why?” she repeated warily. “Because I feared a scandal. It was bad enough that you… that I allowed myself to be caught in such a compromising position. I saw no reason to compound my indiscretion by advertising my identity.”

“So you deceived me, claiming to have a protector.”

“I do have a protector of sorts. My brother. Five brothers, in fact. They usually are quite proficient at shielding me from the unwanted advances of strange gentlemen.”

A spark of amusement glimmered in his eyes. “An inventive way of shading the truth. But as memory serves, you let me think you a governess or a domestic.”

“That was no lie, either. I regularly function in the role of governess. I tutor my youngest brother.”

A slashing dark eyebrow rose with skepticism.

“It’s true,” Brynn insisted. She held up the primer in her hand, showing him the title.

“A Latin grammar?”

“I am endeavoring to teach my brother the classics, although I’m severely disadvantaged, since my own linguistic education did not extend past Italian.”

“Why do you not simply hire a tutor?”

“My family, sadly, is not in a position to afford such luxuries,” Brynn said stiffly. “Not everyone possesses the fortune of a Midas, as you reportedly do, my lord.”

His expression took on a measure of contrition. “Forgive me. That was gauche of me.”

She thought-hoped-he might leave her alone then, but she had no such luck; he continued to study her from beneath long, wicked lashes.

“You continually surprise me. First an enchanting sea creature, now a bluestocking. You interest me profoundly.”

“I don’t intend to, I assure you. I have no desire to provoke your interest.”

“How old are you?” he asked suddenly.

Brynn gave him a blank look. “It is hardly polite to ask a lady to reveal her age, but if you must know, I am four-and-twenty.”

“And still unwed? A woman of your obvious spirit and beauty?”

“I am quite content with my spinsterhood.”

“In God’s name, why?” The question was entirely serious.

She hesitated, reluctant to bring up the curse and her fear of marriage. “Because I am responsible for raising my youngest brother. I have no intention of marrying. At least not until he is safely settled.” And not even then, she added to herself.

Wycliff shook his head in apparent disbelief. “A determined spinster bluestocking… I would never have guessed.”

“But then your powers of intuition are not excessively well-developed. Not if you mistook me for Aphrodite.”

Rather than Wycliff taking offense, the blatantly suggestive spark in his eyes blossomed into appreciative laughter. Even more to her surprise, he moved toward her. Brynn drew back instinctively, shrinking into the corner of the settee, but he merely seated himself beside her without so much as a by-your-leave.

“I trust the cut on your foot healed well enough?”

“Quite well… Thank you,” she added grudgingly.

When Wycliff sat there curiously appraising her, she stiffened and eyed him nervously. “You really should go, my lord. The company will be missing you, since you are the guest of honor.”

“You promised me a dance.”

“Well, I cannot dance with you here.”

“Why not?”

“Because… well, propriety, for one thing. I should not even be alone with you.”

“You didn’t object so strenuously the other day.”

She took a steadying breath. “I gave you the wrong impression that day, I know. But despite appearances, I am not the sort of female you think me.”

“And what sort is that?”

“The kind to welcome your attentions. I am not usually given to acting the wanton.”

“A pity.”

Brynn ignored the unholy laughter dancing in his eyes. “I am certainly not at all proud of my behavior, but yours was hardly admirable, either. Still, I suppose it was only to be expected from a rake.”

“You consider me a rake because I treated you as a desirable woman rather than a lady?”

“I consider you a rake because I know of your reputation. Even in the dull backwaters of Cornwall we have heard of your legendary exploits.” Brynn regarded him coolly. “I was not fortunate enough to have a London Season, but I have friends who report faithfully to me, and your wicked past is a common topic of discussion. You are notorious for your conquests among the ladies-and I have no desire to become one of your conquests.”

A smile seemed to loiter at his tempting mouth as he shook his head again. “Do you have any notion how unique you are? How many females have tried to orchestrate just that sort of compromising situation in a bid to ensnare me in matrimony?”

Brynn could well guess. The legendary Lord Wycliff would be pursued because of his startling physical beauty alone. And with his wealth and title, he was a prize women would do anything to win. According to her friend Meredith, more than one lady had been known to sneak into his bed in an effort to force his hand.

“Well,” Brynn said firmly, “you may put your mind at ease on that score. I am certainly no threat to your bachelorhood. On the contrary, you are the one who is a threat. By singling me out this way, you will only cause me embarrassment, or worse. If we are seen intimately together, I won’t have a shred of reputation left.”

He lifted his arm, resting it on the couch back behind her. “And your reputation concerns you?”

“Very much.”

His hand rose to touch the nape of her neck. “Your hair is the vibrant color of flame. I wondered. It looked darker-almost auburn-when it was wet.”

Feeling unsettled, Brynn held herself rigidly. She didn’t care for what his featherlight touch on her skin was doing to her senses.

“I liked it better down, though.” His voice dropped to a husky murmur. “I would like even more to see it flowing over my pillow.”

Vexed by the seductive note in his voice and what she saw as a deliberate attempt to taunt her, Brynn shot up from the settee and turned to face him. “I will not allow you to trifle with me, Lord Wycliff.”

His eyes had darkened slumberously. “I assure you I am not trifling, siren. I am merely being honest. I want you in my bed, I fully admit it. I would hardly be a man if I didn’t.”

Brynn pursed her lips impatiently while she hugged her book to her chest. “I don’t doubt you want me. It is a very common sentiment. But there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for your lustful urges.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. I am cursed.”

“Indeed?” The word held a wealth of skepticism.

“It is quite true. Ask anyone in these parts and they will confirm it. One of my ancestors was a legendary beauty who stole a Gypsy woman’s lover. In revenge the Gypsy put a curse on her. Her female descendants are doomed to have remarkable allure and the power to enchant men, but if they dare give their hearts, their love is fated to end tragically with the death of their beloved.”

“And you believe in this… curse?”

“Completely,” she replied with all seriousness. “There have been too many inexplicable incidents to believe otherwise. Nearly every generation of women in my family has experienced a tragedy in love.”

“ Including you?”

An arrow of pain lashed through Brynn at the memory. “My first suitor died when I was sixteen, drowned at sea. I am surprised no one warned you about me,” she added, unable to quell a hint of bitterness.

His doubtful expression never wavered, and Brynn felt a surge of frustration. “You needn’t take my word for it. Everyone here knows of the danger we present. It is indisputable that we cast spells over men. We attract them in droves.”

“Droves?” Wycliff’s amusement was edged with cynicism, or perhaps his disdain was merely the result of a natural sense of arrogance bred into him. “Let me see if I comprehend you correctly. Because of a Gypsy curse, I am likely to first lose my head over you, and then my life?”

“Not your life. Not unless I came to love you. But it is certain you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”

A warm, intimate smile touched his chiseled mouth. “You realize, of course, that you are disparaging my powers of control.”