She paused once to glance behind her. Lord Wycliff stood on the shingle beach below, staring up at her. His hands rested on his narrow hips, his powerful legs slightly spread, as if he stood on a mountaintop, surveying his domain.
He did not intend to follow her, she realized with immense relief. Yet she hadn’t seen the last of the arrogant earl, Brynn was certain.
Turning, she fled, disappearing behind a scrub thicket that clung precariously to the edge of the path.
When she was out of sight, Lucian let out his breath in a quiet rush. The encounter had left him unexpectedly shaken.
It was a novel experience, being bested by a servant. For that matter, it was novel for any woman to resist his advances-and even more singular for him to lose control the way he had.
Lucian shook his head, feeling an amused, self-mocking smile twist his mouth. He was entirely unaccustomed to being rebuffed. Normally females, no matter their station or claim to comeliness, vied for his attention and favors. Never before had he been assaulted by one.
This entire interlude was wholly unforeseen. He was on a mission to uncover vital war intelligence, searching the coves along the seacoast for places where stolen gold might be hidden. The last thing he’d thought to discover was a scantily clad sea nymph with flaming auburn hair and emerald eyes.
Enchanted at first sight, he had watched bewitched when she climbed from the pool, stricken by the untamed beauty he had stumbled upon. When she stood bathed in full sunlight, a soft sea breeze wafting over her body, she had looked like a primitive goddess, and he could barely catch his breath.
But she was no imaginary creature, he’d discovered to his delight. She was intensely real, an alluring, flesh-and-blood woman. Everything about her was profoundly sensual, from the deep blaze of her hair, to her creamy, silken skin, to her slim thighs, naked and dewy from the sea. And those eyes…
He could lose himself in those vibrant green eyes.
Who the devil was she? She was too well-spoken to be less than an upper-class servant. A lady’s maid, perhaps, or a governess. Except that no governess looked the way she did, or possessed such spirited defiance or so tart a tongue. He was a little amazed at her daring.
Obviously she had the confidence of a woman secure in her position. Her beauty doubtless commanded the homage of a wealthy protector.
She would make a magnificent mistr
ess, Lucian knew-fiery, disdainful, yet sexually responsive enough to meet his intense appetites with those of her own.
He could eagerly imagine sliding deep within her silky body, feeling her wrap those strong, graceful legs around him, that cloud of glorious hair entwining him as he took her in the throes of passion.
It was enough to set his blood on fire. And the thought of her response…
She had wanted him, he knew. He had recognized all the signs of an aroused woman, her body growing sweetly pliant as he held and caressed her, her soft whimpers of pleasure as he had tasted her lush, ripe breasts…
Heat surged through him at the mere memory. Lucian found himself swearing a low oath at the ache in his loins. He hadn’t been left this tormented with unconsummated desire since adolescence.
So how did he proceed from here? Could she be lured away from her protector-by the promise of riches or some other significant consideration? There was no question that he was intrigued, or that her lush loveliness entranced him.
A pity her station wasn’t more elevated. For months he had been searching for a bride to bear him a son. Were her lineage better, he wouldn’t hesitate to claim her.
But despite her lack of breeding, he would enjoy a dalliance. No, more than a dalliance, Lucian amended. He felt a restless aching need to possess her. He wanted the fascinating beauty in his bed.
His eyes narrowed as he contemplated the cliff path where she had fled. He wanted her. And Lucian Tremayne, seventh Earl of Wycliff, usually got what he wanted.
Chapter Two
With grave reluctance, Brynn descended from the family carriage and took her brother’s proffered arm. A welcoming blaze of lights illuminated the family seat of the Duke of Hennessy, the highest-ranking peer in the district, but Brynn had no desire to attend this assembly, no matter how rare the occasion or prized the honor.
“You might try for a smile, puss,” Grayson teased. “You look as if you’re being sent to the guillotine.”
“I would far rather have stayed quietly home.”
“I know. But it has been three years since the duke has issued any invitations to his home. It would never do to snub him-or his illustrious guest.”
Brynn’s heart sank at the thought of that illustrious guest. The Earl of Wycliff. The aging duke was holding an assembly to honor his London visitor.
“Moreover,” Gray added seriously, “it will do you good to get out for once. You are at risk of becoming a recluse.”
“You know perfectly well why I keep out of the public eye.”