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?”