Desire (Notorious 3)

“But it needn’t be me. By all reports, you could have any woman you want.”

“I want you. I thought I had made that perfectly clear.” The slow half smile that shadowed his mouth was meant to disarm her, but Brynn refused to be disarmed. His attempts to charm her could be fatal.

“And I,” she retorted, “made it perfectly clear, my lord, that your lusts are irrational.”

“Since we are soon to be wed, surely we needn’t be so formal. My name is Lucian.”

She stared fixedly at him. “Lucifer, did you say?”

A hint of amusement lit his eyes. “I have been called worse.”

Brynn raised her gaze to the ceiling, summoning patience. “I wish I could make you understand the danger of the curse.”

“Lamentably, I am not the superstitious sort.”

“Perhaps not, but there is proof. If you don’t believe me, you should examine the church records. Nearly every generation of women in my family has faced a tragedy in love.”

“So you said. But I expect those tragedies can be explained by mere coincidence.”

“You dream about me, don’t you?”

The expression on Wycliff’s face suddenly turned enigmatic, and Brynn could see she had struck a nerve. “Your dreams are not mere coincidence, I assure you. I haunt men’s dreams, as did my other female ancestors.”

He glanced across the drawing room at a portrait hanging on the wall. “Is that a relation of yours?” The portrait was of an elegant woman with auburn hair and a look of sadness in her dark eyes.

“That was my mother.”

“She is very beautiful. It would not have taken a curse to make men dream about her, or even to lose their heads over her.”

Clenching her hands together, Brynn exhaled slowly. She was obviously not going to persuade Wycliff. “Very well, ignore the danger, if you will, but don’t expect me to. My first suitor died because I showed a partiality toward him, and I cannot allow that to happen again. I won’t have your death on my conscience. Ours must be a marriage of convenience, nothing more.”

Wycliff hesitated a moment. “A marriage of convenience would be perfectly acceptable on my part,” he said lightly. “I am not interested in a love match. I only want a son. But I won’t be ruled by fear, either, siren. I am not afraid of your developing a partiality for me.”

“But don’t you see-”

He held up a hand, forestalling further argument. “I consider myself warned and absolve you of any responsibility.”

His easy smile was meant to take the sting out of his dismissive words, but she wasn’t mollified. Nor was she pleased when he abruptly changed the subject.

“Now then, perhaps we should discuss our upcoming nuptials. Do you object to marrying by special license?”

It was Brynn’s turn to frown. “A special license? It is usual to be married in a church.”

“The ceremony can still be held in church. I prefer not to wait for the banns to be read. I thought Friday next a good date. Six days from now.”

“Six days!” Brynn’s mouth dropped open as she regarded him in dismay.

“That should allow me sufficient time to send to London for a special license.”

“Surely there is no reason for such haste!”

“Regrettably I cannot afford the time away from my pressing affairs.”

“An appointment with your tailor, no doubt?”

She saw his eyes narrow momentarily at her barb, but she didn’t apologize. She already resented Wycliff’s highhandedness, and a dashed, slipshod wedding was one more mark against him.

“A rushed union will only seem rash and give rise to gossip,” Brynn pointed out.