Desire (Notorious 3)

For an instant she thought his eyes brightened with welcome, perhaps even joy, at seeing her again, but then a mask descended over his face, and he raised a crystal goblet to her in salute. “Greetings, my sweet.”

His voice was slightly unsteady, she realized, while his appearance was more disheveled than she’d ever seen it, lacking its usual elegance. He had removed his coat and loosened his cravat carelessly, and the dark glitter that reflected in his eyes made her wonder if he was in his cups. She halted just inside the room, determined to keep her distance.

“Aren’t you going to give your husband a proper welcome?” he asked, his tone low and silken.

“Not by choice,” Brynn responded, her own tone determinedly frosty. She had no intention of encouraging any intimacy between them. She had dreamed of Lucian again this past week, dark dreams that frightened her. She wouldn’t let her premonitions become reality by falling blithely into his arms.

He sent her a brooding look, but then his eyes narrowed, sweeping the bodice of her pale blue silk evening gown, which left a good deal of her neck and arms bare.

“Is that a new gown?”

Brynn stiffened as his probing gaze fixed on her breasts. “I trust you don’t object. Raven said I am badly in need of a new wardrobe if I am to fulfill the role expected of me as your countess. And you left before giving me any indication of how much I could spend-”

He waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t object in the least. I won’t have my wife in rags.”

Brynn pressed her lips together, refraining from defending the former lamentable state of her attire.

“Did you enjoy yourself this evening?” he asked when the awkward silence drew out.

“Somewhat.”

“Somewhat?”

She gave an uncomfortable shrug. Her new title and Raven’s sponsorship had afforded her entree into the glittering salons of the ton, but she didn’t like admitting to Lucian that she found the lavishness a bit overwhelming, or that in Cornwall she was accustomed to a much simpler life and far more humble trappings.

“Some of your friends are very agreeable,” she finally said. “Vanessa Sinclair, especially. But others…have been more judgmental. If it weren’t for Raven, I should have been at a grave loss this past week. I am supremely grateful to her for coming to my rescue when I found myself thrown into a lion’s pit.”

His lashes lowered, hooding his eyes. “I apologize for having to leave you so abruptly.”

“Your apology is hardly adequate,” Brynn said coolly. “You might have sent me word sometime during this past week, perhaps informed me of your whereabouts.”

“Davies knew where to find me.”

“How flattering. The servants know far more about your activities than does your wife.”

Lucian remained stonily silent, his expression inscrutable. Brynn dared to stare back at him, but her stance was one of false calmness. This man was far different from the enticing lover who had seduced her on their wedding night. She could find no trace of his celebrated charm or beguiling warmth. Instead he was cold, detached, distant. He had already given her ample cause for resentment, and absurdly his remoteness only wounded her further.

“Is your business concluded?” she forced herself to say in an emotionless tone.

His features hardened. “For the most part.”

“A pity. I won’t mind in the least if you take yourself off again.”

She had struck a nerve, she could see from the glittering glance he shot her. His sensual mouth tightened in a grim line, yet she wouldn’t back down. Their future dealings together depended on her resistance now. If she began by allowing herself to care when he came and went, she would have no hope whatever of keeping their relationship on safe ground.

Having scored a hit, though, she thought it wiser to make a dignified retreat. “You are evidently in a poor humor, and I am rather tired. I believe I will retire. If you wish, we can continue this discussion in the morning.”

“I think not,” he said softly.

She had started to turn away but his quiet retort brought her up short. She gave Lucian a sharp, questioning glance.

His eyes were as brilliant as sapphires and just as hard. “Go upstairs and prepare for bed. I will join you shortly.”

Brynn’s hands clenched into fists at his imperious order. “If you think I will welcome you into my bed after the way you treated me-”

“I don’t believe I require a welcome, sweeting,” he replied, his mouth curling in a humorless smile. “I am your husband, you will remember.”

“How could I forget?” she muttered bitterly before turning abruptly and leaving the room.