His eyes followed her as she descended the grand staircase. There was nothing in her costume to earn his disapproval, Brynn knew; her high-waisted gown of pale jade jaconet, with a floral-patterned shawl draping her arms, was almost modest. Her hair was sedately tamed in a chignon, except for a few errant curls wisping at her temples, and mostly hidden by a jaunty, close-fitting hat adorned with knots of jade ribbon.
Brynn endured his inspection silently, mentally daring him to comment, but he merely offered her his arm in silence and escorted her to the waiting carriage.
Only when they were settled did she really notice Lucian’s appearance. He was dressed with his usual damn-your-eyes elegance in a blue coat and buff breeches, and his striking features were so handsome that she found it hard to catch her breath in such close quarters with him.
There was little conversation between them at first, until Lucian bestirred himself to tell her about the guests she was likely to meet, particularly his many relatives. He had more than a dozen cousins in London alone.
Brynn found her curiosity aroused, despite her resolve to keep their relationship impersonal. “Raven says your favorite cousin isn’t even English.”
Lucian’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “No, Nicholas Sabine is American. He was here in England this past summer, in disguise.”
“Why in disguise? ”
“Because he was accused of piracy. Nick is an adventurer who ran afoul of the British navy and wound up marrying an Englishwoman.”
“Raven told me of his marriage, but nothing about why.”
“It is an interesting story, but I was out of the country during most of Nick’s visit, so I’m not privy to the details. I expect you should ask Raven. The two of you seem to be growing close.”
Brynn fell silent at Lucian’s suggestion, remembering her vow to have no intimate interaction with him other than what was strictly necessary to maintain civility.
She gave a cool, curt reply, and turned her attention to the passing landscape outside the carriage window. If she saw the way his lips tightened, she ignored it.
The Edgecomb estate was on the outskirts of London, near Richmond, and along the bank of the Thames River. Brynn felt her nervousness rise as they drew closer, wondering how she would endure the scrutiny of Lucian’s scornful relatives and disdainful acquaintances.
By the time they arrived, a goodly number of guests were milling about the grounds to the rear of the estate. The elegant gardens bore a formal design, with stately rows of yew trees and myrtles lining the smooth gravel paths, interspersed with occasional statuary and giant urns. Beyond, an immaculate lawn led down to the river. Brynn could see rowboats on the water and an archery range that had been set up to provide entertainment.
Lady Edgecomb received Brynn with the same frosty stare as before, yet unlike during their last meeting, the lady seemed prepared to bite her tongue. She extended a stiffly courteous welcome, even though her mouth puckered as if she were sucking lemons.
After a moment of polite conversation, Lucian took Brynn’s arm to stroll the garden avenues and meet the various guests. Several of his cousins were present-both genders and of varying ages. If he disliked any of them, Brynn couldn’t tell, for he exchanged pleasantries with every evidence of his usual charm and appeared to overlook their obvious fawning.
Much to Brynn’s surprise, Lucian seemed almost proud to proclaim her his wife. Even more surprising, he was oddly protective of her. She felt the heat of his body as he stood close beside her, the strength of his hand that rested so casually at the small of her back, but for once she accepted his possessive touch with gratitude rather than dismay. Despite the cold reserve that existed in their marriage, he apparently had decided to shield her from the sniping and criticism of his relatives.
Brynn was quite aware that they were the center of attention-not just herself, but Lucian as well. Other women followed him with their eyes, hunger evident in their expressions, a hunger Lucian appeared not to notice.
The first half hour passed without incident, even when they encountered Lady Agatha again. The dowager’s chill seemed to thaw marginally, but when Lucian ushered Brynn toward another group, she audibly let out her breath.
“Relieved?” he murmured, as if understanding.
“Yes. That wasn’t as bad as I feared. At least your aunt didn’t swallow me alive.”
Lucian’s mouth curved in a wry half smile. “I never expected her to. I’m certain you can hold your own with Lady Agatha or anyone else.”
His praise unaccountably warmed Brynn, but just then she caught the reflection of sunlight off the river. The pastoral scene could have been an oil painting, with willows growing along the bank and fleecy clouds scudding overhead.
“How lovely. May we walk that way?”
“As you wish, my lady.”
When Lucian offered his arm, she took it and strolled with him down toward the river.
“This is nothing like the ocean,” she said wistfully, pausing to view the scene. “But I miss having a view of the water. I miss being able to swim whenever I wish.”
“That doesn’t surprise me. A sea siren should be allowed to cavort in her kingdom.”
She heard the amusement in his tone and glanced up at Lucian to find him regarding her with an intimate warmth in his eyes.
“I’m afraid you cannot swim just now,” he added, “but if you like, we can return here at another time so you can indulge your secret vice.”