He groaned again, a tortured sound that wrenched her heart. Bending over him, Brynn laid a gentle hand on his arm and realized he was covered with cold sweat.
At her touch, he woke abruptly, staring at her with a wildness in his eyes. Then his hand shot out, grasping her wrist with an unexpected fierceness.
Startled, she tried to draw away. “I’m sorry… You were having a bad dream.”
The savage light slowly faded from his eyes. “The same nightmare,” Lucian said hoarsely. “I killed him…”
She knew exactly what he had dreamed, yet she refrained from admitting to seeing his same dark visions. Lucian hadn’t believed her when she’d confessed to sharing his dreams, nor did she like to remind him of her powers of witchery.
“Are you all right?” Brynn asked when he shuddered.
Slowly he raised himself onto one elbow, running his hand raggedly down his face. “Yes.”
“Well then…” She started to turn away, but he stopped her with an abrupt plea.
“Don’t go… please.”
Brynn hesitated. She was standing barefoot in her revealing cambric nightdress, her hair tumbling wantonly down her back. Yet Lucian’s mind was obviously not on seduction or carnal matters, for he was staring unseeingly at the shadows of the room, not examining her scanty attire.
Gingerly she set the candle on the nightstand. She couldn’t simply abandon him if he needed comforting, even knowing the danger of remaining in such close proximity.
“Do you want to tell me about it?” she asked. “Theo used to be troubled by nightmares, and talking about them seemed to help ease his fear.”
Lucian’s gaze searched her face intently, before he looked away. “You don’t want to hear about something so ugly.” His voice was low, taut.
She perched on the edge of the bed, keeping as much distance between them as possible. “I do, Lucian. It obviously disturbs you greatly.”
A long moment passed before he answered. “I killed a man. Someone I counted as a friend.”
“Giles?” When his gaze flew to her face, she prevaricated, “You cried his name in your sleep.”
Lucian stared at her. “Yes, Giles,” he said at last, his voice hoarse.
Brynn felt the despair in him. “But you didn’t kill him in cold blood.”
“No, not in cold blood. He was a traitor…” There was another long pause. From the conflicting emotions on Lucian’s face, she knew he was debating how much to reveal to her.
“What happened?” she prodded gently.
He exhaled in a sigh. “Last spring… when I was in France searching for March… I uncovered a plot. My friend Giles was making deals with the French, selling secrets. Divulging the identity of our agents. When I confronted him, he begged me not to expose him.”
Lucian’s features twisted in anguish. “I couldn’t let him go free, not when several of our men had died because of his betrayal. Giles was like a cornered fox. He drew a rapier and attacked me… I managed to defend myself, but he… I killed him with his own blade.” Lucian looked down at his hands. “I keep seeing his blood on my hands,” he said in a voice so low, it was almost a whisper.
He lay back, shutting his eyes. Brynn could see the pain etched in his face. She ached to offer him comfort, to soothe the darkness and despair he had let her glimpse.
Reaching out tentatively, she touched his curling hair, feeling the sleek, silky texture beneath her fingertips. To her startlement, Lucian reached out and dragged her down to him, holding her against his body so tightly that his heartbeat shivered through her.
For a long moment, Brynn remained frozen in his desperate embrace. She might have consoled a child similarly, only she didn’t feel in the least motherly. The heat of Lucian’s hard body was arousing, the intimate pressure making her breath catch. She wanted to pull away, and yet he needed the comfort she could give. After a moment she let her arms slide around him. He responded by burying his face in her throat, as if in despair.
She reluctantly held him that way for a long while, a storm of emotion quietly roiling inside her.
“You’re horrified,” he murmured.
“No… No,” she answered more firmly. “You had no choice.”
“True.” She felt Lucian’s fury in that single uttered word. “Giles left me no choice. Just as he felt he had no choice. He was being blackmailed for his… sexual propensities. To hide his shame, he let himself be drawn into a far worse crime.”
“Treason.”