Then she sat waiting. She wished Lucian would come, for anxiety and uncertainty were slowly shredding her nerves. She could hear the faint crackle of the dying fire, along with the painful pounding of her heart.
It was utterly wrong to betray Lucian this way, Brynn knew, and yet she had no choice. She harbored a terrible dread about tonight. His life was in danger, she felt it in every bone in her body. If he tried to apprehend the traitors, he would be killed, it was as simple and precarious as that.
She was desperate to save Lucian, even if it meant seducing him and drugging his wine to prevent him from carrying out his duty. Once he was safely asleep, she would somehow have to try to stop Gray herself, though how she would manage that feat she had no idea. She sat wracking her brain for the next several moments, a suffocating tightness in her chest, feeling trapped between the ties of blood and the ties of love.
When the door finally opened, Brynn gave a start and rose to her feet. Lucian was still dressed for evening, she realized as he entered, although he had removed his jacket and cravat. His shirt hung open, exposing a smooth expanse of chest.
Her breath caught in her throat at the picture he made. He was still one of the most sinfully beautiful men she had ever met, with his lean elegance and muscular grace. When the door shut, he leaned indolently against it, his expression enigmatic as he met her gaze.
Brynn swallowed hard, trying to summon the courage for her performance. Slipping the bodice off her shoulders then, she let her gown fall to the floor in a whisper of silk, leaving her completely nude to his view.
She heard Lucian draw a sharp breath, yet his smile seemed forced as his bold gaze roamed over her. “Is this a seduction, my love?”
She tried to make her own smile provocative. “Merely a welcome. I am glad you have come.”
For a long moment she met his sapphire eyes, but he made no move to join her. Time stretched between them like a taut wire. At length, however, the soft snap of the fire in the hearth broke the spell.
Determined to appear nonchalant, Brynn shrugged her shoulders and went to the mahogany side table, where the tray bearing the crystal wine decanter and goblets rested. When she had poured two glasses, she crossed the bedchamber to Lucian and offered him the drugged one.
For another endless moment, he stared at the bloodred wine. She could feel her heart pounding as she waited for him to drink. Why did he hesitate?
Relief flooded her when he took a sip, and Brynn silently cursed herself. She had to strive for composure or her agitation would give her away. Unlike Lucian, she was an amateur at intrigue. He had matched wits against countless traitors and would certainly grow suspicious if she couldn’t behave naturally, as if she wanted to make love to him.
As it was, he regarded her with evident gravity, and there was a fine tension in his lean, muscled body-or was the tension merely in her because of what she was about to do?
When Lucian continued to watch her, Brynn averted her gaze, unable to meet his eyes any longer. She loathed herself for her betrayal.
“Is the wine to your taste?” Brynn made herself say, forcing herself to sip from her own glass.
“Yes. But then the French do make the finest wines.”
She glanced up sharply, not knowing why he had mentioned the French. Did he suspect her perfidy? Brynn wondered. Or was he referring to her brother’s smuggling? Lucian’s eyes glittered with sexual interest yet hid every other emotion brilliantly.
She shivered.
“Are you cold?” he queried.
“I hoped you would warm me.”
She saw his gaze darken responsively at her provocative reply, and for the first time in her life Brynn was glad for the curse that made her irresistible to men. She would need every advantage she possessed if she intended to use Lucian’s lust for her own purposes, for despite his obvious sexual attraction for her, he didn’t seem in an amorous mood.
“Why don’t you stir the fire,” he said, “while I close the draperies?”
Nodding, Brynn crossed to the hearth while Lucian turned and went to one of the windows. She knelt there, feeling the heat from the glowing flames on her bare skin, wishing it could warm the frigid ache in her heart as well.
Glancing over her shoulder, she watched from across the room as Lucian closed the drapery and moved to the final window, where he stood looking out and drinking from his glass. Brynn hesitated, wondering exactly how she should distract him until he succumbed to the drug.
Steeling herself, she rose and went to join Lucian, coming up behind him. Outside the window, a chill sliver of moon hung low on the black horizon, partly obscured by ghostly, scudding clouds. A blustery wind blew off the sea; she could hear waves beating against the rocky shore below.
A good night for treason.
Inside, however, the bedchamber was warm and hushed.
“Are you still angry with me?” she murmured in an effort to capture Lucian’s attention.
He snapped the drapes shut and turned to face her. Involuntarily her gaze went to his glass that was now only one-third full. Her relief was profound, yet she still had a role to play; she couldn’t stop until Lucian was sleeping soundly.
She pasted an enticing smile on her face. Her finger dipped into his wine, then rose to glide along his lower lip. “How can I assuage your anger, Lucian?”