“Yes. I am cursed.”
“Indeed?” The word held a wealth of skepticism.
“It is quite true. Ask anyone in these parts and they will confirm it. One of my ancestors was a legendary beauty who stole a Gypsy woman’s lover. In revenge the Gypsy put a curse on her. Her female descendants are doomed to have remarkable allure and the power to enchant men, but if they dare give their hearts, their love is fated to end tragically with the death of their beloved.”
“And you believe in this… curse?”
“Completely,” she replied with all seriousness. “There have been too many inexplicable incidents to believe otherwise. Nearly every generation of women in my family has experienced a tragedy in love.”
“ Including you?”
An arrow of pain lashed through Brynn at the memory. “My first suitor died when I was sixteen, drowned at sea. I am surprised no one warned you about me,” she added, unable to quell a hint of bitterness.
His doubtful expression never wavered, and Brynn felt a surge of frustration. “You needn’t take my word for it. Everyone here knows of the danger we present. It is indisputable that we cast spells over men. We attract them in droves.”
“Droves?” Wycliff’s amusement was edged with cynicism, or perhaps his disdain was merely the result of a natural sense of arrogance bred into him. “Let me see if I comprehend you correctly. Because of a Gypsy curse, I am likely to first lose my head over you, and then my life?”
“Not your life. Not unless I came to love you. But it is certain you wouldn’t be able to resist me.”
A warm, intimate smile touched his chiseled mouth. “You realize, of course, that you are disparaging my powers of control.”
Brynn’s fingers clenched around her book. “I can understand why you would be skeptical, but I assure you, it would be foolish of you not to take the curse seriously.”
“I think you will have to prove it.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Prove it?”
“Yes. We should put this claim of yours to the test.”
“And just how do you propose we do that?”
“Kiss me.”
Brynn stared at him. “You are jesting, of course.”
“Not at all.”
“I should think the last time we kissed would have been proof enough. You must remember how it ended when you-”
“I remember quite well,” he said dryly. “You tried to unman me.”
“Only,” Brynn returned, flushing, “because I was forced to save myself from your overamorous attentions. Admit it, my lord, you refused to release me because you became carried away.”
“I think I can manage to curb myself this time. Put your book down and come here, love.”
When she remained immobile, Wycliff lifted an inquiring eyebrow. “Would you care for your acquaintances to hear how I found you at the cove, Miss Caldwell? Your brothers, perhaps? I doubt they would countenance your parading around in a state of near undress.”
Her eyes narrowed in disbelief, then in anger. “That is extortion.”
“I consider it merely leverage.”
“Why? For revenge?” Her expression turned scornful. “Because I dared to resist you? Because I failed to fall at your feet in a swoon?”
A half smile claimed the corner of his mouth. “I admit you bestowed an incalculable blow to my male esteem, but no, I am not seeking revenge. I am merely interested in conducting an experiment. You’ve aroused my curiosity with this talk of curses.”
She stood there defiantly, regarding him in frustration. Wycliff merely waited patiently with the sort of supreme confidence that set her teeth on edge.
Finally, however, when she refused to do his bidding, his expression changed; his mouth curved in a smile that was slow and tender and all enveloping.