He had misjudged her the first time, obviously. He’d tasted the innocence in her kiss just now- enough to convince him that she was as inexperienced as she claimed to be.
That was the real reason he’d insisted on kissing her tonight. To test her virtue. If he was to make her his wife, he needed some reassurance that she wasn’t playing him for a fool. He owed it to his name and title to demand at least some measure of purity from his countess.
His mouth curved in satisfaction. He had found his bride, he was certain of it. Miss Brynn Caldwell had beauty, birth, breeding, and a family history of fertility-five brothers, no less. And a lively spirit as well, one which he found refreshing after all the toadying, marriage-minded debutantes who had relentlessly pursued him for his title and fortune over the years. Tart tongue or no, she would certainly never bore him.
His bride. The image had a powerful charm to it. And the thought of having that exquisite body beneath him, her lush nakedness warm against him, her slumberous eyes heated with desire, was enough to make his loins ache.
Perhaps he was mad, making such a critical decision so soon after meeting her. Choosing a lifelong mate required careful consideration, logic. And taking a wife just now would play havoc with his duty. He hadn’t planned even to think about wedding until after the war had ended and Boney was driven back into his lair.
Yet his deepest instincts were urging him on, telling him to act. He wanted a son, and his enchanting temptress seemed his best chance both to beget an heir and to have a desirable woman in his marriage bed. And arguably, he knew his prospective bride more intimately than most noblemen did theirs.
It was possible Miss Caldwell might object to his plan. She might not want to bear him a son, or even become his wife. She professed to be set on remaining a spinster, which truly would be a crime, Lucian reflected with amusement.
Well then, he would simply have to overcome her resistance. A keen feeling of anticipation rose up in him at the thought of winning her surrender. He had already made a measure of progress. She wasn’t nearly as immune to his caresses as she pretended.
He could have taken her right there on the couch, perhaps. In truth, he’d actually considered it for a fleeting moment. If he had summarily seduced her, it would have removed any chance that she would refuse his offer of matrimony. But he didn’t want to begin their marriage mired in scandal.
Lucian’s elation swelled. He’d thought his stay in Cornwall would be devoted strictly to business, but he intended to return home with a bride.
A fiery, green-eyed beauty who could stir his blood and give him the son he so fervently wanted.
Chapter Three
The dream was different this time. He lay wounded, dying, as usual, but he was no longer alone. A woman stood over him-an enchanting beauty with flaming hair and flashing eyes, her hands dark with his blood. His killer?
Lucian woke in a cold sweat, not knowing where he was at first. Searching the gray shadows, he felt the tension ease from his body.
He was lying in bed, the sole occupant of the prime guest chamber in the duke’s sprawling castle. It was early morning, if the faint light stealing beneath the gold brocade curtains was any indication. There was no sign of his prospective bride, even though in his dream she had seemed so vivid…
“It wasn’t real,” he whispered, his voice a low rasp. She hadn’t tried to kill him.
Sitting up, Lucian rubbed a hand down his face. All her talk of curses had evidently affected his intellect. His sea siren had somehow become entwined with his visions of death. His own death.
With an oath, he threw off the covers and rang for his valet before striding naked over to the wash-stand and splashing cool water on his face.
There was a simple explanation for his recurring nightmare, Lucian knew. During his last foray into France, on a mission to search for a missing Englishman, he’d had a near brush with death. He’d been forced to kill a man he considered a friend-a stark choice of kill or be killed. Guilt had eaten at him ever since. Guilt and a bleak premonition of his future. He’d been haunted by the same nightmare. He saw himself dying alone, desolate, unlamented, and unmourned.
He was not afraid of dying, precisely, Lucian acknowledged. Better men than he had given their lives in the decades-long struggle to rid the world of the Corsican tyrant. But the experience had undeniably shaken him.
For the first time he’d had to face his own mortality. He was not invincible, as he had somehow believed. The charmed existence he’d always taken for granted would not last forever. Life was, he’d suddenly realized, fragile and precious.
The incident had also made him aware of how little he had to show for his thirty-two years of living. True, he’d played a small role in trying to make the civilized world safe from French domination, working for the Foreign Office
, advancing intelligence gathering for Britain. But if he died tomorrow, he would have no real legacy to leave behind.
That was what he wanted most now: a legacy. An heir. A son to carry on his name. The feeling had taken on increasing urgency in recent weeks. It was now a yearning, a hunger deep in his soul.
To sire an heir, however, he must first have a wife.
Lucian’s mouth curled wryly as he drew on a robe and pulled the sash taut. This was a novel experience for him, searching for a bride. He’d always fervently resisted the chains of matrimony, preferring instead the dalliances and seductions and brief affaires that had titillated society and earned him notoriety as something of a libertine.
He took great pleasure in his lovers, but the pleasure was mutual, he made certain of that. And the game at which he was so expert was understood by his partners, with no expectations of matrimony. He’d become quite deft at eluding the pursuit of those eager ladies who coveted his title and fortune.
Suddenly changing course-pursuing a marriage partner instead of being the pursued-had felt strange. Moreover, finding the ideal bride was not at all as easy as he expected. Regrettably, the women he most admired and respected were already wed or in a profession that society deemed unfit for nobility. Until he had happened upon Miss Brynn Caldwell…
A quiet rap sounded on his bedchamber door. When Lucian bid entrance, his valet stepped into the room.
“You require assistance, my lord?”