Alone, Lucian sat staring moodily into the golden depths of his suddenly tasteless brandy. He had not handled that at all well. He should have expected such belligerence from Brynn, but he’d been too occupied erecting his own defenses to be concerned with soothing her wounded pride.
He hadn’t been prepared for seeing her in the flesh. The instant she entered the room, his groin had tightened. All he could think about was having her, pulling her down with him before the hearth and possessing her body.
Bloody hell. He’d been hot to have her from the first moment he laid eyes on her, but the heat he’d felt just now, the lust, was more dangerous, more compelling than mere attraction.
Lucian swore again under his breath. She was his wife, not his mistress. Once a man was wed, he wasn’t supposed to find his wife so enchanting, so incredibly bewitching. Or be filled with such a fierce longing to possess her.
It was going to be harder than he’d imagined to hold himself aloof, Lucian realized with a groan. Somehow, though, he would have to find the will to clamp down on his obsessive urges. His life had no room for wildfire passions raging out of control. He would have to harden his heart toward Brynn, or more appropriately, soften his loins.
Perhaps he was unwise even to press the issue just now. It might be more judicious to wait for her resentment to cool before insisting upon his marital rights. But then, that might take a gre
at while. He still wanted a son. And he couldn’t shake the dark premonition that time was running out for him.
No, he couldn’t afford to wait, Lucian told himself.
Grimly he took another long swallow of brandy, needing the additional fortitude to face his beautiful wife and make love to her without losing himself in her powerful enchantment.
A bundle of angry nerves, Brynn sat at her dressing table while a sleepy Meg brushed her hair. They both jumped when Lucian spoke from behind them.
“That will be all,” he said, dismissing the maidservant. “I wish to be alone with my wife.”
He had come through the connecting door that linked their suites, Brynn realized. Any hope that Meg would shield her died a swift death as the girl dropped the brush and scurried from the room.
Alone with her husband, Brynn averted her gaze from his tall, lithe form. He wore a brocade dressing gown of midnight blue that accented the sapphire color of his eyes and proclaimed very clearly his intent to sleep with her.
She kept her back to him, refusing to look at him or even to acknowledge his presence. She could feel his gaze raking her through her concealing nightdress.
Brynn gave a start when she felt his hand lingeringly touch her hair. She hadn’t heard his soft footfall over the heavy beating of her heart.
“What do you want?” she demanded, stiffening and pulling away.
“I should have thought I’d made that clear,” he said quietly. “I want a son.”
She turned her head to glare up at him. “What is clear is that I’m nothing more to you than chattel. You think you can simply command me and I will leap to do your bidding.”
“You are not chattel. You are my wife.”
Rising to her feet, she faced him fully. “I am hardly your wife. Admit it, I am nothing more to you than a broodmare. A convenient means to slake your lust.”
“That isn’t true.”
“If not, then why are you here in my bedchamber against my wishes?”
“I intend to sleep here tonight, Brynn.”
“And you are giving me absolutely no choice in the matter?”
His features remained enigmatic. “Must I remind you of the vows we spoke before the altar?”
“Ah, yes, our holy vows. I’m certain you respect those so highly.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he met her hot gaze levelly. “Come to bed with me, Brynn.” His words were soft, imperious, and made her go rigid.
“And if I refuse?”
There was a moment of silence. “You haven’t the right to refuse. You’re my wife.”
Her jaw clenched. She had always been proud, perhaps to a fault, but even though she despised being thought of as merely Lucian’s possession, she knew she was fighting a losing battle. Under English law, a man’s wife was his property to do with as he saw fit. She didn’t have the legal right to deny him her bed. But that didn’t mean she had to welcome him.