“I wish I could believe that.” She was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice shook. “Perhaps I am a w-witch. Those two men today… they could have died… because of me.”
He could feel her tremble, and his arms tightened instinctively around her. “I doubt you were to blame for that, Brynn. Those witless hotheads fought over you because you’re a beautiful woman. If not you, they would have found another reason to duel.”
“But you said-”
“I know what I said, but I was angry… and concerned for you. You could have been hurt, intervening the way you did.”
She drew back, studying his face. “You don’t believe in the curse at all, do you? ”
He managed a smile. “I’ve told you, I’m not the superstitious sort.”
“Then how do you explain your dreams, Lucian? How do you explain mine? ”
He didn’t immediately reply, having no explanation for his disturbing dreams of Brynn. “You have dreams?” he asked finally.
“I dreamed about James before his death. And you… sometimes I see images of you.”
He saw the helplessness in her eyes, the vulnerability, and he reached up to touch her cheek-
Abruptly Brynn drew back, as if suddenly becoming aware of the impropriety of his tenderness. Averting her gaze, she rose to her feet and crossed her bedchamber to the door between their rooms. She hesitated for a long moment. Then, opening the door, she stood to one side, clearly inviting him to leave.
“I think you should go,” she said, her tone once more holding a distinct chill.
Rising more slowly, Lucian went to her, but then paused, reluctant to abandon their unsettling discussion. “I’m certain there is a logical explanation for our dreams,” he said finally.
Brynn tilted her head, her look almost one of sadness. “Oh? And what about Giles?”
Lucian flinched involuntarily. “What about him?” he asked, suddenly wary.
“In my dreams I saw you fighting him, Lucian. I saw what happened between the two of you.”
You saw me kill him.
Lucian forced himself to relax his rigid muscles. “I have nightmares about Giles sometimes, I admit. No doubt you heard me calling his name in my sleep.”
Her smile was bleak. “Perhaps. And then perhaps I am a witch after all.”
Chapter Twelve
Entirely unaroused by the night’s entertainment, Lucian shifted restlessly in his seat. This was the first Hellfire gathering he’d attended since his marriage- a musical performance by a dozen bare-breasted “Muses” who were partially garbed in diaphanous Grecian robes, their nipples rouged to entice and delight. The music was surprisingly good, but he found the Cyprians’ charms sadly wanting in comparison to Brynn’s. Breasts not as tempting and firm, limbs not as long and slender, hair lacking the untamed, vibrant luster of hers, eyes nowhere n
ear as bright. And most critically, none of the intriguing spirit that Brynn possessed in such irresistible measure…
Lucian mentally voiced an oath. He’d come here to escape thoughts of his beautiful wife, not to be reminded of his frustrations.
Rising, he took his snifter of brandy and stepped through the French doors of the salon, out onto the terrace. A chill edged the September night air, presaging fall. Welcoming the coolness against his heated body, Lucian leaned against the stone balustrade, his restless reflections centered around Brynn.
Their strained union was not what he wanted of his marriage-a contentious dance of mutual lust and resistance. They were fighting each other and themselves. More baffling was the strange matter of their dreams. He couldn’t explain the haunting bond he had with Brynn, why their night visions seemed intertwined. Unless the Gypsy’s curse was somehow real…
Hell and damnation, he wouldn’t be ruled by a damned curse he didn’t even believe in-
“What the devil are you doing out here alone?” he heard his friend Dare ask behind him. “You don’t find the entertainment to your liking?”
“Nothing is wrong with the entertainment,” Lucian prevaricated.
“It must be women troubles, then. Your wife, I take it?”
“You might say that.” His tone was mocking.