Nicole Jordan - Desire

“Miss Caldwell, I hoped… no, I prayed you might come. I beg you to honor me with the next set of dances.”

When he reached for her hand, Brynn pulled away anxiously, determined to dissuade his pursuit of her. “Mr. Ridding, you know that is unadvised.”

“I dreamed of you last night, did you know? You were not so averse to me in my dream-”

Just then his mama came rushing up to rescue him. “Orlan, come away from that young lady at once!”

“Mama, I was only requesting a dance-”

“I won’t allow it. You know very well the danger.”

Mrs. Ridding tugged insistently on her son’s sleeve to draw him away, much to Brynn’s relief. And yet she felt her cheeks flush with humiliation and pain as she sensed the accusing eyes of the dowagers. They blamed her for the untimely, tragic death of her one-time suitor so many years ago. She couldn’t fault them for their condemnation, since she couldn’t forgive herself.

Choosing to retreat rather than prolong the distressing moment, Brynn offered a forced smile and made her way through the swelling crowd and out of the ballroom, searching for the library. Perhaps she could make good use of her time until her brother was ready to leave.

Upon exploring the shelves, she was somewhat heartened to find a copy of Beckford’s Latin Primer . Next week she was supposed to quiz Theo on the conjugation of verbs, and she still had a great deal of preparation to do; she had to keep at least two lessons ahead of her sharp-witted youngest brother if she had any hope of maintaining his respect for her as his tutor.

As a girl her own education had been typical for a young lady-French, Italian, the use of globes, basic sums. Latin and Greek, history, and higher maths were considered the province of masculine minds, and she’d had to scramble to educate herself in those subjects after her family was forced to let their longtime governess go because of the pitiful state of their finances.

Brynn had settled comfortably on the settee and was deep in concentration when an intimate male voice sounded behind her.

“So this is where you’ve hidden yourself.”

Giving a violent start of surprise, Brynn straightened and cast a wary glance over her shoulder. “You do have the most vexing habit of startling me, my lord.”

Wycliff strolled into the room casually, as if he owned the place. Circling the couch, he stood before her a moment, measuring her. “Miss Brynn Caldwell, the genteel but impoverished daughter of a baronet. Imagine my delight to discover you weren’t an apparition after all-and my surprise to discover your true identity.”

She felt herself flush, but remained mute.

His intent masculine gaze raked over her, making her keenly aware of her femaleness. His mere presence set her pulse leaping, while that slow, heated look made her suddenly warm.

“Why the deception?” he asked.

“What deception?”

“You told me your name was Beth.”

“It is. I am Brynn Elizabeth.”

“Why did you conceal it from me?”

“Why?” she repeated warily. “Because I feared a scandal. It was bad enough that you… that I allowed myself to be caught in such a compromising position. I saw no reason to compound my indiscretion by advertising my identity.”

“So you deceived me, claiming to have a protector.”

“I do have a protector of sorts. My brother. Five brothers, in fact. They usually are quite proficient at shielding me from the unwanted advances of strange gentlemen.”

A spark of amusement glimmered in his eyes. “An inventive way of shading the truth. But as memory serves, you let me think you a governess or a domestic.”

“That was no lie, either. I regularly function in the role of governess. I tutor my youngest brother.”

A slashing dark eyebrow rose with skepticism.

“It’s true,” Brynn insisted. She held up the primer in her hand, showing him the title.

“A Latin grammar?”

“I am endeavoring to teach my brother the classics, although I’m severely disadvantaged, since my own linguistic education did not extend past Italian.”

“Why do you not simply hire a tutor?”

“My family, sadly, is not in a position to afford such luxuries,” Brynn said stiffly. “Not everyone possesses the fortune of a Midas, as you reportedly do, my lord.”

His expression took on a measure of contrition. “Forgive me. That was gauche of me.”

She thought-hoped-he might leave her alone then, but she had no such luck; he continued to study her from beneath long, wicked lashes.

“You continually surprise me. First an enchanting sea creature, now a bluestocking. You interest me profoundly.”

“I don’t intend to, I assure you. I have no desire to provoke your interest.”

“How old are you?” he asked suddenly.

Brynn gave him a blank look. “It is hardly polite to ask a lady to reveal her age, but if you must know, I am four-and-twenty.”

“And still unwed? A woman of your obvious spirit and beauty?”

“I am quite content with my spinsterhood.”

“In God’s name, why?” The question was entirely serious.

She hesitated, reluctant to bring up the curse and her fear of marriage. “Because I am responsible for raising my youngest brother. I have no intention of marrying. At least not until he is safely settled.” And not even then , she added to herself.

Wycliff shook his head in apparent disbelief. “A determined spinster bluestocking… I would never have guessed.”

“But then your powers of intuition are not excessively well-developed. Not if you mistook me for Aphrodite.”

Rather than Wycliff taking offense, the blatantly suggestive spark in his eyes blossomed into appreciative laughter. Even more to her surprise, he moved toward her. Brynn drew back instinctively, shrinking into the corner of the settee, but he merely seated himself beside her without so much as a by-your-leave.

“I trust the cut on your foot healed well enough?”

“Quite well… Thank you,” she added grudgingly.

When Wycliff sat there curiously appraising her, she stiffened and eyed him nervously. “You really should go, my lord. The company will be missing you, since you are the guest of honor.”

“You promised me a dance.”

“Well, I cannot dance with you here.”

“Why not?”

“Because… well, propriety, for one thing. I should not even be alone with you.”

“You didn’t object so strenuously the other day.”

She took a steadying breath. “I gave you the wrong impression that day, I know. But despite appearances, I am not the sort of female you think me.”

“And what sort is that?”

“The kind to welcome your attentions. I am not usually given to acting the wanton.”

“A pity.”

Brynn ignored the unholy laughter dancing in his eyes. “I am certainly not at all proud of my behavior, but yours was hardly admirable, either. Still, I suppose it was only to be expected from a rake.”

“You consider me a rake because I treated you as a desirable woman rather than a lady?”

“I consider you a rake because I know of your reputation. Even in the dull backwaters of Cornwall we have heard of your legendary exploits.” Brynn regarded him coolly. “I was not fortunate enough to have a London Season, but I have friends who report faithfully to me, and your wicked past is a common topic of discussion. You are notorious for your conquests among the ladies-and I have no desire to become one of your conquests.”

A smile seemed to loiter at his tempting mouth as he shook his head again. “Do you have any notion how unique you are? How many females have tried to orchestrate just that sort of compromising situation in a bid to ensnare me in matrimony?”