Desire by Nicole Jordan

Seducing readers with her scorching sensuality and searing romance, bestselling author Nicole Jordan weaves her most tantalizing love story yet. . . . A legendary lover and spymaster, the darkly sensual Earl of Wycliff eludes matrimony until a brush with death makes him yearn for a son to carry on his name. The moment Lucian spies the alluring Brynn Caldwell on a Cornish beach, he knows he has found the woman he wants for his bride. Brynn believes the notorious rake's fascination with her is driven by a centuries-old curse that dooms the women of her family to tempt men-only to lead those they love to their death. Compelled by dire circumstances to marry Lucian, Brynn surrenders her body to his caresses but dares not give him her heart. Locked in a battle of wills with his bewitching wife, Lucian begins to suspect that Brynn is a traitor. Before long he finds himself lured into a web of danger and betrayal, where the price of winning his bride's elusive heart may be his own life. Editorial Reviews Review Jordan writes highly charged erotic historical romances. --Publishers Weekly A vibrantly sensual novel. A journey of awakening... intensely robust and romantic. --The Romance Journal A seductive tale with all the fire and conflict expected from this talented author. --BookBrowser An emotional storm. --Rendezvous From the Inside Flap Seducing readers with her scorching sensuality and searing romance, bestselling author Nicole Jordan weaves her most tantalizing love story yet. . . . A legendary lover and spymaster, the darkly sensual Earl of Wycliff eludes matrimony until a brush with death makes him yearn for a son to carry on his name. The moment Lucian spies the alluring Brynn Caldwell on a Cornish beach, he knows he has found the woman he wants for his bride. Brynn believes the notorious rakeÂ's fascination with her is driven by a centuries-old curse that dooms the women of her family to tempt men?only to lead those they love to their death. Compelled by dire circumstances to marry Lucian, Brynn surrenders her body to his caresses but dares not give him her heart. Locked in a battle of wills with his bewitching wife, Lucian begins to suspect that Brynn is a traitor. Before long he finds himself lured into a web of danger and betrayal, where the price of winning his brideÂ's elusive heart may be his own life. About the Author Nicole Jordan is the nationally bestselling author of numerous historical romances. She recently moved with her real-life hero to the Rocky Mountains of Utah, where she is at work on her next sizzling tale of dangerous rakes and bold adventurers during the Regency era. You can e-mail her via her website at www.NicoleJordanAuthor.com. Excerpt. ® Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved. Chapter One The Cornish Coast, three months earlier . . . It was not one of her better days. Brynn Caldwell dove beneath the warm surf, trying to drown her simmering anger in the deep tidal pool. Her frustration with her oldest brother Grayson had reached the limits of her endurance. With a muttered oath, she surfaced and rolled onto her back, willing herself to calm. This was not the first time she had futilely argued with Gray and sought refuge in the secluded cove below their house. The inlet was flanked on two sides by jagged boulders and behind by a low cliff that shielded the natural rock pool from prying eyes. She came here whenever she could, or whenever she felt a need for peace, as now. Here she could be free of the confining restrictions she imposed on herself. Here she could forget the troubles that constantly worried her: how to make ends meet for her impoverished family, how to protect her youngest brother, Theodore, from Gray's dangerous notions of upbringing. The afternoon July sun was warm on her face as Brynn floated, the salty seawater soothing her frayed temper. Yet she had never felt so helpless. Gray intended to take Theo out on a midnight smuggling excursion tonight, and despite arguing herself hoarse, she could do nothing to stop him. Devil take him! she murmured, an imprecation she used frequently of late toward her oldest brother. Grayson was very dear to her, but dragging a mere child into their illicit activities was utterly criminal. It galled her to feel so powerless. She had raised Theo from a baby-ever since their mother had died in childbirth twelve years before-and she was desperate to spare him the danger that had ensnared her four other brothers and herself as well. Smuggling was a way of life on the Cornish coast. Having grown up here, she accepted the illegal means to which the local folk resorted simply to survive, trafficking goods such as brandy and silk past government revenuers to avoid crushing taxes. But Free Trading was so very perilous. Her father had perished in a storm several years ago while trying to elude a revenue cutter. And so had numerous other men of the district, leaving behind widows and young children with no means of support. And now Grayson meant to involve Theo in an upcoming brandy-smuggling foray so he could learn to pull his weight and help relieve the oppressive debts their father had amassed. It was enough to make Brynn want to do violence. She made herself float awhile longer, then swam some more, trying to burn off her frustration-to no avail. She was physically spent by the time she turned toward shore, but her feelings of guilt and anger and helplessness were just as strong as she clambered onto the ledge of the rocky pool. For a moment she stood dripping wet in her shift, wringing out her long hair. The sea breeze would dry it quickly, for this stretch of Cornish coast boasted one of the warmest climes in England. When she started to reach for the towel she had left lying on the ground, however, she realized it was gone. Her gaze lifted, searching, then fell upon the intruder in her private sanctuary. Brynn froze, her heart thudding in her chest. He was leaning casually against a boulder, watching her from the afternoon shadows. He was dressed informally as well in breeches and gleaming topboots and a white cambric shirt with no cravat. Yet there was nothing casual in his look as his measuring gaze slowly raked her. Alarmed, she took a backward step. How had he found his way to the rocky stretch of beach below the cliff? Had he discovered the cave below the house with its secret tunnel? He didn't look like a revenuer, but government men sometimes roamed these shores, searching for contraband. Who are you? she demanded in a breathless voice. How did you get here? I climbed down, he replied, gesturing with his head at the rocks above him. You didn't answer my first question. He was tall and lithely built, she noted, with dark, curling hair worn a trifle longer than fashionable. When he stepped out of the shadows, her gaze riveted on his face. His lean, aristocratic features were strikingly handsome, barely saved from arrogance by a sensual mouth. His heavily lashed eyes were a startling hue, the deep blue of the ocean on a brilliant summer day, and they held her transfixed. I'm Wycliff, he said simply, as if she should be duly impressed. She was, in truth. She recognized the name of the rich and powerful Earl of Wycliff. By reputation, he was a notorious rake and a leader of the infamous Hellfire League, an exclusive club of wicked noblemen dedicated to pleasure and debauchery. Brynn was suddenly keenly aware of a different kind of danger. Simply being alone with him could taint her reputation. That does not explain what you are doing here, she replied tartly. I am visiting a friend. Do you realize you are trespassing? His mouth curved in a charming half smile. I couldn't resist the pleasure of watching a sea nymph cavort in her kingdom. I wasn't even certain you were real. He held out her towel to her, but Brynn warily backed up another step, every instinct she possessed warning her to flee. She wanted to retreat farther, yet with the pool directly behind her, there was nowhere to go but into the water. You needn't fear me, he remarked soothingly. I'm not in the habit of ravishing beautiful women, no matter how scantily clad. That is not what I hear- Brynn began, then looked down at herself and nearly gasped. The shift she wore had turned transparent, showing her breasts with their puckered rosy nipples and the thatch of auburn hair at the vee of her thighs. Flustered, she crossed to him and snatched the towel from his grasp, then wrapped it around her body, shielding her charms from his interested gaze. I won't assault you. I am a gentleman, after all. Are you? she asked skeptically. A gentleman would go away at once and allow me to dress in private. A lazy smile filled his blue eyes, but he made no move to accommodate her wishes. Annoyed by his arrogance, Brynn brushed past him and stalked barefooted across the shingle toward the rock where she had left her gown and slippers. She had barely taken four steps, however, when a stinging pain in her left sole made her draw a sharp breath. Halting abruptly, she stood on one leg, cursing her clumsiness. She had cut the pad of her foot on a shell or rock. You're bleeding, a concerned voice said be- hind her. I am fine. When she tried to hobble toward her clothing, though, she suddenly felt herself being swept up in a pair of strong arms. Brynn gasped in shock. How dare you . . . Put me down! she demanded, and tried to break free, but her struggles were in vain. Not only was Wycliff tall and lithe but surprisingly muscular as well-and altogether too domineering for her taste, both in manner and tone of voice. Be still, he ordered. I only want to see to your wound. He carried her as if she weighed no more than thistledown and lifted her up onto a boulder so that she sat facing him, her knees level with his broad chest. Brynn glared repressingly at him, but he only flashed her a wicked smile. When his gaze flickered over her bosom, she realized that her towel had come loose and clutched at it wildly, covering her indecently exposed breasts. There was nothing she could do, however, to hide her legs, which were bare to the knees. At last he turned his attention to her left foot. He cradled it gently in his elegant hands, turning it slightly to inspect the bloody cut on the underside. His touch was careful as he brushed away sand and probed the wound with his thumb. It doesn't appear to be too deep, he murmured. I told you, my lord, I am perfectly all right. And I don't appreciate you accosting me. Instead of answering, Lord Wycliff began pulling the hem of his shirt from the waistband of his breeches. Brynn's eyes widened in alarm. What are you doing? Tearing a strip off my shirt to bind your wound. I haven't any bandages with me at present, or even a handkerchief. It was a costly shirt, made of the finest cambric, she noted, the price of which would have fed a commoner's family for weeks. But the Earl of Wycliff was reportedly wealthy enough to destroy a dozen such garments without thinking twice. You will ruin your shirt, Brynn protested weakly. That charming half smile flashed again. But my sacrifice is for a good cause. He ripped the fabric at the bottom and tore off part of the hem, then began to bandage her foot. Biting her lip, Brynn stared down at his dark head as he bent over her. His nearness was affecting her strangely, making her senses swim and her heartbeat quicken ridiculously. His thick, curling hair was deepest brown, the rich color of dark chocolate, and she could smell his clean masculine scent over the pungent brine from the sea. He seemed intimately aware of her as well, for his touch was lingering and provocative as he bound her foot. After he tied a neat knot over her arch, he went still. When he looked up suddenly, his sapphire eyes had darkened. Brynn froze. Sweet heaven. She had seen that look before in men's eyes. Want, need, primitive male lust. She was sitting there, wet and bedraggled as a drowned cat, and yet this handsome stranger was looking at her as if she was the most bewitching woman he had ever encountered. It was the Gypsy's ...