One Wicked Night

by Shelley Bradley

  A frown blazed across his face, dark with suspicion. Then he lowered his mouth and swept the inside of hers with his tongue. Invaded by heat and the enticing taste of man and wine, Serena returned the kiss, recreating the delicious desire he had given her previously.

  When the kiss ended, he lifted his head, still wearing a slightly puzzled expression. Suddenly he shook away the question on his face. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I shall be more careful.”

  To prove his point, Lucien withdrew almost gingerly. This time, he prolonged his entry, each inch of his flesh lingering at her entrance before sinking in like molasses. Another pinpoint of pain speared, but it dissipated quickly, replaced by a pleasurable fullness. Blazing heat radiated through her moistness and penetrated her body deep within her core. It felt like heaven.

  “God, you’re tight,” he rasped in her ear.

  Not really certain what he meant, or if that condition were good or bad, she simply nodded.

  With the next lunge of his hips, that ceased to be an issue. His stiff flesh stayed within her only an instant before withdrawing. A split second later, he returned with a firm thrust. Again and again, his shaft penetrated and retreated, creating the delicious agony his hands had begun in the carriage, and his body promised to finish here in his huge bed.

  As he plunged again within her, she arched her back in bliss, meeting him.

  “Yes. That’s it,” he chanted, fitting his hands beneath her hips and tilting her up to further feast on her response.

  That position lent her a new degree of sensitivity. Her body bucked beneath his, instinctively reaching for fulfillment. His plunges inside her increased, deep and controlled and ruthless. Jolts of pleasure dashed from her most forbidden flesh, where Lucien made his welcome invasion into her, all through her body.

  The sensations rushed upon her, stealing her breath. The sudden vortex of pleasure was both towering and swirling within her. It frightened her as it threatened to rob her sanity and consume her.

  Pushing on his shoulders, she wriggled beneath him, trying to break free before the tidal wave of need crashed over her body and swallowed her whole.

  “Relax, sweetheart.”

  “But I—”

  “Trust me.” His voice was gravelly and rough. “Take me.”

  Finally, as he thrust into her once more, what she’d feared most became what she needed most. Ripples of release stormed throughout her, pulsing, vibrating, until the explosion inside her culminated with a blinding burst of satisfaction and a loud, staccato cry.

  An instant later, he buried his face in her neck. His fingers tightened around her hips, grasping her, tilting her up with need. His whole body tense, he groaned, flooded her with something hot and thrilling, then fell against her, spent.

  Serena lay beneath him, torn between wonder and the fervent wish he would say something. As he drew in long breaths, she felt the slick perspiration between their bodies and the heat of his skin touching her everywhere.

  When his breathing slowed, he stroked her hair away from her forehead. His eyes, an even darker green by the mesmerizing firelight, lay open to her, stripped of all artifice. She saw the emotion churning within him, compelling him to speak.

  “You are . . . unbelievable.”

  The awe in his voice, coupled with the raw emotion in his eyes, opened a path to her heart, connecting her to him on a level that went beyond mere physical joining. Something profound and elemental moved inside her, misting her eyes with tears. Quickly, she averted her gaze, praying he would not see her reaction or guess that, until tonight, she had known neither completion nor ecstasy.

  His arms winding around her shoulders, Lucien held her close. Further touched by his intimate gesture, Serena fought a new onslaught of tears.

  Wordlessly, he held her against his chest, sheltering her in the solace of his embrace. He dusted her face with soft kisses while she listened to his breathing, felt his heartbeat against hers. Closing her eyes, she sighed, feeling the tension ebb from her body. Lucien’s fingers feathered up and down the naked length of her back. And soon, she slept.

  ****

  Lucien rolled away from the slumbering beauty in his arms and tucked the covers around her. As he rose and donned his pants, he marveled at her placid expression. Hell, he was still shaking from a climax so stunning, it surpassed anything in memory, recent or otherwise.

  Kneeling, he brought his face level with hers. Her hair was by far her most magnificent feature. The white-gold length streamed about her in a straight, silken cloud. But that wasn’t what fascinated him. It was her face.

  Both oval and angelic, it showcased her honey skin and raspberry red mouth to perfection. His eyes traced the firm, sloping line of her jaw and her round, stubborn chin. Next to one platinum brow lay a tiny mole, but rather than detracting from her striking beauty, it enhanced. With her as temptation, how could he resist?

  Lucien smoothed a curl from her cheek, rosy from the rub of his whiskers, and turned away. Despite the relaxation curling through his body, his mind was in turmoil.

  The last time he’d had a woman in his bed was three months ago. That night, he had left his daughter in the care of servants, writing off her tears as a child’s antics for attention. He had spent the evening with his former mistress, indulging in mindless, emotionless sex. When he had arrived home in the wee morning hours, Chelsea was dead.

  Closing his eyes with a pained grimace, Lucien reached past the decanter of wine he had poured from only an hour ago, and instead grabbed the Irish whiskey. He drew it to his lips, gulping in long swallows. As the liquor scorched its way down his throat, he felt satisfaction and a certain safety that, if he consumed enough, he could eventually drown his guilt.

  But the images haunted him: her tiny body trampled by the carriage, the white nightgown reddened by her blood. That next morning had been a shock of disbelief and questions—and astonishment to learn that Chelsea had left the house determined to find her mummy and bring her back home to her daddy so they could all be happy.

  He brought the bottle to his mouth once more for a long swallow. Bloody hell. His self-induced celibacy had been torture, but he had not weakened from his penance—until tonight. He should never have listened to Niles. True, the man was his only friend at the moment, but the pup was wrong. All his aloneness was not unhealthy; it was deserved. But no, Niles had insisted just this morning that he accept his life without Chelsea and carry on. Lucien shook his head in self-disgust. Like a fool, he had listened.

  His gaze again rested on the fair-haired goddess in his bed. So much for penance and celibacy. Instead of coming back to life a nibble at a time, he had started with a feast of honeyed skin and welcoming arms. He had known the first moment he really looked at her, terrified and alone, that he had no business pursuing her. But something about her, the need and loneliness on her face, had called to him. And God, after touching her, she had felt too good to even consider releasing.

  But in the morning, he would do just that and resume his self-induced punishment. Despite the fact he wanted to keep her with him, learn about her and laugh with her, he could not. When she woke, he would find out what sort of reward she wanted for leaving him permanently, then set her free.

  Tipping the bottle to his mouth again, Lucien emptied its contents. He set the bottle on the bedside table quietly. Then, seething with self-loathing, he crawled into his bed beside the sleeping woman and closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The sounds of faint male snoring awakened Serena, along with the feel of hot flesh and a blast of body heat. She rolled to her side and opened her eyes.

  Her gaze tripped over the dark stranger—her lover now, she amended—both perfectly handsome and perfectly naked as he lay on his stomach. The sight of his rippling shoulders, taut backside, and long legs brought her fully awake. Biting her lip to hold in a gasp, she rolled from the bed as noiselessly as possible. The darkness outside the windows was an unexpected blessing.

  Sendi
ng a silent thanks upward that the fire had not died altogether, she gathered her clothes from around the room, trying to stifle both her panic and her tears.

  Dear God, what had she done? You allowed a perfect stranger to seduce you.

  Reality sunk into her like a stone through water. She had surrendered to the temptation of the flesh, allowed her logic to be swayed by pretty words and her body to be wooed by heated kisses. She had compromised her Christian values with little thought for anything but the pleasure the man was obviously accustomed to giving, and offered her maidenhood as easily as a light-skirt offers herself nightly.

  Fortunately, she did not think he had realized her innocence. If he had, he’d made no mention of it. But perhaps he made a habit of divesting women of their virginity. That possibility flooded her eyes with tears, along with the realization that she knew next to nothing about him.

  Heartless rake or not, she had to leave before he woke up, before he started asking questions. Before he learned her name.

  The possibility that he knew Cyrus quickened her tears. Not only had she shamed herself with her behavior, but her husband as well. And what if a child resulted? She had hoped for one last night. But how could she cheat this lonely man of his babe and deliver her husband a bastard? True, Cyrus professed to want such an occurrence, but if faced with the reality . . . would he feel the same?

  Think! Serena demanded of herself, only to find that fulfilling the request was impossible. Her mind swirling, she shoved her stockings into her reticule, then donned her chemise and dress as best she could. She knew gaping holes existed where her hands could not reach the hooks and left her chemise-clad back exposed.

  Eyes darting around the room, she spotted the wardrobe. Snatching it open, she withdrew a dark cloak and threw it about her shoulders. She tucked her stiff-boned corset into one of the inner pockets.

  With shaking fingers, she tied her slippers. Her gaze, pulled by some nameless force, made its way back to the stranger. To Lucien, she corrected herself. After all, now that he knew her in the biblical sense, a pretense of formality was pointless.

  The hours in his arms and in his bed had been a sinful slice of heaven. But she would not allow herself to think about it or him anymore. He was the weakness Satan had presented her with. And she had made her choice. With desire-induced logic, she had failed her husband and God. She had become more like her mother’s daughter than anyone, including herself, had suspected. Whatever the case, she was not going to fail further by dwelling on the warmth of Lucien’s words or kisses, or thinking of the gratification he delivered with such ease.

  Fighting unshed tears, her gaze wandered over the taut, muscled breadth of his back, his slim hips, and the length of his powerful legs, which had kicked away the covers. She studied his profile one last time. He was handsome, devastating . . . dangerous to her sanity. She turned away.

  She must never seek him out, never entice herself with his brand of temptation again. She was afraid her Christian will would crumble beneath the hammer of desire he created. Afraid that she could not resist.

  She could never see him again.

  Something about that reality she did not want to examine too closely made her eyes well with tears once more. Before her sobs awakened Lucien, she crept out of the room, down the stairs, and fled into the London night.

  ****

  “Get up, old man.”

  Lucien heard the familiar voice nagging him. Something poked him in the ribs, and he squirmed to dodge the discomfort. When he felt the prod again, he groaned loudly in protest.

  “Come on. You promised me an afternoon at Gentleman Jackson’s. It’s my turn to beat the hell out of you.”

  Niles, Lucien’s cloudy brain realized despite the vestiges of sleep and the bang of his headache. The man was the most persistent nuisance . . . and the best friend.

  Lucien groaned. “Go away. I don’t want to box. I’ve already been beaten.” At least his head felt that way.

  “And who did the beating? Was it the ‘lady’ Holford tells me you brought here last night?” Niles asked, his voice laughing.

  With that reminder, Lucien’s memory flashed him a vision of white-blond hair and smoky blue eyes provocatively half-closed in pleasure. Instantly, he remembered the intimate feel of her body pulsing around him in blazing climax.

  He sat up and scanned the room. “Where is she?”

  “Haven’t seen her. I assumed you paid her and sent her on her way.”

  “No. I laid down beside her. She was asleep.” He looked at his friend, trying to puzzle it together. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

  Niles laughed, tossing Lucien his cape. “Check your pockets, my friend. She probably ran off with everything in them.”

  “No. She wasn’t a whore.”

  Niles brows rose dubiously. “The best don’t let on they are, at first. Where did you find her?”

  “Vauxhall,” Lucien replied.

  He shrugged. “That ties it. She was just better than most.”

  Lucien emptied the contents of his pockets and found everything present. “It’s all here, exactly where I left it.”

  Niles expression finally melted from cynicism to puzzlement. “Who was she, Clayborne?”

  Lucien shook his head, rubbing his aching forehead with his palm, trying to remember. “I couldn’t say. We met after I saved her from a thief, so we were not formally introduced.”

  “You never learned her name?”

  “No. The robbery shook her and she started to cry. After that, the subject never arose,” he admitted.

  “You have no idea who she is?” Niles pressed.

  “None. But she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She had the fair hair of an angel and the honey skin of a temptress. The way she made me feel . . .” Lucien closed his eyes in remembrance, feeling a surge of arousal.

  “She’s exactly what you need. And you let her get away?”

  “She must have bolted during the night. But damn it, why?”

  “This might give you a clue to her identity. Holford found it in the library.”

  Niles dropped a soft white handkerchief in his lap. Lucien fingered it, smelled her faint sultry scent, something reminiscent of gardenias, then turned it over. The initials SB had been embroidered into the linen square with fine pink thread.

  “No, it doesn’t help. She’s still a mystery.”

  “What are you going to do now? Find her, I hope.”

  Visions of Chelsea brought back his onslaught of guilt. “No. It was one night, nothing more.”

  Niles crossed his arms over a silk, striped waistcoat. “Ah, so you’re going to resume punishing yourself for an accident you could not prevent.”

  Grinding his teeth, Lucien replied, “At least I might have prevented her death, had I been home, where she needed me.”

  “That’s bloody nonsense! When are you going to face that?”

  He gestured to the door. “If you dislike my attitude, Holford can show you out.”

  “For an old man, you lack all common sense.”

  “I only have two years on you, and I have a sense of honor, damn it.”

  Niles nodded. “Yes, but the truth is you don’t want to gamble with love again. Ravenna burned you too badly.”

  Throwing the covers aside, Lucien leapt out of bed and donned his breeches. “That’s over.”

  “Is it? I’ve no doubt you wonder every day what would have prevented her from trysting with Wayland. Nothing, I’ll tell you. The woman was no good.”

  “You meddle too much in others’ lives,” Lucien ground out, crossing the room to his wardrobe.

  “Clayborne, did you cut yourself?”

  The inquisitive tone in Niles’s voice gave Lucien pause. He turned to his friend. “No. Why?”

  Niles emitted a low whistle and gestured to the bed. “My friend, you may have another problem on your hands. A big one.”

  Lucien followed the direction of his friend’s gaze—and spott
ed the dark crimson spots on his stark white sheets. Disbelieving the proof his eyes presented him, he walked half-dazed toward the bed and peered closer.

  “Any chance your whore was a virgin?” Niles asked.

  A wave of hot confusion and disbelief swept over Lucien. “I thought . . . That is to say she felt like . . . Damn!” He raked tense fingers through his hair and loosed a long sigh. “Last night, I swore I felt her tear. But she didn’t say anything. She never indicated it was her first time.”

  “Not a word?” Niles looked confused now as well.

  “Just a gasp, so I thought I was mistaken or too much in my cups. No innocent miss I’ve ever seen could undress a man with her eyes as this one could. Surely a virgin wouldn’t come home with a complete stranger and offer him her virtue?”

  “It seems she did just that.”

  “Oh, Christ,” he breathed, shock permeating every nerve.

  “Who do you think she was?”

  Lucien shrugged. “I don’t know. She wasn’t a whore. But I practically took her in my coach, and she offered only a small protest. Given that, and the fact she wasn’t with a proper escort, I assumed she was someone’s mistress. I even wondered if she was a young war widow.”

  “It appears to me she is someone’s daughter,” Niles said.

  “Ruined daughter now.” Lucien scrubbed a hand down his face. “Damnation!”

  “Any chance her father is a member of the ton?”

  “Her parents are dead.” Lucien reflected on the grief he had seen on her face. That and her compassion had been two of the qualities that had drawn him. “But she was dressed well, no mistake. It’s entirely likely she’s well-born, but she didn’t appear just out of the schoolroom. She was perhaps twenty.”