One Wicked Night

by Shelley Bradley

  “I will be certain she gets it.” Anne reached for the square of linen.

  Lucien held it away. “Actually, I think I would like to give it to her myself, as a surprise, you understand.”

  “What do you mean, my lord?”

  Lucien flashed a sudden, charming smile. “Would you be so kind as to send her a note telling her a surprise awaits her in the library?”

  “Lord Daneridge, that would be highly improper, considering you’ve never been formally introduced. What is going on here?”

  “Suffice it to say, dear sister, that propriety is no longer an issue between Her Grace and Lord Daneridge.”

  Lucien whirled on his friend. “Niles, shut up.”

  Anne gasped. “The Duchess of Warrington? She’s a noted evangelical, quite devoted to her cause. Are you saying you—”

  “I am saying nothing except that I would like a few words alone with Her Grace.” He enunciated the last words bitterly.

  “Is the handkerchief really hers?” Anne asked.

  Lucien only replied with a terse, “What does ‘SB’ stand for?”

  Anne clearly wanted to know how he could bed a woman and not know her name, but wisely refrained from asking. “It stands for Serena Boyce.”

  Gaze riveted on her dancing figure, her stunning smile, he nodded. “Will you please send her that note, without mentioning I will be awaiting her.”

  “Is it necessary?” Anne asked with an apprehensive glance.

  He nodded. “I promise the discussion will be quick, and I will do nothing to cause scandal in your house.”

  Anne looked undecided. Niles prompted her with a nod.

  “It is against my better judgment, but I will do so. The library in twenty minutes?”

  Lucien glanced at his watch and nodded. And waited.

  ****

  Serena stared at the cryptic note in her hands, delivered only moments ago by a passing servant. A surprise? What manner of surprise? Go find out, silly, she told herself. It might even be fun. After all, Lady Raddington had signed the note, and she would never sponsor anything devious. Nonetheless, it made Serena uneasy. She did not know Lady Raddington well, and could not imagine what this impromptu meeting could possibly be about.

  “What is it, darling?” Cyrus asked from his chair.

  “Nothing at all,” she answered, quickly tucking the note away. She placed a concerned hand over his. “How is your back feeling?”

  “Not well. I’m going to have one last word with Lord Raddington to thank him for his support, then we will depart. All right?”

  “Of course. I’m going to the library to speak with Lady Raddington myself. Fetch me at the library in half an hour?” Serena proposed.

  “Splendid.”

  Serena watched her husband rise and leave the room. With a mixture of curiosity and spine-prickling intuition about her upcoming appointment, she also exited the ballroom.

  Much further down the hall, away from the revelry of the rout, Serena found the library. She paused outside the door, listening for her “surprise.” It was eerily quiet.

  Cautiously, she pushed the door open with her fingertips and cast her eyes about the room. No one awaited her behind the giant cherrywood desk, nor did anyone sit on the massive green brocade sofa at the back of the room. Something in the air, something different, something that disturbed her, lifted the hair at the back of her neck, making her shiver. She paused in the threshold.

  Oh, you silly ninny. Lady Raddington will be along in a few moments. She had probably been waylaid in her hostessing duties.

  With that thought, Serena stepped further into the long, narrow room. Massive bookshelves lined the walls to both the left and right, reminding her of a library she had visited a month ago—the night she had allowed an unforgettable rake to seduce her.

  As she passed through the door, it shut behind her with quiet menace. Startled, she whirled toward the door—and gasped.

  Lucien Clayborne. He stood tall, his broad shoulders square and taut within his stark black coat. Her eyes flew to his in question. It was a mistake. The flaring censure, the blazing damnation in those emerald depths filled her with trepidation.

  “Hello, sweetheart.” The endearment, once spoken like a caress, he now wielded like a knife, sharp and cutting, stabbing her with alarm.

  He stepped toward her. Reflexively, she stepped back.

  “Or should I properly address you as Your Grace?”

  Dear God, he knew. A crash of apprehension roared in her head. Perspiration broke out in fine beads on her palms. She rubbed them together nervously.

  “How did you find out?” she asked, her voice trembling.

  “Does it matter?” Fury raced across his face, resounded in his deep voice. His eyes glittered dangerously with it, holding the look of a man betrayed, the expression that had been permanently etched on her father’s face.

  She swallowed. “I . . . suppose not.”

  Before she could move, he took the final steps toward her. He grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. His sensual mouth, the one that had taught her such ecstasy, then condemned her.

  “What kind of games are you playing?”

  She recoiled from his hard-edged rage. “It wasn’t a game. I allowed it to happen.” She swallowed. “And I should not have.”

  He paused, and Serena held her breath, praying her honesty had diffused some of his rage.

  Instead, her words had the opposite effect.

  He clutched her more tightly, his cheeks and mouth tight with fury, his scowl fierce. “Oh, no. You could have backed out anytime. Hell, all you had to do was say no, or better yet, inform me of your married state. Believe me, I would have taken my hands off you in an instant,” he snarled. “So what was it you wanted? To make your husband jealous? He’s obviously never taken the time to bed you himself.” His mouth turned down in open contempt. “Or was that the problem? Were you bored and hot for a man between your legs? Did it feel good to use me?”

  She flinched. “Tell me you did not intend to use me, Lord Daneridge,” she retorted sharply. “Did you not intend to find a way under my skirt? You intoxicated me with liquor and compliments and kisses, and got what you wanted.”

  “I’m guilty on all those counts, but I had no knowledge of your virginity or marital status.”

  Serena looked away from the brutal contempt in his eyes. “I’m sorry. I had no idea it would matter to you.”

  His voice rose to new levels. “You didn’t think it would matter? What happened between us was like nothing I’ve ever felt. Then I woke up to discover you missing and my sheets stained with your virgin’s blood. Damnation, how could that not matter to me?”

  “It’s not something most men would give a second thought,” she retorted, remembering the parade of Mama’s lovers.

  The scowl on his face deepened at that truth. “We are not discussing anyone but you and me. To me, it mattered a hell of a lot.”

  Serena swallowed a lump of guilt. Not only had she broken her vows to Cyrus and God, but also disillusioned the rogue who had given her such tender pleasure. “Again, I apologize.”

  “I’ve no wish to hear another apology, damn it. I want to know why you let me bed you.”

  She looked down at her hands wringing one another in a nervous, white-knuckled grip. Her voice shook. “I did not intend that at all. Once you rescued me, and then when you . . . touched me, I simply could not resist.”

  With a fierce grip on her chin, he forced her gaze upward. “Is that your attempt to flatter me out of my anger, Your Grace?”

  “No, I—”

  He released her abruptly. “Save the denials. I’ve no wish to hear them.”

  “But I am telling you the truth!”

  “A woman always is.” The biting edge of his sarcasm told her she had confessed her greatest sin in vain.

  He paused, sliding spread fingers through his hair. Stray locks fanned out across his forehead rakishly. The implacable line of his jaw made
her too aware of him as a man, and she damned herself for thinking carnal thoughts in the face of her guilt and his rage. But damning did not help. Her eyes strayed to his mouth, firm and oh so capable. Her knees melted in remembrance. She felt every inch like her mother.

  “I already divorced a traitorous witch like you,” he continued. “I have no desire to consort with another who practices deceit as easily as she breathes. And you, sweetheart, fall into that category. Never come near me again.”

  He whirled for the door.

  “Listen, please!” She raced after him. “I did not mean to deceive you.”

  Lucien didn’t even pause. He exited the library—and her life—with a slam of the door.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Serena dreamed of him in color.

  Lucien kissed her face, his mouth making a teasing foray around her lips. She clasped her arms about his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. The strains of an orchestra played deep in the background, as the gentle splatter of warm rain on her body saturated her sheer chemise. Then came the hot caress of Lucien’s tongue against her own, swirling, entreating—utterly arousing.

  Gently, he laid her back in the summertime grass. Its damp, earthy scent, along with the soft blades against her bare back, roused her as he lifted the soft chemise from her body.

  Flowers stood high all around them, sequestering them in privacy. He reached for one, a spectacular white orchid just opening its petals to the world. Plucking it between his fingers, he circled her nipple with the bud. Under the guidance of his fingers, the delicate flower drifted downward, touching the sensitive skin of her abdomen. His mouth followed, bestowing one pleasurable kiss after another upon her flesh.

  He parted her legs, and she felt the whisper-soft touch of the flower there, where she was most sensitive. When his fingers followed, teasing, tormenting, titillating, she gasped.

  “Please,” she gasped. “Now.”

  He chuckled and rose above her, now looming. She noticed then he was still fully clothed, despite her nakedness.

  “Please?” he repeated, as if testing the word.

  The smile on his mouth died. He grabbed her shoulders and wrenched her from the grass.

  “Please what?” he growled. “Bed you again so you can cuckold your husband? So you can use me once more?”

  No, she answered silently. Yet, she felt his hands on her body, remembered their pleasure-giving abilities. She yearned for another kiss, like the kiss they shared moments ago. Yes . . . She did want him, couldn’t stop wanting him—

  The abrupt, all too realistic slam of a door rent her dream.

  Serena gasped, opening her sleepy eyes in disorientation. Cognizant of the perspiration moistening her nightgown—and the damp ache in her body—she looked about her semi-dark bedroom. Light streamed in from behind the blue velvet of her curtains.

  No rain, no flowers . . . no Lucien. She closed her eyes, trying desperately to banish the vision, to understand why the dream haunted her with frightening regularity. Was this how Mama had felt with a new lover?

  “Here we go, milady,” Caffey piped suddenly from across the room. “Your mornin’ chocolate. I brought ye a muffin, too.”

  Food? Even the thought of it made her stomach protest. “Take it away, Caffey, please.”

  “Milady, ye must eat. Ye didn’t eat yesterday mornin’ either. Is somethin’ wrong?”

  Besides her gnawing guilt? “I’ve simply no time this morning. Is my husband breakfasting?”

  “Aye, milady. Just sat down a few minutes ago.”

  “Good. Help me dress.”

  Within half an hour, Serena descended the stairs in search of Cyrus. Today, she decided firmly, she would tell him everything. Perhaps then the dreams would stop. Maybe she would no longer hear the echo of Lucien’s contemptuous voice in her head as she had for the last week. What games are you playing, you little witch?

  Serena reached the dining room, but found it empty.

  With an urgent stride, she ventured to Cyrus’s office. Knocking discreetly on the closed door, she sighed with relief when he bade her to enter a moment later.

  Biting her lip nervously, she stepped into the familiar room and found her husband seated behind his corner desk. His secretary, a middle-aged, bespectacled man, sat on a chair beside him.

  “I’ve no wish to interrupt. Forgive me,” she said softly. “I shall come back later.”

  “Actually, darling, we were just finishing. Good work, Clemson,” Cyrus said to his secretary. “If you learn anything else, let me know.”

  “Of course, Your Grace,” the man replied. He cast Serena a contemplative glance that baffled her, then left the room.

  “Did you need something, my dear?” Cyrus inquired.

  He stared at her, his expression unfamiliar, a look both speculative and knowing. A chill of foreboding crept through her.

  She retreated a step. “No. I just came to say good morning. I will see you later this evening.”

  “Serena, I want to speak with you before you go.”

  What if he knew? Oh mercy, what do I say? How do I explain my sinful behavior?

  “About what?” She forced a casual note into her voice.

  “The night of June eighteenth, my dear. Would you like to tell me where you were?”

  The night she had spent with Lucien. His words ripped the breath from her lungs, tripling the dread and nausea in her stomach.

  She looked down, trying to concentrate on the bronze and black design in the carpet. “Melanie and I went to Vauxhall.”

  “Yes. I remember the two of you leaving here when Lord Highbridge arrived. What happened after that?”

  “During the rope dancer’s performance, we became separated.” She paused to moisten her suddenly dry lips. “As I told you, a man robbed me of my jewelry. A-a stranger saved me.”

  “I see,” he replied, rising to his feet. “And Lord Daneridge was that stranger?”

  She swallowed, not daring to take her gaze from the carpet. “Yes.”

  Cyrus cupped his hands about her shoulders. “My dear, I ask you, not so you can feel guiltier than I know you have been, but to be certain my information is correct.”

  In surprise, she lifted her gaze to Cyrus’s. “Information?”

  “Yes. I had Lord Daneridge’s situation looked into after I overheard you two talking at the Raddingtons’ last week.”

  Her heart pounded into her throat. “You’ve known all this time and didn’t tell me?”

  “I wanted to investigate him before I spoke with you. Quite frankly, I knew very little about the man. And this kind of tryst is so frequent, I could not understand his anger over your marital status.”

  “He felt that I deceived him purposefully.” Her words shook as much as her fingers.

  “Yes. I received the report from the investigator this morning. In fact, Clemson was briefing me on it when you knocked.”

  Serena closed her eyes to endure the jolt of shock and guilt. The hired help knew. Dear Lord, how long before the rumor was all over town? How long before Cyrus was ashamed to call her his wife?

  “Oh,” she managed the half-whisper.

  “The report is quite interesting.” Cyrus went on easily, as if discussing nothing odder than the weather. “It explains his behavior at the Raddingtons’ thoroughly.”

  She shook her head. “Cyrus, he won’t speak to me again, ever. I cannot see the point in listening—”

  “Because someday, perhaps soon, I’m going to die. I will not have you left alone. I’ve stolen years of your youth. I’ve told you I realize how selfish I was to seek this marriage. I’m terribly sorry my . . . condition has led you to this.” He patted her back. “I know your tryst with Daneridge never would have happened had I been a healthy man. And when I am gone, I will rest easier if I know you are happily remarried to a man capable of giving you children.”

  She raised imploring hands. Remarried? “You’re healthy, Cyrus. You will not die soon. Do not even say that.�
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  “I am fifty-four and I have gout. I cannot live forever.”

  Wringing her hands, Serena sat silently, absorbing the truth of his words.

  “I investigated Lord Daneridge because, in light of your association, I thought he might be the most suitable choice of a husband.”

  “Now that we know he is not, must we discuss this?”

  “On the contrary. He’s of impeccable family. He is wealthy, well-educated, respected by his peers. His divorce is hardly the latest scandal anymore. I think he is an excellent choice.”

  She couldn’t understand why Cyrus was intent on pushing her toward a man who despised her. Or why was he behaving as though he were already in his grave.

  “This is lunacy!” Serena insisted. “He is not at all right for me.”

  “Once you hear what’s in this report, I think you will see the matter differently.”

  She gaped at her husband. “How could I? Cyrus, the man drinks and swears. He is divorced—”

  “I am aware of all that. In fact, his divorce is the heart of the issue.”

  Unwillingly curious, Serena asked, “What do you mean?”

  Cyrus rose and began to pace, an action he usually reserved for the delivery of his most persuasive arguments to the Lords. Serena felt a distinct prickle of alarm.