Resisting an urge to find a wrap to cover her, Serena crossed her arms over her breasts instead. “Yes.”
“How about mornings? How does your stomach feel?” he quizzed, his gaze still probing.
“Not well.” The nausea she woke to this morning had abated somewhat, and thankfully she hadn’t lost the contents of her stomach as she had the previous morning, but even now her insides rolled and lurched.
“Queasy, are you?” he prompted.
She nodded, refusing to clarify that further.
“Other than that, how do you feel?”
She sighed, grateful the topic had shifted to something slightly less uncomfortable. At length, she replied, “Exhausted. I feel I could sleep forever and still require more sleep.”
He nodded. “Do you find you’re more irritable? Perhaps more prone to tears?”
How had he known that? She had cried more in the last week than in the last five years. Was it simple grief? Or some symptom, as he was alluding to? “On all counts, yes.”
“Have you seen a doctor or midwife?”
She shook her head. “I didn’t think I had experienced anything untoward to warrant medical examination.”
Finally, he replied. “No, you haven’t. Based on what you’ve said, I would agree that you are pregnant.”
She stifled a gasp. Truly? She wanted to ask, but knew she could not. If she had displayed all the symptoms, that accounted for Caffey’s pointed comments.
If Lucien’s suspicion was indeed truth, God had finally answered her most fervent prayer, at a time both blessed and accursed. The Warrington lineage would be assured if the babe were a boy, but Cyrus wouldn’t be with her to share in the joy, to see the fruits of his plans, boy or girl, make its way into the world. She fought back another wave of grief.
And what must Lord Daneridge think of this turn of events?
“My lord, do not fear I expect anything,” Serena hastened to reassure. “You need not make an acknowledgment or settlement.”
“You may not expect anything, but you need something,” he stated matter-of-factly. “My protection. Marsden does not strike me as a particularly sane man.”
She bit her lip. “No, but I shall look after myself. Despite Cyrus’s letter, you need not involve yourself further.”
Lucien leaned closer. “Do you really believe you alone can avoid the danger your husband, his coachman, and several footmen could not? If Marsden could arrange for the murder of a powerful man, certainly he would allow nothing as paltry as a grieving widow to stand between himself and a fortune.”
“Alastair wouldn’t be foolish enough to have me killed as well,” she argued. “Such a deed would seem suspicious.”
“A logical person would think so. Marsden can hardly be described as logical.”
Serena looked away from the intent green of Lucien’s stare, knowing he was right. Alastair would rather take the risk of having her killed than let Cyrus’s fortune remain in her possession. But having Lucien as her protector . . . She shook her head. Such a scenario provided too many possibilities for temptation.
Trying to ignore the spark of awareness dancing across her skin, she faced him. “Perhaps Alastair is not logical, but I would not term him an imbecile. Truly, I do not think he will do anything to cast suspicion upon himself.”
Lucien grabbed her arm. “Are you willing to bet your life on that? As well as the life of our unborn child?”
Put like that, her avoidance of Lucien seemed petty. His protection afforded her the best chance of staying alive. But she must resist his enigmatic charm. She owed Cyrus a proper mourning, and herself the assurance Mama’s wicked propensities didn’t flourish within her.
Serena rose. He rose with her.
“You are right.” She sighed. “I must stay alive to avenge Cyrus’s death . . . and raise this child.” Her hands slid across her middle, cradling the life she surely harbored within.
Lucien raked his fingers through his hair. “I will protect you in every way I can.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated, a taut expression masking his face. “It’s not your gratitude I seek.”
A note of foreboding shivered down her spine. “Then what?”
A moment of still passed. The clock in the hall tick off the tenuous seconds as his penetrating gaze held hers captive. “For you to become my wife. Today.”
A first splash of shock washed over her, followed by wave after incredulous wave. “Your wife? Certainly you know that such an alliance anytime in the next year would be impossible, but today . . .”
“Today,” he reiterated implacably.
“It would be unseemly! People will whisper about me—and the baby—viciously.”
“I’ve lived through a divorce. Do you think I give a damn about the ton’s gossip anymore? Besides, it will blow over when the next scandal rolls around.”
“But I—I hardly know you.”
He scoffed cynically. “You know me well enough to have my child. Under most circumstances, that requires marriage.”
“I am in mourning! I appreciate your sense of honor, to make such a sacrifice, but I hardly think—”
“Honor be damned!” He leaned too close to allow normal breathing. The arched ebony brows and angled planes of his high cheeks both bespoke anger, which his voice echoed. “It isn’t honor that interests me, sweetheart. I very much care about that child. The babe will never be mine legally; I’m well aware of that, but I will play the part of its father. Nothing—not you, nor silly social conventions, and certainly not Marsden—will keep me from taking part in this child’s life and having him or her raised as a part of my household. I’ll be damned before I allow you to rob me of my own seed.”
She backed away from him, digesting the fury of his speech. Few of the ton’s gentlemen cared so fervently for their children. Since he did, denying him access to this baby would be nothing short of cruel. Yet how could she choose any other path? Vicious tongues would ensure she’d be shunned forever for marrying one man while mourning another. And to be tied for the rest of her life to a man who had every reason to hold her in contempt . . . It did not bear thinking.
“We must not wed. Such a union would be disastrous at best, and I cannot imagine—”
“I could arrange it, Your Grace,” he sneered, “so you would rarely have to see me. I assure you, I’m talking about the most fashionable of marriages.”
His cold voice sent ice straight to her heart. Closing her eyes, she shook her head in denial of such a terrible prospect. Though she and Cyrus had never shared passion, a wealth of affection and respect had always flowed between them.
“My lord,” she began gently. “I was not objecting to you, for you can be most . . . pleasant when you desire. Rather it is your reasoning I question. I shall allow you to visit your son or daughter at any time you wish, under any pretense you devise.” She held up supplicating hands. “I simply feel that, in light of society’s disapproval and the fact we bear no love for one other, perhaps the notion of a rushed marriage is ill-conceived.”
“Ill-conceived or not, I insist. Love is not necessary for marriage and never has been. If you were expecting something more romantic, I apologize. We had our evening of romance. Now we must face the result.”
He pulled a piece of paper from his cream-colored waistcoat pocket and held it up for her inspection. Serena felt the blood leave her face in a rush when she realized the document was a special license for marriage.
“As you can see, I’m quite prepared and quite serious.” His voice broke through the haze of her shock.
She shook her head. “I will not marry you.”
His green eyes narrowed, glittering with anger. “You will. I’ll expect you at my town house at eight this evening. If you do not come, I promise you will find the consequences are more unpleasant than marriage.”
He released her, then stalked from the drawing room, slamming the door behind him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
/> Eight o’clock that evening brought no sign of Serena’s arrival. Nor did eight-thirty.
At nine, Lucien swallowed both anger and pride, and sent the clergyman home. Niles tried to soothe him with a drink and a friendly pat on the back, but he found neither of any comfort.
Damn it, Lucien didn’t want to make this situation any uglier. But their child was more important than their wishes, and regardless of Her Grace’s thoughts, that boy or girl would grow up knowing the love of both mother and father. He would have the opportunity to prove he wasn’t a failure as a parent. He would ensure that mother and child remained alive.
“Well, old chap, now what?” Niles questioned. “Will you give up the notion of marriage?”
Turning to his friend, Lucien retrieved a multi-colored bouquet of heather, roses and carnations he had procured for the bridal bouquet. “No. Something I say or do will bring her to my side.” He tossed the flowers onto a nearby table. “I just haven’t a clue what.”
“Why doesn’t she want to marry an old rogue like you?” Niles tried to tease.
Lucien found it anything but amusing. “She’s worried about what people will say. Think of it: Her first husband not yet in his grave a month, and she weds another.” He sighed. “I understand her reluctance. But damn it, I must make her understand somehow.”
Niles grinned. “My friend, you just solved your own dilemma.”
Lucien cocked a brow. “How so?”
“She’s afraid of what people might say. So you need only threaten her with a scandal more dreadful if she doesn’t fall in line with your plan.”
The idea was underhanded and would make her hate him. But that wasn’t his primary concern. “In what way?”
“Threaten the lady with a bigger scandal, something worse than wedding before mourning blacks should be doffed.”
Such a simple solution—one that would forever mark him a manipulative bastard in her eyes. But if it kept her and their child safe and by his side, he would live with whatever opinion she held of him, no matter how low.
“You can be a real a genius, young pup.” Lucien clapped Niles on the shoulder. “And I know just the scandal to threaten her with.”
With a triumphant smile curving his lips, he raced to the desk for ink and paper.
****
As Lucien had predicted, his threat brought Serena round to his door at precisely eight that next evening, as his note had instructed.
Lucien awaited Serena in the comfort of his drawing room when he heard the first notes of her raised voice in the entrance hall. Moments later, Holford opened the door to admit her.
Serena swept past the butler and erupted into the room. Her smoky blue-gray eyes spitting resentment, Lucien noted with satisfaction that her gaze sought him immediately. The color in her cheeks ran high against the severe black muslin of her mourning dress.
She was beautiful. God, how he wanted to touch her.
“How dare you?” she questioned without preamble, each word hissed like an oath. “This,” she spat, holding up Lucien’s missive, “is nothing short of blackmail!”
Setting his brandy aside, Lucien rose and closed the door behind her, shutting out an inquisitive Holford. “I am well aware of that,” he said in a low, soothing voice. “If you will sit, I shall explain—”
“Nothing you have to say will change my mind.” Her fingers clenched into fists at her sides. “This scheme is the most ruthless, underhanded . . . How could you?”
Because he had little choice.
Lucien reached for her arms in a gesture of supplication. She jerked away. “Don’t think of touching me. Not now or ever!”
Anger whirled in his blood and thoughts, but he controlled it, letting her spend her fury.
“Answer me. How could you threaten me with this? Only the most reprehensible blackguard would callously use his own child and threaten to besmirch its birth by making its parentage public, especially by planting it in the ear of gossips like Lady Jersey!”
“Serena—”
“What if gossip doesn’t ruin me enough, my lord? What then? A few lines in the Times letting all of London know that I’m a fallen woman and our child is a bastard?”
Lucien inhaled deeply. “If that is what is required to bring you to the altar, yes.”
Her eyes narrowed. “How can you expect me to ruin my late husband’s good name by wedding again so quickly? Do you care so little for me that you would think nothing of making my behavior and my condition the ton’s latest scandal?”
Lucien retrieved his drink and poured the liquid down his throat, never tasting it. “I thought I made my reasons clear yesterday. Your protection and our child’s upbringing are responsibilities I take very seriously. You chose not to present yourself here last evening. I warned you of consequences if you did not.” He pointed to the note in her hand. “That, Your Grace, is the consequence.”
She crumpled the note up in her fist, then threw it at him. It struck his chest and fell at his feet. “You self-serving knave! I stumble once.” She held up her finger. “Just once from the path of moral decency. And you insist on making certain the ton labels me my mother’s daughter.”
Her mother’s daughter? He pondered the meaning of those words as he bent to retrieve the note. “I’ve no notion of what you speak. I merely wish to raise my child and see that you live long enough to bear it.”
She laughed. “Everyone else knows Lady Abbington. I was lucky to make a match at all, much less with a duke, thanks to her indiscriminate liaisons. I’ve spent my entire life striving to be different, and you think nothing of destroying all that with a single whisper.” Her eyes sparked with blue fury. “I wish I had never set eyes on you.”
“You did set eyes on me.” His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper as he curled his fingers about her arms and pulled her closer. “And much more, as I recall. No amount of regret will change that. The question is, will you make me carry through with my threat? Or will you be a docile bride when the vicar arrives?”
Her eyes widened, glaring with visible fury. “I have little choice, unless I want to be branded the same whore as my mother. But then, you planned it that way, didn’t you?”
“So that’s a yes. What a charming acceptance,” he drawled.
“What else did you expect from such a gallant proposal?”
“Touché,” he quipped. “And settlements?”
She gasped, jaw dropping. “Cyrus left his fortune to me, and me alone. I won’t give it over to you to squander.”
“I assure you, I have neither the need nor the desire for the man’s money. It’s yours to spend as you please, and I’ll sign anything to that effect you would care to have drawn up.”
“My solicitor will contact yours.”
Serena was proving tougher than he ever fathomed, given the shy creature he’d first made love to. He released her arm to whirl away and paced, coming to a halt behind the sofa. Broad palms gripping the cherry-trimmed backing, he offered, “Serena, I will endeavor to be considerate. I will check with you before committing to social engagements requiring us both. I will consult you on matters of holidays and households. You may redecorate however you like. I understand you’re less than happy about this match, and I am prepared to be indulgent—to a point.”
The anger shimmering from her in hot waves matched the tone of her voice. “What is it you expect of me in return?”
He paced again, stopping only long enough to lift his brandy from an end table. “Three simple things. One, to be a proper mother for the child, one who takes an active interest in his or her welfare.”
“That, my lord, will be easy. I’ve long wanted children.”
Serena bowed her head as she rubbed her belly protectively. The light shone off the golden fire of her hair, shimmered off her flawless, warm-toned skin. To him, she looked part angel, and it stirred something within him to realize that he had been the first man to discover what a wanton this particular woman could be.
“Y
et never had them. Why?” he fished, hoping she would divulge more of the relationship she had shared with Warrington.
“That subject is closed. What else do you require?” she asked with a stubborn tilt to her chin.
He let the matter of her first marriage drop, for now. “I will, at some point, require an heir. Certainly, anytime soon would be impossible, given your . . . condition. After that, however, I shall expect it.”
Serena stiffened. Her pink lips, which he craved to claim, flattened in displeasure. “As long as you understand that once a boy is born, no further intimate contact will take place.”
He arched a brow that questioned and mocked at once. “If that is your wish.”
“It is, without question. And number three?”
“I demand absolute fidelity. You will not cuckold me as you did Warrington.”
His words sent color flaring into her cheeks once again. “And pray tell me, will I receive that same consideration?”
“Will I be granted access to your chambers with any regularity?”
Her eyes widened at his blunt question. “Absolutely not.”
“Then expect to receive no consideration on that score.”
She flew across the room, stopping before his perch upon the sofa. “I hardly think that is a fair arrangement.”
He shrugged. “I agree. It’s tedious to leave the house for something I would rather have here with you.”
Shock burst across her face before her eyes narrowed. She looked ready to slap him. “You’re insufferable and crude! I cannot fathom why I ever—”
One Wicked Night Page 15