One Wicked Night (11 page)
Authors: Shelley Bradley
He focused the woman below him into one image. Damn it, she wasn’t Serena. Not at all. He smacked her again, then stood and jerked up his breeches with a curse.
If he had truly bedded Uncle Cyrus’s holier-than-thou wife, she would have begged and screamed and cried for mercy, as she had when he’d held the knife to her throat. The thought made him hard again. But the haggard whore would no longer suffice. Her hair wasn’t that brilliant pale color. Her skin betrayed her advancing age. Her manner was too forward. He shoved her away.
He sat on the stairs, his clothes smelling like whiskey, and thought. Three thousand pounds. Where would he come up with it? His property was already mortgaged. He owed his friends too much money to ask for more. No one was allowing him to borrow on his expectations of inheriting the dukedom any longer, now that dear Uncle Cyrus had taken a young wife. And Uncle Cyrus had made it clear no more money would be forthcoming until his death.
Ah, death; now there was an idea. He was heir to a vast dukedom. Uncle Cyrus had held it far too long. Certainly, Alastair deserved a turn at all that money lying around in bank accounts, gathering dust. Of course he had no need for Uncle Cyrus’s businesses or his seat in the Lords. Just the money.
And Uncle Cyrus’s widow would need hours of comforting—with her legs spread. He rose and exited the gaming hell, whistling a chipper tune.
CHAPTER SIX
Lucien walked among the throng of people attending the Raddingtons’ rout and surveyed the ever-thickening crowd, but found no sign of his mystery lady.
Niles turned to him with a sigh. “I do not see her.”
Lucien scanned the room, his eyes still seeking a luxurious head of white-gold hair. “Neither do I. Keep looking. She will certainly show her face in public again someday.”
“Perhaps,” Niles hedged. “But clearly she’s done very little of that in the past.”
The woman,
his
woman, weighed heavily upon Lucien’s mind as the days passed, and tonight in particular. Was she well? Did she ever think of him, too?
“Hello, Lord Daneridge. Did my brother drag you here to help him endure my soirée?” a feminine voice asked from behind, turning both men in her direction.
Wearing a faint smile, Lucien glanced at Niles before gazing back to his friend’s sister. “Actually, no. I enjoy your parties, Lady Raddington. I consider it a privilege to be on your guest list.”
“La, how you flatter. Is that a nasty habit you acquired from Devon?”
“Not me, little sister,” Niles interjected. “I’m all manners, don’t you know?”
“Yes, I know all too well.” Anne laughed, then drifted off to greet another guest.
Niles took a sip of champagne. “So what will you say if you find this woman again?”
Lucien shrugged, not certain himself. Would he scream, implore her to see reason, or simply succumb to his urge to kiss her?
The smell of gardenias lingered in the air. Every time he breathed that pungent scent, he half expected her to precede it. He could almost feel her here. Something in the air made his spine tingle. He scanned the room for her again.
And saw her.
Dressed in a low-cut creation of the most tantalizing shade of sapphire, she shimmered around the dance floor in the arms of an elderly, portly gentleman. Her cloud of white-gold hair was piled exotically on her head, a trail of curls caressing her neck. Her flawless honey skin held a hint of becoming rose tonight, he noted, studying her delicate profile. As before, raw desire slammed into him, stealing his breath, leaving him shaking and hungry.
“There! Do you see her, Clayborne?” Niles asked beside him.
Eyes never leaving her, Lucien nodded.
“Who is the old gent with her? Looks like the Duke of Warrington. Her guardian, you suppose?”
“That would be my guess. He’s old enough to be one of her father’s or grandfather’s cronies.”
With a low whistle, Niles commented, “Powerful guardian, old man.”
Lucien nodded, a determined tightening in his jaw. “Quite so. But I will convince His Grace I am the appropriate suitor for his charge.”
“Will you tell him the truth?”
Lucien paused. “Only if he forces the issue.”
Anne, wearing a harried smile, strode by then. Niles grabbed her arm, halting her progress.
“Dear sister, who is the lovely blond creature over there?” Niles pointed discreetly.
“Falling in love, Devon? If so, she should definitely be off your list of eligible ladies.”
“Why?” Lucien snapped.
Looking confused at his tone, Anne replied, “She’s the Duchess of Warrington.”
Lucien felt his stomach execute a painful plunge before it crashed to the ground. A simultaneous wave of dizziness and nausea spiked through him. The blood left his face.
Married. And a virgin? What the hell had he done? What had she let him do?
Lucien was vaguely aware of Niles’s stunned stare, but could not return it.
“How on earth did she . . .was she . . .?” Niles trailed off in confusion.
“I don’t know,” was all Lucien could answer.
“What are you two talking about?” Anne demanded to know. “Have you met the duchess, Lord Daneridge?
Met her? Oh, yes. He was thoroughly acquainted with
Her Grace
, the cuckolding bitch.
What was her game? The man had obviously never bedded his wife. Was she seeking to gain an indifferent husband’s attention with coy schemes of jealousy? Or perhaps she had never wanted to marry an older man and decided to cuckold him with younger amusement for spite. For a moment, he wished he listened to the
ton’s
gossip more often; it would likely answer his questions.
Whatever the answers, she was no different from Ravenna.
For Anne’s benefit, he fabricated a tale. “We ran into each other, quite literally, at Rundell and Bridge, Lady Raddington. I’m afraid I did not catch her name, but she did drop this.” Lucien retrieved the duchess’s handkerchief from his waistcoat.
“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.”