One Wicked Night (21 page)

The old man pronounced, “Those whom God hath joined together, let no man put asunder.”

Lucien led her to a writing desk. On it lay the registry. From the corner of her eye, she saw him lift the quill, before he placed it directly into her hand.

“Sign, dear,” the watchful vicar prompted with a smile.

Serena hesitated. Signing this document would make their marriage legal, official . . . binding. Then she felt the pressure of Lucien’s hand at the small of her back as he whispered, “Sign it now.”

With both the clergyman and Lucien looking on, she did. And choked back her tears.

She had come here tonight expecting to talk Lucien out of this outrageous wedding. Instead, she found herself with a new husband. What could she have done to prevent it? He had devised the perfect threat. And the certainty she was indeed with child was strong now. This morning, and again this afternoon, she had lost what little food she had put into her stomach.

Lucien took the quill from her numb fingers and signed the registry himself. The vicar added his scrawl before Lord Niles and Lady Raddington witnessed the document.

The clergyman gave Lucien his compliments, then bowed over Serena’s hand before departing.

Holford closed the door behind the reverend, leaving Serena alone with her new husband, Lord Niles, and his sister. She collapsed into a chair in the far corner of the room, away from Lucien. She wished desperately she could drift into peaceful slumber and forget this mess. Better yet, she wanted to wake up and discover this mock marriage was no more than a sleep-induced nightmare.

“Let’s celebrate!” Lord Niles suggested, spurring Serena from her preoccupation.

Lucien and Niles lifted glasses of brandy in toasts to wedded bliss, partaking of the bridal cake one of the servants had ushered in moments ago. She was married now to a sinful ogre of a man, bound to a man who drank, cursed—and seduced like the devil. Serena’s stomach churned. She declined her piece of cake.

To her surprise, Lady Raddington declined her slice as well and trod across the room to sit beside her. “Are you well, Lady Daneridge?”

Lady Raddington rose before Serena could protest the liquor. She needed it; anything to take the edge off this harsh reality, if only for a moment or two.

A moment later, Lady Raddington returned with some sherry. Serena sipped, not wanting to consider how low her morals had slipped. One sunny June day she had been a married lady of chaste virtue and upstanding morals. On that rainy night, she had become a wanton adulteress who consumed both alcohol and passion. She had slipped into her mother’s skin. What could a glass of sinner’s drink hurt after her plethora of sins?

“Do not frown. Happiness may yet come your way,” Lady Raddington offered.

At those words, Serena lifted her gaze to Lucien. She found his stare riveted on her, all too captivating. The hunger in his green eyes reminded her of the hot desire that had spilled between them during their night together. He was remembering, too.

Drawing in a shaky breath, she turned away. “Thank you for your concern.”

Lady Raddington took her hand in a gesture of comfort. “Of course. Let me know if I can do anything else to help.”

Serena watched as Lucien set aside his glass and started across the room to her. She held her breath when, moments later, he wrapped hot fingers around her arm and lifted her from her chair.

“You can do something,” she whispered to Lady Raddington in return. “Pray for me.”

Lucien bid their guests a good night and escorted her from the withdrawing room, down the hall, toward his bedroom. In the hallway, she jerked out of his hold.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded.

With a scowl, he pulled her before one of the doors. “To your chamber. You looked ready to nod off in that chair.”

“I will not sleep here,” she insisted. “I will not
live
here! I have a house of my own.”

He halted before her, set aside his cane and grabbed her arms. “You will live here. Despite the fact you dislike it, we are now husband and wife.”

“I may be your wife, but I am not your servant, and I will live where I please. And I please to live in my house!”

His brows drew together in a furious frown. The grasp on her arms tightened. “You are my wife now, and
my
wife lives under
my
roof with
me.
”

“Like the first one?”

As soon as the jibe was out, Serena stepped back from the palpable anger he radiated.

“Simple military intelligence training instructs an officer that he cannot protect a target of violence from afar. You will stay here. You may send for your things come morning.”

Alastair. She had forgotten about his threats in the midst of Lucien’s. She swallowed, supposing her new husband was right. He could hardly protect her from down the street and round the corner.

He ignored her. “If you want, redecorate the chamber. I never bothered to do so after my ex-wife left.” His eyes narrowed with anger. “It’s vulgar. She was fond of red. Then again, you may like it.”

With that, he found his cane, pivoted away, and disappeared into his own rooms.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Red indeed,
Serena mused once inside the boudoir that had been Ravenna Clayborne’s domain. A sea of scarlet glared around her, papering every wall, covering the floor, draping the sumptuous bed. The color was unrelieved throughout the room, except for a pattern of black woven into an occasional cushion and the gold trimmings on the carpet. Porcelain knick-knacks, red glass jars, and a gilt-handled brush and mirror set rested undisturbed on a dressing table, as if their mistress had been gone moments instead of over a year.

Serena wandered around the room, taking in the garish decor, only semi-conscious of the fact her mouth hung wide open. What kind of a woman wanted her bedroom to appear so . . . carnal? A complete wanton. The kind of woman who left a handsome, exciting husband for one of his best friends.

And Lucien thought she would like this? She dropped her forehead to her palm tiredly. He must think her very much like his ex-wife. In truth, she didn’t understand Ravenna any more than Lucien did.

The room said everything about his ex-wife, and nothing at all. Certainly, it shouted her taste for the dramatic, as evidenced by the bed’s blood-red velvet coverlet and the four gilt posts surrounding it. But who had Ravenna Clayborne been? What had motivated her to leave Lucien?

Turning in a slow circle, Serena saw a red dressing screen painted with gold and black dragons, Chinese fashion, and the fabric-draped door to a dressing closet. Curiously, she opened the door—and stood rooted in shock.

Sunken into the floor lay a round tub of red tile. The rim consisted of a series of hand-painted tiles depicting men and women, utterly naked, intimately entwined in various positions.

Gasping, Serena backed away, scalded by the sight, and slammed the door behind her.

Then she saw the painting.

Immediately to her left hung a portrait of Ravenna
a lá
Venus, signed by the artist, Vigee Le Brun. Ravenna had been captured partially reclining on red silk, holding a wine goblet. The nearly transparent Grecian drape she wore outlined her curves and threatened to bare her breasts. The look in her dark eyes could only be termed lazy satiation. Black hair, loose and tousled, framed her face and clung to her sides. The end of one strand lay above the mound of her femininity, as if pointing there to draw the viewer’s gaze.

This woman was a beautiful temptress, a sensual creature of abandon. Serena didn’t wonder why men, including Lucien, were driven to possess such a wild soul. Cyrus had explained such male fantasies to her. Then, as now, they left her feeling inadequate, for she could never tempt men to sin as the ivory-skinned, ruby-lipped Ravenna obviously had. Not that she wanted to possess such an ability. She favored Christian morals to wallowing in secular pleasures of the flesh.

A vision of Lucien, his face dark with stubble, flushed with intent as he had thrust inside her flashed into her mind, mocking her morals. Had Lucien made love to Ravenna with that same slow purpose or with mindless, driving desire? And why did the memory of Lucien’s hands on her body incite a hot, sinful burn?

“Good evenin’, me lady,” a cheery voice called from the doorway, startling Serena from her guilty thoughts.

A flush crept up her cheeks as Serena bade the woman to enter.

“Me name’s Mildred,” the plump fortyish woman offered, bobbing a curtsy. “His lordship sent me to care fer ye, since yer without yer own maid tonight.”

Serena nodded, and before she could even take a breath, the servant continued, “I see yer lookin’ at the first Lady Daneridge’s likeness.”

“Yes. It’s . . . unique.”

“Is that why yer blushin’?” Mildred teased, then leaned forward in a conspiratorial whisper. “I served the first Lady Daneridge while she lived here. She was a wild one.”

Serena stared at the likeness of her husband’s former wife, inferiority bleeding through her again. “She was beautiful.”

“Aye, no mistaking that. Every man who saw her wanted her. And she wanted them, too. The young, handsome ones, anyway.”

Serena had the urge to ask Mildred a hundred questions about Lucien’s marriage to Ravenna and what had gone awry, but she quelled it. Encouraging such gossip was irresponsible. And knowing the extent of Lucien’s feelings for Ravenna would only disturb her.

At Serena’s bidding, Mildred helped her out of her dress. “There are a few of the first Lady Daneridge’s dressing gowns here, if you be wantin’ to wear one until ye can send fer your own.”

She thought nothing of Ravenna’s could surprise her further, but was astonished when Mildred held up a nightgown in transparent red gossamer, another in black silk, and yet a third in an exotic green satin, embroidered with black flowers.

Had Ravenna worn one or all of these for Lucien and seduced her husband? Had he pulled the garments from Ravenna’s body in his haste to make love to her? Serena tried not to care about what Lucien and Ravenna had done together while married, but as she stared at those erotic gowns, the questions haunted her.

“I’ll sleep in my chemise.”

Mildred gave her an approving smile. “I agree. These’re naught but Satan’s tempters.”

Serena said nothing as the maid braided her hair. Afterward, Mildred pushed her toward the bed. “Ye best lie down. Ye look plum ragged.” Serena thought to protest, but the maid said, “Don’t ye worry. I’ll see to ye. Bring ye chocolate in the mornin’ and send fer yer clothes, I will.”

Serena slipped beneath the red but mercifully clean sheets. A fluffy pillow cushioned her head, and sleep began to creep up on her. “I’ll wish to see someone about redecorating tomorrow. And I would like that portrait removed immediately.”

The maid nodded. “I’ll fetch some of the menservants to take the heavy thing down.”

Serena sighed tiredly. She did not want to leave the comfort of the downy bed. Yet for the male servants to enter, she would have to do so, as well as dress again and seek another room—one where she might run into Lucien. She reconsidered.

“In the morning will do.”

“I’ll see that it’s done as soon as you’re dressed. Ring fer me if ye need anything.” She paused and frowned. “Also, his lordship asked me to say he’s gone out fer the evening.”

With that, Mildred departed.

Out?
Serena wondered what Lucien could be doing away from home on their wedding night. Attending some rout or ball? Though that was possible, her mind evoked an image of her husband of less than two hours embracing another woman, seeking the pleasure she had denied him, as he had warned he would.

She shut her eyes, trying to shut out the disturbing vision. She did not care who Lucien saw or sinned with. If he chose to secure his place in hell, that was his affair.

But the tears she had to fight off made a liar of her.

****

Lucien inhaled deeply of the brisk, biting air before throwing open the door to his town house. The porter, roused from his predawn slumber, rushed to greet Lucien.

Lucien handed over his cloak and gloves, then hurried to the stairs. Serena. He wanted to assure himself she was still alive and had not run off in some silly display of temper. She was his wife, the mother of his unborn child, and his responsibility now—one he planned to take very seriously.

After their flash of a wedding, Lucien had gone to think, to sort out this new twist in his life. He had finally come to some conclusions after collecting Niles and driving them to a favorite pub. Once there, he proceeded to consume a bottle and a half of port and turn away three women of questionable virtue.

He did not imagine his little wife would like his decisions.

Once inside his room, Lucien eased open the door between his chamber and Serena’s and slipped inside the domain he had not entered for two years. He crossed the floor, using the gray morning light to guide him.