One Wicked Night (23 page)

Serena felt the anger still serrating her insides, seething within her lungs. Forgive him? Make amends? Accept him into her bed and heart? Never.

“As for the scandal,” Grandy continued, “perhaps I have a few strings to my bow yet. I shall call upon Lady Bessborough on the morrow and see what we can devise to bring things round,” she added. “We’ll simply have to see what can be done. In the meantime, go home to your husband and think about what I’ve said.”

****

The carriage ride home from her grandmother’s residence seemed excruciatingly long. Serena’s anger had risen to fever-high proportions and escalated with each block because she couldn’t vent her anger on the cause of her fury. Oh, but when she caught up with Lucien, he would feel every bit of that rage for that mortifying announcement he had given to the
Times
. Forgive him, indeed. That advice was preposterous!

With considerable foot-stomping, Serena marched into the entrance hall of Lucien’s town house. “Where is Lord Daneridge?”

“I believe
your husband
is in his study, my lady,” Holford answered, putting subtle emphasis on the word that defined her relationship with Lucien.

That she ignored. Up the stairs she raced, intent on force-feeding him a healthy dose of her anger.

When she reached the appointed door, she threw it open without the lightest of knocks. “You selfish, unscrupulous—”

“There you are!” he interrupted her tirade, whirling to face her. His eyes narrowed with anger of his own. “Where the hell have you been? I have sent the entire household into a frenzy searching for you. I have pages all over town trying to find you.”

He set his cane aside and reached for her shoulders. She tried to jerk from his hold. He held tighter. “Not even your maid knew where to find you. Why didn’t you take her, at least? Do you want Marsden to kill you?”

“Of course not. I simply wanted to speak to my grandmother privately.”

“Do not ever disappear like that again!” He shook her, his anger and worry clearly defined in his scowl. “You had me worried. I had no idea where you had gone. I feared Marsden had captured you.”

For a long moment, Serena stood ensconced in his grip and couldn’t move, her mind whirling. He had worried about her. Or just about his babe? The concern on his face seemed directed at her and touched something within she very much wanted to ignore.

After a moment of stunned silence, she lifted her eyes to him. Worry and relief radiated from him. Her heart turned over in her chest. Why did she find him so fascinating?

She shook her head to clear it. “As I said, I went to see my grandmother, Lady Harcourt, to tell her of our marriage. Of course she wasn’t surprised that we had wed, thanks to you. Why not let all of London know that the former Duchess of Warrington married far too soon after the Duke’s death? Why not make certain she is shunned by the
ton
, just like her mother, for the rest of her life?” Her voice rose to a shout that would have mortified her a mere month ago. “Why not start whispers about a man on the other side of the grave and ruin his reputation as one of the most respected members of the Lords?”

His grip on her shoulders softened. “Serena, I thought making the announcement now, as the season is ending, would be wise. The worst of the gossip will pass before the little season.”

Serena’s temper heated another degree. “A scandal like this may never die down! And of course, my grandmother was quite shocked by
my
behavior.”

He dropped his hands from her shoulders and retrieved his cane. “I will send a note to Lady Harcourt at once explaining that we married at my insistence.”

Lucien’s jaw tensed. Clearly, she’d infuriated him. “The announcement has been printed; it cannot be retracted now. I regret any inconvenience it caused you.”

He had apologized, something her grandmother would think rare indeed. That he had said it with all sincerity and taken the “first step” toward reconciliation simply made her angrier. She didn’t want reconciliation; she wanted her old life back. She had no wish to live a stone’s throw from a tempting sinner who would inevitably drag her further into the mire of his iniquity.

Serena lifted her chin in defiance. “I have been thinking since you invaded my room this morning, Lord Daneridge, and I’ve decided to take the risk of residing in my own house.” She glared at Lucien, daring him to challenge her. “Maybe that will stem the gossip.”

He shook his head. “Leaving will only fuel it. And until Marsden’s threat is neutralized, you will not only live here, you will not leave this house without protection. I plan to make myself available for whatever outings you may schedule, but if for some reason I cannot accompany you, two former soldiers who served under me on the Continent will follow you. I’ve dressed them as footmen and armed them to protect you.”

“How dare you order me about like a child!”

He pulled her against him. “I dare because our wedding vows gave me that right. You agreed to this protection. I plan on ensuring your safety. Damn it, you
will
cooperate with me.”

“Take your hand off me!” she grated between clenched teeth.

“Give me your word,” he demanded, his grip still tight.

Oh, how she would love to toss a defiant “no” in his face, fight him to the last breath. But common sense prevailed. Mr. Vickery of the Bow Street Runners had sent round a note only yesterday morning explaining that he had no new developments in her case. Alastair was still running loose, greatly in debt. Only she stood between Alastair and a fortune. To stay alive, she and the babe needed Lucien’s protection. Any woman with half a mind would know safety existed in numbers, particularly if one of those had been trained as a soldier.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

That night Serena took her solitary dinner on a tray in her room. She had finished with the decorator an hour ago, and felt satisfied that all visible traces of Ravenna Clayborne would be erased within a week.

Still, it galled her to reside in a room so reminiscent of Lucien’s first wife. But being here alone was entirely preferable to supping with her infuriating but sexy husband—the man who had sworn to invade her bed tonight.

Looking at the food on her plate, she swept it about with her fork. Why had Cyrus wanted her to wed Clayborne after his demise? She could never ask her late husband now, but she resented his schemes. And him. He had left her a widow, without clues, without reasons, and had all but given her to an autocratic bully who desired her body, yet thought her little better than a common doxy.

While Lucien had infuriated her by making her the talk of the town, he also had the disquieting ability to disintegrate her resistance with a single kiss. What the devil was she going to do?

Serena considered explaining that Cyrus had asked her to take a lover in the hopes of conceiving, but her late husband had been embarrassed by his impotency, and she couldn’t desecrate his memory. In life, he had wanted his ailment kept secret. She still respected that wish in death. Besides, Lucien might well hate her more for the truth than the lies she’d led him to believe.

What baffled her most was that, despite Lucien’s low opinion of her morals, she couldn’t resist his touch. This morning when he had sneaked into her bed, she’d meant to call him every kind of a beast and send him packing. Then he had kissed her, thoroughly, slowly. The touch of his persuasive lips, the gentle rasp of his morning beard against her cheek, had melted her resolve and reason. Equally humiliating, she feared if not for his words, which had brought her to her senses, she would have surrendered to his passionate persuasion again. Would she be able to resist him tonight?

With that thought, her dwindling appetite for food dissolved.

She pushed her tray away and paced to the window. Parting velvet drapes an offending shade of red, Serena looked out to the square below. Fog hung in the night air like a dense gray blanket, exacerbating the summertime humidity sweltering about her. Carriages moved to and fro on the streets, even at this late hour. Serena wished she could take one and go away—and never have to deal with Alastair or Lucien again.

An instant later, she spotted a man across the street, his dark clothing that of the lower orders, his squat body half-hidden by a tree. Though she could not see his face, she felt as if he was looking at her, staring, studying. Unnerved, she dropped the drape and spun away.

With a long sigh, she turned the key and opened the door. “I am letting you in to keep this door upright between us, not as a sign of acquiescence.”

Lucien raised a cynical brow, but made no comment as he swept into her room, dressed in black breeches that fit too well for her sanity and a loose white shirt.

She gaped at his tall figure. The sight of his broad-shouldered body unleashed a tidal wave of sinful memories she had been trying to bury since that long ago morning she had awakened in his bed. Her knees went weak. The pristine shirt emphasized his sleek raven hair. His green eyes smoldered as they returned her stare. Flushing guiltily, she turned away.

He reached for her, his arms encircling her waist as he pulled her closer. “Thinking naughty thoughts?”

Heat. Pleasure. Danger. He aroused all three. She swallowed hard.

“Do not be ridiculous.” Her denial came out a breathy rasp as she wrenched from his touch. From the two steps separating them, she felt the weight of his disquieting gaze upon her with the intimacy of a touch. Her heart began to pound when she realized she had not dissuaded him from pursuing her in the least.

“Ridiculous, Lady Daneridge?” he asked smoothly. “Not when your stare indicated you had very improper thoughts indeed.”

“Not in this century. And definitely not about you!”

He snatched her chin between his thumb and forefinger. “What coy little game is this? It will be my pleasure to play the conqueror, if that’s what you seek.”

The thought made her knees weak. “Stop manhandling me and leave me alone.”

His eyes glittered green fire as he bent closer. “Why don’t I quite believe you?”

The words, whispered against her mouth, sent a flurry of tingles down her spine. His lips were so near. His nearness and all-male scent stabbed an ache low in her belly. Dear God, if his mouth met hers, touched, caressed, and devoured her lips, she feared that she would surrender the fight—and her body—to him.

Gathering her strength, she turned her face away.

With a whispered oath and slow, calculated movements, Lucien released her. “Serena, we will consummate this marriage.”

“The only way you will have me tonight is by force,” she said, hoping she could resist whatever wicked ploy he had planned. She refused to consider the repercussions if she could not. “We both know if that is your wish, I cannot stop you.”

Serena pivoted away and felt the withdrawal of his nearness too acutely for comfort. Dear God, she was crazy to want him when they had nothing more in common than an unborn child and electrifying lust. He was divorced, he drank, he cursed. His kind of man had never appealed to her. So why did Lucien?

“Very well, then,” he said to her back. “I see you need some time, so I’ll leave for the night. I expect you will have reconciled yourself to our marriage within the week. Do I make myself clear?”

She nodded, resisting the urge to inquire about his plans for the evening.

“I’ve stationed a footman outside to keep watch.” His tone was purely informational. “Another will guard the entrances.”

It occurred to Serena to tell Lucien of the man she had spotted outside her window, but realized he was probably one of her husband’s guards.

Serena knew it bordered on the irrational, but for all Lucien’s ungentlemanly ways, she would feel much safer with him here. She faced him again. “Will . . . will you be back soon?”

“Not before morning.” His eyes drilled into hers. She read his challenge, his hunger. He waited. A heartbeat passed, then two. She made no reply.

With a curse, Lucien swung away and left.

Throughout the long evening, Serena wondered what her husband was doing. Attending an opera? Had he gone to Drury Lane to see a play? She wanted to believe that, but another image, one of a scantily clad woman well versed in the art of love welcoming Lucien in her bed, as she herself did not, haunted Serena.

For comfort, she unpacked several books, naturally gravitating to Mrs. More’s
Christian Thoughts
. However, she found her own thoughts revolved around things much more carnal than Christian. And when a gold and black mantle clock chimed one in the morning, Serena took up a vigil by the window to await her husband’s return.