One Wicked Night (8 page)

His gaze again rested on the fair-haired goddess in his bed.
So much for penance and celibacy
. Instead of coming back to life a nibble at a time, he had started with a feast of honeyed skin and welcoming arms. He had known the first moment he really looked at her, terrified and alone, that he had no business pursuing her. But something about her, the need and loneliness on her face, had called to him. And God, after touching her, she had felt too good to even consider releasing.

But in the morning, he would do just that and resume his self-induced punishment. Despite the fact he wanted to keep her with him, learn about her and laugh with her, he could not. When she woke, he would find out what sort of reward she wanted for leaving him permanently, then set her free.

Tipping the bottle to his mouth again, Lucien emptied its contents. He set the bottle on the bedside table quietly. Then, seething with self-loathing, he crawled into his bed beside the sleeping woman and closed his eyes.

CHAPTER FOUR

The sounds of faint male snoring awakened Serena, along with the feel of hot flesh and a blast of body heat. She rolled to her side and opened her eyes.

Her gaze tripped over the dark stranger—her lover now, she amended—both perfectly handsome and perfectly naked as he lay on his stomach. The sight of his rippling shoulders, taut backside, and long legs brought her fully awake. Biting her lip to hold in a gasp, she rolled from the bed as noiselessly as possible. The darkness outside the windows was an unexpected blessing.

Sending a silent thanks upward that the fire had not died altogether, she gathered her clothes from around the room, trying to stifle both her panic and her tears.

Dear God, what had she done?
You allowed a perfect stranger to seduce you
.

Reality sunk into her like a stone through water. She had surrendered to the temptation of the flesh, allowed her logic to be swayed by pretty words and her body to be wooed by heated kisses. She had compromised her Christian values with little thought for anything but the pleasure the man was obviously accustomed to giving, and offered her maidenhood as easily as a light-skirt offers herself nightly.

Fortunately, she did not think he had realized her innocence. If he had, he’d made no mention of it. But perhaps he made a habit of divesting women of their virginity. That possibility flooded her eyes with tears, along with the realization that she knew next to nothing about him.

Heartless rake or not, she had to leave before he woke up, before he started asking questions. Before he learned her name.

The possibility that he knew Cyrus quickened her tears. Not only had she shamed herself with her behavior, but her husband as well. And what if a child resulted? She had hoped for one last night. But how could she cheat this lonely man of his babe and deliver her husband a bastard? True, Cyrus professed to want such an occurrence, but if faced with the reality . . . would he feel the same?

Think!
Serena demanded of herself, only to find that fulfilling the request was impossible. Her mind swirling, she shoved her stockings into her reticule, then donned her chemise and dress as best she could. She knew gaping holes existed where her hands could not reach the hooks and left her chemise-clad back exposed.

Eyes darting around the room, she spotted the wardrobe. Snatching it open, she withdrew a dark cloak and threw it about her shoulders. She tucked her stiff-boned corset into one of the inner pockets.

With shaking fingers, she tied her slippers. Her gaze, pulled by some nameless force, made its way back to the stranger. To Lucien, she corrected herself. After all, now that he knew her in the biblical sense, a pretense of formality was pointless.

The hours in his arms and in his bed had been a sinful slice of heaven. But she would not allow herself to think about it or him anymore. He was the weakness Satan had presented her with. And she had made her choice. With desire-induced logic, she had failed her husband and God. She had become more like her mother’s daughter than anyone, including herself, had suspected. Whatever the case, she was not going to fail further by dwelling on the warmth of Lucien’s words or kisses, or thinking of the gratification he delivered with such ease.

Fighting unshed tears, her gaze wandered over the taut, muscled breadth of his back, his slim hips, and the length of his powerful legs, which had kicked away the covers. She studied his profile one last time. He was handsome, devastating . . . dangerous to her sanity. She turned away.

She must never seek him out, never entice herself with his brand of temptation again. She was afraid her Christian will would crumble beneath the hammer of desire he created. Afraid that she could not resist.

She could never see him again.

Something about that reality she did not want to examine too closely made her eyes well with tears once more. Before her sobs awakened Lucien, she crept out of the room, down the stairs, and fled into the London night.

****

“Get up, old man.”

Lucien heard the familiar voice nagging him. Something poked him in the ribs, and he squirmed to dodge the discomfort. When he felt the prod again, he groaned loudly in protest.

“Come on. You promised me an afternoon at Gentleman Jackson’s. It’s my turn to beat the hell out of you.”

Niles, Lucien’s cloudy brain realized despite the vestiges of sleep and the bang of his headache. The man was the most persistent nuisance . . . and the best friend.

Lucien groaned. “Go away. I don’t want to box. I’ve already been beaten.” At least his head felt that way.

“And who did the beating? Was it the ‘lady’ Holford tells me you brought here last night?” Niles asked, his voice laughing.

With that reminder, Lucien’s memory flashed him a vision of white-blond hair and smoky blue eyes provocatively half-closed in pleasure. Instantly, he remembered the intimate feel of her body pulsing around him in blazing climax.

He sat up and scanned the room. “Where is she?”

“Haven’t seen her. I assumed you paid her and sent her on her way.”

“No. I laid down beside her. She was asleep.” He looked at his friend, trying to puzzle it together. “That’s the last thing I remember.”

Lucien shook his head, rubbing his aching forehead with his palm, trying to remember. “I couldn’t say. We met after I saved her from a thief, so we were not formally introduced.”

“None. But she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She had the fair hair of an angel and the honey skin of a temptress. The way she made me feel . . .” Lucien closed his eyes in remembrance, feeling a surge of arousal.

Niles dropped a soft white handkerchief in his lap. Lucien fingered it, smelled her faint sultry scent, something reminiscent of gardenias, then turned it over. The initials SB had been embroidered into the linen square with fine pink thread.

Niles crossed his arms over a silk, striped waistcoat. “Ah, so you’re going to resume punishing yourself for an accident you could not prevent.”

Grinding his teeth, Lucien replied, “At least I
might
have prevented her death, had I been home, where she needed me.”

“I only have two years on you, and I have a sense of
honor
, damn it.”

Niles nodded. “Yes, but the truth is you don’t want to gamble with love again. Ravenna burned you too badly.”

Throwing the covers aside, Lucien leapt out of bed and donned his breeches. “That’s over.”

“Is it? I’ve no doubt you wonder every day what would have prevented her from trysting with Wayland. Nothing, I’ll tell you. The woman was no good.”

Lucien followed the direction of his friend’s gaze—and spotted the dark crimson spots on his stark white sheets. Disbelieving the proof his eyes presented him, he walked half-dazed toward the bed and peered closer.

“Any chance your whore was a virgin?” Niles asked.

A wave of hot confusion and disbelief swept over Lucien. “I thought . . . That is to say she felt like . . . Damn!” He raked tense fingers through his hair and loosed a long sigh. “Last night, I swore I felt her tear. But she didn’t say anything. She never indicated it was her first time.”

“Not a word?” Niles looked confused now as well.

“Just a gasp, so I thought I was mistaken or too much in my cups. No innocent miss I’ve ever seen could undress a man with her eyes as this one could. Surely a virgin wouldn’t come home with a complete stranger and offer him her virtue?”

Lucien shrugged. “I don’t know. She wasn’t a whore. But I practically took her in my coach, and she offered only a small protest. Given that, and the fact she wasn’t with a proper escort, I assumed she was someone’s mistress. I even wondered if she was a young war widow.”

“It appears to me she is someone’s daughter,” Niles said.

“Ruined daughter now.” Lucien scrubbed a hand down his face. “Damnation!”

“Any chance her father is a member of the
ton
?”

“Her parents are dead.” Lucien reflected on the grief he had seen on her face. That and her compassion had been two of the qualities that had drawn him. “But she was dressed well, no mistake. It’s entirely likely she’s well-born, but she didn’t appear just out of the schoolroom. She was perhaps twenty.”

“All right, so she’s a spinster.”

Lucien shook his head with disbelief. “I suppose, but I can hardly credit that. I’ve never seen a spinster that looked as good as her. She was all moonlight and temptation.”

“Regardless, that is the probability. Mayhap she has no dowry. The question is what will you do about her now?”

Niles’s question wasn’t unexpected; he always thought something had to be done. Only this time the man was right, and one answer loomed, threatening to eat away at Lucien’s freedom and peace of mind.

A strange sense of anticipation sluiced through Lucien at the thought of seeing her, of making love to her again. He pushed the ugly reality of Holy Matrimony from his mind as he strode to his wardrobe and shouted for his valet.

Impatient, Lucien began pulling the day’s garments from his wardrobe as he formed a retort. He noticed then his favorite gray cloak was absent.

“There’s a bloody surprise,” he muttered. “She took my cloak.” He turned to his friend. “It was here last night, gone this morning.”