One Wicked Night (37 page)

“You’re suggesting I become your mistress?” she asked sharply.

“I would like to spend time with you, and yes, make love to you.” Rathburn brought her closer, his blue eyes delving into hers. “I would enjoy giving you the attention you deserve. I confess that I have long fancied you.”

Serena jerked from his hold. “Lord Rathburn, I—”

He pressed his lips to hers in a rush of breath and night wind. His mouth felt cool and capable. She steeled herself against the tidal wave of desire that always came with a handsome man’s kiss, a throwback of her mother’s lustful blood.

Strangely, only embarrassment and discomfort stirred for the man who held her.

As Rathburn’s hands slid down her arms, to her waist, Serena felt frozen in time, rooted by revelation. His lips swept and brushed over hers again. The handsome earl’s kiss not only left her unmoved, but stirred no more than a shrieking feeling of wrongness. She did not yearn for his touch, as she did Lucien’s, or ache to know fulfillment at his hands.

Did the fact her cravings followed her heart prove her different than Mama?

At his groan, Serena pushed her companion away with a gentle shove. “Please, release me.”

Rathburn answered with a puzzled frown. “I see plainly that Lord Daneridge is . . . neglecting you. I dare you to tell me otherwise.”

Eyes narrowed, she advanced on him. “If you thought to test the gossip which says I have my mother’s appetites, tell those who spread such ugly lies that I shall have no man but my husband. Now excuse me.”

He’d followed her out into the gardens because he loved her, despite his reservations, regardless of what she had plotted with Warrington. But for his future, for his sanity, he’d had to know if she, like Ravenna, would be swayed by another man’s pretty face and words.

Now, euphoria enveloped him. Based on Serena’s impassioned refusal of Rathburn, she believed in fidelity. Maybe that meant he could trust her with his heart.

But what had driven her to his bed the first time? Maybe she had succumbed to the loneliness and need she insisted she’d felt. If that were the case, he would happily bestow upon Serena the ardent attention his body craved to give her tonight—and every night—without fear he was doomed to relive his past.

Lucien started toward Serena, yearning to hold his wife and shout his joy to the heavens. He did neither, knowing such actions would incite further gossip. He vowed to make up for the missed opportunity later.

Instead, he adopted a polite expression and proffered his arm. “I came to see you inside. We’re going in to dinner.”

Serena glanced from his face to his outstretched arm with wide eyes and placed trembling fingers on his forearm. “Th-thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” He leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her lips, reveling in her sultry scent and a tender flood of feeling.

Then he turned to Rathburn. “My wife is indeed a treasure to me. If you give me cause to prove how highly I value her, I promise you will regret it beyond words.”

Lucien heard Serena gasp at his side as he led her away. Perhaps he had misjudged her from the start, measured her against Ravenna. If so, maybe their marriage was just beginning.

****

At the unexpected knock on her door, Ravenna rushed to the portal. Lucien! He had come to accept her offer to share her bed, and when he did, she would simply explain she had a small financial problem. Certainly, she hadn’t chosen to stay in this second-rate Drury Lane lodging house for her pleasure.

Hand grasping the latch, Ravenna hesitated. Lucien was no doubt furious that she had approached his pale excuse for a wife at Lackington’s, and from the horror on the chit’s face, Ravenna would bet her last shilling that Lucien and his new wife were no longer on intimate terms.

The blond man, no older than his early thirties, smiled. His thin features were craggy, holding a ruthless sort of handsomeness. His eyes glittered with ambition, with danger.

His grin assured the pleasure would extend much beyond his acquaintance. Ravenna took note again of his interest and sent him a saucy smile.

The stranger’s eyes left her for a moment to wander about her rented room. Disappointment stabbed Ravenna, and she stepped in front of him once more. His mouth curved in a knowing grin.

“Do you like these rooms?” he asked.

Ravenna frowned. “Why do you ask? Who are you, anyway?”

The stranger didn’t answer right away. He paused, scanned her face, then raised his hand to her cheek. “I can make you wealthy again. You would like that, I’ll wager.”

Ravenna’s eyes widened with hope, then narrowed with suspicion. “How? I will not sell myself like a common street trollop.”

“Nor would I ask you to, dear lady. You’re much, much too beautiful for that,” he murmured, stroking her cheek. “Actually, I had something more like a favor in mind. A little assistance in a small matter.”

“What type of assistance?” she asked, nearly salivating at the thought of money.

“It’s a complicated matter, but suffice it to say that, should you successfully . . . distract your ex-husband for—” he shrugged, “—an hour or so, I will give you ten thousand pounds.”

The stranger flashed a dangerous smile that stopped her words and dampened her knickers. “Let us say his wife may not find herself in the best of health soon.”

Several steps later, Ravenna found herself trapped against the wall, the stranger’s palms anchored on either side of her head, caging her. He leaned closer. After two months without a man’s touch, she welcomed a new lover and felt her pulse quicken.

“Do I have your help?” he asked, pressing the length of his body—and hard arousal— against her, drawing her breast above the neckline of her gown for his fingers’ pleasure.

He pulled back and drew a calling card from his vest pocket. Dropping his calling card on a nearby table, he laughed. “When you’ve arranged an appointment with your ex-husband, send a note up to me with the date and time.”

Without awaiting her reply, he took the swollen bud of her breast into his mouth. Aroused by his masterful touch, Ravenna moaned her assent.

The man unfastened his breeches. Ravenna’s eyes lowered to his swollen member, watching greedily as he stroked its length between thick fingers.

“You want this, don’t you?” he taunted.

Ravenna turned away from his smug expression. “I am no trollop.”

The stranger grinned as he pulled her face back toward him. “Yes, you are. You,” he said, raising her skirt and petticoats to her waist, “are a juicy little whore who likes a hard man between your thighs. Admit it.”

With that, the stranger lifted Ravenna by her bared thighs, and fitting her back against the wall, drew her down on his shaft. Clutching his shoulders, she released a ragged moan.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

Serena left her chamber the next morning and lingered at the top of the stairs. A part of her consciousness registered a guard falling into place directly behind her, an ever-present reminder of Alastair’s sinister plot. But she refused to dwell on that this morning.

She drew in an anxious breath. She needed to find Lucien and discuss Rathburn’s advances with him, ask about his silence afterward. Had he interpreted the event as she had, a revelation? Or had he believed she’d invited the attention? Or did he even care, given the fact he had Ravenna again?

She had pondered the event most of the long, sleepless night. Her refusal of Rathburn had shown her that not every male affected her as Lucien did. Upon further reflection, she realized that her desire for Lucien stemmed from love and had grown as her feelings for him had. And the fact her sensual cravings followed her heart, not her mood, proved her different than Mama.

Vastly.

Love had taught her that to share her emotions, soul and body with her husband was as God intended. She should feel no shame in making love with Lucien. Being with him in every way, as often as joy and desire brought them together, would foster the happiness Cyrus had wanted for her.

But only if he cared for her in return.

If she told him that she would open her door and her arms to him, what would he say? She feared he would refuse her because his heart belonged to Ravenna. She would have to confront him on that score, no matter how much the truth hurt.

Shaking away the thought, she descended the stairs, fingers trembling on the rail. At the bottom, she spotted Holford, his stance stiff as always.

“Good morning, my lady.”

“Good morning.” Serena drew in a deep breath. “Is my husband here or with Mr. Vickery again?”

“I’m not certain where he is, my lady. I believe he said something about another appointment before he left. Shall I tell him to see you when he returns?”

“No,” she said, disappointed. “No. Don’t bother. I shall see him later.”

“As you wish, my lady. Speaking of Mr. Vickery,” he said, holding up a small missive, “this urgent message arrived a moment ago for you. The delivery boy indicated Mr. Vickery sent it.”

Holford handed her the plain note. Serena tore it open to find a hastily-crafted scrawl in slightly smudged ink.

My lady,

I have discovered a possible accomplice in your late husband’s murder. He has been shot and may not live long. We need your assistance during his questioning to confirm some pertinent facts about Warrington. Come immediately to Tothill Fields. Along Whitehall Road, small cottages are scattered. Enter the one with two candles burning in the front window. Your husband is with me.

Yours,

John Vickery

An accomplice? Elation mixed with suspicion. She had nearly died the last time she had received a note. However, the coward had not signed the last one. And if she hesitated in following the note’s instructions, she might well lose the only real clue available—and might never put Cyrus’ ghost to rest.

“Quickly, Holford. This is an emergency, indeed. I shall need a carriage brought round. And don’t worry for my safety; I will take two men and Caffey with me for protection.”