One Wicked Night (38 page)
Authors: Shelley Bradley
Serena handed the note back to Holford. “It appears my husband is with Mr. Vickery at Tothill Fields. I shall meet him there.”
“Very good, then,” he answered as she called for Caffey and summoned another guard.
In moments, she sprinted out the door. She would help prove Alastair’s guilt in Cyrus’ murder, and she would not let her last link with hope die before she could learn the truth.
****
Lucien knocked on Ravenna’s Drury lane door, dreading the appointment. He understood her grief for Chelsea, and knew his guilt had led him to answer the second and more desperate of her messages. But he wanted to be home, with Serena, watching her, protecting her. Trying to discern exactly what lay between them.
Watching her refusal of Rathburn had given him hope that Serena and his ex-wife differed in many ways, but most of all in their motivations for seeking a lover. Ravenna had taken lovers for spite, for entertainment. Serena had done so out of loneliness and a wish to end her childless existence.
As soon as he finished here, Lucien vowed to be sure she never felt lonely again. He wanted to give her his trust. He yearned to fill her life with laughter and children.
And love.
She deserved nothing less than his heart, and hoped to hell she would let him close to hers.
Ravenna opened the door, wearing a sultry, welcoming smile.
Lucien frowned, eyeing his scantily-clad ex-wife warily. “I received your messages. You wish to discuss Chelsea?”
Toying with the ties at the neck of her thin red gown, Ravenna stepped back, inviting him to enter. She shut the door behind him, then leaned against it. “Our last conversation ended badly, darling. I wanted to apologize . . . personally.”
Ravenna disentangled the ties of her gown. The garment fell down her arm, revealing one creamy shoulder—and a full, rouge-nippled breast.
Swearing, he closed his eyes.
She stroked his arm. He yanked away from her touch. “Darling, don’t you understand? I was dreadfully wrong to blame you for Chelsea’s death. It was not your fault.”
He snapped his gaze to her, expression cool. “Indeed?”
“Of course. Had you been home that night, you hardly would have heard her leave. She was a clever little thing. And the nursemaid we hired was the best. I made certain of that myself.”
Lucien shot her a cynical glance. He doubted Ravenna had given the matter much consideration, or even believed her own words. She was hardly the reflective type.
Yet he could not refute her. There was truth to her claim for once, despite the fact she had said it to win his favor. Had guilt prevented him from acknowledging those facts before?
“Perhaps you are right,” he said slowly.
“Of course I am. I’m so very glad you’ve realized that!”
“As am I.”
Ravenna’s coy smile fell. “You know, I hated the fact she loved you more than me. You always had a way of making her smile that I did not.” She paused. “Maybe that is why I wanted another child, one that was not yours. One that no one could take from me.”
Lucien scowled. “I never intended to make you feel less than a mother. I would share Chelsea today, if she were here.”
“You simply shared a bond with her that I did not.”
Lucien drank in the truth of her words. That connection he had formed with his daughter had only added to his sense of responsibility and guilt. Remembering this lifted his burden.
“Thank you,” he said quietly. “Your words mean more to me than a ‘personal apology,’ so cover yourself.”
“But I insist,” she assured—then bared her other breast. Its nipple was also rouged a deep red. “It’s the only way I know to tell you how sorry I am and give you everything you asked for during our marriage.”
She sidled closer; Lucien retreated a step from her smooth, scented flesh.
“Ravenna, stop this silly game. I am no longer interested.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She laughed. “That pale little willow you call wife can never give you what I can.”
“True. She is capable of giving love.”
Ravenna laughed. “Love is an illusion, darling, nothing more than a powerful case of lust. I thought you must have realized that by now.”
“No,” he insisted, churning with the intensity of his emotions. “Love is real and strong. I have come to learn that it is about trust and respect and empathy. Things we never shared.”
Her lips tipped up in a sly smile. “Well, after my little chat with her, I doubt you’re sharing much.”
“You spoke to Serena?”
She nodded, her smile widening to that of a naughty kitten.
A cord of fear vibrated within him. “When? What did you say to her?”
Ravenna cocked her head to one side. “A few days ago at Lackington’s I . . . suggested that perhaps you and I share more than a past. She looked quite devastated.”
Lucien stared at his half-undressed ex-wife, a combination of incredulity and confusion sweeping him. Serena had not mentioned it, not confronted him. Yet only last night she had turned Rathburn away.
“You told her we were involved in some liaison?”
Nonchalantly, she shrugged—but sent him a saucy grin, now all minx.
“Damn you!” he cursed, grabbing her arm. “Stay away from Serena. Do you hear me?”
She shrugged. “Oh, all right. Pity you never had much sense of humor.”
Easy capitulation had never been Ravenna’s style. Lucien glared at her as, with a lazily raised brow, she turned away.
He rested his elbow on the mantle beside him and watched her through narrowed eyes. A scrap of paper fell to the floor at his feet. He bent to retrieve it, noting the paper was in fact a calling card. He scanned the name on the front. A cold chill ran through his blood.
Alastair.
His eyes shot to Ravenna’s half-clad form. She stood still, her back facing him. He charged toward her. Two strides later, he saw the purplish-red mark on her neck, lying conspicuously below the mass of dark curls piled on her head—the kind of love bite a man leaves behind with the suction of his mouth.
In a haze of roaring fury and chilling fear, he lunged for her and grabbed her arms. “Is Alastair Boyce your lover?”
“Are you jealous?”
“Don’t play games with me. Is he?” he barked.
She stared up at him, blinking long lashes over innocent eyes. “Lucien, I would never—”
“Don’t lie!” he shouted. “Are you helping him?”
“Helping him? I’m certain I have no notion what you mean.”
His mind raced beyond her lies, to the possibilities. When he had reached a hideous but logical conclusion, every muscle within him tightened in dread and horror. He swallowed a lump of cold, living fear. “That’s what this is about, this seduction. It has nothing to do with an apology.”
“Whatever are you saying?” she asked too sweetly.
From her guarded expression, he knew he was right. “I do not know what Marsden promised you for your role in this scheme, and I don’t give a damn. But if he hurts Serena, I swear I will hunt you down and see you hang next to him.”
Terror gnawing on his insides, heart slamming against his chest, Lucien dashed out, despite Ravenna’s clinging protests, and fled for home.
He found Serena gone and an apparently forged note his only link to finding her.
****
Serena instructed her coachman to travel south of Westminster, onto Whitehall Road, and urged him to drive faster. At a seeming snail’s pace, she watched civilization give way to the occasional inn or cottage perched on the mean little road. Night descended, turning the open, uninhabited fields about them into dark, shapeless voids. Serena shivered.
“I’m not likin’ this, milady,” Caffey said. “Not many folks live out here. Why can’t the fellow come to ye?”
Serena shifted in her seat, hoping her maid’s fears were unwarranted. “Because the man I am to speak to is dying.”
“Somethin’ about this ain’t right,” she maintained. “I’ve a sense fer these things, ye know.”
“Stop,” Serena instructed. “You’re making me nervous. Besides, Lucien is there.”
Just before the southward crook of the Thames, the carriage slowed in front of an isolated cottage with two candles in the window. She drew in a deep breath. This was it. Given Vickery’s note, justice might soon be hers. Cyrus could rest in peace. Then perhaps she and Lucien could work at their marriage, expand the magic they had discovered their first night together. Maybe, in time, he would forget Ravenna.
Without waiting for assistance, Serena scrambled from the vehicle to the green grass beneath her and ran toward the cottage. Caffey followed suit, with the armed footmen close behind.
Through the closing darkness, shots rang out. The sound came from her right and sliced past her. As she shrank back, one of the guards sprinted to her side and lowered her to the ground before covering her with his hard, unfamiliar body. Serena knew her first taste of fear. Was Lucien here? Had he been harmed?
Or had she simply walked into Alastair’s trap?
An instant later, two more shots rent the silence. The footman standing behind her crumpled to the grass. From somewhere behind her, Caffey screamed as four men swarmed forward from the surrounding desolation.
The guard lying atop Serena twisted around and shot one of the intruders, only to gasp in pain a moment later, apparently shot by another armed villain. Serena heard her protector’s groan of agony, felt his heavy breathing . . . then nothing.
Caffey’s second scream rang in Serena’s ears again as she tried to wiggle out from beneath the dead guard’s weight. She sprang to her feet, running blindly from the attackers. Behind her, two more shots sounded. Serena tried to shelter her head with her arms.
Without warning, a heavy pair of arms tackled her from behind. Serena tumbled to the grass on her knees. The man spun her about and flung her onto her back. She gasped for air as the man bound her hands with rough hemp.
As the ruffian jerked her to her feet, she gasped, “What are you doing to me?”
“Just what I’m paid to do, me fine lady.” He yanked on the rope, pressing her shoulders back in their sockets.
“You’re hurting me,” she protested.
He laughed. “You’ll hurt a whole lot more ‘afore the gent what paid me gets through with ye, I’ll wager.”
Alastair! Serena shivered with fear and struggled to rein in rising panic. She had to find a way to escape, before Alastair killed her.
With a push of the rope at her wrists, her captor shoved her toward the cottage. As they neared, Serena saw her driver lying on the ground, a red stain on his chest. Another attacker had Caffey pinned beneath him. The man tied her maid’s hands, then stared beneath her skirt with a rapacious grin.
“Leave her be!” Serena shouted.
“Shut yer mouth, ye bitch,” her captor grated out, grabbing her hair with his filthy fingers. “Yer next, right after `is lordship finishes with ye. Now move!”
As he pushed her forward, she struggled for freedom. Her impotency to help Caffey in the face of her screams twisted at Serena’s heart.
A solitary laugh from the cottage sliced through the commotion. Serena whipped her gaze up at the sound.
Alastair.
Her stomach flared with hot fear and hotter fury at the sight of him, chains in one hand, a knife in the other.
“Tell that fiend to let my maid go!” Serena demanded. “She has nothing to do with this.”
He paused to glance at Caffey and her captors. The maid screamed once again as one man grabbed her breast with a laugh that made Serena’s stomach turn. Beside him, the other men knelt and held Caffey down.
“They’re just having a little sport.” Alastair stepped toward her, coiling the chains in his hand. “Were I you, I would worry for myself at the moment. What I have planned for you will be much more degrading.”
Again, Serena struggled in her captor’s grasp. The brute pushed her toward the cottage. She fell to her knees at Alastair’s feet. Cyrus’s nephew dragged her upright, holding her against his wiry body. Serena felt his breath on her face, saw the glint of cruel satisfaction in his eyes. Her stomach roiled in riot.
Alastair wrapped the chain about her waist. Its heavy, cold weight settled about her like an albatross.
“Can we take the wench and hide?” one of the men asked.
“Yes,” Alastair answered. “But for God’s sake, keep her screams down.”
“Ain’t no cottage fer two miles.”
“As loud as she is, they can likely hear her,” Alastair snapped. “And don’t stray far, in case I’ve need of you.”
Alastair turned to her with a chilly smile. “If you’re thinking that Lord Daneridge will save you, don’t. I assure you, Ravenna is keeping him well occupied.”
Despair plunged her stomach to her knees. He and Ravenna were still lovers. Serena knew a feeling so hopeless and dismal, for despite her feelings, Lucien’s heart was still entangled with the woman once termed the devil’s daughter. Her husband’s solicitous behavior at Grandy’s party had probably been nothing more than a ploy to prevent another man from claiming his property, and she could never hope to win his affections.
