One Wicked Night (35 page)

Serena smiled her appreciation and studied her husband beneath lowered lashes. In the week following the fire, Lucien had been an attentive husband and caretaker. His tenderness and easy consideration for her feelings and health surprised her almost as much as it warmed her.

Lucien’s tender care had forced Serena to admit that her feelings for him ran deep. Not in the way she’d had feelings for Cyrus. Her emotions for her current husband hardly resembled any gentle consistency of sentiment. Instead, her love felt like a tempest, something too volatile to ignore, too large to outrun, too tangible to deny.

She feared more and more of late that she loved him.

Not that he loved her in return. She would be foolish to hope so. Lucien hardly acted like a man caring for a cherished wife. Yet he was much more than distantly accommodating.

Surprisingly, he had not mentioned their lovemaking, nor behaved as if he wanted to resume relations. Serena knew she should be pleased. After all, she’d wanted a chaste marriage until the birth of their baby.

But she could hardly deny that his current disinterest disappointed her.

Beyond logic, she desired him in her bed, despite the fear that such feelings made her no different than her mother. Since realizing her love, her traitorous body trembled for his touch every time he came near.

Turning back to her letter, Serena penned her signature. Across the room, she heard Lucien’s slow approach. As she folded and sealed the missive, her hands shook.

“I will send that for you tomorrow, if you like,” he said.

Serena glanced up to find Lucien only inches away. Her heart leapt at his closeness. She ached for his kiss. “That would be splendid. Thank you.”

He inclined his head in response. “Rest. I shall see you at dinner.”

Disappointment pierced her when he turned away. His presence had been the only cheer in her otherwise dull day. She did not want to spend the next hour without him. She didn’t want to spend another moment without him, in fact.

His tone reminded her of their last chess match, when she’d almost let him make love to her on the sofa. Judging from the speculation stirring in his stare, he remembered, too. Heat crawled its way across her face.

“Where did we leave off?” Lucien baited. He could no more forget the game pieces strewn all over the carpet and her skirts about her thighs than he could forget breathe.

Her expression widened at his question. That soft, pink mouth and the stain on her cheeks hinted at her titillation.

He groaned. Why was she trying to tempt him so? Perhaps she sought to obliterate his anger at her deceit by using his own lust. Yes, the cynic in him said. A woman would try that.

Lucien tore his eyes away from Serena and the nightrail that hinted of beckoning curves beneath. He clenched his fists, restraining the urge to tumble Serena onto the white cloud of her soft mattress and unleash his repressed desire.

Damn. He wanted her, but if she truly sought to manipulate him, he must turn his back on her and occupy his mind elsewhere until he could control the roiling emotions that plagued him.

Oh, but he wanted to stay. Risking a glance at his wife, the remembrance of their gentle times together these past days was almost his undoing. He eyed the golden tumble of her hair down her back, against the soft white linen of her gown. With a silent curse, he stifled the urge to run his hands through the strands, then lay her back until she looked deliciously loved.

He drew in a deep breath.
Control
, he reminded himself.

Yet he could find none. He even enjoyed caring for Serena in a way he’d never expected, despite the fact their constant proximity only fueled his desire. Sleep had become a monumental task with an open door between them as he listened for her even breathing and an occasional cough. Concentration had grown pointless with her perfume lingering in the air.

He no longer attempted to delude himself into believing he could be near her without wanting her, that they could be merely civil spouses. The last week had proved that fact completely.

She touched his hand with gentle fingers. Lucien fought back an urge to drag her into his arms, twine his hands in her hair and kiss her senseless, then confess that he cared for her much too much.

“Thank you for your care and concern,” she whispered. “And for saving my life. You’ve been a model of consideration this past week. Mildred and Caffey assure me my recovery would have progressed more slowly, if at all, without your attention.”

Lucien nodded without comment. The texture of her warm skin wrapped around him, bringing with it the essence of her touch, her scent. A connection leapt to life between them. The sweet seduction of that familiar spark rocked him.

His heart swelled with a nameless emotion, engulfing him, enthralling him—before he reminded himself that she had the ability to break his heart—a power he’d never given anyone, not even Ravenna.

While caring for Serena, he’d enjoyed her much too much, spent almost carefree days with her engaged in little more than reading and idle conversation. It would all cease today. He could not afford the kind of emotion she created in him, especially when he was not certain he could now—or ever—trust her.

Lucien withdrew his touch. “Not at all. Merely seeing after what is mine.”

Before he could turn away, he saw disappointment burst across Serena’s face. It would be mad to tell her that she mattered to him. But nothing could stop the urge to hold her.

With a curse, Lucien strode out the door and walked until he found solace in the descending London twilight. As he called for his coach, he vowed to spend the evening, indeed the whole night out—anywhere far, far away from the temptation of his wife.

****

The next day, Serena decided an outing with her grandmother might bring her spirits round. She penned a note to Lady Harcourt to meet her at Lackington’s at two that afternoon.

Lucien’s abrupt departure last night had hurt. She lay awake until the morning’s wee hours, waiting for his return, praying he continued to seek clues to Cyrus’ murder, not another woman’s arms.

Pain sliced though. He seemed to want her so little now. Given his cool caring recently, she certainly couldn’t find the courage to tell him she now craved his touch, not without giving her heart away. And sharing herself with no emotional reciprocation would cost her too much peace of mind.

The carriage stopped, and reluctantly Serena alighted to a delightfully sunny September afternoon, feeling conspicuous flanked by former soldiers dressed in finery. The two armed servants escorted her to the door, and thankfully, stayed there when she entered the bookstore.

Several women bordered the semi-circular counter. A young, bespectacled man working behind it politely answered questions.

At Serena’s entrance, several women turned their heads toward her. Serena recognized Lady Griffin and Lady Calverton staring and conversing in heated whispers.

She nodded in silent greeting. Lady Calverton sniffed in disapproval. Both women turned away. To her right, several young girls tittered and directed coy glances at her.

Wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole, shame and all, Serena moved forward. Hot flags of embarrassment surfaced in her cheeks.

She lifted her chin and strode to the corner of the room. Turning her back on the other patrons, she pretended interest in a volume of Chaucer, vowing she would not give these biddies the satisfaction of seeing her tears.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

The gaudy portrait
a la
Venus had not done justice to the beauty of Lucien’s former wife. Glossy dark curls swirled about her delicate face, accentuating its small-boned structure. Skin creamier than fresh milk and more flawless than Hermes porcelain acted as a backdrop for long ebony lashes.

Dear Lord, how could she ever compete with Lucien’s memories of marriage to this delicate deity?

Though Serena rarely compared her looks to others, for a tiny instant, she would have given her fortune to possess even a quarter of Ravenna’s ethereal beauty.

Envy was a sin, and Lord knew she’d been guilty of too many transgressions recently. But recognizing that fact did not change her feelings. She shifted under the woman’s scrutiny.

Ravenna’s dark eyes gleamed with unshed tears, her expression compatible with the perfect propriety of her Celestial blue dress. “I suppose he told you about me.”

The other woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Please, it’s about Lucien. I feel terribly guilty . . .” She caught her breath as if holding back a sob. “I know what we share is wrong. He is your husband now, but when he came to me, I must confess, I simply could not turn him away.”

Serena’s blood ran cold. “What are you saying?”

Ravenna cast her gaze down to her feet and whispered, “Must I confess my sins aloud? Lucien is a very sensual man with more than his share of male urges. I made such a foolish mistake in leaving him, that when he came to me for . . . comfort, I could not help but welcome him with open arms.”

“Comfort?” she whispered numbly. Lucien had turned to his former wife for sexual satisfaction? When? He had not left her side in almost two weeks.

Except for last night.

While she had been feeling guilt for her sensual sins, had Lucien been out committing his own with Ravenna?

Serena had a vague awareness, as if in a dream, of the bookstore’s other patrons whispering in hushed tones. She drew in a deep breath and forced herself to shut them out.

Ravenna’s eyes widened, her expression contrite. “Oh, I feared our liaison would hurt you. But I could not keep my guilty secret and live with myself. I had so hoped you would understand that I have always loved Lucien, and when he told me he cared for me still, I’m afraid our passions carried us away.”

Her husband, the man who had married her solely for his unborn child, still loved his ex-wife? That would explain his behavior of late, particularly his lack of interest in sharing her bed. And why wouldn’t he be disinterested? Ravenna was a sensual goddess, a beauty she wondered how any man could resist. Apparently not even the man Ravenna had treated horribly and humiliated in the
ton’s
eyes could stay away.

If Lucien desired the woman despite the past, Serena knew the pain would be hers to suffer, since she cared for him, no matter how much she had tried not to.

Around them, several women sniffed and looked away as they passed. No doubt, she would be the object of more gossip for weeks to come. But even that prospect wasn’t as terrible as the possibility that Lucien still loved Ravenna.

Serena forced her gaze back to the dark-haired beauty before her. Why would he be involved with a woman he once divorced, one who humiliated him? Unless the heat of his passion for Ravenna burned away his logic.