One Wicked Night (36 page)

“Nothing but the truth.” She smiled and patted Serena’s arm. “I apologize. I had no idea I was keeping you from an engagement. Excuse me.”

With that, Ravenna departed. Numbly, Serena watched the skirt of her blue dress sway in rhythm as she sashayed from the bookstore.

Serena looked down at her own dour black dress. Ravenna looked as colorful as a peacock when compared with the plain crow she must resemble. It pained her to admit that she had little trouble understanding why Lucien might have turned to a lovely like Ravenna for gratification.

But the suspicion hurt, not to mention infuriated her. How dare he, after making her the subject of the hottest scandal in London, further humiliate and toy with her? People now ignored her or snickered when she passed, treating her much as Mama had been. And he’d made her love him. When she caught up with the knave, she would not give him the satisfaction of telling him that his dalliance affected her in the least.

But, oh, would he pay with a lifetime of frostbite.

“You look whiter than snow,” Grandy exclaimed. “What did she say?”

Hot tears rushed to Serena’s eyes. She raised her gaze to the ceiling, struggling to control of her feelings of anger and betrayal—and mortification. Heaven help her, this latest on-dit would give London’s chatty ladies something to chew on for weeks. If she cried in public, the gossip about her would never die.

As she marched outside, Serena set her gaze forward resolutely, ignoring the biddies patronizing Lackington’s. Grandy, at her side, held her head at an equally proud angle.

Once the cool wind outdoors struck Serena’s face, she felt sheer relief at escaping the confines of the bookstore and the prying eyes of its customers.

During her solitary carriage ride home, Serena tried to envision telling Lucien about her conversation with Ravenna. If he denied everything, would she believe him? Trusting the adulteress who had experienced life by Lucien’s side seemed no more foolish than listening to her own doubting heart. But what if he admitted to bedding Ravenna last night? She closed her eyes, wondering if the pain would kill her.

Once home, she sought the sanctuary of her own chamber, the one that had belonged to the previous Lady Clayborne. Though she had removed all visible traces of Ravenna, she still felt as if the woman were here, taunting her.

Sprawled across her bed, Serena surrendered to the tears clawing at her throat. In her mind, she pictured Lucien branding an ardent kiss on Ravenna’s red mouth. Did he feel a passion for his former wife that she simply could not rouse in him?

He seemed to want her, at least when they had last made love that fateful morning on her bedroom floor. But since then, he had not come near. And since her recovery from the fire, he had barely looked at her, except to be certain of her health.

Had she lost him to Ravenna before she ever really had him?

****

“This will be a success,” Grandy declared as Serena and Lucien joined the scattered assembly of people and colors in her drawing room. “The timing could not be better! All anyone can talk about is that awful book
Glenarvon,
” she murmured. “It’s quite obvious Caro Lamb wrote it.”

“So I’ve heard,” Serena whispered, feeling the curious stares of the other members of the
ton
.

“Can you not see?” Grandy said. “They’re so busy talking about her scandal, they’ve quite put yours aside.” Her grandmother leaned closer and confided, “Of course, Harriet is worried about her daughter, but Caro has survived so many scandals already. She will weather this as well, I’m certain.”

“Where is Lady Bessborough?” Serena asked, looking past the swirl of pastel bodices and dark coats for her familiar face.

Grandy peered through the small gathering, then shrugged. “Harriet is probably off charming some lovely gentleman, knowing her. Now do smile and try to enjoy yourself, and tell that handsome husband of yours he must do the same.”

With that, Grandy turned away to greet her newest guests. Serena followed her grandmother’s advice and pasted on a smile she hoped looked less false than it felt. Taking a fortifying breath, she turned to Lucien.

Dressed in impeccable evening black, he looked somber, distant . . . untouchable. The drawing room’s lighting shone across half of his angular face, almost making him appear a stranger. A stranger she loved who did not return her sentiments. Yearning and despair tangled thickly in her stomach.

“Smile,” she instructed, her voice trembling. “Otherwise people will think all isn’t well between us.”

His green eyes held a maddening aloofness. “We would not want to prove them right, I suppose.”

Serena flinched at his resigned tone. “Please, it’s just one evening. Grandy has gone to so much trouble to see us straight again.”

He nodded. “And I will play her charade.”

Assuming a false smile that matched her own, Lucien placed his hand at the small of her back and guided her forward. His touch brought forth a rush of longing. Yet lingering doubts about Ravenna’s claims remained. Though Lucien had not ventured far from her last night, she could not push aside the ache his ex-wife’s words caused.

Grandy had done well in assembling the guest list. Certainly, no one present could make any pretenses to perfect behavior. Not Lady Bessborough, who had borne children other than her husband’s. Serena also spotted the Countess of Bentmoor, who had been caught in her footman’s bed, draped on a velvet settee. A few feet away the Earl of Waltingham, a man who had housed his wife and mistress, along with all their accompanying children under the same roof, chatted gaily with a Whig crony in the corner.

She, no longer living in the shadow of her mother’s reputation but standing right beside it, was no better.

Ironically, these people were considered good
ton
. Their opinions and invitations were highly sought, and anyone who received their favors could be assured of social success.

She smiled politely as they passed through the crowd, nodding and exchanging pleasantries. Though reserved, their fellow guests were polite. For that, Serena thanked God. Perhaps Grandy was right; maybe the party would be a success indeed.

Lucien’s hand at the crook of her waist tensed. Serena flashed him a questioning glance, but not a single thought showed on her husband’s face. He couldn’t possibly be jealous.

Turning back, she forced a laugh for Lord Davenport’s effusive charm. “You’ve always had a sweet way of turning a phrase, my lord.”

“In truth, I meant it, but then again, I realize I’m not the handsome devil your new husband is. Lord Daneridge,” Davenport held out his hand. After a moment’s pause, Lucien nodded and shook Davenport’s hand.

“Quite an awkward position you two are in,” Davenport said, “but I wish you the best. You have my backing.”

Finally, Lucien relaxed his hold on her. “Thank you, Lord Davenport. It means a great deal to my wife.”

The older man waved away the thanks. Twisting the ends of his moustache, the older man replied, “No thanks needed. Warrington was a good friend, and I know his primary concern was for his wife’s happiness. If she’s happy now, he would approve.”

A pregnant pause followed. An aching lump coiled in her stomach and rose to her throat. No, she was not happy. She loved Lucien, despite trying to resist her feelings and wanton nature, while he might well harbor feelings for his ex-wife.

Swallowing surfacing tears, Serena forced a smile. “I have never been happier.”

He returned her flat smile with a teasing one of his own. “Splendid. Hope to see more of you two soon. Say at a dinner my wife and I are hosting Wednesday next?”

“We would be delighted, Lord Davenport,” Lucien answered when Serena could not find her voice.

“Perfect. See you there,” he said, then turned to greet another acquaintance.

A long silence ensued between Serena and Lucien. Finally, he said, “I think your position with the
ton
is all but ensured.”

During the next hour, she kept her gaze on her husband as he made pleasantries with several of society’s matrons, charmed a group of young ladies in their first season, and debated politics with two of Cyrus’ old cronies. Not once did he look her way.

Would he go to Ravenna tonight?

Serena tried to bury her hurt, pretend her torment didn’t exist, all the while struggling desperately not to reveal what a dismal failure she made of the task. The
ton
always pounced on the marital unhappiness of others. Coupled with the fact she and Lucien were the scandalous newlyweds, all had to appear well. The only alternative was permanent social disaster. The time to release her emotions would come later, alone.

She spoke with Lady Bessborough and Grandy for twenty minutes. Lady Davenport paused to wish her well in her new role as the Marchioness of Daneridge. The Countess of Bentmoor engaged her in several minutes of gossip about the Caro Lamb-Lord Byron scandal.

“What a tempting tidbit,” the Countess aahed. “Do you suppose Lord Byron is truly having an intimate liaison with his half-sister, as Caro claims?”

Serena simply shrugged, trying to hold her smile in place.

Just before dinner, the Earl of Rathburn whispered behind her, “You’re looking lovely, my lady. Marriage agrees with you?

Serena spun to face him. Dashing, blond-maned, and broad shouldered, Lord Rathburn looked dazzling in his evening black. He smiled, displaying dizzying charm and a row of white teeth.

“I enjoyed it as well.” Silence ensued. He glanced at her empty hands and said, “You don’t have any sherry. I shall see that you get some, if you like?”

Hoping the alcohol would calm her nerves, she pushed her misgivings aside. “A sip of sherry might be just the thing.”

Rathburn gestured to a nearby servant, who brought her a glass of the amber liquid. Serena turned to accept it—and found Lucien talking with Grandy. He said something and flashed the older woman a grin, complete with dimples. Serena forced back a new barrage of tears. She hadn’t seen Lucien smile in weeks.

Once outside, he recovered from his ailment quickly. A ray of light spilled from the drawing room and lit up the warm tones of Rathburn’s gaze. “It is refreshing to see you about again.”

“I confess, milling about the
ton
is not among my favorite activities. Cyrus wasn’t fond of it either, so I’m afraid we allowed ourselves to rusticate in Sussex more often than not.”

A glance at Rathburn did not indicate whether he was indeed flirting with her, as she suspected. In past meetings, he had been the model of gentlemanly behavior, deferential in all respects. She could hardly picture him differently.

“You must smile more,” Rathburn insisted.

Serena felt the caress of his thumb on her hand. She held her smile in place, while she considered subtle ways to escape his over-familiar touch that wouldn’t raise eyebrows.

“Forgive my boldness, but if Lord Daneridge is so foolish as to ignore you,” Rathburn continued, “then he cannot see the treasure he has. I shall happily consider it my good fortune.”

Serena affected a laughed and stepped away. Rathburn clutched her fingers and followed into a corner of the garden. “You have quite the honeyed tongue, my lord.”

“Only because you are the most beautiful woman here.”

Serena shook her head and glanced about for help. “Nonsense. The
ton’s
loveliest ladies are in attendance.”

“These are the same jaded birds I see everywhere. You, my dear, are fresh and exciting.” He moved closer and draped his arm about her waist. “I have a quaint house, a cottage really, in St. John’s Wood. I would be most honored if you would consent to visit me there.”