Serenity's Dream (15 page)

had concerning him.

This night, she would much rather be at the club and later, in her bedchamber

with Lucien. She'd just arrived at Hillhaven House, and her face already hurt from

smiling like some sort of besotted idiot. Curtsying hurt her knees, and she saw little

purpose in it, in any case—she'd seen half these people naked, and they knew it.

"Dear, I would like to introduce you to the Duke of Thornhill, Your Grace, my

wife, Serenity."

The duke bowed over her hand and bestowed it with a kiss. Serenity bit the

inside of her cheek to keep from giggling, as his grace had been one of the first people

she'd seen at the club. "I have heard of your views on the Corn Bill, Your Grace."

"It is very nice to meet you, Mrs. Damrill. Not many women would care about

my views on such matters; I trust you are not one of them."

"I think you would find me in accord with many of your views, Your Grace."

Lucien chuckled softly.

"Damrill, I trust we shall be seeing each other. Enjoy the evening." The duke left

them, taking with him a beautiful young woman who he hadn't bothered to introduce,

but who Serenity recognized as the same woman who had been thrashing Thornhill

when she first saw him.

"Yes, my dear, she is his mistress."

"Oh, really. You must keep me informed of these things."

The evening took on a whole new meaning for Serenity. Suddenly, she felt much

more comfortable. She rather enjoyed the company of the people at the club, and

looking around, she saw a great many members.

She felt Lucien's arm tense even before she heard the greeting.

"Damrill, I should have expected to see you here."

"Yes, Simon, I should have expected to see you here as well. How many of your

mistresses are here, and do they know about each other?"

"Very humorous. I am still waiting for a membership to you club."

"Hell hasn't frozen over quite yet, Simon."

Simon placed his hand over his heart in mock offense. "My money is as good as

the next man's."

"I've never wanted anything from you, as you know full well." Lucien's jaw

tightened, and the vein in his temple pulsed. His body seemed on guard for an assault.

Serenity placed her free hand on Lucien's arm and gently patted, conveying her

support. Though she'd no clue with whom her husband was conversing, she did

understand he wished he wasn't.

"Just so. Aren't you going to introduce me to your companion?"

"No, I am not." Lucien ground his teeth and steered Serenity away. Her hand

remained upon his sleeve, patting in a soothing manner.

"Who was that, Lucien?"

"Viscount Westerhouse, my brother. Did you not recognize him?"

Serenity's mouth formed a perfect O, and she'd difficulty shutting it. "I had no

idea. He has changed considerably in ten years. You still don't get along, I take it."

"No, we don't, and I don't wish to talk about him or the rest of that band of

wastrels." His jaw looked tense enough to break, and his body wasn't in its usual

languid posture. "Come, shall we dance?"

As Lucien led her to the dance floor, she realized she'd not known he could

dance. He committed himself completely to the quadrille and executed the steps

flawlessly. Serenity marveled over all the things she still had to learn about him.

The evening proceeded rather well. Serenity danced with Lucien, particularly

enjoying the waltzes. She adored being in his arms, even if only for a simple dance. He

seemed to be back to his usual self, smiling at his acquaintances, garnering the goodwill

of those who might not yet be members of the Sapphire Club.

Lucien never left Serenity's side, which pleased her immensely. He introduced

her to everyone, and included her in conversation. She enjoyed speaking with the same

people who, come tomorrow, would be draped over a punishment bench or chained to

metal bars suspended from the ceiling, howling in agonized pleasure.

They extended many invitations to the club and talked until their jaws ached.

The hour grew late, and Serenity needed no reminder of whatever it was Lucien had

inserted in her bottom before they left home. The little tail hanging from her anus had

brushed against her cheeks with every step she took, intriguing her more and more.

When Lucien asked her if she wanted to go home, excitement dashed through

her. "I thought you would never ask."

They had nearly reached the front door of the Hillhaven Mayfair mansion when

Serenity heard her name.

"Serenity, dear, can it possibly be you?"

A chill slid icily down her back.

Lucien stopped her with a hand to her arm. "My dear, I believe someone is trying

to garner your attention."

"It is fine, Lucien, let us go."

Before she could encourage his ignorance of her pursuer, the man placed an

impertinent bulky hand upon her shoulder.

"Serenity Malin, is that you?"

Serenity's heart fell to her feet, beating so fast she thought she must be dying.

Her body heated until she felt faint. Her knees wobbled, and she felt herself list toward

Lucien, leaning upon him for support.

Lucien stepped forward. "I am sorry sir, but you seem to have me at a

disadvantage."

"Beg pardon, sir, I am Martyn Thorndyke, the Earl of Chetwood. I come from

Nottinghamshire and am acquainted with your lovely companion."

"Acquainted, you say. Well, it is nice to meet you, Chetwood. I was just taking

my wife home. It appears she is feeling a bit faint."

Chetwood looked Serenity over with a critical eye. "Your wife? Yes, she does

appear to be rather overset." His eyes met Serenity's, giving her a fear like none she'd

ever experienced, not even that night in Italy.

"If you will excuse us, Chetwood, I must get her home."

"But of course. May I call in a day or so to check on your well being?"

"Of course you may," Lucien answered over his shoulder as he escorted Serenity

out the door.

As their carriage made its way through the black London night toward

Westminster, Serenity felt her entire life ebb away. Her greatest fear had finally been

realized.

Lucien sat with his back to the horses while Serenity faced him in the opposite

seat. The dim carriage light bounced shadows in the small compartment. She needed

time to think. With careful thought, she knew she could explain to Lucien about

Winsor. Martyn wouldn't have come to London unless he'd tracked her here. He'd

never been one for Society, as he was a simple country gentleman, happy to rule his

little fiefdom in Nottinghamshire.

"How does your bottom feel?" Lucien asked in his deep, resonating tone.

"Fine," she answered distractedly.

"Good. Are you all right?"

"Yes, why would you ask?"

"You are acting strangely."

"I am fine, just tired."

Without saying another word, Lucien began to unbutton the placard of his black

trousers. He sprawled, his legs wide apart on either side of Serenity's. He kept his eyes

on hers as he grasped his rampant erection and began to stroke. It was a crude gesture,

but she wasn't about to let him be disappointed. Not now.

Her tongue peeped out as she licked her bottom lip, all thought of Martyn

Thorndyke temporarily banished from her mind—and, she hoped, from Lucien's.

"How rude of you to start without me." She came off the seat and onto her knees

in front of him. Her dainty hands plucked his own away from his cock, and in one fluid

movement, she took him into her mouth. She relaxed her jaw and began to move up

and down, her hand stroking in the same rhythm. Lucien rested his head against the

squabs, his eyes closed as Serenity laved him. One hand came up, and he laced his

fingers into her hair. He loosely held her in place, lest she think of leaving him. He felt

her need to please him. As he felt his climax building, his hand tensed in her hair.

She increased her momentum, eliciting groans of satisfaction from deep within

him. He growled and raised his bottom off the seat as she relaxed her throat muscles

and took him in fully. He began to stroke with her, unable to remain motionless.

"I'm coming," he murmured in warning, just a moment before his warm, salty

seed splashed against the back of her throat.

She groaned her approval as she took all he had to give her.

She licked him clean. He pulled her onto his lap and held her tightly against his

chest. Silently he petted her, his cock already reacting to her close proximity.

They remained that way until they stopped in front of their home. He lifted her

from his lap and repaired his clothing just as the footman opened the carriage door.

Serenity seemed to have no interest in the club tonight, which had gone on

operating even as they took the night off. When he took her by the hand and led her

through the library and directly to their rooms, he sensed her relief.

Once they reached his room, Lucien silently undressed Serenity and then

himself. He felt crazed . . . with his want to touch her and be touched by her, and with

another emotion. One he did not yet wish to face.

He backed Serenity up until her legs met the bed and she fell back. And then he

fell on her like a mad man, made love to her body with his hands, eyes, and mouth. He

suckled her breasts until she pled for him to take her, but he didn't. He licked and

kissed every inch of her before lingering at her quim. He savaged her with his tongue

and teeth, nibbling and licking until she cried out with her desire for him.

As he pleasured her with his mouth, he slipped the beads from her bottom,

slowly, one at a time. Breathless, she responded with animalistic sounds of satisfaction,

adding to Lucien's already painful erection. When the last bead slid out, he plunged

two fingers into her and then three. She groaned and offered herself to him. He wished

to take her brutally but reminded himself who she was before he did something he

would later regret. He also wished to spank her hard and without quarter, but refrained

for fear he would do her harm.

His emotions raging, Lucien suddenly got up and walked away from her.

"What is wrong, Lucien? What did I do?"

"Nothing." He walked to the window and stared out.

"Please talk to me."

"I cannot." He wanted to hurt someone, and he didn't want it to be Serenity.

Lucien was unaccustomed to feelings he couldn't explain. He was a man who

unapologetically indulged in the carnal pleasures of life. Since he married Serenity, he'd

fucked more women than he cared to count and had done so with the full sanction of

his wife, if only by virtue of her abandonment. After considerable time had passed and

he realized she'd no interest in returning to him, he'd assumed she'd found someone

else to whom she was better suited.

Tonight, he'd met that person, and he was consumed with the need to tear the

man apart

Serenity's reaction to the earl told Lucien they were more than just nodding

acquaintances. His blood boiled with jealousy. He tried to contain it because he'd no

right to feel this way, but something had hold of him, something irrational that he could

not control.

"What is it?" Serenity implored.

Through gritted teeth, Lucien finally spoke in measured tones. "Who is Martyn

Thorndyke to you?"

"He is just someone I met in Nottinghamshire."

"Is he the man who has suckled your breasts?"

"No! He is no one to me."

"He seemed quite determined to garner your attention. He apparently thinks you

are more to him than a mere acquaintance."

"Please, Lucien, think no more of him. He is not important to me, nor should he

be to you."

Lucien wasn't convinced. Rage consumed him with each passing minute. He

grabbed her arms, holding her tightly. "I don't want another man ever to touch you, do

you hear me? You are my wife, and I won't have that man or anyone else touching what

is mine and mine alone."

Serenity's eyes grew watery, her stance fearful. "I understand," she whispered.

"But you have it wrong. He is nothing to me."

"He'd better not be, Serenity." He let her go and stormed to his bedchamber.

* * * * *

Serenity felt her life come to an abrupt end. Lucien would surely find out what

she'd done, and at the very least he would chuck her out without a second thought. At

the most, he could watch her hang.

She paced, cried and inwardly screamed, trying to figure out what she should to

do about Martyn. He hated her, making his behavior at the Cyprian's ball all the more

confusing. He'd given Lucien the impression they had been friends, which couldn't be

farther from the truth.

Worry kept her awake much of the night. She realized how important her life

with Lucien had become and did not want anything to destroy it. She'd thought of

going to Lucien with the full explanation about Winsor and Italy, but doubted he would

believe her. The tale wasn't something of which she was proud.

She could confront Martyn, but had no idea where he was lodged. Nor did she

relish time alone with him. He could be a surly man even when his mood was of an

abiding nature, so she'd have little hope of civility if she found herself alone with him

now. He was but a year younger than she, and she'd always thought him pleasant