Serenity's Dream (16 page)

enough to look at, as long as he did not open his mouth. She'd heard rumors in

Nottinghamshire that when he inherited, he became overly full of himself, driving longtime staff to seek employment elsewhere.

Serenity thought of Winsor and his almost feminine ways. He'd been so gentle

and not the least bit confrontational. People tended to take advantage of him, but he

enjoyed making people happy. The only time he'd been the least bit masterful was

when he spanked her, but it had been nothing like what Lucien gave her. Still, dear

Winsor had showed her a part of herself she'd had no idea existed, and then he died.

Certainly, she'd not been in love with him, but she liked him tremendously and hadn't

wished to be apart from him and his adventurous spirit.

What am I to do?
She lamented, afraid with her entire being that there wasn't a

thing she
could
do. She could pack her bags and flee, but then she would just be

compounding her already deplorable behavior in Italy. She had to find a way to tell

Lucien and make him believe she wasn't at fault.

With that in mind, she rested, albeit fitfully.

* * * * *

Lucien spent much of the next morning in his library, attending to business. His

mind kept drifting back to Chetwood's hand on his wife's shoulder, a familiarity that

went beyond the pale. The man had acted like he had a right to touch her thusly,

leading Lucien to believe it had not been the first time.

He hated the feeling in the pit of his stomach. He'd denied to himself any feelings

other than those of a carnal nature existed between him and Serenity, but now with this

rage, he knew he swam in dangerous waters.

He returned to Serenity's bedchamber in time to deliver her afternoon spanking.

He placed her over his knee and half-heartedly spanked her with his hand. He didn't

talk to her, tease her, or touch her sexually. He simply gave her twenty innocuous pats.

As he left her chamber, he spoke over his shoulder. "I have to go to the club.

Please don't wait up for me."

Chapter Fourteen

Lucien slipped into his bed as the sky turned from the black of night to the

gradated pink and gray of early morning. Exhausted, he simply wanted the oblivion of

sleep. As he settled against the pillow, Serenity's small hand touched his back.

He rolled over to face her and was shocked by what he saw. "What is wrong?"

She had tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I have been worried about you. You seem so unhappy, and I know it has to do

with me."

"Please, Serenity, I'm tired."

She allowed her hands to continue playing indiscriminately across his body. She

touched his nipples until they became hard little pebbles. She leaned over him and

licked him, earning her an approving moan. She traced her hand over the flat plane of

his stomach, coming to rest just above the patch of wiry hair from which sprang his

rampant arousal. She teased him, stroking and then moving away. She cupped his

bollocks, squeezing slightly. She rolled them around in her hand, causing him to tense

beneath her touch.

"Careful, love."

"Roll over," she whispered, already helping him to his stomach.

She began to rub his neck, shoulders and back. "Let me ease your tension." Then

she went lower, paying great attention to his buttocks. She kneaded each in turn, and

Lucien tensed beneath her hands.

"Relax, dear." She kissed him hungrily, nipping at his bottom.

He growled but eased a bit. As his eyes drifted closed, she delved into the seam

between his cheeks. He stiffened but didn't protest as she touched his anus.

"Do you like this?"

"I am not sure," he said, though his buttocks rose to meet her finger.

"Would you like me to continue?"

He didn't answer.

She leaned over and took a bottle of oil from the bedside table. She poured some

and rubbed it into the pink muscle and slipped her finger within the tight confines. His

bottom rose off the bed, meeting her finger as it delved deeper into him.

"
Yes
." He pushed up into her hand.

She stroked deep and then nearly withdrew. She encouraged him to his knees,

and he complied willingly.

She took his cock in hand and duplicated the stroking rhythm she'd established

in his arse. Lucien let her have control as she brought him to climax. She worked him

relentlessly until he collapsed, then whispered in his ear, "Rest now, love."

* * * * *

They slept until late in the afternoon, enfolded in each other's arms. When Lucien

awoke, he vacated the bed before Serenity awoke. He retreated to his library, where he

searched his tortured mind for answers. He had no idea how he would face her. Given

his tormented thoughts about Martyn Thorndyke and overall exhaustion, his defenses

had been totally depleted, and she'd done things to him he never should have allowed.

He could kick himself for this lapse in judgment. It was the kind of intimacy he should

never have shared with Serenity. He didn't love her or she him.

Within the confines of the Sapphire Club, he'd been well sought after. No one

gave a deuce about him being the fourth son. He had a reputation, surely derived from

his expertise at wielding a strap, and of course, his cock. He rather liked being known as

a practiced lover of women. He'd also been known to never engage his heart, ever.

He had no idea how to approach his current situation, all the while knowing he

would have to, and soon. Could he go on with her daily spankings? Would his life ever

be as it had been before she burst back into it?

No, he knew it wouldn't, but he decided he would continue as though nothing

had ever happened. It was the only way he could face her. He would have to see to it

she didn't touch him as she'd so boldly done. To be sure, had he not been so tired, it

never would have happened. But the more serious problem was that he'd indeed

enjoyed the experience.

Her only intent had been for him to receive pleasure. She'd been completely

unselfish, and it should have touched his heart in some way, but instead it further

angered him.
Who had taught her to act so? Had the whole thing been a little trick she enacted

with Chetwood to stir his anger?

In the midst of his considerable quandary, Hampton had entered the library. "Sir

. . . . Sir!"

"What the hell are you shouting about, Hampton?"

"I have been standing here for five minutes, trying to garner your attention. You

have a visitor."

"Who would be calling at this hour?" He looked at the walnut clock on his desk, a

gift from his father upon Lucien's entrance to Eton, and realized it was well within

proper calling hours.

"The Earl of Chetwood, sir. Says he's come to inquire as to Mrs. Damrill's health."

Lucien's heart began to beat more rapidly. "Chetwood, eh? Send him in."

The butler gave a stiff bow, and within moments, Chetwood entered the library,

looking well rested and smug.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Damrill. I do hope I am not interrupting your business day.

I simply came to inquire as to Serenity's well-being."

"Not interrupting a thing, Chetwood. Please come in and have a seat." Lucien

directed him to a stiff wooden chair beside the desk, not feeling particularly inclined to

make the man comfortable.

Lucien watched as his wife's former lover sauntered over to the chair and sat

regally, as though on a throne. Lucien smothered a laugh. He'd always abhorred how

the high-born pranced about, even when in the company of those equally as privileged.

Lucien was just as well born as this popinjay, though the man probably had no idea of

Lucien's circumstance.

"
My wife
is doing well. She had a bit too much excitement last evening, is all."

"Well, I am happy to know she is well. She looked as though she'd seen a ghost,

and I must confess, with good reason."

Lucien gritted his teeth at Chetwood's nerve. "What are you insinuating,

Chetwood? I would tread lightly."

"She looked as though I were the last person she thought to see, and I'm sure I

am, since she left Nottinghamshire so precipitously with nary a word to me or anyone

else. It took me a frightfully long time to track her to London, as she never divulged the

innocuous little fact that she was married."

Lucien tried to appear calm. "What are you saying, Chetwood? Why would it

matter to you or anyone else where my wife should travel and to whom she might be

married?"

"I say, Damrill, you are becoming overset. Please, allow me to explain.

Obviously, Serenity has not told you of her relationship with my brother."

Lucien said nothing, merely tried to keep his hands from throttling the man. The

earl's continued use of Serenity's Christian name—as though this man didn't feel

inclined to accord her the respect she deserved—had gotten under his skin.

"Serenity had a long-standing relationship with my older brother, Winsor. We,

his family, thought highly of her, thinking her a good match. Of course, we had no idea

she'd already taken vows. I am sure Winsor didn't know of it, either. Nonetheless,

nearly a year ago, they traveled to Italy for an extended visit. His letters to me conveyed

the usual descriptions of their adventures—trips to Rome, tours of the ruins—you

know, the usual things one enjoys in such a beautiful country.

"Then six months ago, I received word my brother had been found dead in

Florence, naked, the victim of some nefarious act. I made my way to Italy immediately,

wishing to comfort Serenity and investigate as to who would possibly murder my

brother. Upon my arrival, I was informed my brother had been alone. The people at the

hotel informed me 'Contessa Chetwood' had left Italy several weeks before, having been

seen last on the same day my brother died."

Lucien leapt to his feet. "Just what are you suggesting?"

"I'm
suggesting
nothing, Mr. Damrill. I'm telling you quite plainly that your wife

is under suspicion for the murder of my brother. I have come to London to see her

arrested."

"What the bloody hell are you talking about? My wife could never murder

anyone. Didn't the Italian authorities explain to you how your brother died?"

"They most certainly did, sir, and it is all very suspicious. A man of seven and

twenty does not simply die in bed. The very thought of it is absurd."

"You say my wife was fond of your brother."

"Yes, by all outward appearances."

"Well, then, why would you assume she is responsible for your brother's death?"

"Because she left with nary a word to anyone. Winsor's body was found the next

afternoon by the maid who went to clean the room. From what I understand, the poor

girl became nearly catatonic at the discovery."

Lucien felt his fragile control slip away. So this was why she'd come. He'd nearly

let himself forget her strange arrival—he'd wanted to forget—but he could no longer

avoid the truth. Serenity had appeared at his doorstep so unexpectedly because she'd

needed a place to hide. It had nothing at all to do with her desire to reconcile with him

or to make a go of their marriage. It had more to do with saving her hide, while

dragging his into the fray. How could he have been so gullible?

"What is it you want, Chetwood?"

"I want her to stand responsible for my brother's death."

"You don't know if she is responsible or not, do you?"

"I most certainly do."

"Do you have anything more substantial than a brother's grief?"

Chetwood stood, his face becoming mottled with anger. "Why would she run

away if she wasn't responsible? The Italian authorities wanted to question her, but she

wasn't there. It looked suspicious to them, and it damn well looks suspicious to me.

When I returned to Nottinghamshire and called upon her, she refused to see me or to

answer questions. Then she simply disappeared, just like she did from Italy."

"I am sorry for your brother's death, Chetwood, but I fail to see how you hold my

wife responsible. Were there any wounds found on your brother's body to indicate

someone had harmed him?"

"No, but there are ways of killing a man without leaving any signs of the deed."

Lucien knew the earl was correct on that matter, but he also knew his wife. She

wasn't capable of harming anyone, let alone someone she felt a fondness for. There was

more to this, and he needed to get to the bottom of it.

"Please, Chetwood, allow me to question my wife, and I promise you I shall

inform you of every word she has to say on the matter. She is the only one, apparently,

who knows exactly what happened to precipitate her hasty departure from that hotel

room."

"I agree that's certainly the case, but I won't let this fade away, Damrill. I give

you two days to discuss this with your wife. I shall return at that time."

Chetwood rose and stomped out of the room, leaving Lucien with myriad

thoughts. Emotion had no place at this moment, though he knew he would have to

quell his rampant anger before seeing Serenity.

The first thing he did was to send a missive to Prentice. The second was to take a

rather large gulp of brandy and then another. Though he tried to affect calm, he knew