One Wicked Night (19 page)

She swallowed, praying her nervousness didn’t show. Her butler quietly shut the door, sequestering them away from prying eyes and ears. Serena’s anxious pulse raced at the thought.

“Good morning, my lord. Won’t you sit down?” she asked, indicating the chair furthest from her, across the imperious room.

With a scowl, he accepted the seat, fitting broad shoulders stiffly against the pale yellow backing. His dark green coat eclipsed the delicate shade of the chair’s upholstery.

“Would you take tea? The servants can bring us a tray in no time at all,” she assured, forcing a glib note into her voice.

“No, thank you. I came here to talk about—”

“The reading of Cyrus’s will, of course.” When Lucien’s expression turned icier, Serena rushed on. “I hope you weren’t too surprised by Alastair’s behavior. I’ve grown quite accustomed to his outbursts.”

“Your late husband’s nephew, nasty as he is, isn’t the issue, either.” The boom of his voice carried across the high-ceilinged room, and probably into the hall.

Lucien rose from his seat. His angry stride brought him to her side within moments. To Serena’s shock, he sat beside her, a mere foot away. “I refuse to shout across the room at you.”

She tried to scoot to the far end of the sofa. He curled his fingers about her arm to stay her.

“I came to talk about your little announcement.” His gaze cornered and trapped hers, refusing to let go as he spoke again. “Are you truly with child?”

Her gaze locked with his. “Yes.”

“Am I correct in assuming the child is mine?”

She hesitated, but lying to him would gain her nothing but more of his contempt. “Yes. I’ve been . . . intimate with no man but you.”

Fierce satisfaction crossed his face before he blanked it. “Forgive my indelicacy,” he said, though nothing in his tone sounded apologetic in the least, “but I would like to ask you a few questions so I may be as certain as you about the matter.”

“Questions?” She wrung her hands.
Mercy, what would he ask?
Was she equipped to give the appropriate answers?

“How late is your monthly?” he demanded.

Serena’s eyes widened in shock; her mouth dropped open. She felt the hot flush of red race up her face, heating every inch of skin with embarrassment. “How indelicate! That question is most crude and inappropriate. I will not answer it.”

His grip about her wrist tightened. “The question is most appropriate, and you will damn well answer it this very moment. How late are you?”

She directed her mortified gaze to her lap. “Nearly six weeks.”

His exhalation was long and controlled. “Does this sort of lapse happen frequently?”

Serena blinked several times, trying to absorb her shock. How could he ask such personal questions? And how had he come about such intimate knowledge of the workings of a woman’s body?

“Answer me,” he growled at her hesitation.

Impossibly, the temperature of her cheeks heated a few more degrees. “I am usually quite regular.”

Serena wished the couch would swallow her up. Her face felt a hundred degrees. Unfortunately, nothing in Lucien’s manner indicated he was finished questioning her.

“Any part of you more tender than normal?”

Just this morning, she had awakened with aching breasts, the likes of which she had never experienced. Lucien’s gaze drifted to her chest and fixed on the swells rising above her dress. She began to tingle.

Resisting an urge to find a wrap to cover her, Serena crossed her arms over her breasts instead. “Yes.”

“How about mornings? How does your stomach feel?” he quizzed, his gaze still probing.

“Not well.” The nausea she woke to this morning had abated somewhat, and thankfully she hadn’t lost the contents of her stomach as she had the previous morning, but even now her insides rolled and lurched.

She sighed, grateful the topic had shifted to something slightly less uncomfortable. At length, she replied, “Exhausted. I feel I could sleep forever and still require more sleep.”

He nodded. “Do you find you’re more irritable? Perhaps more prone to tears?”

How had he known that? She had cried more in the last week than in the last five years. Was it simple grief? Or some symptom, as he was alluding to? “On all counts, yes.”

She stifled a gasp. Truly? She wanted to ask, but knew she could not. If she had displayed all the symptoms, that accounted for Caffey’s pointed comments.

If Lucien’s suspicion was indeed truth, God had finally answered her most fervent prayer, at a time both blessed and accursed. The Warrington lineage would be assured if the babe were a boy, but Cyrus wouldn’t be with her to share in the joy, to see the fruits of his plans, boy or girl, make its way into the world. She fought back another wave of grief.

And what must Lord Daneridge think of this turn of events?

“My lord, do not fear I expect anything,” Serena hastened to reassure. “You need not make an acknowledgment or settlement.”

“You may not expect anything, but you need something,” he stated matter-of-factly. “My protection. Marsden does not strike me as a particularly sane man.”

She bit her lip. “No, but I shall look after myself. Despite Cyrus’s letter, you need not involve yourself further.”

Lucien leaned closer. “Do you really believe you alone can avoid the danger your husband, his coachman, and several footmen could not? If Marsden could arrange for the murder of a powerful man, certainly he would allow nothing as paltry as a grieving widow to stand between himself and a fortune.”

“Alastair wouldn’t be foolish enough to have me killed as well,” she argued. “Such a deed would seem suspicious.”

“A logical person would think so. Marsden can hardly be described as logical.”

Serena looked away from the intent green of Lucien’s stare, knowing he was right. Alastair would rather take the risk of having her killed than let Cyrus’s fortune remain in her possession. But having Lucien as her protector . . . She shook her head. Such a scenario provided too many possibilities for temptation.

Trying to ignore the spark of awareness dancing across her skin, she faced him. “Perhaps Alastair is not logical, but I would not term him an imbecile. Truly, I do not think he will do anything to cast suspicion upon himself.”

Lucien grabbed her arm. “Are you willing to bet your life on that? As well as the life of our unborn child?”

Put like that, her avoidance of Lucien seemed petty. His protection afforded her the best chance of staying alive. But she must resist his enigmatic charm. She owed Cyrus a proper mourning, and herself the assurance Mama’s wicked propensities didn’t flourish within her.

Serena rose. He rose with her.

“You are right.” She sighed. “I must stay alive to avenge Cyrus’s death . . . and raise this child.” Her hands slid across her middle, cradling the life she surely harbored within.

A moment of still passed. The clock in the hall tick off the tenuous seconds as his penetrating gaze held hers captive. “For you to become my wife. Today.”

A first splash of shock washed over her, followed by wave after incredulous wave. “
Your wife?
Certainly you know that such an alliance anytime in the next year would be impossible, but today . . .”

“Today,” he reiterated implacably.

“It would be unseemly! People will whisper about me—and the baby—viciously.”

“I’ve lived through a
divorce.
Do you think I give a damn about the ton’s gossip anymore? Besides, it will blow over when the next scandal rolls around.”

“Honor be damned!” He leaned too close to allow normal breathing. The arched ebony brows and angled planes of his high cheeks both bespoke anger, which his voice echoed. “It isn’t honor that interests me, sweetheart. I very much care about that child. The babe will never be mine legally; I’m well aware of that, but I
will
play the part of its father. Nothing—not you, nor silly social conventions, and certainly not Marsden—will keep me from taking part in this child’s life and having him or her raised as a part of my household. I’ll be damned before I allow you to rob me of my own seed.”

She backed away from him, digesting the fury of his speech. Few of the
ton’s
gentlemen cared so fervently for their children. Since he did, denying him access to this baby would be nothing short of cruel. Yet how could she choose any other path? Vicious tongues would ensure she’d be shunned forever for marrying one man while mourning another. And to be tied for the rest of her life to a man who had every reason to hold her in contempt . . . It did not bear thinking.

“We must not wed. Such a union would be disastrous at best, and I cannot imagine—”

“I could arrange it,
Your Grace
,” he sneered, “so you would rarely have to see me. I assure you, I’m talking about the most fashionable of marriages.”

His cold voice sent ice straight to her heart. Closing her eyes, she shook her head in denial of such a terrible prospect. Though she and Cyrus had never shared passion, a wealth of affection and respect had always flowed between them.

“My lord,” she began gently. “I was not objecting to you, for you can be most . . . pleasant when you desire. Rather it is your reasoning I question. I shall allow you to visit your son or daughter at any time you wish, under any pretense you devise.” She held up supplicating hands. “I simply feel that, in light of society’s disapproval and the fact we bear no love for one other, perhaps the notion of a rushed marriage is ill-conceived.”

“Ill-conceived or not, I insist. Love is not necessary for marriage and never has been. If you were expecting something more romantic, I apologize. We had our evening of romance. Now we must face the result.”

He pulled a piece of paper from his cream-colored waistcoat pocket and held it up for her inspection. Serena felt the blood leave her face in a rush when she realized the document was a special license for marriage.

“As you can see, I’m quite prepared and quite serious.” His voice broke through the haze of her shock.

She shook her head. “I will not marry you.”

His green eyes narrowed, glittering with anger. “You will. I’ll expect you at my town house at eight this evening. If you do not come, I promise you will find the consequences are more unpleasant than marriage.”

He released her, then stalked from the drawing room, slamming the door behind him.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Eight o’clock that evening brought no sign of Serena’s arrival. Nor did eight-thirty.

At nine, Lucien swallowed both anger and pride, and sent the clergyman home. Niles tried to soothe him with a drink and a friendly pat on the back, but he found neither of any comfort.

Damn it, Lucien didn’t want to make this situation any uglier. But their child was more important than their wishes, and regardless of Her Grace’s thoughts, that boy or girl would grow up knowing the love of both mother and father. He would have the opportunity to prove he wasn’t a failure as a parent. He would ensure that mother and child remained alive.

“Well, old chap, now what?” Niles questioned. “Will you give up the notion of marriage?”

Turning to his friend, Lucien retrieved a multi-colored bouquet of heather, roses and carnations he had procured for the bridal bouquet. “No. Something I say or do will bring her to my side.” He tossed the flowers onto a nearby table. “I just haven’t a clue what.”

“Why doesn’t she want to marry an old rogue like you?” Niles tried to tease.

Lucien found it anything but amusing. “She’s worried about what people will say. Think of it: Her first husband not yet in his grave a month, and she weds another.” He sighed. “I understand her reluctance. But damn it, I must make her understand somehow.”

Niles grinned. “My friend, you just solved your own dilemma.”

Lucien cocked a brow. “How so?”

“She’s afraid of what people might say. So you need only threaten her with a scandal more dreadful if she doesn’t fall in line with your plan.”

The idea was underhanded and would make her hate him. But that wasn’t his primary concern. “In what way?”

“Threaten the lady with a bigger scandal, something worse than wedding before mourning blacks should be doffed.”

Such a simple solution—one that would forever mark him a manipulative bastard in her eyes. But if it kept her and their child safe and by his side, he would live with whatever opinion she held of him, no matter how low.

“You can be a real a genius, young pup.” Lucien clapped Niles on the shoulder. “And I know just the scandal to threaten her with.”

With a triumphant smile curving his lips, he raced to the desk for ink and paper.

****

As Lucien had predicted, his threat brought Serena round to his door at precisely eight that next evening, as his note had instructed.