Authors: Shelley Bradley
One Wicked Night (9 page)
*
With a sigh of utter relief, Serena slipped into her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she leaned against it for support. She had run through the predawn gray from Lucien’s Hanover Square home, down Brook Street, to her own Grosvenor Square residence. Panting with exertion and fatigue, she closed her eyes.
Mercy, it was good to be in her own room—alone. She needed to sort through her thoughts, to think of what she would tell Cyrus about her deplorable behavior, and find a way to forget the rogue who had held her in his arms last night. Maybe then she could forgive herself and reconcile with her sin. Maybe God would forgive her.
“Where’ve ye been, milady? I’ve been waitin’ up all night for ye. And ye come trouncin’ in just before the sunlight, lookin’ like you’ve been fightin’ with a pack o’ cats.”
Serena opened her eyes and gave her Irish maid her sternest look. “Not now, Caffey. I am not in the mood.”
Gesturing aside her mistress’s foul mood, Caffey hurried across the room and lifted the heavy cloak from Serena’s shoulders.
The maid gasped in shock. “Faith, milady, who hooked your dress?”
“I did.”
Caffey lifted a flame-hued brow. “Who unhooked it?”
Serena tried fixing Caffey with another icy stare. The problem was, Serena realized, they had been more than mistress and servant since their childhoods; Caffey knew when she was bluffing.
“Stop. I’ve had a rough night.”
“Aye, from the looks of ye, I’d say so.”
Serena felt her patience rapidly giving way to frustrated anger and the urge to cry. “I would like a bath, if you please.”
Caffey pinched her dainty little mouth and lifted her chin. Serena knew her maid wasn’t disapproving, only hurt Serena wouldn’t share her secret.
Caffey positioned herself behind Serena and began working at the few fastened hooks down the back of her dress. Once they came free, Serena peeled the dress from her torso and let it fall to the floor. She noticed then her chemise was on inside out.
“Where’s your corset, milady?” Caffey’s tone sounded smooth, even halfway obedient.
Serena felt the color rising up her face. “Inside the cloak.”
“Who shall I be returnin’ this to?” Caffey asked as she held the dark, masculine garment.
Serena couldn’t answer that question. She closed her eyes, feeling the rush of new tears. Sweet heaven, what had she done? “Please don’t ask me.”
“All right, milady. If ye be wantin’ an ear, I’ll listen.”
Serena clasped Caffey’s hands. “I know. Thank you.”
Caffey nodded and went about her work. She had the tub and water brought in and quickly set about preparing a bath.
Serena looked at the water gratefully. She felt changed, both inside and out, and wondered if she could ever feel again as she had before Lucien entered her life. She prayed she would, but when she lifted her chemise from her body, she inhaled Lucien’s scent, bringing her both weak-kneed remembrance and doubt. Then she heard Caffey gasp.
“Oh, dear Lord! What did that man do to ye?”
Serena looked at herself in the glass and understood Caffey’s horror. Her breasts were rosy from the stubble on Lucien’s chin. Little love bites dotted her neck, abdomen, and thighs. She looked away in mortification, wishing she could go back in time, wishing she had damned her foolish feelings and refused the handsome devil who had wrought both temporary and permanent changes to her person.
“Please, go now. I’ll bathe myself.”
“And if His Grace inquires after ye?”
Serena bit her lip, swallowing hard as another blast of shame and guilt pummeled her. “Tell him I’m sleeping.”
“As ye wish,” Caffey replied, then closed the door behind her.
Serena immediately sank into the hot water of her bath and scrubbed herself red. And cried.
****
Serena felt her fragile expression collapse the instant the butler showed her into her grandmother’s drawing room and closed the door behind him. The few tears she hadn’t spent during her hour in the tub surfaced now.
Concern transformed her grandmother’s expression as she hurried across the room to wrap Serena in her embrace.
The feel of her reassuring arms, the croon of her soft voice, brought another burst of tears.
“Serena, what on earth has happened? Has this anything to do with your husband’s . . . problem?”
“No.” Serena hiccupped. “Yes.”
Grandy patted her back. “Child, you’ll have to be clearer about the problem if you want my help. I cannot read your mind.”
Serena nodded miserably, then sobbed, “I did it.”
“Did what?”
Sniffing, she answered, “What Cyrus asked of me.”
Her grandmother released her from her embrace and led her to the sofa. Clasping her hands, the older woman asked, “You took a lover?”
Closing her eyes, hoping to close out the shame, Serena nodded.
“How delightful. Why, then, are you upset?” Her grandmother cocked her head to one side. “Did he hurt you, lamb?”
Adamantly, Serena shook her head. “It was wonderful and breathtaking. Everything I never imagined.”
“Splendid,” Grandy declared. “What could possibly be wrong?”
“I-I wanted him so much, I convinced myself that lying with him was the right thing to do.” Misery wrenched the words from her throat. “Like Mama, I gave myself so easily.”
“I commend the man. He must be quite special.”
“Grandy, don’t you understand? I’ve sinned terribly. How will I ever look at Cyrus again? What shall I say when he tells me he loves me? I cannot be worthy after the way I behaved.”
Her grandmother loosed a long sigh. “You silly child. Cyrus himself suggested you take a lover. You simply fulfilled his request.”
Serena shook her head violently. “I had no intention of doing so. But then Lucien touched me and . . . I didn’t want him to stop.”
“Lucien? Does he have a last name?”
Serena felt her face color to a painful red. “I do not know it.”
Her grandmother paused, obviously scanning her memory. “Your Lucien wouldn’t happen to be a tall gentleman with very dark hair and exquisite green eyes, would he?”
Serena’s breath rushed out in surprise. “Yes. You know him?”
Her grandmother smiled. “We are acquainted. His name is Lucien Clayborne. He is the current Marquess of Daneridge. He’s a somber sort, from what I can tell.” Grandy paused, as if weighing her words, then said, “He’s divorced.”
Serena raised a trembling hand to her gaping mouth. “Oh, mercy! Not only did I break my marriage vows, I lay with a divorced stranger. Grandy, this is awful.”
Her grandmother embraced her once again, patting her back in a soothing rhythm. “Now, lamb. I would hardly term your tangle the end of the world. From what I understand, Lord Daneridge is a good man; he simply had the misfortune of choosing a trollop for a wife.”
“Regardless, marriage is forever. It should sustain you through your life. He ended his. And I’ve ruined mine.”
Grandy sighed. “Serena, someday you will understand that not everything falls into your neat little categories of good and bad. Upon occasion, things fall in between. You must learn to forgive your mother, and yourself. You cannot continue to put yourself through this torrent of guilt.”
“But what I’ve done is unforgivable. What if I . . . conceive?”
“You will have a baby,” her grandmother answered succinctly. “And you will love it, boy or girl. Cyrus and I will be thrilled. You know, you must dote on your elders.”
Her grandmother’s proclamation made Serena laugh through her tears.
“That’s better. Lamb, try not to judge yourself by those silly evangelical standards your goose-headed Aunt Constance preached. You have too much life within you to be suppressing all your desire, especially for the love of a healthy man.”
“But—”
“You did as your husband bid. You have no cause to reproach yourself. And that”—she rose—“is that.”
****
Later that evening, Serena tried to take her grandmother’s advice, indeed yearned to believe no reason for her guilt existed. She wanted to tell Cyrus what happened last night and vowed to try.
As she entered the dining room, she spotted her husband. As usual, his evening black trousers and dark superfine coat enhanced his intelligent, well-bred air.
Half of her wanted to fling herself into his comforting arms and beg forgiveness. The confession of her perfidy stuck to her tongue. How could she possibly disillusion him? Her other half wanted to seek the solace of her room and hide until assured Lucien Clayborne and their night together was naught but a dream.
“Hello, darling.” Cyrus rubbed her arm with affection and paused to study her face. “Are you feeling well? You look tired.”
His concern nearly started her tears again. She could feel the rush of mortified color creeping up her face as she looked for the words to explain her weariness.
“I’m well,” she lied. “How are you feeling today?”
“This bloody back of mine. I’m sorry it has caused you to miss so much of the social whirl since we arrived.”
“I quite prefer staying here, Cyrus,” she assured. “You know I am not one for large gatherings.”
“Still, I want you to enjoy your time in London, meet people your age.”
Meet men; that’s what he really means
, Serena thought angrily. “You mustn’t fuss over me. Worry about yourself.”
He smiled. “We’ve been invited to a rout in a few weeks by Lord and Lady Raddington. I’m endeavoring to win Lord Raddington’s support on a new bill up for vote. If my back permits, will you accompany me?”
More than anything, Serena wanted to refuse him so she could remain here within these safe walls, where she would never have to fear encountering Lucien again. But, as she always accompanied him to these functions on the rare occasions he requested it, she knew she could not cry off without arousing suspicion.
“Indeed. Just let Caffey know when,” she answered.
“I’ll make a point of it.”
As she sat to her husband’s right at the dinner table, he said, “I spoke with Caffey this afternoon.”
Serena’s heart leapt into her throat. She concentrated on her plate, though the food made her slightly nauseous, and prayed Caffey had kept her secret. “Oh?”
“She said you had gone to visit your grandmother. How is she? Well, I hope.”
“Yes. She is as healthy as ever.” Serena pushed her fish about on her plate then nibbled on a few peas for effect.
“Glad to hear it.” He reached for her hand. “I know you worry about her.”
“She is very dear to . . .” Serena trailed off when she noticed Cyrus staring at her hand, wearing a frown.
“Wherever did you get this awful scrape on your finger?” he asked, glancing at her with concern. “Is it the reason you aren’t wearing your wedding ring?”
Serena paused. Here was the perfect opportunity to tell Cyrus everything about last night. “I went to Vauxhall with Melanie to see that rope dancer everyone is so awed by and . . . and I was set upon by a thief. He . . . he took my money and jewelry.”
Cyrus stood, eyes wide. “Darling, did he hurt you? How did you escape?”
“A . . . a stranger saved me before the cur could harm me.”
“Who? I should like to personally thank the man for his courage.”
Serena paused. With a simple sentence she could relieve the burden of her guilty silence. She could tell Cyrus he might have his heir nine months hence.
Cyrus’s gaze moved over her with such concern and caring. Serena feared her confession would transform his expression to loathing, perhaps even prompt a slur that she possessed her mother’s propensities after all.
“I haven’t a . . . a clue,” she lied. “The incident happened so quickly, and then . . .well, the rain separated my rescuer from me. I never . . . ah, had the opportunity to ask his name.”
He brought her into the comfort of his arms. “No wonder you’re so shaken. You must retire immediately and rest.”
She nodded and rose, guilt whipping her like a wet rope. “I am certain that would be best.”
Cyrus clasped her hands before she could leave the room. “Why didn’t you wake me with the news last night?”
“You know how I hate to worry you.” She pasted on a smile, though another gash of guilt twisted within her for telling such an outright lie. “Besides, it’s all over now. I feel certain such thieving will not happen again.”
His frown told Serena her answer hardly satisfied him, but he let the matter drop. With obvious reluctance, Cyrus released her arm. “Sleep well.”
Serena fled the room, wondering if she would ever find enough peace with herself to do as Cyrus had bid.
CHAPTER FIVE
