Free One Wicked Night by Shelley Bradley

heaven. But she would not allow herself to think about it or him anymore. He was the weakness Satan had presented her with. And she had made her choice. With desire-induced logic, she had failed her husband and God. She had become more like her mother’s daughter than anyone, including herself, had suspected. Whatever the case, she was not going to fail further by dwelling on the warmth of Lucien’s words or kisses, or thinking of the gratification he delivered with such ease.
    Fighting unshed tears, her gaze wandered over the taut, muscled breadth of his back, his slim hips, and the length of his powerful legs, which had kicked away the covers. She studied his profile one last time. He was handsome, devastating . . . dangerous to her sanity. She turned away.
    She must never seek him out, never entice herself with his brand of temptation again. She was afraid her Christian will would crumble beneath the hammer of desire he created. Afraid that she could not resist.
    She could never see him again.
    Something about that reality she did not want to examine too closely made her eyes well with tears once more. Before her sobs awakened Lucien, she crept out of the room, down the stairs, and fled into the London night.
     
     
     
    ****
    “Get up, old man.”
    Lucien heard the familiar voice nagging him. Something poked him in the ribs, and he squirmed to dodge the discomfort. When he felt the prod again, he groaned loudly in protest.
    “Come on. You promised me an afternoon at Gentleman Jackson’s. It’s my turn to beat the hell out of you.”
    Niles, Lucien’s cloudy brain realized despite the vestiges of sleep and the bang of his headache. The man was the most persistent nuisance . . . and the best friend.
    Lucien groaned. “Go away. I don’t want to box. I’ve already been beaten.” At least his head felt that way.
    “And who did the beating? Was it the ‘lady’ Holford tells me you brought here last night?” Niles asked, his voice laughing.
    With that reminder, Lucien’s memory flashed him a vision of white-blond hair and smoky blue eyes provocatively half-closed in pleasure. Instantly, he remembered the intimate feel of her body pulsing around him in blazing climax.
    He sat up and scanned the room. “Where is she?”
    “Haven’t seen her. I assumed you paid her and sent her on her way.”
    “No. I laid down beside her. She was asleep.” He looked at his friend, trying to puzzle it together. “That’s the last thing I remember.”
    Niles laughed, tossing Lucien his cape. “Check your pockets, my friend. She probably ran off with everything in them.”
    “No. She wasn’t a whore.”
    Niles brows rose dubiously. “The best don’t let on they are, at first. Where did you find her?”
    “Vauxhall,” Lucien replied.
    He shrugged. “That ties it. She was just better than most.”
    Lucien emptied the contents of his pockets and found everything present. “It’s all here, exactly where I left it.”
    Niles expression finally melted from cynicism to puzzlement. “Who was she, Clayborne?”
    Lucien shook his head, rubbing his aching forehead with his palm, trying to remember. “I couldn’t say. We met after I saved her from a thief, so we were not formally introduced.”
    “You never learned her name?”
    “No. The robbery shook her and she started to cry. After that, the subject never arose,” he admitted.
    “You have no idea who she is?” Niles pressed.
    “None. But she was the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. She had the fair hair of an angel and the honey skin of a temptress. The way she made me feel . . .” Lucien closed his eyes in remembrance, feeling a surge of arousal.
    “She’s exactly what you need. And you let her get away?”
    “She must have bolted during the night. But damn it, why?”
    “This might give you a clue to her identity. Holford found it in the library.”
    Niles dropped a soft white handkerchief in his lap. Lucien fingered it, smelled her faint sultry scent,