Free One Wicked Night by Shelley Bradley Page B

mind.
    “You know the obvious answer,” Lucien finally answered. “I’ll have to marry her.”
    Niles laughed harshly. “You’ve really tangled yourself a pretty coil.”
    “You’re right. And just what do you suppose her guardian will say when he learns a divorced man has ruined his charge?”
    “Before or after he calls you out?”
    Lucien sighed grimly. “Exactly, but I must find her first.”
    A strange sense of anticipation sluiced through Lucien at the thought of seeing her, of making love to her again. He pushed the ugly reality of Holy Matrimony from his mind as he strode to his wardrobe and shouted for his valet.
    “I’ll help you search.” Niles grinned wryly. “Does this mean I’ll get to stand up with you at your wedding?”
    Despite the bleak situation, Lucien laughed. “Bugger off.”
    “I expected you to say as much.”
    Impatient, Lucien began pulling the day’s garments from his wardrobe as he formed a retort. He noticed then his favorite gray cloak was absent.
    “There’s a bloody surprise,” he muttered. “She took my cloak.” He turned to his friend. “It was here last night, gone this morning.”
    “You have something of hers, too.” With a smile, Niles gestured to the scented handkerchief in Lucien’s hand.
    He toyed with the scrap of linen. “This should make for an interesting trade indeed.”
    *
    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