One Wicked Night by Shelley Bradley Page B

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
     
    “Clayborne, I’m beginning to question your sanity,” Niles said, interrupting Lucien’s thoughts.
    When he made no remark, Niles continued, “Really, old man, we’ve looked everywhere for the girl. She knows where you live. If she felt you owed her the honor of your name, surely she would have sought you out these last three weeks.”
    Lucien answered his friend with a shrug, but his thoughts echoed Niles’s words.
    Yet he couldn’t give up. Quite simply, the woman haunted him. He found himself daydreaming, of all things, like a boy in calf love. At night, dreams of her sweet body soothed him when the visions of Chelsea’s agony beneath the carriage wheels ripped through his sleep. Where the hell was she?
    “You have no idea who this woman is,” came Niles again.
    “Clearly,” Lucien admitted, keeping his gaze fixed on London’s streets through his carriage window.
    Several weeks ago, with high hopes, he had queried his Aunt Elizabeth about a person of his mystery woman’s description. Aunt Elizabeth knew everybody, or so Lucien had thought. She hadn’t known his fair-haired virgin from Vauxhall.
    At times, Lucien wondered if that entire night had been a drink-induced illusion, spurred on by his lonely imagination. But he had only to look at her handkerchief and recall his scarlet-stained sheet to know otherwise.
    “Three weeks is a long time to search,” Niles complained. “I’m supposed to be attending to my personal matters.”
    “So attend to them.” Lucien shrugged.
    “And let you bury yourself in that tomb of a town house to brood until the second coming of Christ? It’s unthinkable.”
    “Hmmm,” Lucien replied noncommittally. “What is your urgent personal matter? Do you have a new mistress?”