A quick glance at the bed revealed messy sheets—nothing more. She opened her robe. Instead of bare skin, a white nightgown covered her. What? What was going on?
Had the lovemaking really happened or was it just some form of vivid daydreaming?
"Miss Serry?” asked Maggie's muffled voice.
Serenity shook herself out of her daze. “Be right there."
The maid entered with an armful of towels. “Oh, Miss Serry, I am sorry t'disturb you. But you did say you wanted a bath at five o'clock."
"No problem, Maggie. Let me know when it's ready."
While the water was being prepared, Serenity slumped on the bed. She couldn't have imagined that Nick had been here. Her imagination couldn't hold a candle to the reality of lying in Nick's arms.
She sighed. But had she imagined their lovemaking? Did she dream the whole thing? Where was Nick, and how come she was wearing her nightgown?
Her body did feel a little sore—a confirmation that she indulged in something other than sleep. But....
She joined the maid at the tub. “I'll call you when I need you."
Maggie started to protest, but then nodded, and left.
Serenity had to be alone. Peeling off the gown, she frowned at the water. She placed one foot inside the tub, and then looked down at her chest. A hundred curly dark hairs were plastered on her skin.
Yes! Nick had been with her. He had been her lover—taking her to the wildest, most glorious place she ever experienced.
Submerging herself in the bath, she used a cloth to scrub everywhere but her breasts. But at last, she washed away the reminders of Nicholas Wycliffe. Heavens, he was superb.
She hummed a tune. In just two hours, she'd see him again. The bath water fizzed like champagne, tickling her nose and making her laugh. Drying off, she swayed over to her closet. Tonight, she'd wear her most provocative dress and maybe later, she could seduce the rake again!
First she needed to tidy up. Her leotards and tights were neatly folded on a chair. Nick had done that. While she'd been sleeping, he folded her clothes and dressed her in her nightgown. The darling!
Serenity opened the portmanteau and placed her exercise togs inside—her notes and books, as well. Remembering the digital recorder, she reached under the bed to retrieve it.
Nothing. On hands and knees, she searched for her machine.
Her heart dropped. It was gone.
Chapter Twenty-two
In the Main Salon, Nicholas took a sip of brandy just as the pre-supper gong sounded. Fifteen more minutes, then everyone would be seated at the table. He circled the rim of the glass with his finger. Blast it, where was Serenity? His mother had assured him that Serenity would join the family and guests tonight.
Serenity had to. Would not do to have an odd number at the table—thirteen, yet. No, she would round out their number to fourteen.
He finished his drink and poured another, ignoring the other people assembled. That made how many drinks imbibed since leaving Serenity? Who knew? He lost count.
Hell and damn, he should be riding the waves of euphoria, induced by the most passionate, soul-scorching experience. Instead, after “borrowing” and examining Serenity's tiny silver and black box, he had felt fear.
Still felt fear. A superstitious dismay in the presence of something unknown? Or was it anxiety for Serenity? She was involved in something that defied definition. How could he describe that rectangular box? Did it play music? Was it supernatural—magical—demonic?
He gritted his teeth and took another gulp of burning brandy.
In his bedchamber, he had placed the “U” shaped device attached to the box over his ears, as he had seen Serenity do. This box had the word “recorder” printed on it, and the instructions for using it were clear. Nicholas pushed the word that said “Play", and a deafening array of sounds besieged his ears. Musical instruments and human voices combined into unpleasant arrangements. Was this music?
A shiver traveled through his frame. During his six years with the Royal Navy, he had faced death—and more. However, he had never felt as overcome with panic as he did this night. What in hell was this “recorder” and how had it come into Serenity's possession?
He was afraid. Not afraid of Serenity, but afraid for her. He checked the mantle clock. Fifty-three past six. What was his darling Serenity involved in? Brilliantly bright clothes that fit like a second skin, and unholy talking boxes?
God! If anyone ever found out.
About to take another drink, his hand was stayed. “At the rate you are tippling this brandy, Brockton, it is a certainty I shall have to place an order with our local smuggler sooner than I anticipated.” Lord Rotterham spoke quietly, and guided Nicholas's hand down to set the glass on a table.
Nicholas would have considered this action an impertinence from any person but his father. He lowered his head to indicate he understood the message, and glanced at the door. Where was Serenity?
The Marquess followed Nicholas's gaze. “She will be here. Most ladies plan a dramatic entrance. She still has four minutes until the hour."
When Nicholas did not respond, his father took another look at him. “What is troubling you, my son? What has happened?"
Nicholas smoothed the sleeve on his black velvet coat. Never could put anything over on the Marquess. “It shows, does it? It is Serenity. I am worried about her. She is involved in something I do not understand."
He automatically reached for his glass, but then returned it to the table.
The Marquess fingered the large emerald ring on his left hand. Lady Rotterham gave it to him many years ago. This was the first time Nicholas had seen his father wear it.
As the Marquess toyed with the ring, he said, “I, too, have sensed something unusual about our Mrs. Steele. But it does not signify. I am convinced that whatever strange entanglements she is embroiled in will in the long run, turn out to be unimportant."
He nudged Nicholas in the ribs. “Did I tell you about the time Serry gave me a rare trimming?"
Serenity, ringing a peal over the Marquess's head? Nicholas laughed. “No, what did she rake you over the coals for?"
"She chastised me for treating women as second-class citizens—her words. And, begad, she was right, too! Now that I changed my ways, y'mother and I get along famously, if you savvy what I mean.” He gave Nicholas a broad wink.
Nicholas returned it. So, his parents decided to heal the breach that separated them for so long. He smiled. They were obviously happy these days.
After the double doors opened, he continued to smile. His Serenity made her appearance into the Main Salon with two minutes to spare.
* * * *
Serenity sat in the enormous dining room, very much ill-at-ease. The dining table occupied only a small fraction of the room; it was dwarfed by the sheer size of the surrounding walls. Not an atmosphere to inspire great appetites—even if she was hungry to begin with.
Earlier, she dawdled in her bedroom, trying to summon courage to face Nick. After such a hot and steamy session, it seemed inconceivable that she'd be shy, but she was. “The morning after” was usually an awkward time, only in her case it was the evening after. And coupled with sharing such an intimate experience, she had to deal with his understandable questions about the digital recorder.
He had taken it, of course. And he'd play it. But what he'd make of it was anybody's guess.
She deliberately had joined the dinner party late, to avoid Nick's piercing gaze and sharp questions. His handsome face caused such a tug on her heartstrings, she almost headed in his direction, but fortunately the dinner bell rang. She'd walked into the dining room on Rodney's arm, secure in the knowledge that due to the protocol, she, as lowest member on the aristocratic totem pole, would not be seated next to Nick.
But, surprise, surprise. The table settings had been switched. Here she sat, sandwiched between Cecil on her left and Nick on her right. How was she supposed to converse with him? His very presence sent ripples o
f heat coursing through her body.
Nick's elbow collided with Serenity's. “Pardon me, m'dear."
He didn't sound in the least bit sorry. Catching his amused gaze, she demurely looked down at her plate. “That's quite all right."
He leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Nice gown, Serenity. I especially like the high collar. Very proper for a widow. I approve."
A rising flush crept up her neck. Her darn skin expressed her embarrassment for all the world to see. Good thing she hadn't worn a low-cut dress as she planned before discovering the “theft.” Nick was being mischievous. If she showed discomfort, he'd take the ball and run with it.
She turned her head to avoid him, but he seemed determined to get her to speak. He studied her plate, obviously taking inventory of its contents. She just picked at the food. How could she eat in her nervous state?
"Off your feed again, Serenity? One would think you would have worked up an appetite—after this day's activities."
Some creamed asparagus got caught in her throat. She coughed loudly, attracting everyone's attention.
Nick patted her back firmly, with his fingers slightly caressing her, which increased her coughing.
Lady Rotterham looked down from the table's end. “Dear me, Serry, I worry about you so. Shall I send for the doctor?"
"Th-Thank you, my lady, but I am f-fine.” Serenity pulled away from Nick, and took a drink of water. But damn the man, his hand lingered on her back.
She shook it off. Oh, he was teasing her something fierce. The devil was in him tonight. He looked the part too, so elegant in his black velvet coat. The color of his hair almost matched the dark fabric. His nearness caused her skin to seemingly inch over to him, dragging the rest of her body closer to him, whether she wanted to go or not.
She adjusted position in her chair—farther away. “Thank you for your concern, Lord Brockton, but I'm quite recovered now."
He moved nearer. Darn it all, if she slid over any more she'd be sitting on Cecil's lap.
"Serenity, dear,” Nick's voice oozed smoothly. “I think you know me well enough to call me ‘Nick.’”
She bit her lip; she couldn't turn red. She just couldn't.
Cecil, bless him, barged in. “Capital idea, Brockton. Capital! Mrs. Steele, be honored if you called me ‘Cecil.’”
With relief, she turned toward Cecil and insisted he use her first name too. Nick was tormenting her like a cat tortures a wingless bird. If she were smart, she'd have nothing to do with him.
But of course, she had no choice. Even now she was leaning to the right—over to Nick. Love ... or lust ... or whatever was proving too strong to ignore.
Then, as she concentrated on taking a bite of a pork crepinette, his hand wandered onto her thigh. She just about jumped. What, in heaven's name, was he trying to do to her?
A surge of heat overtook her again, and her mind flashed torrid scenes from the afternoon. With her two shaking hands, she grasped his straying fingers and returned them to his territory.
"Please ... Nick, since you are such a gentleman, I know you would never cause a lady distress."
He didn't heed her plea. His wicked grin showed what he thought of her unease. Those restless digits continued their assault.
Serenity closed her eyes to block the sensations. No good. They were even stronger without sight. She brushed him away again.
"I could scream,” she said under her breath.
"I am hoping you do. I enjoyed your screams earlier this afternoon,” he enjoined.
"Here!” She spoke through clenched teeth. “I could scream here if you don't leave me alone."
Nick wiped at his mouth with a napkin. “A truce then, dear Serenity. Only on the condition that you scream later, perhaps some place more, er, private? After that, we will have a little talk."
He edged a stray curl on her neck and she gulped down distress as well as anticipation. The little talk was bound to be about her recorder.
After an excruciatingly long repast, complete with innumerable courses, Lady Rotterham stood up and announced that the ladies would leave the men to their port.
"Thank goodness,” Serenity muttered. She poured her concentration into the simple acts of rising and leaving the room. Sexual magnetism was turning out to be harder on her physical well-being then she ever would have dreamed. As she discovered early on in her dealings with Nick, he was a formidable opponent. But why did he feel that she was an advisory?
* * * *
Snuggling under the bedcovers, Serenity relaxed for the first time this evening. Her illness finally came in handy. After repairing to the sitting room, Lady Rotterham had noticed that Serenity seemed pale.
"It would not do to overtax yourself, Serry, my dear. Why don't you make this an early night? I am certain the men will understand,” the Marchioness said.
All the men except one. Grateful she could postpone that little talk Nick had mentioned, Serenity bid good-night to the ladies and headed for bed. Tomorrow, one way or the other, she would retrieve her recorder. But tonight, she would sleep.
* * * *
An erotic dream bombarded her senses. A vanilla ice cream sky covered a foam-tossed sea. Large hands freely roamed her body and burning kisses seared her face, her shoulders, her breasts.
Serenity moaned in her dream and then blinked awake. This was no dream.
"Nick!” Pushing back his heavily muscled chest, she pulled her nightgown back over her hips. What a way to wake up!
"Nick, what are you doing here?"
"Isn't it obvious, m'dear?” He sat back, breathing roughly. He, obviously, had shed all his clothes.
Although the sight of him aroused intense desires in her, she was still ticked at his behavior during dinner. “So what gives you the right, Mr. Wycliffe, to come barging in on me? After your offensive conduct, I'd say you were skating on pretty thin ice."
"Offensive conduct? Dear Serenity, I was only being an attentive host."
"Right. In fact, the more I think about it, the more angry I—"
His strong arms pulled her close. The feel of his hairy chest and the sound of his heartbeat soothed.
"Darling, I am sorry.” He kissed the top of her head. “Serenity, I could not stay away. When I saw you had left the sitting room, I had to follow you. How could I endure senseless prattle about the fox hunt knowing you were upstairs—in bed—dressed like this?” His eyes were hungry. “Dearest Serenity, I had to come. You are all that matters to me."
She heard pain in his voice. Sliding her hands up his back, she hugged him hard. He was a complex man, that was certain, but she belonged here—in Nick's arms.
Her hands traveled the length of his shoulders and found a ridge. She stopped. “What is this, Nick?"
Tracing a long path carved out of his skin, she followed the indentation.
Nick buried his head in her hair, his breath fanning her ear. “A souvenir from the war. From the battle of Trafalgar, actually. Musket ball grazed my back. I was lucky. But we lost one of the finest men who ever lived—Admiral Lord Nelson. At the time, I wished I intercepted the ball that claimed his noble life. But now...."
He snuggled deeper into the hollow of her neck, reluctant to leave its comforting warmth.
"Oh, Nick.” Serenity looked into his eyes and saw their shining light. “Dear Nick.” She kissed him and surrendered herself to him—body and soul.
Chapter Twenty-three
After breakfast the next morning, Serenity slipped outside, into the courtyard garden. She massaged her neck, relieved that Nick hadn't been at the table—the slugabug! But his absence just postponed the inevitable: sooner or later the matter of the missing digital recorder would have to come up.
Walking alongside symmetrical rows of giant square-shaped hedges, she suddenly giggled. The hedges reminded her of gelatin molds quivering and vibrating in the wind.
But then she sobered up. A coward—that's what she was. A coward for running away from the confrontation. If she c
ontinued to hide from Nick, the gyrating bushes would have more backbone than she did.
The early morning sun still sat low in the sky. Cool breezes fingered through the surrounding fir trees and Serenity's flowing curls. A pebble penetrated the thin soles of her shoes and apprehension gnawed at her insides. Troubled—inside and out.
Dear God, what should I say to Nick?
Sitting on a wooden bench between two huge hedge shapes, she took off her shoes, and wiggled her toes in the grass.
"I do admire those graceful feet."
Serenity jumped at the sound of Nick's voice. Not only was the velvety lawn beautiful to look at, it buffered footsteps as well.
"Do you suppose I could view the rest of your delightful body in the daylight?” He sat beside her and rested an idle arm on the back of the bench. Close enough to touch.
She inched down the seat. Already, Nick's nearness stirred her synesthesia senses.
But Nick followed suit, bumping his thigh against hers. “At this rate, dear Serenity, we will both fall off the bench."
He gazed out at the expanse of green before them. “Perhaps that is not a bad idea.” Cocking one eyebrow, he leered at her.
She laughed and watched the wind rearrange his thick hair. “Oh, Nick. Don't be silly.” A roll in the grass did sound heavenly, but impractical, of course. A hundred windows from the Hall looked down into the garden.
Pulling on her ear lobe, she confessed, “Last night was wonderful."
He brushed his lips against her ear. “I also thought so.” Slowly, he moved down and started to nibble on her neck.
A little breathless, she protested, “Not here, Nick. Why, we're in full view of the house.” She was no prude, but one did have to preserve appearances!
He leaned back against the bench and sighed. “Very well, my proper little minx. I shall have to confine my, er, ardor until the night."
They shared a smile. How many hours were there until bedtime?
"However, my curiosity cannot wait any longer.” Holding her shoulders, he turned her to him and concentrated on her face.
This was it. She braced herself.
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