One Wicked Night Read Online Free PDF

Melanie, she had little doubt she would enjoy it, too much. His shoulders would feel solid and warm beneath her palms. His hands touching her back and shoulders would bring pleasure. Merely imagining it stoked a fire in her belly and snatched a breath from her lungs.
    By the saints, she needed to collect her thoughts, which hardly resembled those of the morally upright woman she’d been this morning. But for some reason, after the threat on her life, after meeting Lucien, she felt too off balance to be that woman.
    Stung by her body’s reactions, she whipped her gaze from his much too handsome face back to Melanie—and was stunned to find both her and her newfound escort heading for the exit.
    “Melanie!” Serena shouted above the din of conversation. Instead of turning around, Melanie laughed and tossed her head coquettishly at something her companion said.
    “Melanie!” she shouted once more in vain. Seconds later, Melanie, her purple turban, and her mysterious new lover were gone. In disbelief, Serena shook her head. Her head hurt, the rain fell in sheets, and her ride home had departed without her.
    The rake stepped in front of her, shaking his head. “What will you do now?”
    Serena lifted her gaze, and immediately wanted to wipe the smug grin from his face. “Do? I shall go home.”
    “How? Did you come in your own carriage?”
    “Of course not. I’ll hire a sedan chair.”
    Lucien shook his head. “Not likely.”
    His language raised her ire. “Why do you say that?”
    “Sweetheart, everyone here wishes themselves at home. You cannot imagine you’re the only one in need of a ride.”
    Splendid. Naturally, he had to be right.
    “Besides,” he added, “it is not likely a driver will stop for a woman alone, because that suggests you are either you a lightskirt or a woman without money.” He shrugged casually. “Whatever the case, the driver isn’t likely to receive a farthing for his trouble.”
    Again, he was completely correct, curse him. Serena sighed in frustration.
    “Let me take you home,” he suggested, his rasp compelling.
    She shook her head, scandalized by how a cozy carriage ride with him appealed. “I could not impose. Besides, it’s much too improper.”
    “The only other alternative is to walk.”
    Alone? At night? Across town?
    “Better improper than dangerous, wouldn’t you say?” he prompted.
    “But—but I—” she stammered. She was too drawn to him by half to be rational in his presence.
    “Have you a choice?” He raised a brow lazily in inquiry.
    “No.” Drat him .
    He proffered his elbow to her. “Your carriage awaits, my lady.”
    Serena chewed her lip with worry, quaking inside, before reluctantly accepting his arm.
     
     
     
    ****
    Under the dry protection of Vauxhall’s entrance, Lucien waved the emerald-and gold-clad footman away, then handed Serena into a sleek, narrow vehicle. She caught sight of a lozenge on the door, which, like the rest of the carriage, was painted a dark hue that gleamed a glossy black in the cloud-enshrouded moonlight. She peered at the diamond-shaped crest, tried to decipher it, but her dubiously benevolent rescuer touched a hot hand to the small of her back, spurring her into the coach.
    He mumbled something to the coachman she did not quite hear. The servant replied with a crisp, “Very good, my lord.”
    He was a member of the ton ? Apparently. She shouldn’t be terribly surprised. The man had enough bravery—and charm—for a dozen lords. Was he haut ton ? Or a part of the fast set that overindulged with the Prince Regent at Brighton with revolting regularity?
    He settled against the plush wine-dark seat beside her and, after removing his mask, thrust aside his cape and a carved walking cane she had not previously noticed. As he leaned closer and stared, the small coach suddenly felt very small.
    He emanated heat, smelled of rain and sultry night air. His bold gaze held hers prisoner. His eyes glittered with forbidden