A Gentleman's Wager (23 page)

He was distantly aware of Vaughan’s bitter swearing and cursing, but there was no resistance to his penetration. Vaughan wasn’t fighting, and he wouldn’t be able to deny the pleasure he derived from being taken thus, even if he did protest to the end.

‘Admit it, you just hate being at somebody else’s mercy. You’re too conceited. But you don’t fool me.’ Lucerne knew exactly how much of a melting-pot of emotions Vaughan was – just how passionate, jealous and vengeful he could be, but also how sensitive and kind.

‘Mercy!’ spat Vaughan in return. ‘You’ll be the one begging for mercy before I’m done with you!’

Lucerne continued to penetrate him with hard, unrelenting strokes. He knew that later Vaughan might make him pay dearly for this, but he didn’t care. He was getting far too much selfish pleasure from overwhelming him. Orgasm came upon him, and his whole body arched as he soared. Vaughan’s muscles contracted around him. When he opened his eyes it was in time to see Vaughan, with a reluctant groan of pleasure, peak and fount semen over the polished surface of the bureau.

Exhausted, Lucerne released his partner and stepped back. He wanted to kiss him, but Vaughan pushed him away with a snarl, then pulled up his breeches and stormed out. With an outstretched arm supporting him against the cabinet, Lucerne watched him go, too tired to pursue. His body awash with the afterglow, he turned to the mullioned window and drew a deep breath. Eventually, Vaughan and Bella were going to force him to take sides, something he was desperate to avoid. But if he couldn’t reconcile them, then he’d have to choose one over the other.

He was still catching his breath when he heard footsteps behind him. Lucerne fastened the flap of his breeches and turned around, expecting to see Vaughan. Instead, he met Charles’s florid face.

‘I’ve just seen Pennerley storm off down the corridor,’ he said. ‘Looked like the devil had bitten his arse.’

Lucerne blinked, but managed half a smile. Charles gave him such an odd look in return that it wiped away his attempted raillery.

‘I was hoping to discuss that ditty of mine you said you’d give me an opinion on. If it’s not too much trouble.’ Charles tugged at the bottom button of his waistcoat,
and
it came off. ‘Well, I’ll just wait downstairs, shall I.’ He gave Lucerne a hard stare, then left.

He knows … no … suspects too much, Lucerne thought. It was only by pure luck that he hadn’t arrived any earlier. Eyes closed, he shook his head. Anyone could have walked in on them. Their argument had made them indiscreet, and it mustn’t happen again. Once he’d seen that Charles was safely through the door, Lucerne turned back to the bureau. The puddle on the surface made him grimace. With his silk handkerchief, he mopped the evidence of their passion away.

Louisa’s embroidery lay untouched in her lap. It was mid-afternoon, already dark outside, and the wind whistled in the chimney while the flames danced in the grid. Bella had been watching her with hawk eyes for the last five minutes, ready to swoop the moment she looked up. She probably wanted to drag out the drama of Wednesday afternoon, but Louisa no longer had anything to say on the subject. Her infatuation with Frederick Wakefield was over. She’d seen him for the rogue he was; no different to Vaughan when it came down to it. Except that at least Vaughan was honest. Still, it wasn’t easy; almost every room held a memory of him, a shared moment or a secret smile.

The fierce wind rattled the latches and managed to lift the heavy Jacquard curtains. Louisa turned to find Lucerne peering out of the window at the rain-sodden lawn. He smiled wanly at her reflection in the dark glass and she smiled back.

‘It’s very stormy,’ she said.

‘Yes, it is.’

There was a distant, almost haunted look in his eyes, which the reflection only emphasised. He pulled the thick drapes across, obscuring her view. Louisa balanced
her
sampler on the arm of the settee, suddenly aware that not all the troubles in the house were her own. She studied him as he poured himself a drink and went to sit by Bella. Although he appeared at a passing glance to be his normal immaculate self, once she looked beyond his fine clothing and outward geniality, she noticed the dark smudges beneath his eyes and the worry lines crisscrossing his brow. She wondered what was bothering him. His voice was too low for her to hear what he was saying to Bella, but they appeared to be disagreeing on a matter of importance.

The conversation stopped dead as Vaughan entered the room.

‘Don’t let me stop you,’ he said, and gave an insouciant wave, although his gaze remained fixed upon the settle where Bella and Lucerne they sat, as he stalked across the room like a sleek black panther.

Despite his presence and persistent stare, they began to talk again, albeit on a different topic. Louisa sat back to find Vaughan resting against her chair. He leaned forwards over her shoulder and his hair brushed her sleeve. ‘It’s very pretty,’ he said of her embroidery.

Surprised and delighted, she smiled at him, although her joy quickly changed to alarm as his mouth hovered just above her exposed skin.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t always bite,’ he said close to her ear. She flushed crimson, but relief quickly cooled her skin, for Vaughan moved in front of the fire, and then to a seat.

‘Some port, I think, Lucerne.’

Lucerne immediately rose to serve him. Louisa watched as he placed the glass in Vaughan’s hand. Their eyes locked.

‘Have you forgiven me?’ asked Lucerne.

‘Forgiven, but not forgotten.’

‘What did he say to you?’ Bella hissed to Louisa. Her friend only shook her head in reply, and continued to affect a smile for the two men. Forgetful of Louisa’s own misery, Bella inwardly cursed her silence. She had issues with Vaughan, and what she didn’t need was her best friend freezing up on her.

‘Not chasing rain clouds today, Bella?’ Vaughan’s voice was full of crisp mockery. Bella shifted to the edge of her seat and sat with a stiff back.

‘No, my lord.’

‘No doubt your groom is finding his sport elsewhere.’

‘No doubt,’ Bella said through pursed lips, struggling to conceal her fury. The bastard had deliberately said that so that Lucerne would hear. He hadn’t told Lucerne what had happened in the stables, and he wasn’t going to. Nevertheless, he’d use the knowledge to get at her.

Vaughan gave her a silky grin while he idly toyed with his crystal goblet. To his right, Lucerne reclined against the edge of the
chaise longue
. He made a low comment to Vaughan that Bella couldn’t hear, and they both laughed. Their amusement jarred. She could tell from Vaughan’s expression that he was taunting her, but she was uncertain whether Lucerne was an accessory or a cat’s paw. Vaughan peered at her through slitted eyes and ran his index finger around the rim of his glass, dipped it into the sticky sweet liquid, and then sucked the tip of his stained finger suggestively. He seemed delighted at the joke, which only made her mood worse. She watched stiffly as he slipped his arm around Lucerne’s shoulder on the side away from Louisa, and stroked the smooth line of the viscount’s jaw.

Apparently unaware of Vaughan’s game of one-upmanship, Lucerne smiled at the affectionate touch. Rage began to bubble in Bella’s blood. His subtlety might mean that Lucerne and Louisa missed his declaration,
but
she knew what he was saying as clearly as though he’d stood on the table and proclaimed it.

Lucerne is mine; your victory is not complete, and don’t forget it.

Lucerne flashed her a smile as he tilted his glass to his lips, but the acknowledgement did nothing to reassure her. As long as Vaughan’s hand was on him, Lucerne would never belong to her. He shared something with Vaughan she couldn’t compete with, and all she could do was watch.

She turned away.

‘You look like you’ve lost something,’ said Vaughan. ‘Perhaps you should retire.’

Even in victory, he had to mock. Bella jolted to her feet, gave him a wounded look, and then dashed from the room.

‘Was it something I said?’ he called after her, but she didn’t look back. She ran blindly with no destination in mind, startled Charles in the corridor and fled into the next room, very nearly crashing into a suit of mail in her flight. The wolfhounds stirred by the fireplace. One looked up at her with its big brown doggy eyes before it lay its head back on its paws. Only once she’d reached the back stairs did she slow, and she finally slumped against the bare stone wall.

Her pulse beat loudly in her temple and, as much as she tried, she could not stop shaking. The subtext of Vaughan’s conversation had driven her from the room, but she wouldn’t let his presence drive her from the house.

She wouldn’t.

Lucerne appeared on the steps below. He reached up and laid a gentle hand upon her arm. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Lucerne,’ she said in a husky voice. ‘Do you love me?’

The space around them went so quiet that she heard
his
indrawn breath. He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

‘I suppose not,’ she said, and hoped her disappointment didn’t ring too clearly in her words.

‘Don’t say that. You rather took me by surprise.’ He coughed into his hand. ‘You look pale; are you sure you are all right?’

Bella sighed, stricken but not surprised. All she wanted was some reassurance that she wasn’t just a diversion for Lucerne and Vaughan, but she’d asked the wrong question. She doubted Lucerne was even capable of bringing the words to his lips. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to let them spill. Lucerne would not take that weakness back to Vaughan.

‘You’re precious to me – is that enough?’

Bella looked down into his deep-cornflower eyes and sensed that he meant it.

‘Don’t let him get to you,’ he said, and opened his arms to her. ‘I want you here. That’s all that matters.’

THE MISERABLE WEATHER
had cleared by mid-November, giving way to the cold starry nights of winter. A week after she’d discovered Wakefield in the arms of a trollop, Louisa awoke to find the ground frozen and the grass crisp with white frost. Louisa sat painting by the window, mirroring the clean white beauty of the courtyard on her canvas. She watched a lone figure cross the cobblestones and duplicated the light impressions of his passing in her picture.

The stranger peered through the glass, revealing himself as Vaughan, then let himself in by the French window. An icy blast chilled the room and made Louisa shiver in her flimsy muslin gown. She paused to rub some warmth back into her bare arms. Meanwhile, Vaughan shrugged off his heavy greatcoat and removed his gloves with his teeth. He cast them with careless grace over a chair, then turned back to the fire to warm up. Louisa watched him warily from her position across the room. She liked to look at him – he was an attractive man – but as a rule she still avoided being alone with him. Overcautious, perhaps, but she knew from experience that he was dangerous and unpredictable. Nevertheless, she craved any kind of company to divert her from brooding over Frederick and that tart Millicent.

‘Good morning,’ she said.

‘It’s a bitter morning.’ He turned sharply to face her, and Louisa recognised a hint of cold humour in his expression. ‘Whether it is also a good one remains to be seen.’

She immediately regretted having drawn his attention. Vaughan licked his lips, a gesture that was entirely vulpine. He crossed to the giltwood mirror and stood before it, smoothing his curls over his shoulders.

‘You needn’t look so frosty,’ he said as he watched her countenance in the glass. ‘Even rogues and scoundrels have off days. I’m not set upon robbing you, it’s much too cold.’

Louisa turned her back to him in reply. She cautiously daubed paint onto her picture, unconvinced of her safety. She heard his light footsteps, then stiffened as he rested against her back, his groin level with her shoulder blades. The musky scent of him wafted over her.

‘Quite an impressive piece,’ he commented, while she forced herself to relax. ‘You never cease to amaze me, Louisa. I wonder what other accomplishments you might yet reveal beyond embroidery, piano, and painting.’

‘None, unless you include a smattering of French.’

Where was this leading? she wondered. Maybe she should leave. She couldn’t see his face properly to read his expression without turning, and in any case she didn’t trust herself to keep her reaction neutral. After a moment or two he picked up an unused brush and began to toy with it. Louisa watched out of the corner of her eye as he tested the bristles against his skin, then used it to caress the back of her hand.

She bit her lower lip. All her instincts told her to pull away from him, but she guessed that was just the sort of encouragement he was looking for. Instead, she kept her hand still and concentrated hard on her painting. Vaughan brushed her hair to one side, so that she could feel his breath on the side of her neck, and then he very gently ran the tip of the brush along the edge of her ear. Louisa shivered at the odd fluttery sensation it awoke in her breast.

‘You’re ignoring me,’ he said. ‘Don’t you think that’s a little rude?’

‘If I am, it’s your own fault.’

‘Oh? And why would that be?’

‘You know why!’ she snapped as she stood abruptly. Two hot flashes of colour rose across her cheekbones. Vaughan coolly drew himself up to his full stature.

‘Are you inferring that I was responsible for the departure of that lapdog Wakefield, or is it some other matter? I can assure you that if it is the former, he left entirely of his own accord.’

‘That’s of no consequence. I refer to the night of the ball.’

‘What of it?’

‘You forced me.’

‘Strange, I remember it differently,’ Vaughan mused. ‘I had an inkling that you were enjoying it, until we were rudely interrupted.’

Louisa swallowed hard as vivid images of the ball flickered before her eyes. It had been in this room. Her mouth suddenly felt very dry, and her balance unsteady. Vaughan laid a hand on her shoulder, and she sat down again.

‘Perhaps I might tempt you again sometime, now that we would have less chance of being disturbed,’ he whispered into her ear. ‘I could show you what you’re missing.’