Page 114 of A Gentleman's Wager
“I don’t understand you.” They hated each other, didn’t they? The wager was already won. There was no reason for him to do this, nor any for her to encourage it, yet, he was right, she craved it all the same.
The straw mattress tickled as he covered her like a blanket. His lips and fingers worked over her skin, eliciting sweeping rushes of excitement. His cock grew hard against her, but he did not thrust himself upon her. His attention remained on her breasts, licking, sucking, and kissing until her areolas crinkled into steepled points.
Whatever came after this, she wanted to hold on to this memory of gentleness. Wanted to believe he was everything she wished him to be.
“Vaughan?”
“Yes, Bella.”
“I want you.”
“I know.” She felt his smile against her breast, and just for a second, she feared the worst, that he would frustrate her as he had so many times before. Then his cock notched against her entrance. Their connection made them both gasp. Her hands clawed. His back arched. Then they were joined, bodies swaying together in a timeless dance. This was not like any of the previous times they’d mated. There was heat, but not the incinerating, spitting, greedy, consuming sort, rather a glowy feeling that sprung from a well in Bella’s chest, golden and comforting, like the sun in spring after an endless winter.
“It’s all right. I just need you,” she confessed when he began to shake from showing such restraint. “Fuck me.”
“Then it will be over fast.”
“Fuck me,” she mouthed.
Vaughan clasped her wrists, buried her deep in the hay as he quickened the tempo of their movement. He held her firm, while he rutted into her exactly as she demanded. It was everything she wanted from him. Swift, brutal, but still with an underlining thrum of affection. It wasn’t enough to bring her to a crescendo, but it also didn’t matter.
It wasn’t the bit that mattered.
Bliss tore a soft groan from his lips as he spent. God, he was beautiful. Handsome enough to crack open her heart. When he rolled off her, she followed him onto her side. His dark curls stuck to his damp skin. The scar on his torso shone like a silver river in the lamplight; she followed it from one end to the other, then did the same for several of the wheals she’d left upon his flanks.
Tomorrow they’d be enemies again, but for now he was her world.
She traced the angles of his face, the curves of his elegant lips. It was as if they were woven into a faerie spell, pulled outside of rhyme and reason, but it couldn’t last. She was not fool enough to think he was offering forever. He could never truly be hers, she knew that, because soul deep, his heart belonged to Lucerne, and that alone dictated his actions.
It was that knowledge that eventually dispelled the enchantment and prompted her to leave.
-62-
Lucerne
“You bastard,” Lucerne growled having finally tracked Vaughan to the drawing room, where he was inappropriately dressed in shirt and breeches, his other clothing having been left scattered about the entrance hall.
Vaughan glanced round at him. “Possibly. One never truly knows. However, assuming it is not the circumstances of my birth you are querying, what is it I’m supposed to have done now? Is this a reference to my attire, or—”
“As if you do not know.”
“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “Did Charles tell you?”
Lucerne joined him by the fireside. He had endured a rather long, rambling explanation from the squire that involved numerous pleas and squeals, and a great deal of begging, some of it in a position of extreme supplication. Perhaps he was unfeeling, but he had not been moved to help. Leastways, not directly. He had, of course, agreed to speak to Vaughan. “You might at least be sorry for your behaviour.”
Vaughan set down the tongs with a clang. “I’m afraid I’m not. I only gave them what they asked for.” He twisted the signet ring on his middle finger, so that it lay straight. Lucerne frowned, uncertainly. Had Vaughan really only offered what the ladies had independently sought of him? That seemed rather far-fetched. Yes, ladies and men alike frequently battled for his attention, but that did not preclude him from fault. Even after six years abroad, Vaughan had a reputation amongst the bon ton three times as damning as the next worst rakehell.
“Am I to endure a berating?”
“Would it serve any purpose?”
“Only to make you feel better about yourself. I suppose you see it all as besmirching your honour as a host, when really it is no reflection upon you at all. Or is your anger more to do with fidelity, perhaps, or being beaten to the prize?”
“Vaughan, we took her together, and I am not so much of a hypocrite as to expect fidelity from you or Bella when I don’t claim to offer it myself. If I’m angry at all,” —and it was not so much anger he felt as irritation— “it’s that you involved Louisa.”
“In the spirit of openness, I shagged Bella before you and I debauched her together,” Vaughan replied. “As for Miss Stanley—” He gave an insouciant huff.
Lucerne put his fingertips to his temples and briefly closed his eyes. There were times, such as this, when it was a challenge to remember why he tolerated Vaughan’s behaviour, sultry smiles and all, but then he opened his eyes, and the answer was all too clear. His friend… his lover stood before him, one hand resting on the mantle, his clothing in such a state of disarray one had to wonder if he hadn’t just come from someone’s bed, while his dark hair rested in elegant curls about his shoulders. He was too exquisite, too rare a gem to hate for more than a fleeting moment.
