Page 96 of A Gentleman's Wager
His delight at her retort painted flecks of lilac across his violet irises. He circled his lips with his tongue. “I like this version of you. But you’re not entirely correct. It was never wholly about Frederick.”
“Liar.”
“Fine. It was mostly about him, but you’re not without appeal.”
His fingertips traced her cheek, danced over her lips, before trailing down the side of her throat to her breasts. Louisa’s heart sped. Through the fabric of her gown, he circled her protruding nipple. It sent ripples of pure fever through her tensed frame that all seemed to collide in the same spot between her thighs. She squeezed her eyes closed tight. “Oh, can’t you just leave me alone.”
The ends of his hair brushed the side of her throat, she gritted her teeth, expecting to feel the press of his lips, but instead his breath whispered against her ear. “As you wish. All you ever had to do was ask. All you ever have to do is ask.”
Louisa cautiously opened one eye then the other. She was entirely alone, not a thing present to suggest he’d ever been there.
Come evening, she had more or less forgotten the encounter, but the following morning she woke to find a bunch of wild heather on her pillow, tied up with one of her soft bristled paintbrushes. Her heart immediately leapt into her throat.
“Did you bring this in?” she demanded of Bella’s maid when she arrived to assist her in her toilette.
“No, miss.” Emma took it from her to take a good look. “It’s pretty, though. Who’s it from?”
Louisa shook her head. How had he got inside her room? She made a point of sliding the bolt before retiring each night. It was the one lesson of her aunt’s regarding house parties she had strictly adhered to.
Had he watched her while she slept?
Touched her?
What might he do if he returned?
“Does Lauwine have any secret passages?” she asked Lucerne later that afternoon.
The master of the hall scratched his chin as he contemplated. “There are some doors in odd locations, but alas none of the windy mysterious tunnels our novelists are so fond of.” He cast an affectionate look in Bella’s direction. “I’m afraid there’s not even a priest hole. Why is it that you ask?”
She could not tell him the truth, that Pennerley had been in her bedchamber. The only person that would reflect badly on would be her. “I thought I heard something behind the wall in my room, that’s all.”
Lucerne blew out a weary sigh. “Damned mice, I’m afraid. I’ll have someone set some traps. The house stood empty for so long I’m afraid the local wildlife rather considers it belongs to them.” Again, he flicked a glance towards Bella. Then, to the footman crossing the hall up ahead, “Williams. You’ll take a note downstairs. See that someone gives Miss Stanley’s room a thorough clean and have one of the women go into the Reeth and procure another cat. That ancient tabby we have is way too lazy.”
While Lucerne was busy with his instructions, Bella linked arms with Louisa. “What’s all that about secret passages?”
Of course, she had heard every word.
“It’s nothing, Bella.”
“If it were nothing, you wouldn’t have mentioned it to Lucerne.” She tugged Louisa into the alcove below the grand staircase. “What is it?”
“The marquis,” Louisa confessed, head drooping. “He’s been in my room.”
Bella immediately checked over her shoulder. “Pennerley has? Why the dirty rat! What did he do? He hasn’t hurt you, has he?”
“Um, actually,” Louisa stammered. “He left a posy on my pillow—.”
“He did!”
“The thing is, I can’t figure out how he could have got in. You know I always bolt the door.”
“You’re quite certain—”
“Bella, I had to undo it to let Emma in.”
“I see. Well, that is perplexing.” She tapped her finger to her lips. After a moment, a strange gleam lit in her eyes. Lousia rather suspected her friend of imagining Pennerley sneaking about her room after dark, rather than fathoming a solution. It had been her observation, that despite taking every opportunity to sneer at or criticise the marquis, Bella had something of a tendresse for him, or at least, desperately craved his approval. Not that she would ever admit it. “No, no, Louisa,” she would insist. It’s Lucerne to whom my heart belongs. Why the devil would you think I liked the marquis? Haven’t I told you a dozen times over, he’s a diabolical fiend.”
“I’ve got it!”
