Page 123 of A Gentleman's Wager
At the top of the stairs, Vaughan turned towards the parlour. “It’s still unusable,” Lucerne said. Nevertheless, the marquis put his head around the doorframe. From there he continued to the long gallery. “What are you doing?” When he’d come up, Lucerne had supposed him bound for his chamber.
“Where is he?”
“God damn you, two…three days apart and all you’ve a mind for is Charles.”
Vaughan spun him a smile comprised of pure mischief. “Once the debt is settled, you may have my full and undivided attention for as long as it pleases you. I have missed you, Lucerne.” The latter was expressed alongside a heated sweep of his form.
“Have you?” Lucerne blustered, at once aroused, but still irritated by current events.
“Come, just tell me where I might find him, and the matter can be done with.”
“Very well, he’s no longer here. He took fright when he realised he couldn’t meet your demands, and—”
Vaughan took himself to Charles’s room and let himself in, to find a pair of maids packing the man’s possessions into his travel trunk. “I see, he’s not long gone, then. I should have no issue in catching him.”
“Vaughan.”
“Oh, Lucerne.” He reached out and cupped the side of his face. “It really is a matter of principle. One has a reputation to maintain. Don’t fret so.” Vaughan swept his thumb across Lucerne’s lips, then let him go. He back tracked to his own chamber and spilled inside; Lucerne followed at an awkward distance. He probably ought to do more to stop this, but what? The only thing that might work—shoving Vaughan on the bed for some longed for rough and tumble—he refused to do on principle. Yes, he absolutely wanted to bury Vaughan in the mattress, but not for the purpose of distracting him from seeking Charles.
Meanwhile, Vaughan pulled his own trunk from beneath his bed. From within he drew a glit handled rapier.
“Are you serious? You can’t mean to—” Suddenly all Charles’s ramblings about being skewered didn’t seem quite so far-fetched. “Vaughan, don’t do this.”
“Where’d he head to? The village?”
“As if I’m going to tell you. I want you to stop this madness.”
Vaughan flashed him a smile. “I shan’t be long.” Then he strode off, sword in hand.
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Vaughan
“You, lad. A horse, and quick about it.” Vaughan’s bellow startled the young stable boy into a flurry of activity, still, by the time he rode out of the yard, the sun had dipped below the edge of the horizon and stars were just beginning to appear in the heavens. It would be a clear, cold night, without a cloud. Perfect for night hunting. Which was most pleasing given he had a rare Lesser Spotted Aubury to flush out.
Vaughan eschewed the drystone wall lined lane to the village in favour of the open moors. Even Charles was not such a fool as to stick to the footpath when expecting pursuit. On the other hand, the rolling land offered little cover to a fugitive on foot—save this one, Lucerne’s horses were all currently stabled—only in the sudden ditches or hungry fog would one find any camouflage, and both were evils best avoided by a man who wished to see the dawn.
He headed west, following the Pole Star to the boundary of Lucerne’s estate. The distant lights of Reeth were ahead now, advertising their promise of shelter. It was the last place Vaughan would go if he feared pursuit, but Charles was a different case. He would head to a place where comfort could be bought, where he could cower beneath the blankets in a private room at the coaching inn. Vaughan was looking forward to the startled look on Charles’s florid face when he whipped back the bedcovers. He’d make him sweat for a while, teach him a lesson, and then—then he’d probably buy him a drink and come back to Lauwine and Lucerne.
Vaughan spurred the horse, and as he did so, a black shape slid between the cover of two outcroppings. He smiled grimly to himself, and with the firm pressure of his thighs guided the mare towards his quarry. Evidently, Charles hadn’t yet got as far as the inn.
Aware of the pursuit, the figure began to run. Vaughan pushed the mare into an easy canter and began closing the gap. The figure slid down the side of a deep wet ditch and pressed on through pools of foetid water, over tussocks and sod. Frankly, it was astonishing to learn Charles could run so well; fear was obviously inspiring him to monumental effort.
Another hundred yards on, he coaxed his steed up a slippery bank, while Charles resorted to scrambling upwards clawing at the grass for leverage. At the top, it was straight race across open fields, and even running as if the devil were at his heels, Charles was no match for a horse.
Vaughan drew up nearly even and sprang, knocking his quarry to the springy turf. Vaughan was on him in a trice, planting a knee in the small of his back. It was only when he knocked the tricone hat from his head, and a long stream of brown curls spilled over his captive’s shoulders that he realised he’d caught the wrong fowl.
“Miss Rushdale,” he enunciated, amused by her interference so much that he was willing to overlook the fact she’d duped him, though he didn’t slacken his hold. “By God, has Charles sent a wench to settle his debts?”
“He has not sent me,” she retorted indignantly. “It pleased me to assist, for now he’s escaped you.”
Vaughan looked both left and right across the twilit moors. If Aubury was still out there, he was not close by. “So it would appear, but curiously I find I am not too troubled by the evasion. It was merely to see him run that I pursued him this far, and see, I have a far prettier prospect before me now. It would be churlish to complain.”
It seemed to dawn on her that she was his captive, which set her off wriggling like a fish on a pole. “Let go of me, you oaf.”
“Definitely not.” He straddled her thighs and bound her wrists with the ribbon from her hair. Bella struggled to lift her face from the damp grass and made a deal of un-ladylike mutterings. “It occurs to me that I have been in some discomfort these last few days owing to your efforts, now would seem to be a good time to address that.” He reached beneath her and unbuckled the leather belt holding up Charles’s overlarge breeches around her daintier form. Bella squawked in horror. Vaughan enjoyed the fear and uncertainty in her eyes a moment, before setting the belt aside. He had every intention of using her, but not like that, even though the welts she’d given him still smarted.
It took little effort to expose her bottom; the fabric glided down her thighs easily. “Hmm, now there’s a sight.” The milky pale globes of her arse were perfectly heart-shaped. Vaughan treated himself to a lecherous squeeze. “Very nice. And of course, you’re thoroughly acquainted with breech entry so there need not be any ungainly protests.”
