Page 36 of A Gentleman's Wager
She turned away from Louisa, and steadfastly shut her eyes until her friend settled. Only once Louisa’s breathing was soft and even did she blink her eyes wide and stare into the dark. The phantasms of her earlier dream loomed large again, prickling her with their dastardly allure. Vaughan, the Marquis of Pennerley had a darkling smile upon his lips, and Bella wasn’t sure if she wanted to smack it from his face or kiss him senseless and find out if he really was as fantastic a kisser as Louisa made out.
-23-
Wakefield
The November moon hung low in the sky. A few miles away, Wakefield crossed the moors on foot, his pace brisk as he retraced their daytime route. A thick mist had settled just above the heather since their earlier excursion, and now it clouded the valley floor. He had only the lonely granite cross of the church ahead to guide him through the shifting haze.
He’d received a note from Louisa, beseeching him to join her for a midnight assignation. He could only blame Horace Walpole and Ann Radcliffe for inspiring the setting. Why, like Shakespeare’s Juliet, couldn’t she have chosen a garden, or better still, a rug in front of a sea-coal fire? He guessed Bella had something to do with it. Miss Rushdale did seem to revel in the macabre, and discomfort. At least the matter had been managed discreetly. No one was aware of him leaving Lauwine. The others had all retired after dinner and a few rounds of billiards, eager to rise with the dawn for a trek to Calver Hill.
In its hollow, the church was almost swallowed by the choking mists. Would she come? He had his doubts, but he was here now. The grey stone of the boundary wall loomed just yards away, fuzzy edged and foreboding. Other grey forms spiralled out of the mist as he went down the broad steps to the church door, making him think he was being watched or followed. He shook off his suspicions, rationalising them as phantasms of his own heightened awareness. He wouldn’t be put off by a few graveyard spectres.
The mist ended in a wall of grey ether at the door to the little church. From within, the faint rustle of silk against stone caught his attention. “Louisa, is that you?”
The church door creaked ominously on its hinges as he opened it. Moonlight spilled, blue, green, and rosy through the stained-glass panes. An ethereal figure stood at the far end of the chapel amidst a sea of rose petals that someone had scattered over the floor. The glint of honey blonde hair spilled out from beneath a hood as she turned slightly in response to his footsteps.
All around him the still air smelled of church mould, dust, clay, and the faint essence of roses. He felt like he was conducting a love affair with a ghost. If only the location was a little less eerie, he might not feel so nervous. Reaching her, he pulled back the pink hood and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. He moved his mouth to her upturned face and tasted the soft comfort of her lips.
He couldn’t precisely pinpoint what it was that alerted him to his mistake. He was conscious of it before he looked her directly in the face. Her body was slight like Louisa’s, with small hips, but there the similarity ended, apart from the golden hair. Her skin was also honey gold, tanned by the summer sun. Her bust was ample, soft, and more than he could reasonably cup with one hand. Moreover, the way she peeped up at him in no way resembled Louisa’s shy curiosity, rather it was arch and far too worldly.
“I…I think there’s been some kind of mistake,” he stammered.
The wench startled him with a kiss that stole the very air from his lungs and left him light-headed, while her hand palmed his cock. God dammit!
“Let go of me.”
“Aw, no need to be shy.” A tinkling laugh followed her words. “I know how it is for men of action such as yourself. It’s not right that you should have to suffer. See here how he’s getting all excited to see me. Proper standing to attention he is, real soldier.”
Wakefield wrenched her hand way from his person. Having been wound tight for a week, his cock was all too eager for attention, but not from this source.
“Aw, don’t be a tease now, sir. We both know you ain’t come all this way in the dead of night for nothing. I won’t shame you. I know how some folks are, but I’ve always said, if a gent likes to conduct his business in the sight of God, then I won’t be the one to gainsay him. Where do you fancy? Here on the pew, or over the altar?”
He knew now that he was the butt of a joke. Oh, he didn’t doubt that the whore was real and more than willing, but as for the friends behind her appearance… Friends who were no doubt outside spying and laughing at his predicament…fool him for believing they were above this sort of nonsense. They did not take his suit of Louisa seriously, and evidently, they had little respect for his person or feelings either.
Evidently having picked up on his conflict, though not the reason for it, the wench wound herself around him again. Wakefield stared at the cracked stone tiles engraved with the names of the long dead, wondering precisely how much stoicism was required for her to get the message. Given she began sliding his buttons open, rather too much.
“Stop.” He pushed her to arm’s length. “I’m sorry, Miss. You’ve been misled. I don’t know what you’ve been promised or told, but I can’t. I won’t engage thus. It would hurt someone I know. Someone I love very much.”
She blinked at him. A furrow formed a notch between her brows, further distinguishing her from Louisa. “You don’t want your prick gobbled, then?”
“No.”
“Do you prefer to spend over me bubbies?”
Damned if this wasn’t one of the weirder conversations of his life. They were both things in another time and place he’d have welcomed, whether he was the butt of someone’s joke or not. If some fool wanted to spend his blunt on providing him with a shag, then…
“No, thank you,” he heard himself saying.
“A fuck?”
He shook his head. “Definitely, not.”
This seemed to leave her momentarily confounded. “Well, damned if you ain’t a strange gent. Your pizzle’s ripe. Be a shame to waste it.”
“Be that as it may—”
She cocked one hand upon her hip. “I’ll still get what was promised, right? Cos, I was assured it’d be worth my time. I didn’t have to come out here. There’s plenty a soul who’s not so prudish as yourself who’s willing to flash his ramrod and baubles.”
“I’m not prudish, and I don’t know what bargain you struck, so I couldn’t rightly say whether you’ll receive what was promised. I suggest you take it up with the gent that engaged you. I’m sure you’ll find him lurking hereabouts.”
