Page 39 of A Gentleman's Wager
“No.” Bella opened her book to the correct page. “But there ought to be. I’ll suggest it whenever Lord Marlinscar next appears.”
Louisa rested her pretty face in the centre of a vee formed with her hands. “Well, if you’re going to read, and everyone else is keeping to themselves, I think I might go and lie down awhile.”
“You did have a disturbed night,” Bella agreed, not looking up from the pages. “You should do that.” She smiled when Louisa left. Now, when Lucerne returned, they could have some time all to themselves. Considering she was living under his roof it was proving curiously difficult to engineer any alone time with the man, and she hadn’t even a chaperone to lay the blame on. Lucerne Marlinscar was as elusive as a nit-free wig.
He proved that once again by not returning until gone six, by which time the sky had already grown dark. Lucerne staggered in from the wind, blond hair tangled with leaves, and his normally alabaster-white skin flushed near scarlet. Bella peeped down at him from the upper floor landing as he dripped a pool onto the marble floor. His shirt was open to mid-chest, and he was entirely without a waistcoat. Was that all from the weather, or had he actually been swimming? His valet, Ivo, fussed over him with a towel, dislodging clumps of wet grass and sods, until entirely losing his patience, Lucerne tromped off into the east wing leaving a trail of muddy boot prints behind.
Dismayed, she drew back from the balustrade. He didn’t seem in much of a mood for soft pleasures, although perhaps such things may soothe him, and he had left behind a rather convenient trail for her to follow.
Bella scurried down the main stairs, hoping to slide past Ivo without raising his notice. Unfortunately, the valet spied her at once, necessitating her taking a circuitous route into the east wing via the library, and the stag parlour—really, did such a small room actually require this many chairs? Equally, could it not be aired? The stench of tobacco assaulted her nostrils, making her sneeze. Possibly, it was ingrained—then through the billiards and drawing rooms. Lucerne’s boot prints were faint once she emerged into the corridor again. Reduced to a few damp smudges and the odd loosened bit of mossy mud. There was nothing for it but to try one door after another until she happened upon the correct one. Most of them turned out to be locked. She was on the verge of returning to her book, when one swung inward on silent hinges.
The room revealed stood faded, yet bright, its walls covered in mildewed yellow and gold paper that would surely have once dazzled when the sun was upon it. She had heard of this room. It was the old morning room, where the first Lady Marlinscar had held court. Bella skipped into the centre of the space—it was quite devoid of furniture—and turned a full circle with her arms wide stretched. How must it once have been? So bright, the sunlight bouncing off the golden paper, lighting flocks of colourful birds that were now faded to pastel shades.
The floorboards groaned as she crossed to the window. It ought to have overlooked the lawn and the willow tree, but ivy had grown over the lower half of the glass entirely obliterating the view. She stood some time, watching raindrops dribble down the glass, only noticing a door to an adjoining room as she turned to go. She approached it while trying to visualize the layout of the house from the exterior of the building that she knew so well. It must surely lead deeper into the east wing, and hence precisely where she wanted to go. Lucerne’s rooms were somewhere within that space, entirely apart from the rest of his guests.
“It’s locked.”
The voice startled her. Bella turned sharply, letting go of the brass handle with a guilty start, though no one had specifically forbidden her from any part of the house. Pennerley stood languidly posed with his back to the outer door. She glanced at him once, sighed, then turned her head again for another look. He was entirely inappropriately dressed, wearing only black pantaloons and a loose cambric shirt, without coat, waistcoat, or cravat, not even a banyan to conceal his negligence. Thick lacy cuffs covered most of his hands, though the glint of jewels in his rings winked at her through the froth. “It’s not wise to explore alone, nor appropriate without invitation. What were you looking for, Lucerne’s room, perhaps?”
“Did he not come this way? I wished only to greet my host now that I’m a guest under his roof once again.”
“Yes, I’m sure that’s all you had in mind.”
She did not care if he didn’t believe her.
“As you can see, he’s not here, Miss Rushdale, and nor should you be.”
“Then nor should you be.”
He considered this with the arching of a brow. He really was the most vexing of men.
“I thought you were indisposed.” She waved at him vaguely. “It’s what Charles said.” And his appearance did seem to bear that out.
Vaughan smiled thinly. The tip of his tongue flicked against his upper row of teeth. “Only to certain company. You did not answer my question, Miss Rushdale.”
Was there any reason why she ought? Stuck-up dandy, he had no authority over her. He was not master here, merely a guest the same as her. “What question was that?” She knew perfectly well what he meant but relished making him repeat it. Only he did not. So that they stood regarding one another in uncomfortable silence that made the hairs rise across Bella’s body. A shiver shook her limbs.
“What if I was looking for his room?”
His lips twisted into a far crueller grin. “Then I should engage your services as a whore, for Lucerne will not.”
Colour flooded into Bella’s cheeks. How dare he! She felt her pulse in her temple, while the boned cage of her stays resisted her as she sucked in a deep breath. She ought to slap him for that. Her limbs had carried her half the distance to him before her brain thought better of it. One did not slap peers of the realm, even if they did deserve it. “You couldn’t afford me, my lord,” she spat.
Pennerley inclined his head to one side and regarded her with rather more of a glint in his eyes than he’d heretofore done, almost, as if his initial assessment of her were suddenly under review. “Oh, I think I could.” His words were barely a whisper, but they wound around her senses, insinuated themselves into her thoughts. “I daresay it might even be a pleasant diversion on this most dismal of afternoons. What do you say, Miss Rushdale, shall we make a bed of this worn rug?”
Dark hair framed his face as Vaughan looked down at her. Violet eyes gleamed with wicked cunning. His cheekbones were sharp as ravines. Damn him for his perfection, but there was no denying he was pretty.
And diabolical, and dreadful, she steadfastly reminded herself. Just because she was used to being tried by men with three chins and bulbous noses with nostril forests didn’t mean she was dumb enough to forget that the devil was rumoured to be beautiful too. Pennerley was the last man on earth she ought to trust. One only had to consider what he’d done to Louisa.
Bella stuck up her chin. “I’m no whore, you arrogant prig.”
“Correct. A whore rarely loves her work.”
A low growl burned in Bella’s throat. She clenched her fist, whitening her knuckles. “You deserve a slap for that.”
The twinkle in his eyes grew bolder. “Do, please, be my guest. You might even excite me.”
For several seconds Bella glared at him as she restrained the urge to lash out. Only the prospect of being further mocked stopped her making such a swing. She wouldn’t be laughed at. Not by him, or anyone. She might not be refined like the women he was no doubt used to, or prim and proper like Louisa, but that didn’t mean she was any less worthy of respect.
