Page 42 of A Gentleman's Wager
The rejection smarted more than any physical blow ever could. They’d been friends forever, and this discord between them abraded his soul.
“I beg your pardon?” he snapped. He did not mean to sound so sharp, but his tetchiness could not be contained. Deliberately, he placed his glass on the baize, then sent the nearest ball ricocheting around the table. It dropped into the left centre pocket. “Do I have to remind you that you’re a guest in my house?”
Vaughan’s back stiffened. His shoulders came up. “Perhaps my lord would prefer it if I left, given that he finds my person so abhorrent.”
He would not. “I didn’t… I never… What absurdity would ever cause you to conclude that?”
Fuck! He didn’t want to deal with this. It was too taxing. Too difficult. Everything about it scraped his senses raw. He’d never sought any of this discord. Had diligently avoided it. Yet, still it followed him. “What’s your problem, anyway?”
“You know what my problem is, Lucerne. What’s yours?”
Lucerne raked his fingers through his hair. Frustration always made him fidgety. The solidity of the cue in his hand wasn’t enough. He downed the rest of the glass of wine he was drinking and contemplated seeking another. “I don’t have one beyond your present attitude.”
Vaughan sneered, his expression becoming vicious and spiteful. “Of course not. The society darling, Viscount Lucerne Meyrick Aherne Marlinscar doesn’t have any problems. Just don’t demand satisfaction of him.”
“That’s enough.” Lucerne slammed his fist down on the table. The balls jumped and the white fell into a corner pocket. “What you’re asking… what you demand… you desire, it’s insane. Impossible.”
“I hadn’t finished. Just because that clot Wakefield’s content to be your lapdog doesn’t mean I am. I remember the night in Rome as vividly as you do, Lucerne. And a host of others too—.”
“Others?” There were no others.
“I know what I felt, and you, my lord, are more transparent than you think. I’m tired of your evasiveness and affectations, I’d like to hear the truth from your lips for once.” He brushed aside Lucerne’s protests with a wave of his lace-shrouded hand. “But no, you would rather bait me with your current plaything. I daresay Miss Rushdale will even soothe away all those pesky feelings you find yourself tormented with in the thick of night. No, no, don’t deny it. I know you, Lucerne. You know how to make this right. Until you summon the bottom for it, I’ll bid you goodnight.” He turned on his heels and stalked out of the room.
Lucerne turned back to the billiards table. He tossed aside the remaining dregs in his glass and refilled it with brandy, then necked it in a single swallow. No other man would have dared to speak to him like that. He could send Vaughan away, but if he did it would sever all the ties between them permanently. The marquis was not known to be a creature of forgiveness and light. He nurtured grievances, and Lucerne didn’t want him as an enemy. Yet, he saw no elegant solution to their dilemma. If he admitted all that he wanted, then… Then it would surely doom them both.
“Don’t go,” he whispered into his fist. “Please, don’t leave.”
By the time Rushdale appeared with his cues, Lucerne had swallowed a third of the brandy decanter, the balls on the baize had lost their smoothness, and now appeared like coloured woollen clouds. He was starting to think his balance might be a little shot too.
Yet the taste of Vaughan’s kisses lingered.
-27-
Bella
In the end, Louisa was easily mollified. The trick of it was that she wanted to believe in destiny and fate and true love. Bella, being of a more practical and down-to-earth bent, at least in relation to matters of the heart, had really done little more than listen and nod in the appropriate places. There was no reason to suspect Captain Wakefield had undergone a complete change of heart, and therefore, there seemed no sense in fretting about it. No doubt once he’d finished brooding over whatever prank the other gentlemen had played on him, he’d be back to wooing her friend like the practiced charmer she suspected he was.
Didn’t all soldiers have sweethearts aplenty? Or was that sailors?
Bella paused at the window. Night had settled, vast and black, save for the moon. The wind was still howling across the moors, bending the trees, and far in the distance another front of rain clouds was massing over the hilltops. The brewing storm perfectly framed the mood of the household. Perhaps when it broke, so too would the atmosphere inside.
From her vantage point, she was surprised to spy a figure slipping into the grotto.
Two minutes later, Bella crept out of a side door and took the path towards the stables. A heavy iron gate stood at the entrance to the hedge maze. She’d never ventured within – it had had always been too overgrown – but she’d heard the gardeners clipping it into submission. A quick examination confirmed that the padlock was missing. Bella brushed the orange flakes of rust from her fingers and gave the gate a shove. It swung open with an eerie creak.
The moonlight barely penetrated the dark avenues. Using the cool brush of waxy leaves against her open palms to guide her, Bella walked blithely into the unknown. The leafy darkness felt limitless after the closeness of the house. After twists and turns, the crunch of gravel beneath her feet gave way to flagstones, and the high hedges to a small quadrangle, boarded by greenery on three sides and a stone folly on the fourth.
At the centre lay a mirror-like pond with verdigrised edges, overhung by a gnarled cherry tree. Leaves drifted like silent boats upon water choked with algae. Brown water lilies bobbed just below the surface, their edges curled. Bella bent to the pool, looking for the ancient carp rumoured to live in the depths, but it was too dark to make out any details. Instead, the reflection of the folly rippled as a shadow parted from the arched doorway. She turned her head. Pennerley stood by the ivy-covered trellis, a half-smile upon his sensual lips. The breeze lifted his sable curls, swirling them about his shoulders. Clouds scudded across the darks of his eyes. He did not speak, but turned his back on her instead, and entered the folly.
“Arrogant nob,” she muttered. Still, it seemed an obvious enough invitation. She squared her shoulders and followed him within.
He’d lit a lantern and left it swinging from a hook, where it cast a lustrous glow over the blue-green patinaed floor tiles. He stood at the far end, nigh with the oak-panelling, cast almost entirely in shadows like the ruffian he was. When he gazed at her, mockery danced in his eyes.
“What happy circumstances that we should meet like this, Miss Rushdale. Twice in one day. It seems we are drawn together.”
Bella crossed to his side. He had caught her off guard earlier, but he would not have the upper hand on this occasion. She met his dark eyes defiantly, prompting a scowl.
“What would you have of me?” he asked.
