Page 51 of A Gentleman's Wager
He clasped his hands round Vaughan’s arse, tugged him closer. Let him take all that he needed. He knew when his lover drew close from the ratcheting of his breath, and the emotive cries that got stuck in his throat. The salty taste of his seed grew more pronounced too.
That’s it, give it up to me.
Vaughan’s whole body flexed as he spent into Lucerne’s waiting mouth. Instinctively, he swallowed. Vaughan held him fast until the very last twitch of orgasm faded. A contented smile spread across his face. Slowly, he blinked his eyes open, their violet hue unnaturally bright, and his pupils widely dilated, as his gaze fastened on the trickle of come at the corner of Lucerne’s mouth.
“Come to me,” he beckoned.
“No. Not here.” Lucerne wiped away the evidence of their encounter. “Later. Somewhere private,” he added, recognising the clouding of joy in Vaughan’s eyes as anxiety. “I can wait, it will be worth it, and Charles will be wondering where we’ve got to. I don’t want him bumbling in here. No one must know.”
“As you wish.”
Once Vaughan had re-buttoned himself, he turned to Lucerne and caught his wrist. His skin bore a fresh glow and he positively radiated charisma. It would be a miracle if the whole tavern didn’t discern what they’d been about.
“Lucerne, it’s fine.” Vaughan pressed a kiss upon him. “The patrons of this establishment are not aware of what you just did, and unless you give us away, there’s no reason for Charles to suspect. Come, let us collect him.”
-34-
Bella
The men were out walking. Bella would happily have accompanied them, but this had somehow been deemed unacceptable and in any case, Louisa hadn’t wanted to go. Her friend had no energy for anything. She was moping over Wakefield’s departure, convinced more than ever that his affections were lost. No amount of cajoling could convince her otherwise. Thus, Bella found herself drifting from room to room, in danger of falling into supine lassitude for want of a sparring partner. There had still been no opportunity to reengage with Lucerne in the manner they had on the night of the ball; she’d hoped that would change now that her brother was no longer present.
At the top of the main stairs, she paused. She’d missed the altercation between the captain and Lucerne, having come in just as everyone was sloping off to bed. No one had noticed her. She’d been shocked when Joshua had come to her that morning with news of his departure. She’d believed until that point that the affray had been between Wakefield and Pennerley, not Lucerne. The evidence backed up her brother’s version though. Lucerne bore a long crimson scratch over one cheek and was rather yellowed around the jaw. Of course, in typical Joshua fashion, he wouldn’t be drawn over the details. He’d instead turned the conversation to the matter of her remaining at Lauwine and extracting a promise from her of exemplary behaviour. He would not have Lucerne embarrassed, or his honour called into question.
She did hope he hadn’t had the same conversation with Lucerne.
Dammit, but this was no fun at all. Their visit to Lauwine was supposed to make life less dreary not more. If she were at Wyndfell, then she’d have gone riding, or snuck into the kitchen and got her hands dirty kneading pastry. She couldn’t very well do that here. Lucerne’s cook would likely have an apoplexy.
Huffing in frustration, she put her back to the banister and stared across the hall. The door to Charles’s room stood ajar. On impulse, Bella crossed the landing and peered around the jamb. She’d often wondered how other people arranged themselves. Untidily, it seemed in the squire’s case. Charles’s possessions covered every surface in the sparse chamber. Higgledy-piggledy combs and shaving brushes lay jumbled alongside tatty books, while half burnt candles made hangers for discarded cravats. She turned over a few of the heavier tomes and scanned the cracked spines—military texts and poetry. They summed up Charles perfectly.
Lucerne’s chambers in the wilderness of the east wing, in comparison to Charles’s comfortable disorder were neat as a new pin. All his accoutrements were laid out neatly on the dresser top. She picked out his shaving brush and tested it against her neck. The soft bristles tickled, reminding her of the butterfly kisses she’d exchanged with her father as a child. The razor she left untouched. She didn’t know how men could bear such sharpened steel against their throats, even in hands as trusted as Ivo’s.
His garments were all bunched together in the closet. Bella searched through the coats by touch and soon found the velvet he’d worn on the night of the ball. She burrowed her cheek against his absent shoulder, recalling the heat of his kisses and the solidity of his form pressed against her.
Another familiar garment pulled her further into the past, the blue silk he’d put aside that day in September to take a swim. The light in the chamber gave it a deeper hue than she remembered. From the hem, she removed a dried blade of grass that still held the faint but tantalising sweetness of the riverbank. Bella pushed her arms through the sleeves and turned before the mirror to admire herself. It didn’t work with her chemise dress, and it was not cut for a feminine figure: too broad across the shoulders, and too tight around the bust. But it did have a certain daring appeal. Perhaps she could have something made in a similar style.
Finally, she let herself into Pennerley’s room, expecting to find implements of torture or a girl tied to the bed, but it was meticulously plain and masculine. She slumped on to his big soft bed and swung her legs petulantly.
“Trust…Vaughan…to keep…all...his…secrets…to himself,” she complained as her heels drummed an accompaniment on a solid object beneath the bed.
Wait…
Experimentally, she tapped her heel against the object again and heard a hollow echo.
The metal corners of the trunk grated loudly against the floorboards as she dragged it from beneath the frame. It was an old sea chest, slightly wormy, and stamped in gold with the Pennerley crest.
“Bugger, padlocked,” she grumbled hefting the weighty lock in her palm. A hairpin would not see to it. Where could he have hidden the key? For someone of such refined tastes there was precious little in the room in the way of ornamentation. No filigree snuff boxes, or oriental pottery. The chest of drawers revealed only practical if expensive undergarments.
“Damn you,” she cursed, returning to the bed and sagging into its embrace. Trust the marquis to be selfish with his secrets. He probably carried the key around with him just in case anyone dared to snoop.
There was probably all manner of dark and revealing secrets stashed in there like whips and chains and correspondence...
Bella raised her head from the fluffy top pillow and puffed a stray eider feather from her hair. The bed linen smelled of him. An image of his dark hair cascading over the pillow beside her swam in her mind. What purpose was there in denying the attraction? One didn’t have to like someone to desire them, nor could she deny that he fascinated her in a way no other gentleman of her acquaintance did. He and Lucerne both, they were quite alien to her experience. Entrancing purely by virtue of being extraordinary enough to not have been born and raised within twenty miles of this place.
Of course, neither that nor his title gave Vaughan the right to treat her in the manner he had. These weren’t feudal times, and she was nobody’s whore. There was a reckoning due for the night afore last.
Bella smashed her fist into his pillow, fracturing the image she’d painted in her mind of him resting there. She’d been wise to go back to focusing her attentions on Lucerne, who was both a gentleman, and a far more realistic prospect. A viscount might marry an ordinary miss, whereas marquis high and mighty, would probably only settle for royalty or a duke’s daughter.
It was then that she noticed the gold chain poking out from under the pillow. Bella drew it out. Attached to it was a small ornate locket. Inside it held a lock of faded blond hair behind a sliver of glass. The metal bore an engraving—15th June 1794. Three years ago. Curious.
