Page 88 of A Gentleman's Wager
“Piss off,” Vaughan spat, not cowed at all by Lucerne’s attempts to peace make. He backstepped again when Lucerne persisted in his approach. “I mean it, Lucerne. Do not touch me.”
“How mercurial you are. Only a short time ago, you told me you wanted nothing more than my touch for eternity.”
“I won’t perform for her amusement like some tamed monkey.”
Lucerne repeatedly shook his head. “That is not what this is. Not what last night was either. How could you think?” Now anger was sharpening Lucerne’s words too. He snatched at Vaughan’s coat sleeve, whereupon the marquis swung his fist. Bella yelped. She winced as if the blow had hit her jaw. Lucerne spun to the left, his momentum turning him in a full circle. He dipped low and charged at Vaughan, catching him around the middle, and carrying him off his feet and into a table that overturned scattering precious trinkets, and dashed a China cup and saucer into fragments.
Bella darted around the side of the settee, putting the furniture between her and the men as they continued to twist and fight, spitting snarls and curses at one another. Vaughan would land a punch only for Lucerne to strike back with equal strength. It took all her deftness to stay clear of their path. She didn’t know how to go about tearing them apart, or even if she should attempt to do so. Why they were even flinging fists about was utterly perplexing. What had Vaughan meant when he said he wouldn’t perform for her amusement? He could hardly claim he’d been coerced into tupping her. He’d initiated the romp, both the one with Lucerne, and the prior occasions in the stables and the folly. But perhaps he meant something else—that he wouldn’t allow her to witness whatever it was that existed between him and Lucerne.
“Stop it. Do stop it, please.”
Lucerne, the slightly taller and fractionally heavier of the two wrestled Pennerley into a headlock and held him pinned, his head craned back against the pressure on his neck, and his lithe body trapped against the carpet, while Lucerne lay full-length upon his back. It was the most intimately entwined she’d seen them. Moreso than when she’d watched them kiss. That had been intended to titillate. This was something else, emotions stripped raw, their depths there for all to read, as plainly as if they were written, as they veered back and forth between tenderness and violence.
“Concede,” Lucerne barked into Vaughan’s ear.
Bella thought he might pass out before he did so. A suspicion Lucerne apparently shared, for he freed him with a grunt. Vaughan raised himself on all fours, then brought one hand to his throat. Stupidly, she stepped forward, meaning only to help him stand.
Vaughan spat at her in his rage, in the same way geese would hiss before they attacked. She stumbled over her own feet in her hurry to back away, stopping only when she collided with the settee.
Vaughan rose unsteadily to his feet. He made no move to follow her, remaining poised instead, his hands curled into tight fists that made his sharp knuckles bulge, and his breath come in staccato gasps.
“I…” she began, clueless as to what she meant to say. He lanced her with a vicious stare, then stormed from the room, slamming the door hard enough to dislodge one of the paintings from the wall.
An eerie silence followed in which Lucerne righted himself. Although he rubbed his jaw, he didn’t appear any worse for wear. For an awful moment as his gaze lingered on the doorway, Bella thought he would go after Vaughan, but in the end, he turned to her instead.
“What the devil did you say to him?”
Bella shook her head. Vaughan’s fury had been sudden and fearsome. The shift from licentious rakehell to blind fury so swift it made her head spin still. She wondered if his temper would abate in the same way, or would it rage, and rage, landing them all in a squall for days.
Probably, she ought to fear their next meeting.
“I’m really not sure.”
Lucerne retied his robe and smoothed down his hair. For the first time, she noticed his feet were bare, his slippers having been kicked off during the fight. He collected one, while she retrieved the other from over by the door. She dusted splinters of broken crockery from it before handing it over. Lucerne placed it on his foot.
“That’s shaken you, I can see. Are you all right, Bella? You’re not hurt? He didn’t hurt you?”
Besides a red ring around her wrist from where he’d tugged her through the rooms of the east wing, she was unscathed. There was no way to cover it with her sleeve for they reached only to mid-way along her forearms, so she folded her hand over it. Lucerne noticed at once. He clasped her hand and raised it for inspection, on seeing the weal, he kissed her tenderly. “I’m sorry you witnessed that.”
“I don’t… Do you often fight thus?”
His expression turned sad. “Come,” he tucked her against his side, encouraging her to rest her head against his chest. Bella allowed the drumming of his heartbeat to soothe her, though she remained cognisant of the fact he’d avoided her question.
“All I did was follow him. I thought he meant to meet you. That you’d arranged a tryst… I don’t know. That sounds ridiculous, but…” She believed it even now. “Are you lovers, Lucerne?”
“What a curious notion.”
It was not an outright denial, nor confirmation either. “Are you?”
Lucerne waved away the remark. “Let’s not speak of Vaughan anymore.”
“I know there are laws against such things, but—”
“Bella.”
“I only wanted to say that you needn’t fear that I would tell anybody.”
“And I am telling you there is no cause for you to be jealous.”
