Page 115 of A Gentleman's Wager
One of the shaggy wolfhounds padded over and nudged his hand. Lucerne idly petted it, and it settled at his feet. “I want to know what Freddy did to you,” he demanded. That was the root cause of this. “It is what this is about, isn’t it?”
“Boredom, reputation,” Vaughan drawled, waving aside his speculation.
“Twaddle!”
“Believe what you wish.” He set about examining his fingernails for traces of coal dust.
“Oh, I intend to. Besides, I can always ask him.” While Vaughan could be stubborn to the point of absurdity, Freddy was far more compliant to demands. He would relate every interaction, ever slight, if compelled.
“That’s assuming he returns before he has to re-join his regiment.”
“He’ll come if I send for him. Mayhaps, I’ll write to him this evening. It’s been long enough. I’m sure both our tempers are sufficiently cooled.”
The bedevilled scowl that proposition received set Lucerne off laughing. “Or you could just tell me the truth.”
Vaughan still waved him off. “There’s nothing to tell.” He flopped onto the settee with the grace of an elephant.
Lucerne sat beside him. “Vaughan,” Lucerne coaxed, voice husky. He bowed his lips to the other man’s throat. “Tell me.”
“It’s hardly worth the telling.”
Lucerne snaked his arms around Vaughan’s waist, and gently nipped his earlobe. “Tell me anyway.”
Irritably, Vaughan shook him off. “It would take overly long to relate every slight.”
“The more noteworthy points.”
Lucerne slid onto his knees and made a space for himself between Vaughan’s thighs. The position prompted a flaring of Vaughan’s nostrils.
“You know I do not care to be manipulated.”
“Was that in reference to my position, or yours and Freddy’s past?”
“Get up, you’ll scuff your breeches and then your valet will have an infarction, which you will then blame me for.”
“Not until you tell. Come.” He claimed both knees. “You don’t want to be responsible for the death of my valet. I will never forgive you. It took an age to find him.”
Vaughan’s eyes narrowed to slits; his jaw moved as he ground his teeth. “Fine,” he spat.
Lucerne promptly got off his knees, marginally surprised that the point of capitulation had been reached so swiftly.
“The bastard had me imprisoned for a night. He told the magistrate in Vienna that my papers were stolen, and damn near had me hanged as a spy.”
“Freddy did that! Well, I’ll be damned.” He’d not anticipated anything so dramatic. “When was that?”
Vaughan took several uneasy breaths through his nose. “Four or so years ago, at the time of the coalition before Flanders. I was in Austria for a month as the guest of Esterházys.”
Lucerne nodded. He recalled the political and military wranglings of the time. Things hadn’t much improved since then. “So why did he have you arrested?”
For once, Vaughan looked embarrassed. “I don’t know,” he said, lips curling petulantly.
That was an outright lie, something he ought to recall Vaughan was capable of doing with ease when it suited, and with a deal more subtlety. “I think you do.” He leaned into Vaughan’s shoulder again. “You may as well tell me; else I’ll only have his side of the affair on which to base my judgement.”
“You’re still planning to write?”
“Maybe.”
Vaughan got up. He grasped the poker and shoved it into the glowing coals. It was rather amusing to see him so genuinely riled.
