Page 86 of A Gentleman's Wager
“She’s hardly likely to be staring at my crotch. Come along now, Bella. We must prove ourselves chaste and goodly citizens. I’d rather Charles didn’t write any letters to your brother hinting at what he’s just seen. When that subject’s raised, I’d prefer to be the bearer of those tidings, so there’s no misinterpretation of the facts.”
“Really, Lucerne,” she remarked, vexed that he intended to spoil their fun, just when she was dizzy with excitement and anticipating a night in his arms. “Charles is more likely to compose an ode to my bosom and another to your prick than a letter to Joshua.”
“Well, just to be sure…” He ogled her breasts. Then, lending her his arm, escorted her back through the salon to the music room, where he guided her into a chair directly facing Charles. Charles bowed his head, rather than meet her gaze, and thus a new verse was born. Within minutes he was on his feet ready to perform a read through. He’d gathered multiple candelabras so that he was bathed in light, as if he were to perform at one of the great London theatres. Perhaps at Drury Lane, or Covent Garden or the Haymarket.
Vaughan leaned over and whispered something in Lucerne’s ear, whereupon the viscount rose and left.
In turn, Bella leaned over to Vaughan, “Where have you sent him?”
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. Bravo, Charles.” He gave a loud, slow clap.
“I’ve not yet begun.”
“Yet, most assuredly, it will be great. You’ll forgive my rudeness. Call of nature.”
“There’s a pisspot right there,” Charles called after him, pointing at the screen in the corner, but the marquis had already left in the same direction as Lucerne.
Bella shuffled agitatedly on her seat, convinced they’d arranged a tryst. She couldn’t…wouldn’t sit idly and let Vaughan have the joy of Lucerne’s cockstand. It had risen to her charms, not for him, and had still been straining the fabric of Lucerne’s breeches when he left. Perhaps, he’d intended to relieve himself, and Vaughan meant to give him a hand.
Well, she wouldn’t have it.
“Not you as well,” Charles complained when she too scurried from the room. “One might be very, very upset.”
“I’m sure your ode is very good, Charles,” Bella heard Louisa soothe, “It’s just that no one is in much of a mood for poetry tonight. I think I shall retire.”
“Yes, go along,” Charles petulantly snapped. “You chase after Marlinscar, or is it Pennerley? It’s of no matter to me. Fornicators.” He rather bellowed that last word. Bella, who had reached the corridor winced at the explosion, but didn’t abandon her pursuit. Whatever tryst Lucerne and Vaughan had arranged, she intended to intrude.
Vaughan proved a difficult man to pursue with ease. He moved with efficient, cat-like grace, sliding from one shadow to the next, weaving his way through Lauwine’s multitude of rooms like he’d known them all his life. When he moved into the shuttered up east wing, he passed through many rooms Bella had never glimpsed before. Rooms with shrouds over the furniture, hollow empty chambers composed of aged stone, and others with wattled walls and decorated with gaudy Tudor stripes.
She took a tentative step around a particularly dark corner, only for something to brush her ear. She moved to swipe it away, only for a hand to shoot out of the darkness and close around her wrist. A second covered her mouth, muffling her shriek. With deadly strength, Vaughan dragged her through a concealed door into a room scarcely bigger than a cupboard with wooden panels that stretched almost to the ceiling. A satyr played his pipe upon the plaster ceiling, while two bare-breasted maidens looked on in delight, pointing at his foot long pizzle. It was provocatively rendered for such a small space, especially when she was clasped so tightly against Vaughan’s body.
“Why are you following me, Miss Rushdale?” Vaughan’s sable curls tickled her cheek in the most provocative manner.
Her answer was to snap at his hand.
Laughing, he released her. “Biting like the bitch you are.”
There was barely room to put more than a foot between them. He had closed the entrance through which he’d dragged her, so that she could no longer discern its whereabouts. The back of the door having been fashioned to blend seamlessly with the surrounding wooden panels. There was only a tiny square of light, cast by an outside lantern and dimmed by the grime on the windowpane. That route was too narrow to provide an escape.
“Rot in hell,” Bella spat.
“While your defiance is amusing, I do wonder what you hoped to achieve with this pursuit. Did you plan to club me over the back of the head? Lock me in an oubliette to wither away?”
Defiantly, Bella held her tongue. If he did not discern the reason for her following, then she would not enlighten him.
The notion that she might hold out seemed to terribly amuse him. “Ah, Bella,” he sighed, and traced a fingertip along the edge of her jaw. She jerked her head away from him. “We both know I can make you talk.”
“You are not half so irresistible as you imagine,” she retorted.
“And how blithely you fool yourself.”
“There is nothing attractive about your arrogance and your conceit.” Neither were qualities that anyone ought to aspire to. They were horrid, but if one were an emotionless black hole, then no doubt they were seen as aspirational.
He frowned. “Then why in blessed heaven are you following me if not to engage my attention?”
Bella pursed her lips, torn between blurting an answer and denying him the satisfaction of one.
He inhaled and released the breath slowly. His eyes crinkled, narrowed down to amused slits. “I see I must torture it from you.”
