Page 18 of A Gentleman's Wager
Frederick stared mutinously at Pennerley, before turning to face her, whereupon his expression danced between affront and apology. She could not tell if he meant to scold her or beg her pardon for his companion’s audacity, nor was she entirely sure which was warranted. A stranger had stolen a kiss from her without so much as a by your leave, and she’d enjoyed it. She rubbed her mouth but could still feel the impression of his lips, and it was strangely delicious.
“Wakefield,” Pennerley barked, summoning him as if he were a dog, and off he slunk, leaving her to wonder if their tendresse was all but ruined or if they might somehow laugh it off together later.
A shrill laugh reached her from across the landing. Miranda Hayes, a former acquaintance, stared at her. Louisa made swift use of her fan. Then, doing her best to ignore both Miranda’s childish giggles and the strange rapture still tingling inside her, she followed the gentlemen downstairs.
-12-
Vaughan
“You’re despicable!”
Vaughan watched bemused as Wakefield stalked off in the direction of the entrance hall. It was hardly the first time he’d been dealt such an insult, nor did he envisage it being the last, perhaps not even the last of the evening.
“Are you angering Freddy again?” Lucerne enquired. Their host was positioned before one of the many full-length mirrors in the salon assessing his attire, while Charles Aubury hovered in the reflection. The room was set for cards, two neat rows of baize topped tables, lit by glittering chandeliers.
“One must find one’s sport somewhere.”
Lucerne sighed but offered no reprimand. The mutual dislike between Vaughan and the captain was long established, the lists of slights they could name, on both sides, long and plentiful.
“Cold but beautiful,” Lucerne remarked of his appearance and smiled in acknowledgement of his own vanity. He was a vainglorious creature, but more beguiling for it, at least, Vaughan found him so, and he had known him a long, long while. Lucerne was dressed in a blue velvet coat, cut away at the front in a military style to reveal the bottom of his waistcoat. Silver braiding trailed across the front of the velvet, ran up to the collar and then across the back of the shoulders, while his breeches were black and tight to show his legs to good effect. A point he likely hoped wouldn’t be wasted on his guests. “Do you not think?”
Vaughan stared contemplatively at his calves. Then, at their combined reflection – light and dark, passion and perversity. “Always.”
The sounds of the string quartet tuning drifted through the open door, accompanied by the chatter of excited voices.
“Your guests are beginning to arrive.”
Lucerne turned. “And I am on my way to greet them.”
Their gazes met directly, but Vaughan immediately transferred his gaze to the rings on his right hand. After so long a gap in their acquaintance he’d anticipated some awkwardness, just not Lucerne’s newfound interest in settled respectability.
“See that Charles doesn’t start gambling immediately, would you?”
Vaughan inclined his head a fraction.
“Now, see here, Marlinscar. You’re not my keeper,” Charles harumphed at Lucerne’s retreating back, so that he spluttered port over his salmon-pink waistcoat. Lucerne was barely out of sight, and Charles was still brushing the spillage from his attire, when his attention settled upon Vaughan instead. “Perhaps you’d care to join me at the faro table, Lord Pennerley?” he said hopefully, as if Lucerne had nary spoken a word two minutes hence.
“I find faro rather dull.” Vaughan continued his examination of his fingernails
“Oh! Whist then, or basset, or any other game of your choosing. Dammit, man, everyone’s prepared to bet on something.”
“Perhaps,” he agreed, not that he had any intention of playing cards. It was not that he was risk averse, indeed risk excited him. It was more that he preferred odds he possessed genuine control over and an incentive to spur him along. “Tell me Aubury, you’re from these parts, what do you know of Lucerne’s guests?”
“Which ones?”
“Joshua Rushdale, his sister, and their friend.”
Charles ruminated over another few swigs of port. “Nothing very exciting. His wealth’s in mining, fiend at billiards. The sister has a comely bosom, and I daresay Lucerne’s even a little enraptured by her. She’s a bit of a wild thing, if truth be known. As for Miss Stanley…” He waved as if to show her insignificance. “Now, some of the other guests. The elder Miss Hayes, for instance—”
“For what reason are they his special guests?”
“Dammit, man! I thought we were to play.”
“Presently.” He turned his wrist indicating that Charles should attend to his question.
With a deep sigh that wobbled his jowls, Charles obliged. “That would be Wakefield’s doing. How is it you don’t know this? I thought you and Lucerne were as thick as thieves.”
“I have a tendency to nod off whenever Wakefield speaks or is spoken of.”
