Vaughan continued up the stairs to the solar, his mood considerably darkened by Bella’s obvious need for affection. Clearly, whatever had happened between her and Lucerne had played on her vulnerabilities. She needed to know that her position was still secure, but until Lucerne arrived, he couldn’t provide that answer.
Raffe was waiting for him just inside the solar. ‘Pretty wench,’ he observed, ‘and goes as if she cracks nuts with her tail from what I’ve seen.’
‘Go to hell and help your mother make bitch pie!’ Vaughan snarled. He wouldn’t hear her spoken of like that, regardless of anything else. ‘And watch your tongue. Or better still go court my sister. It’s what you’re here for, isn’t it? I did get that letter from Lady Devonshire – or did I misunderstand the point of your visit?’
Raffe stiffened and gave a rather terse bow. ‘No. No mistake,’ he said.
‘Excellent. Then we understand each other.’
Vaughan pushed past him.
The solar was stiflingly, so warm that he was obliged to strip off his coat and roll up his shirtsleeves, much to de Maresi’s horror and entertainment. Vaughan threw his coat over a chair back and paced to the far corner, where Henry Tristan had his head stuck in one of the alcoves that overlooked the great hall. He’d changed his hideous salmon-pink stockings for an equally distasteful mint-green pair that matched his slovenly coat. Vaughan paused directly behind him. Tristan’s pose meant his cream breeches were pulled tight across his bottom, showing his cheeks to perfection.
‘What’s so fascinating?’ He tapped the upthrust arse.
Henry jerked to attention, nearly knocking himself out on the low lintel in the process. ‘Pennerley!’ he gasped. ‘Nothing, nothing really.’ He searched nervously amongst his pockets for his snuffbox which Vaughan retrieved from above the mantelpiece and placed in his hand.
‘I’ll trust you’re not admiring Bella.’
‘Erm, no.’ Henry looked sheepishly at his toes.
‘Then I’ll have to assume it’s my sister you’re ogling.’
‘Nothing untoward.’ Henry raised his hands. Beneath the layers of powder and paint he was blushing furiously. ‘She’s a lovely girl, that’s all.’
‘Correct,’ said Vaughan, allowing his lip to curl.
It had the desired effect. Henry’s eyes widened in alarm and he scuttled away. Vaughan wanted to laugh. Pitiful little mice, all three of them. He recalled his duties as host and passed around the port, but the conversation was minimal and soon lapsed into pathetic rejoinders.
‘I say, Pennerley, can we not have the ladies up here?’ Raffe asked, all smiles now he’d recovered his poise. He settled himself on the arm of the fireside chair, causing de Maresi to edge away. ‘It’s damnable cold in that blasted hall of yours and I’m sure they’d overlook a few glasses in exchange for a bit of warmth.’
‘Finally taking me at my word, Raffe? How very unlike you.’
Raffe bowed his head at the rebuke. When he raised it again, he’d fixed on a smile. ‘Merely thinking of their welfare. It seems a tad ungallant not to invite them in out of the cold.’
‘Very well.’ Vaughan dismissed him with an elegant turn of his wrist. ‘At least they might have something worthwhile to say for themselves, as well as sparing your necks undue strains.’ He twitched his eyebrows at Henry, who sunk even lower into his chair.
Vaughan topped his glass and headed to the window, away from the blast of the fire. Cold was good. It didn’t ruin the complexion, or make you sleepy and dim-witted. Besides, he could observe the entire room from here.
Bella restlessly paced the freezing and echoic hall, Niamh’s words churning inside her head, around and around and around. ‘He’ll break your heart.’ Well, he’d already done that. ‘Just like all the others.’ What others, she longed to demand. She wanted to grab Niamh and shake her until the answers tumbled from her lips like confession beads. She already had a nagging suspicion about who one current other might be.
‘Has the Vicomte been here long?’ she asked.
‘De Maresi?’ Niamh turned her back to the fire in order to face Bella, pressing her palms together as if in prayer. ‘He arrived with my brother. Why do you ask? Is there a problem?’
Bella shook her head. ‘Not so far.’
‘I confess I find him a little odd myself, but he seems to entertain my brother which is no bad thing. I believe he’s helping with the “phantasmagoria”.’ She gave a puzzled frown. ‘It’s something to do with the party, some new invention he’s brought over from France, I think. Anyway, they’ve been cackling together about it for days.’
Bella sucked on her lower lip, feeling both vexed and intrigued. Whatever Vaughan was planning with the Frenchman was bound to be ingenious but she doubted that preparing the entertainments was all the pair had been doing.
Damn him. If she’d been able to knit, she’d have made him a cock-warmer. Then perhaps he’d be less inclined to take any fool to his bed while they waited for Lucerne to regain his senses. Assuming he ever did.
‘Ladies!’ Raffe bounded into the room and gave them a rather heroic bow. ‘If you’d like to join us in the warmth, I can offer you an escort.’ He planted his hands upon his hips, clearly expecting them each to take an arm. When Niamh did just that, Bella saw no reason to refuse. She clasped his arm, whereupon he swung them both around in a wild circle, then hurried them towards the stairs.
7
THE ATMOSPHERE IN the solar remained subdued despite the ladies’ presence. After tea had been served, Vaughan slipped away to play billiards with Henry. Raffe lingered a further half hour making small talk with Niamh before following the gentlemen out with a look of resignation scored across his face.
Niamh remained only a dozen minutes more before announcing her intention to retire. Bella bade her goodnight at the top of the stairs and watched her cross the wooden bridge to the south tower before returning to the solar. It was still early compared to the hours she’d grown used to in London, but it was also too late to be wandering about the grounds unescorted. Exploring the surrounding countryside would have to wait until morning, although the notion of creeping about the churchyard in the dark was deliciously enticing. She briefly contemplated searching out the billiards room and peeking in on the men, but quickly dismissed the notion. In his current mood, Vaughan was inclined to be vicious.
De Maresi was slouched in a chair with his legs hooked over the arm when she returned. He stopped her with the press of his red-heeled shoes as she tried to slide past to reach the other fireside chair. ‘A moment, morue.’ He looked at her along the length of his outstretched leg.
Bella stared at his ankle, a grimace on her face, and her hand raised in a pincer-like shape as if preparing to remove something distasteful. ‘What do you want?’
He dug his toe a little deeper into the soft swell of her stomach, forcing her to back into the wing of the leather chair. ‘You do not belong here. He’s no longer yours, ma chere. Better if you left.’
‘Better if you kept your nose out of it.’ She swiped his foot away from her body and scowled. ‘I’ll leave when Vaughan asks me to, and not before.’
De Maresi gave a vicious scowl and snapped his teeth at her. Bella snapped her teeth back, then left in a flurry of skirts.
So the nasty scented frog was staking his claim. Well, he was in for a shock if he thought his little display would keep her away. Vaughan was hers. The only person she was going to share him with was Lucerne, and she had little hope of seeing him before the New Year, if at all. Besides, she’d played this game before. Vaughan had tried hard enough to warn her off Lucerne but to no avail. The Vicomte didn’t stand a chance.
Her breath surprisingly sharp in her throat, Bella made her way downstairs to the dingy great hall. The candles had long been extinguished and the fire had died down to a bed of embers. She warmed her hands above them and closed her eyes. She had thought that by coming to Pennerley everything would resolve itself, but here she was on her
first evening, still alone, still just as ignorant as to why Vaughan had left and no closer to his affections than she’d ever been. In fact, and she couldn’t restrain a snort of ironic humour at the thought, she appeared to have a rival. Was she destined always to be competing with one man for another?
She sat on the hearth and poked at the cinders, feeling the night’s chill seep into her bones. ‘Damn de Maresi, and damn Vaughan for making things so difficult.’ She stood and turned her back on the almost dead fire. Silver patches of moonlight shone through the gaps in the shutters and the stained top panes. Darkling shadows crept from the corners and stretched across the floor. She shivered, and wondered if the first Lady Pennerley was the only reputed ghost.
She’d hoped to spend the night with Vaughan; instead she faced a lonely night in a cold bed.
Bella knocked on the door to the kitchens, wondering if any of the servants were still about and could fetch her a hot drink to ward off the cold. When there was no answer, she tried the latch and let herself in.
The kitchens occupied the east wing of the castle, the servants sleeping above. Bella stumbled through the first room, a sort of hallway-cum-buttery, and passed under an archway into a room with a long pitted table. She found a candle on the windowsill and lit it on an ember drawn from the stove.
Soft yellow light bathed her surroundings. Pans and skillets lined the walls and bunched herbs hung from hooks in the ceiling. It reminded her of the homely kitchen at Wyndfell Grange where she’d spent many hours kneading dough and stirring great simmering vats of jam she’d made with berries picked from the hedgerows.
There was jam laid out on the table ready for breakfast, alongside a covered loaf and a jug of milk. Bella poured herself a glass and gulped it down. The dry heat in the solar had left her parched. She found herself a knife next and cut a thick slice of bread.
‘You’re not at home, you know.’
Bella turned her head mid-bite to find Vaughan poised beneath the archway. How he’d managed to sneak up on her she couldn’t fathom, but here he was, sleek and silent as a panther, and she felt a giddy relief at seeing him. She hadn’t anticipated his company again tonight. Well, so much for Vicomte de Maresi’s assertions that she was surplus to his desires.
Vaughan stepped out of the shadows and threw his coat over a chair back. He always seemed happiest and most dangerous when he was half undressed, as if he was peeling off a layer of civility along with his coat.
‘You don’t mind, do you?’ she said, and held the bread out towards him in an attempt to entice him closer.
Vaughan pursed his lips. His dark eyes twinkled. ‘Actually, I do. I like to see maids in the kitchen, not mistresses.’ He ignored her offering and picked up the jam jar instead.
‘I’m surprised you know where the kitchens are,’ she said.
The flickering candlelight played across his skin, highlighting his high cheekbones and the opaline pallor of his skin. He dismissed her remark with a look. ‘One should always keep the cook sweet.’ He licked his lips, and Bella’s breath caught, his languid grace easily throwing her off guard as he drew the silken cravat from around his throat. He drew it across her shoulder, then let it sail into the gloom, where it settled on the stone floor like a silver snake. ‘Perhaps I’ll entertain you with my intimate knowledge of the kitchens some time.’ He bent towards her and the edges of his shirt parted, displaying a tiny sliver of skin.
Bella longed to touch him, to trace the line of exposed flesh from his throat to his breastbone, to run her hands across his chest and feel his tight male nipples harden against the centre of her palms. Her lips parted in anticipation as Vaughan leaned closer, but instead of a kiss, he dipped two fingers into the jam jar and offered them to her to suck.
Her eyes firmly locked upon his, she dabbed his fingers with tip of her tongue. The sweet, tart taste of blackberries mingled with the salty taste of his skin as she sucked, while a knot of apprehension tightened within her belly. Despite his magical allure, Vaughan was not to be trusted. He was far too dangerous.
The sticky sweet jam was soon gone, but Bella continued to circle her tongue around the sensitive pads of his fingers and into the gap between them. ‘Getting ideas?’ he teased. A smile twitching upon his lips, he pulled his fingers from her mouth with a pop. They dipped straight back into the jar. This time he raised the sticky mess to his own lips.
Viscous drips, reminiscent of the red wine earlier, ran down his bared forearms. He was offering himself again, she realised, her breathing quickening at the thought. Bella lapped a trail up the length of his inner arm. She wanted him for herself tonight. There’d been times without Lucerne, but not so many of them as people like Henry Tristan and Raffe Devonshire imagined. She was not Vaughan’s paramour. That honour had belonged to Lucerne. Their relationship had always been a delicate balance, and too much time alone with Vaughan would have quickly destroyed it. Lucerne was the pivot, the constant. Everything revolved around him. She almost expected to find him bound to a spindly chair in the corner waiting his turn. Her relationship with Vaughan only existed through Lucerne.
Vaughan coated his fingers a third time.
Take me to bed, she pleaded with her eyes, while his gleamed with sadistic mischief. He smeared the berries across her mouth and chin.
Bella stared at him, her mouth open, still waiting for the kiss that never came. Vaughan licked his lips. ‘Come with me.’ He took her by the hand and led her into the pantry.
Row upon row of glittering glass jars lined the deep shelves: clear, green and brown. There were pickles on the bottom, preserves on the top, and other more exotic spices nestled between butter dishes and tea caddies. Vaughan took down a huge jar of spiced marmalade and pushed his whole hand inside. It came out glistening with orange glaze which he tasted then smeared down her neck and across the bib front of her dress.
His tongue slid up the side of her neck. Bella squirmed as he caught her earlobe between his teeth. Hot and thrilling, his breath warmed her ear. The sensation tingled through her body, awakening every nerve, making her want to cling to him. But it was never wise to make it too easy for him. For Vaughan, the fun was in the challenge. He’d lose interest if he thought she was too eager.
‘You must be pretty desperate to want me twice in one day,’ she said.
‘I prefer to think of it as starved of opportunity. Besides, de Maresi bores me.’
So, it wasn’t just de Maresi’s fantasy. Had she really expected him to live like a monk? The knowledge gave her a sickly thrill, but she contained her rage and let her anger burn cold.
Vaughan tugged his shirt over his head, presented her with his slender torso and the ragged silver scar that ran across his ribs.
‘What makes you think I’m willing? You humiliated me in front of your servant and your guests.’
‘What else did you expect?’ He grasped her jaw and forced a kiss.
Bella shoved him off. ‘I’m your guest.’
‘My whore.’ His eyebrows arched, daring her to argue.
‘Fine. Have it your way.’ She grabbed the nearest jar and smeared blackcurrants across his torso.
Vaughan laughed.
Bella took down another jar. His chest looked like an artist’s palette by the time she’d finished. Streamers of different colours and textures matted in his dark curls. The pungent smells of exotic spices blended with his own unique scent. Finally, she dashed nutmeg across his loins and rubbed her face into the mess. Through his clothing she felt his erection jump and she tongued along its length.
‘Ah, is this the sweetmeat you crave? What would you have done if you’d found another waiting?’
Bella shoved him backwards, her desire for him briefly flaring into anger. She thought of how he rolled around the floor with Lucerne, fists and elbows flying, and of how excited it made her to watch. She wanted to battle with him in the same way. The light caught the silvery length of his old duelling scar again. ‘Teach me to fence,’ she demanded.
/> Vaughan shook his head. He pulled her upright to nibble at her lips and chin, and cupped her hand over his cock. ‘Oh, I think you’re long past the need for lessons.’
Bella smacked him hard across the thigh, leaving a sticky plum print on his pantaloons. Damn him for his insinuations, but she was hard pressed not to smile. She gave his prick a squeeze and basked in the victory of his sharp intake of breath.
‘Besides, ladies don’t wield swords.’
‘Well, you’ve already made it clear to everyone that I’m no lady, and since my reputation is already wrecked I may as well reap some benefit.’ She squeezed again, watching his cheeks flush. ‘Truly, it’s a wonder you let me associate with faultless Lady Niamh.’
‘Your reputation was wrecked long before you arrived here. Let’s not forget the time you’ve spent in London as Lucerne’s doxy, and you were a brazen hussy even before that.’
‘That must be your type, then.’
Vaughan licked her cheek. ‘As I said, I’m starved. And better you than Tristan or my sister.’
‘You wouldn’t!’
His eyes glittered like cold fire. Bella jabbed him in the stomach. ‘No,’ he drawled. ‘She’s not my type. Too pure, too virginal.’
‘That never stopped you with my friend Louisa,’ she blurted, completely scandalised. She turned her back on him in disgust, shocked that he could even jest over such a subject.
Vaughan nuzzled up to her bare neck. ‘Why, Bella, I do believe you’re mad at me.’ His tongue dabbed over her pulse point and explored the hollow of her collarbone. The touch was soft and teasing at first. It made her squirm and her toes curl. Slowly, the caress became firmer, until she was sure he would leave his mark upon her skin. Despite that, she still couldn’t push him away. It was too exquisite, his touch too precious to her.
She batted half-heartedly at him, but he caught her wrist and pressed a lingering kiss to the back of her hand, before sliding his tongue into the V between her index and middle fingers. ‘You know the rules, Miss Rushdale.’ More hungry kisses smeared over the curve of her thumb. ‘But perhaps you tire of the game. Perhaps you should have stayed in London with Lucerne.’ A tooth troubled the delicate skin of her wrist. ‘Or did you not share his relish for Miss St John?’
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