Phantasmagoria Page 5

  His fingers stretched her. His cock pushed in, making her empty cunt clench tight. She meant to push back against him, knock him off balance, but instead her bottom rubbed eagerly against his loins. It was so good to feel him inside her again, such welcome relief for the nineteen days of torture she’d spent without him.

  ‘Easy,’ he whispered, when she twisted her head to look at him. ‘You’ll come too fast.’ Bella didn’t care. She’d been wound too tight and all the emotion and rage she’d felt was spilling out of her. This carnal invasion, this thrusting heat – it was exactly what she wanted. ‘Bella,’ he hissed between his teeth. A sound broke in her throat in response, a hopeless expression of her longing. He was right. She had missed him, and more than he would ever truly understand. She loved him, but she had no idea how to tell him that or whether he wanted to hear it.

  Her head was spinning. Her knees ached. His scent surrounded her, musky and animal beneath the hint of cologne. And at the point of their connection, a pulse was raging, driving her movements, dictating everything in simple, so very simple, animalistic terms.

  She came hard, with a long rolling shudder, while Vaughan held himself still within her rear. Once the pulses had faded, he began to move again.

  ‘Again,’ he demanded, forcing her hips down with his palm, while the fingers of his other hand teased her still sensitive bud.

  ‘No,’ Bella gasped. ‘Vaughan, I can’t.’ She pressed herself to the ancient wood while colour burned her cheeks, feeling both elated and shamed. ‘I’ve been stuck in a coach for days. You could at least offer me a drink before you demand four orgasms in a row.’

  ‘I’ve only demanded two, and a chance to finish off.’ Chuckling, he patted her bottom. ‘But very well. Foster!’ he bellowed.

  Bella’s eyes snapped open. ‘Your servant!’ She scrambled forwards but Vaughan held her tight about her hips.

  ‘Easy now, what’s the problem? Your drink’s coming.’

  Bella hid her head in embarrassment. She’d been here just five minutes and within another five every servant in the place would know their master had swived her in the arse. She heard the screech of a door hinge and Foster appeared by Vaughan’s side.

  ‘Bring me the port. My guest’s thirsty.’

  A moment later, Foster returned with a silver platter holding a decanter and two glasses. Vaughan took the decanter and waved him away. ‘That’ll be all. Oh, and see that another two rooms are prepared. The North Tower for the lady and the blue room in the gatehouse for Mr Tristan.’

  From between her fingers, Bella watched Foster look around as if expecting to find Mr Tristan slouched in one of the chairs spectating. Thankfully he hadn’t returned from the privy, although, curiously, Foster also looked up. ‘Very good, my lord.’ He bowed obsequiously. ‘I’ll inform cook there will be two extra for dinner,’ and he backed away through the arched doorway beneath the stairs.

  The moment the door closed, Vaughan began to laugh. His cock flexed inside her and, when she jiggled in response, he slapped her and withdrew.

  Bella turned quickly, frantically pulling down her skirts. ‘You swine!’ she cursed, but he just continued to laugh.

  ‘Nothing more than you expect and far less than you deserve.’ He held out the decanter towards her. ‘And no Viscount Marlinscar to rescue you. Something of an oversight on your part, don’t you think?’

  Bella whitened a little but still reached for the bottle. It was true; Lucerne had always been there to protect her and temper Vaughan’s worst excesses. Still, she thought she’d rather be here than face the mess she’d left behind. At some point, of course, she’d have to explain what had happened.

  Her fingers touched the side of the decanter, but Vaughan snatched it out of reach and raised it to his own lips instead. He swallowed in greedy gulps, letting the ruby liquid spill over his chin and into the open V of his shirt, until it flowed like a bloody river down his front. She met his eyes and understood, then moved in to lick the rivulets from his skin.

  The taste was sharp and sweet. It tingled on her tongue and down her throat, lending additional warmth to the fire already alight in her belly. Lovely wavelets ebbed and built, rushed tingling flames across her body, made her want to feast on his skin. She wanted to strip him bare and trace the silvery scar that wound across his ribs all the way to his heart.

  ‘There’s but one mouthful left.’ He raised the bottle, then drained it.

  Bella fastened her lips over his, and he transferred the liquid to her with his kiss, leaving her giddy and terribly aroused. She couldn’t let him go. Instead, she slid her tongue between his parted lips and he kissed her back long and hard. Nobody ever made her feel the same way as Vaughan when he kissed her. There was magic in his slow, hungry embrace, and a magnetic draw that crushed boundaries and pulled her into his chaotic razor-sharp world.

  He nipped her lip as he released her, drawing blood.

  Bella was too stunned to feel the pain. Clearly, Vaughan in his own dominion was even more dangerous and unpredictable. She licked at the bite as he fastened his pantaloons over his erection. ‘You live in a castle,’ she said, dazed.

  He sniffed. ‘It’s a toy really. But it does. Shall I show you your room?’

  He took her hand. His palm was even warmer than hers, but he’d always had an unnatural heat, and led her up the staircase to a balcony perched just below the rafters. ‘Through here.’ They turned left along a short gallery into a timber-framed room with windows in three directions, and a decorated stone fireplace with an immense hood. The high timbered room she’d seen from outside.

  ‘This is to be mine?’ Bella gasped.

  He nodded.

  ‘But it’s enormous.’ She ran to the central window and looked out at the weathervane on top of the church roof. ‘But isn’t this the master bedroom?’

  Vaughan swung around one of the spindly bedposts and sat upon the bed. ‘Don’t be silly, or was that wishful thinking?’ He held his hand out towards her and, straddling his lap, she tried to seek the comfort of his lips again. When he shook his head, she sucked at her wounded lip.

  ‘You know,’ she remarked, ‘in three years you’ve hardly ever taken me like a woman.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘It’s true.’ She wriggled against his trapped erection.

  Vaughan shook his head and laughed.

  ‘Everywhere else, bottom, bosom, mouth, armpits, even once between my toes, but hardly ever there.’ She frowned, traced the curve of his upper lip. ‘Why? Is it because you only really like men?’

  ‘Is that what you believe?’ He collapsed back against the mattress, rubbed his face, then propped himself back up on his elbows. ‘Bella, you are Lucerne’s. That’s his province, and it’s a bloody miracle he’s never got you with child.’

  ‘Would that have bothered you?’ she asked, pressing a hand to his soaked shirt.

  He caught her wrist and moved her hand aside. ‘You know the answer to that.’ He pushed her off his lap and stood. ‘Come; let me introduce you to my sister. She’ll welcome the company.’

  Bella stared after him as he walked to the door. ‘Sister! Since when did you have a sister?’ She hurried to catch him. ‘You’ve never mentioned her before.’

  ‘Must have slipped my mind. This way.’ He trotted back to the stairs. What else had he overlooked mentioning? Did she know anything about him at all? ‘I suppose we ought to find Tristan too. We can’t have him prying into every corner now, can we.’

  Bella paused halfway down. ‘What are those?’ she asked, pointing to two squares on the opposite wall above the fireplace.

  ‘Windows,’ said Vaughan. ‘Beyond the solar, which is where we’re heading. They’re designed so that the lord of the manor can keep a check on his underlings.’

  ‘Spy holes,’ she said, and her horror was intense.

  5

  THE SOLAR WAS breathtaking, entirely oak-panelled with a huge fireplace and a stunning overmantel, intricately carved with
half-formed figures and grotesque heads similar to those that graced the outer walls of the gatehouse. It was something, she imagined, straight out of the Elizabethan era, and indeed portraits of gentlemen with sharp beards, dressed in doublets and hose graced several of the walls.

  Henry was already seated and chatting amiably to a young lady when they entered, whom Bella instantly took to be Vaughan’s sister. Had he left her languishing here all this time?

  Two men were standing by the fire. The Vicomte de Maresi, whom she recognised, and a tall, very handsome gentleman, powerfully built with broad shoulders, whose buckskin breeches cleaved to his thighs like a second skin. He turned his head as they entered and looked at her with a languid, easy smile. The sort of smile that was so much more than a greeting. It insinuated intimacy and, more importantly, knowledge. Bella found her gaze riveted upon him. She was certain he was not of her acquaintance.

  ‘Ah, here she is with our host,’ said Henry. He stood and waved his glass in her direction. Clearly he’d settled in already, having discarded his topcoat and helped himself to Vaughan’s port. ‘Have you met Lord Devonshire, Bella?’

  ‘Miss Rushdale.’ Devonshire came away from the fireside and accepted her hand. He bowed deeply, though he also peeped along her arm in a rather less gentlemanly fashion. There was a playful gleam in his eyes, but the steely bite of his grip hinted there was a lot more to him than his façade implied. She would have to watch out for this one, she realised. Likely that was true of all Vaughan’s associates. Even Henry occasionally made a riposte that knocked her sideways, reeling and breathless, and blushing like a virgin.

  ‘Enjoying yourself, Raffe?’ Vaughan asked.

  Bella pulled free of Lord Devonshire’s grip, still wary of his peculiarly familiar smile.

  ‘Immensely, Pennerley, as, I observed, are you.’

  The timbre of his voice lanced her with his meaning. Bella’s gaze shot to the alcoves either side of the fire, which contained the small windows she’d observed from the hall. The shutter on the left one, which surely overlooked the stairs, was open.

  Lord Devonshire caught her gaze again, and this time his smile was unmistakeable. He’d been watching, she realised, although at least he seemed to have kept it from the others.

  A savage blush chased across her skin. If she left here with one ounce of respectability intact it’d be a miracle. She’d have to be more careful around Vaughan and hope for Devonshire’s discretion. There’d be no going back to London and civilised society if her name were ruined. She’d risked enough living with Lucerne, Vaughan and her mock chaperone, but then the only reason she’d ever been accepted was due to Vaughan’s influence. He wouldn’t hear a word said against her. Woe betide the few who’d tried.

  ‘Miss Rushdale,’ said Vaughan’s sister, coming to her rescue. ‘Would you walk with me? We can leave the gentlemen to their rakery until dinner.’ She clasped Bella’s hand tight.

  She had none of her brother’s unnatural heat. In fact, her hands were rather cool and a deal more delicate. Still, there was no mistaking that she was anything other than Vaughan’s sibling. She was every inch as beautiful, with fair skin, fine elfin features and curling sable locks. Her eyes, though, were quite different to Vaughan’s, being a piercing icy blue. They turned upon Bella, laughing and eager as they made their way out onto the courtyard lawn. ‘Thank heavens you’ve come. It was starting to feel like Udolpho with so many men about the place.’

  ‘Your favourite?’ asked Bella, pleased to find they had some common ground other than Vaughan to discuss.

  Her hostess nodded. ‘How could it not be when I’m stuck in this crumbling ruin, but you do know that my brother has put you in the haunted room?’

  Bella gulped. She loved ghost stories and had always dreamed of some gothic adventure, but the vengeful ghosts of Vaughan’s ancestors were more than she wanted.

  ‘The first marchioness, driven mad by her husband’s infidelity and perversions, fell to her death in the moat, yet haunts the room still, cursing adulterers.’

  Bella shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Oh, but if you know my brother, you can guess that most of the hauntings are just cruel tricks by the lords of Pennerley at the expense of their guests. But let’s not talk of such things … Forgive me. It’s so good to have you here. It’s so like my brother to forget to invite some women along with all his friends, although he has promised me the Allenthorpes.’

  She certainly seemed starved for company and was making up for it with what she thought was amiable chatter.

  ‘I don’t know if he was really expecting me,’ said Bella. They might as well get that straight from the outset.

  ‘No.’ Vaughan’s sister smiled impishly. ‘But he wanted you here all the same. Don’t think I don’t know my brother, Miss Rushdale. He hides much from me but he can’t hide everything. I know he stayed with you and Viscount Marlinscar in London, and he’s pleased to see you.’

  Bella felt her heart clench at the thought; she truly hoped that was true. Oh, he’d welcomed her in his fashion, but you could never be sure with Vaughan if his expression and his words matched his inner thoughts.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Bella, remembering her manners. ‘I’m afraid you have me at a distinct advantage, for I don’t know what to call you. Vaughan only told me of your existence five minutes ago.’

  ‘Brothers,’ she scoffed, and showed her lovely smile. ‘I’m Niamh. Lady, if the gentlemen are listening.’

  ‘Then you must call me Bella, and I expect the gentlemen will follow your brother’s lead and do as they please.’ She didn’t add that Vaughan only ever called her Miss Rushdale when he was teasing her.

  They strolled across a lawn and followed an oyster-shell pathway among the flowerbeds to the perimeter wall. Bella stared over it, down into the muggy green water of the moat. It was a long drop, much further than she had anticipated. ‘It must be strange having him home again, after all this time,’ she observed. ‘Has he changed much?’

  Niamh plucked the head of a late rose. ‘Vaughan! Dear, no. He never changes. He’s always the perfect older brother; spiteful and completely devoted.’

  ‘Sounds exactly like my own.’ Joshua had so liked to tease her as they were growing up. Now, he probably just despaired of her and hoped she’d some day send him a wedding invitation. If she married Lucerne, at least she’d be accepted in polite Yorkshire society again. Presently she was considered a disgrace and Joshua a bad example. ‘But for all his faults, he’s never gainsaid me or reined me in.’

  ‘Oh, Vaughan would pursue me to the ends of the earth if I were to try anything.’ Niamh sighed and irritably plucked the petals off the beheaded rose. She let them sail over the wall and into the water, where they formed a myriad of tiny boats. ‘Though how he would know I’d gone most of the time is beyond me. Sometimes I swear he has a magic mirror to spy on me, for he always knows what I’m about. Mind you, he does write exceedingly long letters and expects the same in return, so I imagine I just give myself away between the lines.’

  Bella grinned broadly, imagining Vaughan pouring over a letter for hints of insurgence. ‘You speak as if you have something to hide.’

  ‘Maybe I do.’ She linked arms with Bella. ‘Are you and Mr Tristan together?’

  Bella turned her head sharply. ‘No! Why does everyone think that?’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ She pressed her hand to her mouth. ‘I just assumed as you arrived together, and without Lord Marlinscar. But I’m pleased that you’re not.’

  Bella drew her brows together, not at all sure what assumptions her hostess had made or how much she knew about her brother’s relationships.

  ‘I wasn’t trying to implicate anything.’ She clapped her hands together and pressed her fingertips to her lips, a gesture frighteningly reminiscent of her brother. ‘It’s just … Dear Bella, you shall think me quite ridiculous, but his stockings are so shocking, they are magnificent.’ She artlessly swirled on the spot. ‘I think I sha
ll have some made to match. Do you think I shall look handsome with salmon-pink bands about my calves?’ She raised her hem a little, displaying perfectly ordinary stockings, with tiny floral sprigs embroidered onto the ankles. ‘Vaughan will hate them but I think I shall insist, and he won’t refuse me this.’ Her expression sobered. Bella tried to catch her gaze, but Niamh shook her head warily and dipped her chin. They were not close enough friends yet.

  The silence lasted but a moment. ‘Shall I show you the rest of the castle?’

  ‘That would be nice. I should like to see the keep and get a view of the land around. The earth where I live is rolling and bleak, not like this great hummock before us.’

  ‘To the south tower, then. We’ll go up onto the roof. You can see into Wales on one side and across to the Long Mynd on the other.’

  They crossed a drawbridge to get into the south tower, and climbed a staircase barely one person wide that ran inside the thick outer walls. Bella was forced to hold her skirts at knee height to stop herself tripping, while Niamh seemed to know every stone individually.

  They soon emerged onto a small landing that led straight into the master bedroom. Bella stopped on the threshold while Niamh crossed to where the stairs wound their way up again.

  ‘This is your brother’s room. We shouldn’t be in here.’

  ‘Don’t be silly. It’s the only way up, and it’s not as if he’s in the bed, and he wouldn’t mind even if he were. He’d have his curtains about him.’ She returned to Bella and tugged her sleeve.

  Aware that she was being hypocritical, considering the nights she’d spent in his London bed recently, Bella allowed herself to be pulled into the room. Still, it felt wrong being here without permission. This was his room, not just some lodging somewhere but his most private space.

  It was a curious chamber, vast, roughly heart-shaped, with five inset window-seats, and full of light and air. Despite all the shimmery light, it was also more overtly Vaughan than any other room she’d known him occupy. The furniture was all dark wood, elaborately carved like the overmantel in the solar and the figures on the gatehouse exterior. The bed was of twisted blackened oak, the head and footboards writhing with grotesque demons, chimeras and sobbing fallen angels. One especially sorrowful fellow sat in prayer with his legs curled before him, and his one remaining wing hanging forlornly from his back. Yet there was something fearful about him, perhaps the quaint curl of his lips or the sense of questioning defiance in his sightless eyes.