Phantasmagoria Read online

  He drew her closer, calling for her to reach out and touch the polished wooden surface, to trace the curve of his jaw.

  ‘Bella!’ Niamh beckoned her towards the stairwell. ‘Unless you’re seriously contemplating bouncing on the bed.’

  Bella immediately scuttled away from its monstrous allure. Bouncing had not entered her thoughts at all. No, instead her mind was filled with fantasies of Vaughan, blood-smeared and bound across the stark white sheets, his cock erect and his mouth slack from too many kisses. She’d had such fantasies before, but this was different. There was no Lucerne present, and there was such an intense fire in her belly. Her heart was beating far too fast.

  ‘Miss Rushdale.’

  The repetition of her name pulled her from the trance and she sprinted up the second flight of stairs as if the devil were on her tail.

  Bella waded into the wall of cold air on the roof, panting from the exertion. These fantasies, this desire for him was pointless. Eventually she’d have to tell him why Lucerne hadn’t come, how he was faithless and inconstant, and quite unconcerned that their relationship was falling apart.

  He wouldn’t take it well. When did Vaughan ever take anything well? And then … And then she guessed she’d learn how much he really cared for her.

  The room fell sickeningly quiet after the women left. Vaughan let himself into the library beyond. He didn’t care much for company at the moment, especially not the strained conversation that seemed to be brewing. Devonshire was crudely hinting at what he’d seen, as if it was a joke they’d shared, which was more of an acquaintance than the man had a right to presume to. It merely served Vaughan’s purpose at the moment to keep the young man sweet. He’d never been that enamoured of being watched. Oh, he’d performed on occasion, but the thought of being spied on was far from a turn on in itself. He’d learned to live with Bella’s voyeuristic intrusions on his lovemaking with Lucerne, but she’d rarely just sat and watched. She liked to touch, to be a part of things.

  There was one memory of her that he kept hidden away. A time she’d caught him by surprise and made him come so hard he was shaking afterwards. He’d never admitted that it was her doing, and he doubted either she or Lucerne remembered the occasion. She’d been out making social calls and arrived home to find them christening the new loveseat for the parlour. Lucerne had been poised across it, while Vaughan simultaneously masturbated and buggered him. Bella had simply traced a finger down his naked back from his neck to his anus.

  The shock of her intrusion and the shivers the simple touch raised had tipped him over into a long juddering climax, that for once had had little to do with the pleasure he derived from Lucerne’s body and everything to do with the woman who was a constant thorn in their relationship.

  The library door opened behind him and de Maresi shuffled in. He could tell who it was without looking, purely from the waft of floral scent. Since the Vicomte’s arrival at Pennerley, Vaughan had managed to get him to wear a little less eau de toilette, but he still smelled like a tulip.

  The slender Frenchman’s hands alighted upon Vaughan’s hips. He pressed up close so that his loins caressed the back seam of Vaughan’s black pantaloons, and his cheek pressed to Vaughan’s shoulder.

  ‘Don’t touch me,’ Vaughan snapped. While he’d enjoyed the fragile pleasures of the Vicomte’s body, he wasn’t in the mood for the Frenchman’s effete form of male loving. He didn’t want delicacy and flowers. He wanted someone he could wrestle with. Someone whose hair he could pull, someone who would try to top him and pin him down in return, someone he could fuck without breaking.

  He missed Lucerne.

  Damn him, he missed him. He should have been here. He was supposed to arrive with Bella.

  De Maresi backed away, snuffling into his lacy kerchief. ‘Later, perhaps?’

  Vaughan didn’t respond, but when the man failed to excuse himself, he gave a low growl that immediately sent him scuttling back into the solar.

  Vaughan grasped the bookcase. He shook his head, unable to stop himself chuckling. His silent laughter faded quickly and he pressed his brow to the cool wood of the shelf. His cock still felt tight from his encounter with Bella. He breathed deeply, willing it to fade, but a moment later he was forced to rearrange himself. The breathing exercises just weren’t having the desired effect. Maybe he should have made use of the Frenchman’s mouth. They could have locked the door and made sure no one walked in. Sound didn’t travel far through the thick walls, although de Maresi would have been effectively silenced, and he was perfectly capable of coming without making a sound. Still, it was never wise to court complacency.

  Too late for that now.

  The library door opened again. Vaughan swung round, ready to throw a book or pounce if necessary, but the intruder was neither Raffe nor de Maresi. It was Henry Tristan.

  Vaughan took in his outrageous banded stockings and pressed his fingers into his eyes. The vision wasn’t any less lurid when he removed them.

  Henry closed the door with a quiet click.

  ‘Where’s Lucerne?’ asked Vaughan.

  ‘Ah, yes!’ Henry’s lips stretched into an uneasy grimace. ‘I wondered when you’d get to that. I had to come with Bella, you understand. She was going to come anyway.’

  ‘Lucerne?’ Vaughan prompted. He steepled his fingers and tapped his index fingers to his lips.

  ‘Well, yes … quite.’ Lapsing into nervous traits, Henry fumbled in his pocket for his snuffbox. ‘You don’t really need me to say, do you?’

  ‘You mean he’s still with that trollop, Georgiana St John. Dammit! Doesn’t the man have any taste?’

  Henry raised his hand to his nose. ‘Apparently not, or he’d still be sandwiched between you and Bella.’ He took a large sniff, then sneezed violently, scattering snuff across the floorboards.

  Vaughan allowed his lips to curl. Once, riled by Lucerne’s inability to keep his cock in his trousers and out of the mouth of whichever courtesan he was blinkeredly following about, Vaughan had taken action by molesting poor Henry behind a screen at a music recital. His intention had been to shock Lucerne out his complacency; the result was that he’d acquired a new hanger-on.

  Henry had been shocked, but quite unable to resist the skill of Vaughan’s lips. The way he had crumbled into submission had given an extra high to the satisfaction he’d felt at cracking Lucerne’s belief that their relationship was indestructible. Now he closed the gap between himself and Henry, and grabbed him either side of his preposterous cravat just to prove to himself that he could still feel that raw surge of desire and triumph.

  The man’s mottled-green eyes opened impossibly wide. His back stiffened, pulling his shoulders back and to attention.

  ‘You know you wouldn’t survive five minutes with me, and Bella would break you,’ Vaughan hissed. Their hips collided, bringing his erection into contact with Henry’s loins. Startled, Henry jerked back, his exhalation sharp and desperate. He grasped the doorknob and hung on tight.

  ‘You were supposed to bring Lucerne, Henry.’

  Henry swallowed audibly. ‘I know … but … Bella …’ Frog-like, he gulped air. ‘She’s a nice girl, can’t see why you don’t just content yourself with her, eh?’

  If he looked any more like a scared rabbit, Vaughan thought he might die from mirth. The laughter that surged up from his belly bubbled on his tongue, but he bit back the smile and forced his expression to remain outwardly neutral. ‘She’s very far from a nice girl, Henry.’ His humour faded abruptly with his words. ‘And I’m not a very nice man.’

  Vaughan turned on his heels and resumed his position by the bookcase. He felt Henry’s gaze but didn’t turn to confront it. Instead, he traced the links of the gold chain around his neck down to the locket that lay against his heart.

  6

  DINNER THAT EVENING was served in the drafty great hall. To her relief, Bella was given a chair facing away from the foot of the stairs upon which she’d debased herself earlier. She had spent
a pleasant afternoon in Niamh’s company exploring the castle and its grounds. It was not as big as Lauwine but, in its own way, far grander.

  The Forvasham family, she had learned, had been granted a licence to crenellate for services to the crown centuries before, but had only gained the Pennerley title in 1662 for their help in restoring the monarchy. The tower and moat were vanities, which would never have withstood a real siege, but the effect was beautiful. She positively adored her tower room, its leaded windows overlooking the countryside, and the way it overhung the walls below supported on great wooden arms. She and Vaughan’s sister had even taken a turn about the moat on a little wooden punt.

  Still, she had missed Vaughan’s company. She had hoped he’d show her around himself. Instead, he’d locked himself in the library, before disappearing into the lowest floor of the south tower with Henry and the Vicomte.

  Like Bluebeard’s chamber, that room had not comprised part of the tour and Niamh had warned her off prying. Apparently, Niamh had confided with squeamish enthusiasm, it was where he was preparing all the spine-chilling horrors for the coming party.

  ‘Are you not hungry?’ asked Lord Devonshire, who was sat to her left, tucking into a huge plate of meat. ‘I thought you’d have worked up quite an appetite after all that robust activity.’ A flame of lusty mirth flickered deep within his eyes.

  Bella lifted her fork, but didn’t eat. She found she had no appetite for anything but Vaughan. ‘I’m quite content, Lord Devonshire –’

  ‘Raffe,’ he insisted.

  ‘The exertion was quite minor, and welcome after the close confines of the carriage.’

  ‘Ah, yes. You know, I admire a girl with a sense of adventure.’ There was no mistaking exactly what he was admiring. Bella felt a blush spread across her skin and an unexpected flare of heat lower down. So that was it. Her reputation was safe while he held the hope of a similar favour. ‘I’ve never been one for dainties myself.’ His gaze flickered briefly towards Niamh who, while not dainty in the traditional sense, was rather more slender and fine-featured than Bella.

  Vaughan caught her gaze and lifted one eyebrow, making it all too clear that he could hear their conversation.

  ‘Do you like to ride, Miss Rushdale?’

  ‘I do,’ she replied, her head bowed, and all too conscious of Vaughan’s watchful gaze.

  ‘Excellent. We must go out together. I’m sure you could teach me a trick or two in the saddle.’ He flashed his languid smile to defuse the innuendo.

  Across the table, Henry snorted while the Vicomte pushed his nose in the air in snooty disapproval. Bella batted Lord Devonshire with her napkin. She was accustomed to ribald language and the drawing-room riposte, but men rarely practised their wit while Vaughan was watching. They knew better than to attempt to take what was clearly his. She felt her cheeks burn and sneaked a look at Vaughan. He was poised in his chair with a sort of indolent grace that made her want to climb onto his lap, kiss him, bite him, shake him … and maybe even make vows in a church with him. She wanted to bind herself to him that tight. It would never happen but the thought, unbidden, would not lie. ‘Vaughan,’ she mouthed. Even the taste of his name upon her lips stirred her blood.

  He swept back his chair in response and stood. ‘We’ll take our port in the solar, gentlemen.’

  They rose in unison, leaving just her and Niamh at the table. The Vicomte sneered at her as he passed, showing his teeth. Bella recoiled. She’d met him only twice and they hadn’t exchanged a word. His attitude was a mystery. Slowly, she sipped her wine and tried to shrug off the tension that stiffened her limbs, only for her gaze to settle upon Vaughan’s plate.

  He’d eaten less than she had.

  ‘Vaughan!’ She rose immediately and ran after him. It was no good just fretting. She guessed he was concerned by Lucerne’s absence. Hell, it concerned her too, and she still had no idea why Vaughan had left London.

  Vaughan was halfway up the stairs when she caught up, his hand pressed to the overindulgent brocade of Vicomte de Maresi’s frock coat. Bella paled as she watched the tight pinstriped silk pull tight across the Frenchman’s arse, but then pushed the display of affection to the back of her mind. ‘Vaughan,’ she said again. He turned slowly so the skirt of his coat fanned around him, then fell so that, combined with his waistcoat, it emphasised his narrow hips.

  Bella peered up at him, trying hard not to focus on his loins, feeling only intense desire. Even once she managed to drag her gaze to his face, the feeling didn’t subside. He was as beautiful as ever, and several weeks apart had only served to reminder her how intangible that beauty was. There was a sudden tightening in her chest, echoed a moment later in her womb. ‘Love me, Vaughan,’ she wanted to plead, but he would never do that. Leastways, not in the way she desired. All his affection was reserved for Lucerne. Still, in that moment, even a touch would suffice.

  ‘Bella?’ He raised a delicately arched eyebrow. ‘Was there something?’

  Nervously, she licked her lips, no longer sure what she intended to say. She didn’t want to talk of Lucerne, she simply wanted to press herself into his arms, feel his quick fingers traverse her skin and raise shivers of delight.

  ‘You’ve been avoiding me all afternoon. I mean, I hoped … I thought …’

  ‘Your company was unexpected. I’ve had other matters to attend. As I do, now.’ He turned his wrist and pointed towards the gentlemen awaiting him at the top of the stair. ‘Go ahead,’ he bade them. ‘I’ll be up in moment.’

  ‘Is that why you left London, because of your estate?’

  He came down the steps towards her, his head inclined so that his dark ringlets spilled over his shoulders, his eyes ever so slightly narrowing beneath their dark lashes. ‘You missed me, didn’t you, Bella?’ he said, ignoring her question.

  ‘I believe I already said I did.’

  ‘Missed me far more than you anticipated?’ He fanned his long fingers across the grain of the banister. ‘And how did you enjoy having Lucerne to yourself? Was he a nice playmate or not quite all you hoped for?’

  The edge to his words raised her hackles. A malevolent gleam shone in his eyes and his lips curled into an aggressive sneer. He’d always loved to goad her, but this obvious tormenting angered her more than usual. Bella struggled for words that would hurt him back. She wanted to hurl Lucerne’s love in his face. A thousand lies lay glibly on her tongue, but none of them reached her lips.

  Instead, the truth roiled inside her. After the initial act of rebellion with Lucerne on Vaughan’s bed, the excitement between them had simply melted away. It had been beastly of Lucerne to bring Georgiana to the house, but it had been the truth when he’d acknowledged that the passion between them was dead.

  Vaughan drew a finger up her throat, forcing her to lift her chin and meet his gaze. ‘Nothing to impart? How exquisitely dull.’

  Vexation tingled in the tip of her nose. That he should tease her like this was intolerable. They’d been apart nearly three weeks, and every day she had ached for him, while he … Maybe he’d felt nothing? The gulf between them had always been vast despite them being lovers, but now it seemed to stretch into infinity. What relationship did they have without Lucerne?

  ‘Come, Bella, let’s have no secrets between us.’ He drew his teeth over his lower lip, gave a wry smile, then wrapped an arm around her shoulder. The embrace soothed her, and she snuggled into his warmth. ‘As I recall, you were gagging for some time alone. I gave you it. The least you can do is share the details.’

  ‘That’s not really why you left.’

  ‘Is it not?’ His eyebrows arched a fraction higher. ‘The details, Bella.’

  Deliberately flaunting himself, he raised one foot onto the next step. Bella’s palms itched with the urge to touch him. She rubbed them together desperate to curb her desire, but the cloth covering his thigh was soft and inviting, and she knew the muscle beneath to be firm. Unable to resist, she edged her fingers up the inner seam. Too often she’d d
reamed of him and woken cocooned in his embrace, only to discover she was really alone, bound tight in the rumpled bedclothes. Tentatively, she skirted his loins. ‘It wasn’t the same without you.’ She traced the line of his cock.

  ‘No.’ His hand locked around her wrist. ‘I don’t suppose it was.’ His breath lifted the wisps of hair that framed her face. ‘And for that,’ he lifted her palm and placed a kiss upon its centre, ‘you’ll have to wait, as I have no intention of bedding you on the stairs again for an audience. Go back to my sister, Bella. She longs for a companion.’ He extracted himself from her touch and continued up the stairs, leaving her confused by the edge of his anger.

  Bella watched him until he reached the solar door, then reluctantly returned to the hall, where she found Niamh awaiting her by the enormous blaze. ‘Are you in love with him?’ she asked bluntly.

  Bella opened her mouth to speak, but no words would come out.

  ‘Don’t be. He’ll only break your heart as he’s already broken countless others.’ She raised a delicate hand. ‘Please, don’t provide me with the details. My brother is a rakehell among rakehells. I don’t care to learn how many beds he has availed himself of. Although I know in my heart it is far too many. You mustn’t fall for him, Bella. You must promise me.’

  Alas, it was already too late for that. Bella turned her head away, hoping she could blame the colour in her cheeks on the roaring fire. She could not unravel three whole years on a warning, especially as she wasn’t entirely sure when in that time he’d usurped Lucerne.