Phantasmagoria Page 9

  His breathing sharp, Raffe stood awkwardly and made his way back through the darkened kitchen and up the steps into the great hall. Great shafts of moonlight still streaked the stone floor and painted a latticework across the enormous dining table. He stood for several minutes just staring at the bottom four steps of the staircase. The image of her, bent over with her skirts cast about her shoulders and her pale plump cheeks bared haunted him. It would certainly trouble his dreams tonight.

  9

  BELLA WOKE THE following morning to find her sleep had been profound. There was a maid standing by the end of her bed when she opened her eyes, holding an old-fashioned riding habit with a skirt that actually sat around the waist. ‘It’s Lady Niamh’s, miss. She said I should bring it you, because she wasn’t sure if you had anything, and she wondered if you’d join her for a canter.’

  A chance to explore sounded just the thing to blow the grit of the city away, and to escape from Devonshire. Bella yawned and stretched. ‘What time is it?’ Beyond the quarrel windows the air was thick with mist, the church spire just a hazy outline.

  ‘About ten o’clock, miss. Lady Niamh’s awaiting you in the great hall. You were missed at breakfast.’

  ‘Ah!’ Bella threw back the covers and rolled out of bed in what she hoped wasn’t too ungainly a manner. Ten o’clock! Lucerne had taught her some very bad habits.

  The water in the jug was warm. Bella washed the last traces of jam from her body, then let the girl fuss over her hair and attire. The former she bound up in elaborate loops before pinning a minute feathered hat on top. Bella stared bemusedly at her transforming image. Vaughan would hate it, but then he hadn’t invited her riding. At least he’d approve of the dress. It was bottle green and shaped like a long riding coat, which buttoned down the front almost to her ankles, and showed only a glimpse of the fawn underskirt. She wondered if Niamh had ever worn it.

  ‘It’s a little tight about the bust,’ said the girl. ‘I can let out the seams.’

  ‘No, leave it.’ Bella stopped her. She’d simply leave the top few buttons unfastened and show a sliver of her chemise. She took a few turns about the room, pleased with the way the heavy fabric swished about her ankles. Yes, she was definitely ready for a wild chase across the hillside. Ladylike trots about St James’s Park just weren’t the same.

  Niamh was impatiently pacing by the enormous great hall door when Bella came down. ‘Stay-a-bed,’ she chastened. ‘Do come along.’ She grabbed her hand and barked at the footman to open the door.

  Puzzled, Bella followed her into the weak morning sunlight. Mist still lingered on the hilltops, but there were some patches of bright blue sky nestled between the clouds. ‘Has something happened?’ she asked.

  Niamh paced briskly across the courtyard. ‘They weren’t supposed to come.’ The footman barely had the gate open before she swished past him and stomped onto the moat bridge.

  Bella followed rather more carefully. The wooden boards were still shiny from the night’s rainfall. ‘Has Viscount Marlinscar arrived?’

  ‘Who?’ Niamh came to an abrupt halt, so that Bella had to avoid colliding with her. ‘Riding. It was supposed to be just you and me this morning, but as is his wont, my brother deigned to interfere.’ Her eyes shone like splinters of ice, while her cheeks burned with livid fury. ‘Of course he didn’t suggest it, but he arranged it all the same. He asked my plans at breakfast and I couldn’t keep silent.’

  ‘And then what?’ Bella asked, trying to keep up with her tale.

  ‘Why, they invited themselves, of course.’ Exasperated, Niamh stamped her foot hard against the rickety boards.

  Still not entirely sure who they were, Bella looked around the yard for enlightenment. Four horses were tethered in the stable yard, which meant two of the gentlemen must be joining them. She prayed for both Raffe and de Maresi’s absence.

  ‘Is that a big problem?’

  ‘Pah!’ Niamh snorted in annoyance. Her blue eyes narrowed. ‘But lo, forget joy, Tristan und Isolde have arrived.’

  ‘Tristan and who?’ Bella coughed and hid her smile, because Devonshire was already through the wicket gate and striding towards them, grinning.

  ‘Lady Niamh, and good morning, Miss Rushdale. I trust you passed a pleasant night.’ He swept into an excessively low bow. Bella turned her back on him. He could get down and grovel and she still wouldn’t forgive him for spying last night. Suddenly, riding seemed far less appealing.

  Henry followed him onto the boards, and gave them both rather less exuberant nods. He was without his cane again this morning, and seemed rather quiet without it clattering about his feet. He smiled warmly when she caught his eye, and cocked his wrist to show her a plaited riding crop dangling artistically in its place. The leather was intertwined with pink and cream ribbons, and perfectly matched his cravat and probably his stockings, although his Hessians prevented an immediate confirmation. He swished the crop through the air just shy of Raffe’s backside, which at least raised a snort of mirth from Niamh.

  Raffe stiffened and glowered at Henry, who slumped languidly against the wooden railing, the picture of indolence.

  ‘Shall we, ladies? Before the weather breaks.’ Raffe pulled himself into the saddle of a dappled gelding.

  ‘Save me from him, please,’ Niamh hissed into Bella’s ear, before the grooms helped them into their saddles.

  Save her? Dammit, she needed saving herself!

  The little group followed a twisty lane out from the castle, past the lake to the west, then south. To begin with they rode in single file, not concerning themselves with conversation, but enjoying the wild borderlands and the wind on their faces. It wasn’t until the track petered out into open grassland that Bella pushed her mount forwards, eager to spare both herself and Niamh the discomfort of Lord Devonshire’s company. After last night’s spectacle, she wasn’t certain of his discretion. Chances were even now he was undressing her with his eyes and picturing another kind of ride. Alas, as she drew level with the rear of Niamh’s mare, Henry cantered past her and moved in, allowing Devonshire the perfect opportunity to trot alongside her.

  Well, thank you, Henry, she cursed inwardly.

  ‘I think I have a rival,’ Raffe remarked, his voice soft but ladled with a burr of self-deprecating humour.

  ‘For what, impertinence?’

  He chuckled. ‘Ah, is that how it’s to be? Chastised for my simple adoration.’ His smile reached his eyes, confirming the truth of his meaning. ‘I won’t apologise for last night. I won’t do you the discourtesy. You were magnificent. A vision to behold.’

  ‘Hmph!’ she snorted. Part of her wanted to bring her hand to his face and wipe away his smirk. Another revelled in the compliment. ‘You presume too much, sir. We’re barely acquainted.’

  ‘That can easily be changed.’

  He drove his horse closer in response, so that his knee butted her long skirts. Vexed, Bella pursed her lips and edged her horse away. Raffe simply followed.

  ‘Oh, you’re beastly!’ But it was impossible to remain angry with him when his laugh was so infectious and his grin endearingly lopsided. There was no malice in his hazel eyes when he looked at her, just bright flecks of honey gold, and the promise of pleasure. They clouded a moment later when Niamh’s tinkling laughter drifted back to them on the breeze.

  ‘I think my luck might be running out.’

  ‘For what?’

  His sullen pout tugged at the last knots of her resentment.

  ‘For claiming my bride.’

  ‘Niamh!’ she gasped, following his gaze to her narrow shoulders. ‘No!’ Why, they’d hardly spoken the previous evening, and there wasn’t even a whisper of friendship between them, let alone affection.

  ‘You don’t think we’re suited, do you?’

  Bella refrained from shaking her head, and instead gazed resolutely ahead.

  ‘It’s all right. As a matter of fact, I agree.’

  ‘Then, why?’

  Raffe rai
sed his hands palms up. ‘Mama expects and I, being a dutiful son and recumbent on her good will, do as I’m told.’ He shrugged. ‘She’s more than a good match, and there’s the title and the estates. Pennerley’s not showing any interest in the marriage game, but I guess you’d already know that.’

  Bella scowled. As if she needed any reminders of where Vaughan’s interests lay. He’d no intention of ever burdening himself with a wife, he’d said so on numerous occasions. A squabble with Lucerne was unlikely to change that.

  ‘Don’t you think you should do some wooing?’ she said.

  Raffe took his reins in one hand. ‘I would, you understand. The plan was to ensnare her by Hallowe’en, which gives me what?’ He counted the days on his fingers. ‘Another two days. But the thing is, I’d much rather not.’ His glittering, mischievous eyes met hers. ‘Give me an excuse, Miss Rushdale … Bella, and I’ll leave them alone. It’s obvious Tristan’s as eager as I am not.’

  ‘And I’m quite certain I can’t imagine what you’re suggesting.’

  ‘Can you not?’ His grin only intensified.

  Bella pursed her lips and prayed she didn’t blush. She could imagine only too well what he was suggesting. Come to my bed and help me escape. Save me from an arrangement I’ve no stomach for. The arrangement wasn’t to her taste either.

  ‘And what of Vaughan?’

  ‘To my mind, he only seems to use you for his pleasure.’

  Bella scowled. ‘You’re being absurd.’

  Raffe theatrically raised his hand to his brow. ‘Alas then, I’m doomed to my instructions.’ He flicked the reins, all set to spur the gelding forwards.

  ‘Wait! Why go along with this charade?’

  ‘Mama can be quite fearsome, Miss Rushdale, and while I’d much rather a wife to my taste, I have to be realistic too. Take a look around. It’s all Pennerley’s. There are other estates dotted around the country, as well.’

  Bella swept her gaze across the cloud-capped hilltops, the dark green woodlands that girdled their slopes and the streaks of barley, yellow amongst the billowing grasslands. Did Vaughan really own all this? Probably. He was a marquis after all, just one step down from a duke, and he lived in a castle. Still, the thought that he’d sell his sister for an allegiance like some feudal lord brought the taste of bile to her throat. She’d always believed Vaughan somewhat nobler than to force a loveless marriage.

  ‘Of course,’ Raffe continued, ‘if the dame prefers another fool, I might be persuaded to bow out gracefully. Tristan’s not a bad sort.’

  Bella glanced back towards the castle. That was the difference really; she wasn’t prepared to bow out of Vaughan’s life, gracefully or otherwise. She should be there, seeking truths and clarifying her situation with Vaughan, not entertaining the advances of this handsome but feckless rogue.

  She turned her horse. Enough with the pointless chatter.

  ‘Hey, where are you going?’ Raffe called, but Bella ignored him and urged her horse back the way they’d come.

  ‘Said the wrong thing?’ she heard Henry shout.

  ‘Evidently,’ Raffe replied.

  Thankfully, neither followed.

  * * *

  He was in her room. The scent of her was on the freshly smoothed bedclothes. Vaughan lingered in the entrance until the maids saw him and scattered. He wasn’t sure if they were afraid for their virtues or his temper; maybe a touch of both.

  Once they were gone, he strode in and surveyed the changes her arrival had brought. Lady’s toiletries on the dressing table, fresh flowers by the bedside, a dried streak of jam upon the floor. He bent to examine it with a smile. ‘Bella.’ Her name slipped from his tongue. There was much they still needed to say, but at least they’d addressed the first hurdle. She knew that he knew about Georgiana.

  Vaughan crossed to the west-facing window and cast it wide to the breeze. The early mist was clearing, blown away by the crisp autumnal wind. Sunlight streaked the fields and hedgerows, and painted windows of sky across the surface of the moat. He’d imagined them here together, all three, beneath his roof. He’d never for a moment thought that it wouldn’t turn out that way. ‘Lucerne,’ he hissed into the wind. ‘Come to me.’ Idly, he toyed with the curtain cord, coiling it around his hands and pulling so that the burgundy loops drew tight. When the stupid bugger did turn up, this was where he’d bring him. He’d tie him tight. Get an artist to paint him horn-mad and ashamed, because Lucerne was deeply ashamed of their bond, despite his rare public flirting.

  Vaughan shook his head so his dark hair fell across his face. Bella was still as much of a necessity as she’d ever been. She’d have to be convinced to forgive the fool. Honestly, what had he been thinking, flaunting Georgiana before her? He was lucky she’d merely walked out and not set the house on fire, although part of him wished he’d seen her face. He could imagine the spark. Oh yes, it was cruel and vicious. He loved the way her eyes narrowed when she was riled, how they crinkled at the corners, her mouth becoming a tightly pursed moue and her chin stuck out. ‘No,’ she’d growl and it was like music to his ears.

  ‘Ah, this is where you’re hiding.’ The Vicomte de Maresi swanned into the room and collapsed onto the bed. ‘I was looking for you. He arranged himself in what he presumed was an enticing manner. Vaughan barely gave him a glance. He was irritated enough to find he’d been sneaked up upon. Too deep in thought, that was the problem. The stairs groaned so much he should have had plenty of warning.

  ‘What do you want?’

  The Frenchman’s narrow nostrils flared. ‘Surely you jest.’ He forced a high-pitched laugh. ‘They’ve all gone riding.’ He peered up through his eyelashes. ‘And I fancied a ride myself.’

  ‘Then you should have joined them.’ Vaughan closed the window. He paused for a moment, staring unseeing at the multitude of diamond-shaped pains. He’d made a mistake when he’d salved his lust with François de Maresi.

  It had been the evening of the Gillrays’ summer ball. For six months he’d tolerated Lucerne’s dalliance with Miss St John. When he’d grown tired of watching Bella’s attempts to conceal herself with her fan, he’d taken himself off to the garden. The evening had been balmy. He’d stopped in a tranquil piece of lavender-scented wilderness, far from the crowd on the lawn and by the newly fashioned maze. De Maresi hadn’t found him. He’d followed him. On his knees he’d begged for a kiss and given so much more. Vaughan had offered neither encouragement nor rebuke when de Maresi had nuzzled at his breeches, then slipped him out and engulfed his prick. It was only the second time they’d met. The first had been New Year’s Eve. Clearly his sharp tongue had made a lasting impression.

  After supping down his seed, the silly fool had thanked him for the pleasure and then exposed himself, obviously expecting the favour to be returned. Vaughan had walked away and the Vicomte had shadowed him ever since. He’d finally won his reward when he’d introduced Vaughan to the wonders of the lantern. Ah, yes. He had to humour the Frenchman a little longer, tempting as it was to drop him into the dirty water of the moat and push Raffe Devonshire in alongside.

  ‘You’ve been ignoring me since she came,’ De Maresi whined.

  ‘Since who came?’ Vaughan wanted to hear him say it, just to hear him choke upon the name, but de Maresi refused to play, pouting effeminately instead. ‘I don’t see what the attraction is. She couldn’t keep you in London.’

  Vaughan smiled, slow and wide, letting his upper lip curl. Leaving London wasn’t about Bella. It was about keeping his sanity.

  The Vicomte sniffed and threw himself back onto the mattress, an act which rucked up his cream linen breeches and emphasised both his hipbones and the erection that tented the fabric between them. ‘Take pity,’ he whined, ‘you heartless cur.’

  ‘Take pity!’ Vaughan snorted. That would involve a pillow and a rather colder heart than he actually had. No, as amusing and annoying as he found the Frenchman, he wasn’t ready to commit murder just yet.

  De Maresi gave a plain
tive and rather enticing wiggle, accompanied by a puppy-dog stare. Nice hard cock, said his gaze. Even nicer easy arse, said the wiggle.

  Vaughan’s libido sparked, despite his revulsion, although he tried to shrug the feeling off. He knew he was being manipulated. Really the dalliance shouldn’t have survived beyond the first precious fuck. The only reason it had was out of boredom and perhaps a hint of loneliness. He wanted Lucerne, but he’d had to walk away. He couldn’t sit back in London and watch things stagnate any further. ‘If you want me, you’ll have to tempt me a lot more than that,’ he said. ‘Because all I see at the moment is a scrawny overscented frog.’

  The Vicomte reached out towards him, but Vaughan backed away. ‘No. Don’t touch.’

  ‘Then how am I supposed to …’ His words petered out, but a pale grey spark lit in his eyes just a moment later. ‘I know. How about I show you what I’d like you to do?’

  ‘Hmm,’ Vaughan responded with a non-committal grunt, then watched the Vicomte peel off his clothes. Canary-yellow coat, cream breeches and waistcoat, stockings and shoes, and enough filigree to decorate five suits. Vaughan was enormously fond of decorative metalwork and beading himself, but he reserved his finery for evening wear. Swanning about in the English, almost Welsh, countryside covered in gold and seed pearls didn’t win you any style points. Practicality was what counted and that meant sturdy boots, warm wool and broadcloth. Still, the body beneath wasn’t bad, but even that wasn’t much of a temptation. He’d seen countless naked bodies over the years, and actually he preferred it when there was still a bit of cloth left on.

  De Maresi shuffled up the bed until his head rested upon the pillow, his arms at his sides, then he curled his legs over his head and braced his feet against the wall. Vaughan cocked an eyebrow, vaguely amused by the contortion. It was interesting, but hardly enticing to watch the Frenchman’s spine curve and his bottom waving above his head. He was about to remark as much, when de Maresi opened his mouth and did what should have been impossible. He took the whole of his erect cock into his own mouth.