Phantasmagoria

by Madelynne Ellis

  Lucerne had driven Vaughan away, and now she was leaving too. The bond they’d all shared was in tatters but she was going north to mend what was left.

  She put on her pelisse and hat, and took one final look at her room. She couldn’t stay here a moment longer knowing that woman was in the house.

  The parlour door was closed when she reached the bottom of the stairs but the pained look on William’s face told her all she needed to know. They were probably stripped naked by now, rolling around on the fireside rug.

  ‘Will there be a message, ma’am?’ William asked, after he’d reluctantly carried her trunk outside onto the deserted street.

  ‘Tell him I’ve gone out.’

  ‘And will you be requiring an escort?’ He looked hopeful.

  Bella smiled at his concern. ‘No, William, I’ll manage just fine alone.’

  He watched her down the steps. Bella waved from the bottom. Then her gaze slipped sideways to the parlour window. The shutters were still open and she could just make out Lucerne’s shadow against the wall. ‘The answer’s no,’ she whispered to it. ‘It’ll always be no. I won’t do it for you, and I wouldn’t do it for him.’

  Yes you would, said a disquieting voice in her head. If Vaughan gave you that choice, you’d do it. You wouldn’t be able to help yourself. But Vaughan would never ask. And if he did it would be about her pleasure, not his vanity.

  Her temper had both heated and cooled by the time she reached the end of the street. She was going to meet Vaughan, and that made everything simpler. She had an image of him in her head, barefoot, his dark hair knotted with cobwebs and coal dust smeared across his face. It was a treasured memory from last spring, one that made her heart ache for him even more. She knew he’d laugh at her for that and he wouldn’t care how much his mocking made her insides knot; how it made her love him that little bit more.

  She stopped abruptly and bit down hard upon her lip. How had that slipped out? Love! That had never been what they were about. Yes, that was part of the relationship between her and Lucerne, and Lucerne and Vaughan, but never between them. To Vaughan, she’d always just been a playmate, or perhaps more accurately, an adversary.

  When she’d first stepped into the carriage with them after Louisa’s wedding, she’d thought everything had been made equal. It hadn’t taken long to realise that wasn’t the case. The first night, they’d stayed at a coaching inn. Vaughan and Lucerne had shared a room, while she stayed alone in the room next door and listened to them making love though the wattle walls. She’d known then that no matter how raw or intense it got, it would always be about them, never about her.

  At dawn, she’d slipped in alongside them. That morning, she’d watched them fuck for the first time. They’d been beautiful together, perfect – the scent of their bodies musky and intoxicating. She remembered Lucerne’s fragile blush and the devotion written so plainly in Vaughan’s violet eyes.

  Ever since, she’d wished he’d look at her like that.

  There was a clatter behind her. Bella scampered back from the roadside just in time to avoid the splatter off the carriage wheels as they churned up the waste in the road. Come daylight, she’d book passage to Pennerley, post-haste, but right now she needed a room for the night.

  ‘Bella Rushdale!’ The carriage stopped a few yards on and disgorged a man in an enormous square-cut coat. ‘What the devil are you doing on the streets at this hour?’

  Henry Tristan brushed his hound’s-ear locks of hair back from his face and blocked her path with his cane. He caught sight of her trunk and his easy smile transformed into a look of concern. ‘My dear, whatever’s happened?’

  Bella let go of the heavy trunk. It was not going to be easy to explain. Not even to Henry, who already knew, or at least guessed, so much.

  ‘Wait.’ He pressed a woodsy-scented finger to her lips. ‘Come on in and tell me.’

  She presumed he meant the carriage, but instead he signalled the driver on and had one of his men take her trunk. He led her across the square to his town house. ‘Don’t be fearful, you’re perfectly safe with me.’ He smirked. ‘Come in, come in. Tell me all.’

  The interior was not a bit like she’d imagined. It was scrupulously plain to the point of austerity. Henry stood out amongst all this asceticism like a gaudy moth. ‘We’ll retire to my private sitting room,’ he said, with a faintly insolent twinkle in his eyes.

  His sitting room was small and square. It consisted of one oversized fireplace, an array of Turkish pouffes, a small table and two wicker thrones.

  ‘Let’s have some light.’ He lit some lamps with a taper from the fire as a servant brought in two steaming cups of chocolate, and soon a heavily spiced aroma began to seep through the air. Bella yawned and sagged into a chair. The fragrance seemed to tug at her eyelids. She hadn’t realised how exhausted she felt.

  ‘Maybe I should take you to bed.’ His voice was low and gravelly. He leaned over her and smoothed a strand of hair from her face.

  Bella batted him away. ‘Don’t. I’ve had quite enough absurdity for one night.’

  ‘Ah, yes.’ He settled in the other chair and handed a cup to her. ‘Why were you dragging a trunk along the street?’

  Bella stared down into the drink, her thoughts as bitter as the chocolate. Was there an easy way to say her lover had discarded her in favour of another? Well, not even discarded.

  ‘Have you heard from Pennerley?’ Henry asked, providing her with a question altogether easier to answer.

  ‘He sent Lucerne an invitation.’

  ‘Yes.’ Henry rubbed his nose uncomfortably. ‘I wasn’t entirely truthful with you earlier. I’ve had one the same, and so have others. Some of the bloods are already heading north. It should be good. A spectacle in the manner of “Monk” Lewis and Mrs Radcliffe on All Hallows Eve.’ He sipped his drink and then licked a smear of foam from his lips. ‘I wanted to tell you earlier. Everyone knows how much you like that sort of thing, but it seemed best if I left it to Lucerne. Was I wrong?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Bella felt herself flush. ‘Damn it, Henry, he brought a woman home. Georgiana St John. He’s tupping her on the parlour floor even as we speak.’

  ‘Ah!’ He grimaced. ‘Particularly unclever, Lucerne.’ He got up and rang for a servant. ‘Have a bed made up for Miss Rushdale. She’ll be staying a while.’

  ‘Just the night,’ Bella corrected. ‘I’m leaving for Pennerley tomorrow.’

  ‘Tomorrow! Isn’t that a little sudden?’

  ‘I’ve waited long enough, Henry.’

  He moved the drinks aside and leaned across the table towards her, so he was looking straight into her eyes. ‘Don’t you think you should talk to Lucerne again, first?’

  ‘No.’ She sat back. ‘We’ve nothing to discuss. And I’m not prepared to wait until midday for him to get out of bed. I’m catching the first coach.’

  Henry rolled his eyes. ‘We’ll take my carriage. It’ll be far more comfortable. Though Lord knows, I expect I’ll regret this.’

  Bella kissed him. ‘Thank you.’ He’d just made the journey a thousand times easier and infinitely more comfortable.

  Henry rubbed his lips. ‘You’re welcome. I think.’ He rucked an eyebrow at her. ‘Of course, you realise the place is haunted.’

  ‘Pennerley?’

  He nodded. ‘Why do you think he’s taken this long to go back there? Estates don’t manage themselves, you know. Even if you do the paperwork from afar, you still have to stop by occasionally, just to makes sure all is as it should be.’

  Actually, she’d never thought about it. They’d been happy in London until he’d left. There’d never been any need to go anywhere else. They hadn’t even been back to Yorkshire.

  ‘It’s rumoured they’re all cursed, too.’ His smile developed a rakish twist. ‘It’s said the first Marquis of Pennerley, Vaughan being the fifth or sixth, dabbled with witchcraft in foreign lands and brought down some sort of blood curse on the whole line.’

>   Bella stared at him, incredulous. Then began to laugh. ‘You are funny.’ She slapped his thigh. ‘Are you making this up?’

  ‘It’s local legend,’ he said, deadly serious. ‘My family are from Shropshire too. Mother still lives there. Maybe we’ll impose on her for a night.’

  ‘Vaughan is not cursed,’ she said. ‘Leastways not unless you count total self-centredness and abominable arrogance.’

  Henry rolled his cup between his fingers. ‘Maybe we should reserve judgement until we’ve seen him. It might be why he ran off.’

  4

  ‘HOW MUCH FURTHER?’ Bella complained. They’d been travelling seven days and progress north seemed incredibly slow. Henry insisted the horses weren’t overworked and that they enjoyed the luxury of leisurely dining. Bella suspected that for all the discomfort of a public coach, it would have got her north a great deal faster. Last night they’d stayed with Henry’s mother, a priggish lady with a dour mouth and frosty expression, who’d eyed Bella with considerable wariness and warned her son never to bring his mistress to call upon her again.

  He’d left red-faced and only informed Bella of the remark once they were several miles down the road. It had turned her equally crimson, but with rage rather than embarrassment. Bitter old hag! She’d never once considered bedding Henry. Why would she? She was not so starved of intimacy that she would consider any man other than the one she truly wanted – Vaughan.

  Henry sprawled on the seat. ‘It’s not much further now. We passed Ludlow some time ago. You might look out for the church; we should see that first, with Pennerley beyond.’

  Bella strained forwards in her seat to better see from the window. The nearer they got the more nervous she felt, but the pangs in her stomach wouldn’t keep her away. ‘What sort of house is it, Henry?’

  ‘Lord heavens, woman, you’ll see it in a minute.’ Indeed, no sooner were his words out than the coach bore left and the church tower was before them. A moment later, Pennerley itself rose into view.

  ‘Is that it?’ Bella slumped back in her seat. She’d seen just a flash of it through the trees: a high timber-framed house like others she’d seen in Ludlow, save this one was painted vibrant mustard-yellow. It seemed too garish for Vaughan, and while impressive, too tiny to contain him.

  Henry took her place by the window. ‘Come look again.’ She leaned over his shoulder. They were past the church now, getting closer to the mustard and black gatehouse. For gatehouse, it was. Not his abode but merely the entrance.

  ‘It’s a castle,’ Bella gasped. ‘He owns a castle and he never even mentioned it. You never mentioned it!’ She stared accusingly at Henry, but only for a second before her attention returned to the grey stone edifice.

  ‘I was saving the surprise.’

  The coach came to a lurching halt and a groom rushed out of what appeared to be a vast stable block and coach house. Bella jumped down into the churned mud, thankful she’d put on her more sturdy walking shoes rather than her dainty pumps. The air was fresh and clean, and held the first nip of winter. She looked around at the landscape: great hillsides climbed before her, blanketed with dark forests, and the sky all muggy grey above them and roiling with thunderous-looking clouds. There was grassland too, gone orange at the tips, thick spindly bushes and ivy tumbling over the churchyard wall.

  She took a big lungful of the air, feeling as though she’d returned home. They weren’t in Yorkshire, on the wuthering moors of her youth. The landscape was too lumpy for that, but it called to her all the same.

  Henry hung over the bridge before the gatehouse. ‘There’s a moat,’ he squealed in delight. ‘And I swear I’ve just seen the most enormous pike. Are you ready, shall we go in?’

  The gatehouse entrance yawned before them, a dark maw between two vertically striped walls over which Adam and Eve stood watch. The gate, a vast cross-planked, iron-pinned construction, was on the courtyard side at the end of a short tunnel. Henry braved his cane against the wood, and a small wicket gate opened in response.

  ‘Are you expected?’ asked the gate-guard.

  Henry carelessly waved the question away, as if their presence made that clear enough. ‘Which way, boy?’

  ‘Straight across, sir.’ The servant pointed to a huge arched door across the grassy courtyard. Bella didn’t hurry. There was lavender on the breeze and the smell of kitchen herbs; so much detail to take in it was overwhelming. A castle, she kept muttering to herself, as she gazed at the grey stone walls, a castle, although it was clearly a fortified manor house with grand pretensions, considering the Tudor-style timber jetty at the top of nearest tower and the enormous windows. It was as though someone had built a castle for aesthetic purposes rather than defensive ones, which struck her as a little strange considering the location, so close to the Welsh border.

  They reached the second oversized door, this one not quite so gigantic but still iron-pinned and sturdy. Again, Henry knocked. They waited. Knocked again, and the door swung inwards. To Bella’s complete amazement, she found herself facing Vaughan.

  He was dressed in his signature black boots, pantaloons and open-necked shirt; the only flashes of colour the bright violet of his eyes and a slender gold chain around his neck. In this setting, his simple attire seemed incredibly baroque.

  ‘Welcome to my domain.’ He executed a sweeping bow. ‘Is Lucerne with you?’ He looked right and left around her.

  ‘Um, no.’ She gestured towards Henry. Vaughan’s eyes flashed, but whatever he was feeling, he quickly masked.

  ‘Tristan.’ Vaughan stretched his arms wide, welcoming them into an enormous room, which she realised must run virtually the entire length of the building.

  ‘Since when did you start answering your own door?’ she asked, her gaze returning to Vaughan.

  He lowered his brows in response. ‘Well, we had to lay off the pikemen after Cromwell, and besides, I rather assume that if you’ve made it past the gatehouse, I’m going to find you agreeable.’ He moistened his lips, leaving them shiny.

  ‘Fantastic place,’ said Henry, seemingly oblivious to the awkward tension between his host and his companion. ‘Where’s your pisspot, Pennerley, I’m bursting.’

  Vaughan glanced between him and Bella. ‘The privy’s through there.’ He pointed towards a door at the opposite end of the hall. ‘Just keep going. You’ll find it.’

  While Vaughan closed the door, Bella looked around at the vast chamber. It was furnished with a long dining table and several cosy-looking chairs. A staircase climbed to the rafters to her right, while to her left a fireplace dominated. Huge windows lined both walls, each prettily glazed at the top, with shutters below to keep out the wind. Consequently, despite the daylight outside, the hall was lit by huge candelabras, which gave everything a ruddy-orange glow. It reminded Bella of the ancient monasteries and castles of her favourite stories, an effect only enhanced by the towering magnificence of the cruck roof.

  ‘Things must be bad if you’re reduced to travelling with Henry Tristan as a companion,’ Vaughan said, drawing her attention back to his person. She stared at his sable ringlets where they lay against his shoulders, not daring to meet his eyes, not sure what to say. She supposed she should explain her presence and Lucerne’s absence. Ask him why he’d left so suddenly. But the words would dredge up such bitter memories and she wanted to laugh and enjoy his company, not mope and brood.

  ‘He’s been kind to me,’ she said of Henry, keeping her voice neutral. It felt awkward, this stiff formality. When had they ever been so polite to each other? Damnation! She wanted to fling herself into his arms, share the warmth of his skin and tell him she’d missed him. Instead, they were pacing each other warily. ‘He told me all about your delightful first meeting,’ she said. ‘How you fell upon one another, finding ecstasy in the moment.’

  Vaughan folded his arms. ‘Please. His wet dream, I assure you. Do I give ecstasy so freely?’ His smile sweetened, instantly lightening the mood. ‘Perhaps I do. Perhaps that’s why you
’re here.’ He artlessly stretched behind him and clasped a chair back. The movement thrust his chest into prominence, making her smile in turn. ‘Why have you come, Annabella, my nightingale?’

  He touched her face, trailed a finger down to her throat. ‘What’s the draw, the promise of a gothic nightmare or the bitter-sweet terror of my lips?’ His kiss fluttered over her pulse point. Bella closed her eyes and breathed in his scent, rosemary laced with musk. How she’d missed him. How she longed to return his caress. One simple touch and her body was weeping for him, but too often he’d teased her like this and then pushed her away. ‘And why no Lucerne? Were you so sure of a welcome without him?’ He stepped back suddenly, his tone abruptly cold.

  Bella’s eyes flickered open. ‘Am I not welcome–’ she began, and then she caught his smile. He was playing with her, always playing with her.

  ‘But of course. You are both most welcome.’ He took her hand and traced a slow circle around the palm. Bella watched his long fingers, imagining their trace against a more intimate area of her anatomy. ‘Let me give you a proper welcome to Pennerley.’ He pulled her, not into his arms for the kiss she longed for, but towards the stairs and down onto all fours.

  Bella squealed as her nose pressed to the ancient grain of the wood. It was knotted and splintered in places, worn smooth in the centre where she knelt. Her nose prickled at the smell of dust and linseed. Vaughan threw her skirts over her back. For a moment she felt nothing, then his hand, warm and firm, pressed between her legs and found her wet and eager.

  ‘Why, Annabella,’ he drawled, ‘I do believe you’ve missed me.’

  ‘Damn you,’ she cursed as the familiar dribble of oil slithered between her cheeks. Nothing had changed. He still didn’t care a jot for her feelings or the truth of Lucerne’s absence. He cared only for the instant gratification of his own desires.

  She shifted indignantly against the intrusive press of his fingers but couldn’t stop the anticipatory heat from flaring inside her womb. She’d been waiting for this, longing for him. She knew what was coming, hated it, needed it, this sin. She should have known what to expect.