‘You knew!’ Bella spun around to face him, her eyes blazing. ‘You knew and you didn’t tell me.’
Vaughan gave a nonchalant shrug.
‘You bastard!’ She shoved him hard, then flailed at him with her fists. ‘You ran away and left me there to find out. How long had it been going on? How long had you known?’
Vaughan wrestled her down onto the tiles, where he rolled on top of her. He trapped one arm between their bodies and held the other above her head in a vice-like grip. ‘Listen to me,’ he snarled. ‘You had to see it for yourself. You’d never have believed it otherwise.’ He closed his mouth over hers, stopping her words of denial and protest with the force of his kiss.
Bella fought for breath and release. She wanted to hurt him for his betrayal. No matter that his erection was pressing hard against her leg, and that her traitorous body was responding with wanton ease. ‘It’s why you left, isn’t it?’ She continued to struggle against his torso. ‘Because you didn’t want to play second fiddle.’
The rainbow of jam and pickles squelched between them, making his torso slippery. Bella managed to extract her arm and forced a hand against his throat to pry him off.
‘I was already playing second fiddle to you.’
‘Like hell.’ Although … maybe it was true. Their triune had never been equal. It had always been her and Lucerne, or Vaughan and Lucerne, or frequently her in the middle of the two men, but never Vaughan at the centre.
She let go of him and turned her head aside. Everything was hopelessly wrong, tearing her apart, and she had no idea how to make things right again before their relationship was no more than tattered shreds.
Vaughan idly traced his fingers through the mess upon her breast, his expression unusually guarded. He troubled one nipple and painted jam around the areola. Bella dug her teeth into her lip, caught on a knife-edge of arousal with tears pricking her eyes. Her white dress was ruined. The mottling of crushed berries would never come out of the delicate muslin. ‘You’ve ruined it,’ she snapped, seeking an outlet for her fluctuating emotions.
‘Then I’ll buy you two, one scarlet and one gold. None of this virginal white rubbish for you.’
‘It’s the fashion.’
‘It’s a lie.’ There was a burr of heat behind his words.
Bella scowled.
‘And while we’re speaking so plainly, you can rid yourself of this ridiculous knot of hair piled on your head.’ He tugged out the pins that held it in place until it tumbled over her shoulders and breasts in a wavy cascade.
Bella turned her head away from him. There were tears bound to her eyelashes. One solitary bead escaped and rolled down her cheek where Vaughan caught it upon his fingertips.
‘Bella.’
The pain of her future loss sliced through her. She couldn’t hope to keep him. Once he realised Lucerne wasn’t joining them, his interest in her would vanish. She’d never really been anything other than a compromise he’d made in order to have Lucerne.
‘Shh-hh!’ Vaughan licked at the tiny bed of moisture on his fingertips. ‘Is he worth your tears?’
She shook her head. He thought she was weeping over Lucerne.
‘Am I?’
Bella dug her teeth into her swollen lips. He’d probably be horrified if he realised how many tears she’d shed for him over the last few weeks. ‘Vaughan.’ Her voice cracked, and escaped as barely a whisper. She pushed her face into the crook of his neck. ‘It’s all going wrong, isn’t it?’
‘No, my nightingale, it’s just going differently.’
He pushed himself up so that he was straddling her hips, and drew lewd doodles in the jam on her skin. Despite the playfulness of his touch, she sensed he too was questioning their relationship. She didn’t dare look up into his eyes for fear of what she would find in their violet depths. When she finally braved a glimpse, she found him licking his lips.
Vaughan leaned forwards and licked the jam from her nipple. He sucked the dark teat deep into his mouth, then released it with a smack. ‘Why, Bella, I do believe you’re the tastiest jam tart I’ve ever eaten.’ He caught up the hem of her dress and impatiently pushed it up her thighs.
‘Vaughan!’ She batted at him ineffectually, but his wicked grin was infectious.
‘Yes, Bella.’ He trickled honey across her exposed belly and thighs, then moulded spikes into her downy thatch.
‘No-o, don’t. It’ll be hell to get out.’
‘I’ll let you borrow my razor.’
She couldn’t stop her eyes from bulging at the thought. It wasn’t the first time he’d threatened to denude her quim. The proposition was both frightening and thrilling. The heel of his hand pressed over her mons. One finger pushed into her heat and found her clitoris, then fiery hunger poured through her body and her fears were neatly pushed aside. Her nipples stood proud, her nubbin aching for him to do more than just press. She felt his cock jump against her thigh and wriggled to get him closer.
‘Ah, ah,’ he teased, his fingers working the slick folds of her quaint. ‘Say please.’
‘Pretty please.’
‘I don’t think you want it enough yet.’
‘I do.’ She lifted her hips towards him. ‘Don’t tease, Vaughan. Please …’ She craved the closeness, the sliding together of their bodies and the feel of him hard and vital within her. For the rest of the night she wanted to drown in his fire and feel wanted and loved. ‘Please.’
‘Tempt me a little first.’ He sat back again, wrenched open his pantaloons and poured. Honey dribbled down his shaft. Bella stared at the golden drops, arousal thickening more keenly in her throat. Vaughan guided her hands up and down the length of his shaft, and the sugary glaze mingled with his own pearlescent icing. ‘Yes, good. Like that, Bella. Like that.’
‘No. I want to suck you.’ She curled her fingers around the shaft and teased her tongue around the tip. ‘Mmm.’ He laced his fingers through her dark hair and urged her closer. His length slid into her throat. Bella almost gagged before she relaxed and let him fuck her mouth.
His hips moved with an increasingly jerky rhythm. Bella fanned her fingers out across his hipbones. She traced his balls with her thumbs, and pre-come flooded onto her tongue.
Oh, yes, you like that, don’t you, she thought, and slowed her sucks, pulling him back from the brink. He groaned in protest, his cock impatiently buffeting her lips, but Bella simply lay back and shook her head. ‘Not nice to be left wanting, is it, my lord?’ She pressed his hand between her thighs again.
‘I’ve a mind to spend on your tongue for that.’ He scowled, but his fingers still worked their magic, setting her crooning against his chest.
‘Take me, Vaughan,’ she whispered into the sparse black hair between his nipples.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Why not?’
‘You know why not.’
I’m not Lucerne’s any more, she thought, but she couldn’t will herself to say it. It was too final. ‘Please, Vaughan. I need it … hard.’
He rolled her onto her stomach, with his hand still covering her cunt. ‘The answer’s still no.’ His cock pushed between her closed thighs. ‘And since your delectable rear is probably still sore from the journey, I think we’ll just content ourselves with a little friction.’ He pushed up into the slippery warmth of her vulva. Bella wriggled and whimpered at his closeness. He was almost inside her, nudging her clit and teasing her with the potential of the slick rhythm. Just a slight change of angle and he’d slide deep, right where she wanted him. She didn’t think he’d pull out. It would feel too good. They both knew how good it felt. In the past at Lauwine he’d taken her like that and hadn’t cared for the consequences. He’d been softer, more vulnerable then as well. She lifted her hips again, begging with the jerks of her body as their pace became more frantic. ‘Please, please …’
‘Don’t be foolish.’ He was still shaking his head even as he came. His hot seed bathed her, making everything more slippery. Simultaneousl
y, it seemed to ignite sparks in her clit. The weird eddy spread, tightened in her womb and flexed her spine. Giddy with pleasure, Bella screamed out her climax, then collapsed against the quarry tiles.
Vaughan rolled off her. There was always something sleek and unbearably sexy about him after he’d just come. It was his scent and the glow of his skin, she thought, and the way his hair curled into tighter ringlets. How his nipples stood proud long after his erection faded.
Where would they stand come morning? He crouched over her and gave her cunt a single wet lick. ‘Tart,’ he teased. He fastened his pantaloons and was gone, leaving her sprawled across the pantry floor in a pool of preserves.
8
BELLA LAY FOR several minutes starring into the blackness of the pantry roof. The nearest thing to hand to clean herself on was his shirt. Once she’d wiped away the worst of the mess she rose shakily to her feet. The housekeeper would have a fit about the mess in the morning, but dealing with the master’s foibles was par for the course. No one would mention it, though he might suffer a few aggrieved looks. Stained and dishevelled, she tiptoed out of the pantry to find Raffe waiting for her, his thighs spread wide and his elbows propped on the back of one of the spindly chairs.
‘Bravo.’ He applauded.
Shocked, Bella just stared at him. There was no question that he’d seen everything, or that Vaughan had known. Of course he’d known or he’d have laid out Raffe like a buttered goose.
‘You were magnificent. I can see why Pennerley appreciates you so.’ His eyes crinkled as he smiled.
Bella folded her arms across her breasts and glowered at him. Why was he always there to spy on her?
‘Though maybe,’ Raffe continued, his grin hopelessly and annoyingly charming, ‘he doesn’t appreciate you enough.’
‘Beast.’ She scooped up the half-burned candle from the table and swept out of the kitchens. Ah! The arrogance of the man, acting as if she was performing purely for his amusement.
Though she was quite flattered as well.
It was chilly at the top of the north tower. Bella peeled off her ruined dress and sponged herself down with cold water from the washstand. She soaped her sticky thatch with a sliver of rose-scented soap, but even that wasn’t enough and she was forced to trim away her downy curls with a pair of embroidery scissors. No doubt Vaughan would comment on that the next time.
Damn him! She wondered if Devonshire was still downstairs, and what sort of infernal innuendo she could expect from him tomorrow. At least there was no puritanical ghost to haunt her for her licentiousness.
Bella tugged on a clean shift and sunk onto the edge of the soft mattress. She should have thought everything through more thoroughly before coming here, and arrived with a strategy instead of relying on fate to guide her. She wasn’t even sure what had just happened downstairs. Had he wanted to fight, to show off in front of Devonshire, or something else? One thing she was certain of, she needed Lucerne here, not for protection but because he was the lynchpin of their precarious relationship. Without him, they were just passing time.
‘Bella. Bella Rushdale.’
Devonshire, she thought for one horrid moment and pulled the coverlet tight about her shoulders. To her relief, it was Henry who peered around the door instead. ‘Can I come in?’
He promptly slid across the threshold with his easy catlike grace.
‘What did you want at this hour, Henry?’ She found her hairbrush and sat in front of the mirror to work it through her mattered locks. Vaughan might not like it pinned on top of her head, but if he wanted to see it flying about her shoulders, riddling it with jam hadn’t been the smartest move.
Henry lifted her ruined dress from the floor and twirled it around to examine the damage. ‘What in God’s name have you been up to?’
‘You’re not exactly pretty either, Henry.’
Henry fluffed his preposterously curled hair. He was still dressed in his hideous mint-greens, to which he’d added an intricately embroidered smock as a dressing-gown. In terms of colour explosion, there was little to choose between them. ‘I’ll have you know, I had this sent all the way from India.’
‘Well, mine’s a Pennerley original.’ Bella smiled and attacked another knot of hair.
‘That much I’d already ascertained. I assume it is just jam and nothing else.’
Bella threw the brush at him. ‘What else would it be?’
‘I’m sure I can’t imagine. Here, let me.’ He scooped up the hairbrush which had fallen short of hitting him and carefully divided her sticky hair into sections before starting on the knots. ‘Obviously you’ve no regrets about coming here.’
‘Jealous?’
‘Not in the way you imagine. I like to keep abreast of change and Pennerley’s so mutable I’d spend all day whirling like a top.’
‘You’re just frightened he’ll gobble you up.’
‘As I observe he’s just done to you.’
Bella nervously wet her lips. ‘It just got a little heated, and messy.’
Henry met her gaze in the mirror, his moss-green eyes hard and glassy. ‘You do realise that not all is well between them, don’t you, Bella?’
The remaining strength seemed to seep out of her body. Of course she knew, but having him say it made it seem far more serious. ‘Vaughan’s just angry about Georgiana, that’s all.’
‘But that isn’t all.’
‘Did you deliberately come here to vex me?’
Henry raised his hands. ‘Of course not. I’m simply pointing out that Lucerne isn’t here, and he’s unlikely to willingly walk onto a battlefield when he can content himself in London with Miss St John.’
‘He’ll get bored soon enough.’ She dismissed his statement with a bat of her wrist.
Henry put down the hairbrush and squeezed her shoulders. ‘He’s been seeing her since New Year, Bella. I think that with you and Vaughan gone, he’ll find himself a bride.’
‘What?’ Bella lurched up off the stool. ‘He wouldn’t.’ He was supposed to marry her. She’d been waiting long enough. It took a moment for her to realise she wasn’t at all sure she’d accept his proposal now.
Henry gently took her hands and clasped them tight within his own, but the affectionate squeeze did little to assuage her feelings of doubt and displacement. ‘The matrons will have their daughters lined up before him. He’s a good catch, Bella. It won’t take long for him to find a dainty little miss with a fortune or a title who’s prepared to bear him a whole nursery full of children while he humps half the county.’
‘Lucerne’s not like that. He’s kind.’ What was she saying? The Lucerne she’d known at Lauwine wasn’t like that, but the Lucerne she’d known in London the last six months was very much like that. He was no longer the same man who worried over her lost in a thunderstorm. No matter what Vaughan thought, Henry was right. It was all horribly, horribly wrong. It wasn’t just different. It was rotten.
Bella turned away from Henry again. The tears that had threatened in the pantry prickled in her eyes again. ‘But he loves Vaughan,’ she gasped.
‘Ah,’ Henry put an arm around her shoulder, ‘but does he? Has he ever said it?’
Her head sagged. Of course he hadn’t. Lucerne never told anyone he loved them. He was incapable of it. That’s where people had them all wrong. They thought Vaughan was the cold-hearted one, when really he was an emotional hurricane. Lucerne was the one who couldn’t articulate his feelings. Three years she’d believed he’d loved her, but he’d never said it. Not once.
Weary and bitter, she pushed Henry’s hand from her shoulder. ‘Leave me. I need to sleep.’
‘Of course. Everything is simpler in daylight.’ He headed to the door, his stride curiously steady and manly without his cane rattling about his ankles. ‘Goodnight, Bella.’ He went out, only to return a moment later. ‘There was just one thing. Devonshire. Has Lady Niamh mentioned him?’
‘No, Henry. Not a thing.’
He grinned and disappeared int
o the shadows again.
‘Wait.’ Bella scampered across the room to catch up with him. ‘Have you met before?’
‘Oh, ages ago, when she was about twelve,’ he said, his wistful gaze telling as it slid towards the cruck roof.
‘Not as such, then,’ she remarked. Actually, she’d meant Devonshire, not Niamh.
‘That’s Vaughan’s fault for keeping her locked up here like Rapunzel.’
Bella tactfully remained silent. Poor Henry, he was clearly besotted after one afternoon. ‘Goodnight, Henry,’ she said with an anxious smile. She just hoped for his sake that Vaughan approved of his suit, because she didn’t want to see him hurt.
Raffe sat in the kitchen a long while after Bella fled. He wondered if it had been wise to reveal himself to her. Perhaps not, but his applause had been genuine. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit and appetite for sex. A pity she was wasting herself on Pennerley. Clearly, there was something deep between them, though he hesitated to call it love. He wasn’t sure Pennerley was capable of that.
On which subject, he supposed he’d have to up his suit of Lady Niamh tomorrow in order to calm the waters. Pennerley hadn’t actually invited him to watch their little tableau, although he’d been aware of his presence. Raffe ran his hands through his short hair and scratched. He knew he should be grateful to his mother and to Pennerley for the opportunity to court Niamh, but lord, he had no desire to bed her. Oh, she was beautiful and would bring a handsome dowry, but Raffe hoped that when he married, if he had to marry, it would be to someone who would reciprocate his desires, not send him to the maids and mistresses for solace.
He reached over, grasped the jam jar from the table and dipped in a spoon. Bella Rushdale was far more to his taste: curvy, wilful and determined. He curled his tongue around the back of the spoon, imagining licking the soft underswell of her breast. She was perfect. He could almost sense her beneath him, as she’d been with Vaughan, soiled and panting out her orgasm against the cold stone tiles. Niamh, he was certain, would only entertain the notion of sexual intimacy fully clothed in a big white bed, while Bella would be equally game in a hayloft, on the muddy banks of a river or even halfway up the stairs.
Phantasmagoria Page 8
