Phantasmagoria

by Madelynne Ellis

  ‘Sorry,’ she murmured.

  Once they’d turned away again, Bella glared at Raffe. She was slick with need and cock-hungry, but not for him. She squirmed against his fingers but he withdrew the touch and twanged her garter.

  ‘Read it,’ he said, and she felt the scratch of paper beneath her stocking top. ‘I need to see you later.’ Eyes a-sparkle, he addressed the table at large. ‘What say we hold a contest this evening?’

  ‘Oh, yes!’ gasped all four female Allenthorpes.

  Vaughan dropped his abused napkin onto the table. ‘What manner of contest are you proposing, Devonshire?’

  ‘Oh, nothing too eventful, just a little silliness to entertain the ladies.’

  ‘Not apple-bobbing,’ sighed Henry, carefully daubing sauce from a powdered cheek. ‘I refuse to stick my head in any bucket you’ve been near.’

  ‘And I refuse to stick my head in any pail,’ remarked de Maresi. ‘I left my own country to avoid such inconveniences.’

  ‘Oh, yes, very good, sir,’ remarked Aunt Beatrice tactlessly. She smoothed the lace collar of her dress, looking back and forth along the line of gentlemen. ‘What think you of a sack race? They were much the rage in the past but seem to have fallen somewhat out of favour.’

  ‘A sack race,’ drawled Vaughan, his eyebrows raised almost into his hairline.

  Bella could imagine his interpretation, but the proposition was being echoed up and down the table with considerable enthusiasm.

  ‘Stakes?’ remarked Raffe.

  ‘Oh, you must each champion one of the ladies,’ said Aunt Beatrice, quite in her element and beaming in a girlish fashion. ‘You will compete for –’

  ‘A dress,’ Fortuna interjected. ‘A new silk dress. I saw the most beautiful cream moiré at the haberdashers before we left town.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Aunt Beatrice, ‘a dress would be just the thing. The gentlemen may contribute two guineas each.’

  ‘Two guineas,’ blurted Gabriel. ‘It will be a very fine dress, indeed.’

  ‘Indeed it will,’ said Vaughan, and he slapped two coins down upon the table. ‘And perhaps the lady might bestow a token of her esteem upon her knight.’

  Fortuna practically fainted at his feet.

  ‘Foster. You’ll arrange some sacks, please. The gentlemen will retire to the solar for brandy while the course is set. The ladies may make use of the lower parlour. No doubt they will wish to discuss their champions while they take tea. If someone would inform us of the choices.’ Vaughan pushed his chair back and stood. ‘Gentlemen, your contributions and your presence.’

  Bella sniffed at the overwhelming smell of linseed in the lower parlour. The room lay directly beneath the solar but was smaller, with only one narrow window overlooking the moat and a tiny fireplace. A pianoforte took up much of the space, to which Alicia immediately applied herself.

  Mrs Alvanley surveyed her new domain from the comfort of the horsehair settee and drew out her pocketbook. ‘Lady Niamh, we’ll begin with you. Am I to assume, not Lord Devonshire?’

  Niamh winced at the name, drawing a look of disapproval from Aunt Beatrice. ‘I should prefer Mr Tristan.’ She leaned towards Bella and added, ‘Not that I shall have him procure a dress, for I have plenty.’

  Bella shared her smile, imagining the most fantastical stockings ever created. She was quite bewildered when Aunt Beatrice turned to her next. ‘Miss Rushdale. Lady Niamh informs me you are an heiress, therefore, as status demands.’

  ‘Marquis Pennerley,’ she said in a loud clear voice, instantly wiping the smile from Fortuna’s face, but her petulance changed nothing. Aunt Beatrice was satisfied.

  ‘Oh, drat,’ sighed Mae, verbally expressing her sister’s frustration. ‘That means one of us shall have to have Gabriel.’

  ‘Indeed it does, and that honour shall be yours as you are the youngest.’ The older woman made several marks in her pocketbook, though what she felt she needed to record, Bella couldn’t fathom.

  ‘Bother!’ Mae complained. ‘Gabriel has two left feet. He can’t dance. He’s bound to be atrocious in the sack.’

  ‘Mae!’

  Bella clamped both hands over her mouth to stifle her laughter, while poor, bewildered Mae stared open-mouthed at her aunt. ‘What did I say?’

  ‘Never mind.’

  Contrite, Mae turned away from her aunt but she caught both Bella and Niamh’s gazes, and grinned. The little minx had said it deliberately to provoke her aunt. She joined them by the window, skipping in merry delight.

  ‘Fortuna, Alicia, that leaves the Vicomte and Lord Devonshire, either of whom your mother would be most pleased with.’

  Alicia stopped playing and shook her blonde head in dismay. ‘Aunt Bea, it’s only a sack race. Can’t it be a bit of fun rather than a matchmaking exercise?’

  ‘Only if you wish to remain a spinster, my dear.’

  With a sigh, Alicia began the tinkling music again. ‘You choose, Tunie. I’ve no preference for either.’

  Fortuna glowered at the music scores over her sister’s shoulder while her fan tapped repetitively out of time with the beat. ‘Lord Devonshire, I suppose. The Vicomte’s only interested in Gabriel.’

  Mae grasped her around the waist and swung her around in a wide circle so that they tumbled in a swirl of muslin. ‘Cheer up, Tunie. I’ll wager my best bonnet that Henry Tristan falls over more often than your Lord Devonshire.’

  Her sister staggered dizzily to the settee and sat beside her aunt. ‘If you mean your new poke bonnet, then I agree, and if he doesn’t you shall have my cashmere shawl.’

  By the time they all returned to the great hall, several other such ‘chicken stakes’ had been placed. Devonshire was deemed the favourite for his athleticism, with Vaughan as second. The furniture had largely been cleared and stacked in the southwest corner, with the exception of the long dining table, which now stood in the centre of the room with the track marked around it with rope.

  While Mrs Alvanley inspected the sacks, she allowed the ladies a few moments with their champions to offer charms and encouragements, and in pairs they drifted to various corners.

  To Bella’s delight, Vaughan insisted on the privacy of the lower parlour where she followed the moment Aunt Beatrice’s back was turned.

  ‘You look absolutely dashing in your sack,’ she observed, her tongue pressed firmly into her cheek. Vaughan raised an eyebrow. The coarsely woven cloth encompassed him from foot to throat, where it had been tied with a fiendish knot.

  ‘Not half so handsome as you look out of yours, and it would seem Devonshire feels the same way.’

  Bella blushed. ‘Raffe jumped on me. You scared him off. Anyway, you’re out of touch. I haven’t worn a sacque in years.’

  ‘Hmm.’ He hopped towards her, eyes bright. ‘ Shame, I was always enormously fond of them. Plenty to hold onto and lots of space beneath.’

  ‘Yes, I expect you’ve spent a fair amount of time canopied by skirts.’

  Vaughan pursed his lips, his gaze drawn in contemplation towards the bowed ceiling. ‘An uncommon amount of the nineties as I recall. Shall I have him flogged?’

  ‘There’s no need. I can handle him.’

  Bella stroked his face. She didn’t know how he managed it but even tied to his neck in sackcloth he was impossibly handsome. One finger traced the dark curves of his brows, ran down his cheekbone and smoothed over his lips. He smiled and leaned into the caress.

  ‘I confess I’m surprised. I thought Miss Allenthorpe would have beaten you.’

  She blinked and shook her head. ‘I had the choice, thanks to your sister. Apparently I’m an heiress.’

  ‘Is that so?’ He tilted his head, causing his dark hair to fan across his shoulders. Bella drew it back off his face and captured the strands in a ribbon drawn from her reticule.

  ‘Probably best if you can see if you’re going to win me that dress,’ she said. It felt strangely strained between them, the banter just a mask for all the things that re
ally needed to be said.

  He turned his head again, freeing several inky strands, which curled around his jaw. ‘How many do you need? Didn’t I promise you two the other night?’ He had, scarlet and gold, as he’d coated her in jam and honey.

  ‘How many coats does Lucerne own?’

  ‘Ah!’

  It was the first time they’d mentioned his name in normal conversation. Bella sucked her upper lip and turned away. The thought of the bitter parting brought the burn of anger to her chest, yet she missed him, missed the closeness the three of them shared. She wanted more than just a sparring partner in Vaughan but could tell just from the way he said ‘ ah’ that she was no closer to winning his affection than she’d ever been.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what happened?’ Vaughan asked.

  ‘I left.’

  He made an ungainly hop towards her. ‘You mean you ran away.’

  ‘He was tumbling her on the parlour floor. What else could I do? I couldn’t stay and watch.’

  With a second hop Vaughan reached her. There was a stiffness to his shoulders. He had stayed, she realised. He’d watched her and Lucerne make love plenty of times, sat apart from them, his black eyes glittering in the dark, and in the end he’d run away. Come here to Pennerley.

  Bella buried her face in his chest and clung to his body. The sacking smelled of oats and horses, pleasant reminders of past joys and furious couplings, of times when things had seemed simpler.

  ‘Vaughan,’ she crooked her chin up to see him and sought the comfort of his lips, ‘would you do something for me?’

  ‘I can’t drown Raffe, if that’s what you’re thinking. He’s a guest.’

  ‘No, not that.’ She nuzzled against his shoulder. ‘Make me yours.’

  ‘And how do you envisage me doing that? My hands are tied, Bella.’ He dipped his head and pressed a kiss to each plump breast.

  ‘That’s never stopped you before.’ She stepped back and raised her skirts. Wanting this reassurance, this comfort. The excitement.

  The ruby lips of her quim were slick and swollen, ripe for his touch. ‘Please.’ For a long excruciating moment, he simply looked at her, no hint of his intent upon his face. Had she asked too much?

  Finally, his lips quirked. ‘You’re practically bare,’ he observed. She wasn’t, but what he’d done with the jam had necessitated a considerable amount of trimming.

  Vaughan sank onto his knees for a closer inspection.

  If there was one thing he was truly gifted with, it had to be his tongue. The first light touch of its tip against her nub raised a gasp. The second drove her up onto tiptoes. ‘Yes,’ she mewled, straining against him, as each bold knowing stroke whipped her towards fever point. Her hips tilted as she opened deeper for his caress. One hand slid into his hair, clutched convulsively, sought to pull him closer.

  ‘You’re a greedy whore, Miss Rushdale,’ he said, and she nodded in mute agreement. She was that and so much more. She’d be anything for him, do almost anything for him. ‘If my hands weren’t tied, I’d lay you across my knee and give you the punishment you so desperately deserve.’

  She knew he didn’t intend to spank her, though the punishment would undoubtedly warm her cheeks. No, his fingers would explore her dark rear passage, would tease delicate nerve-endings. He’d drive her into a state of frenzy with twin penetrations, as his tongue did now.

  She had not realised just how deeply her need for him was until that moment. The stresses and excitements of the day had taken their toll, which his tongue now both fanned and soothed.

  Bella threw back her head and revelled in the ecstasy of his touch. He supped her. He penetrated her. His tongue drew lazy circles around her throbbing flesh. He tantalised her until she was sobbing with need for him, and the ribbon she’d used to bind his hair hung limply in her fingers.

  And all too quickly she was coming down. Satisfied in a fashion, but far from sated. ‘More,’ she urged, bucking against him.

  ‘Greedy slut.’ He shuffled away from her and climbed unsteadily to his feet, gazing at her from the sanctity of his sack, a bemused smile quivering upon his lips.

  Bella rushed to him and threw her arms around him. ‘Will you come to me tonight?’

  Narrow-eyed, he looked down at her. ‘You already have an assignation.’

  Raffe! She’d forgotten his note tucked into her garter. How the hell did Vaughan know about that?

  ‘You should go,’ he said, as if he were approving a social engagement. ‘He’ll thrust his nice big prick up you, just like you want.’

  The catty remark cut deep, sliced away all her fantasies, reminded her again of the truth. She was simply a diversion to him, like de Maresi, while he waited for Lucerne.

  ‘Maybe I will,’ she snarled, hoping to see him flinch. Vaughan merely nodded and, following a curt bow, hopped to the door, leaving her staring in frustration at his back.

  Vaughan paused in the passageway and pressed his brow the wall. The cool stone soothed him. He wished he could wipe her juices from his chin. She infuriated him, but he couldn’t help himself. She strained his patience in ways she’d never comprehend. Everything about them being together was wrong, yet his very clear, physical reaction to her lay hidden within the sack.

  He wanted her. And he was no longer sure the reaction was entirely physical.

  Each encounter, it grew harder to deny her, and deny himself. The urge to lose himself in her soft warmth was increasingly overpowering.

  Vaughan smoothed his hands against his groin and swore. Nothing he ever did scared her off. He’d tried all sorts over the years, and always she came back for more.

  He’d watched Raffe scribble his note. He doubted the man could truly satisfy Bella. For a brief vain moment he saw himself as Bella’s incubus, cursing her never to be content by another man again. He shook his head to free himself of the image. ‘Where are you, Lucerne?’ he whispered into the wainscotting. ‘I need you here. Help me make sense of this mess.’

  ‘Ah, so you’ve decided to delight us with your presence after all,’ said Mrs Alvanley when Bella finally reached the great hall. The race had begun, and already Gabriel and de Maresi lay floundering on the floor just yards from the starting line. ‘You might show more respect to your host and the other ladies. If the exercise means so very little to you, it would have been thoughtful to allow my niece her chosen champion.’

  Bella saw the fan laid across the older woman’s lap like a warning and tactfully kept both her silence and her expression in check until she turned around.

  ‘Hideous old bat.’

  She joined Niamh and Alicia at the finish line.

  ‘She’s not so very bad,’ said Alicia in her aunt’s defence. ‘Some chaperones won’t let their charges four paces from their sides, for any reason.’ Bella was vividly reminded of her friend Louisa’s problems with her aunt. Of course, she’d eventually escaped such scrutiny by marrying.

  ‘And there are some,’ Alicia continued, ‘who consider any conversation with a man a prelude to marriage.’

  ‘That’s ridiculous,’ snapped Bella, her encounter with Vaughan having left her irritable. ‘Why, you’d never be able to dance or anything.’

  ‘Oh, but dancing is very risqué, you know,’ Niamh said in all seriousness. ‘ Come on, Henry.’ She clapped her hands in delight as he briefly stole the lead. ‘Frightful things can happen to a girl if she so much as brushes her skirt against a man.’

  ‘Such as discovering he has an erection,’ said Bella.

  The two other women blushed and giggled. Alicia flicked open her fan and waved it ferociously. ‘That’s hopelessly impolite,’ she hissed, her eyes all a-sparkle. She strained forward so her looped ringlets almost brushed Bella’s own, eager for more forbidden insights.

  ‘Alicia, come here, dear,’ called Mrs Alvanley, clearly sensing an unsuitable turn to the conversation. Her niece complied with a weary sigh.

  ‘Are you my brother’s mistress, Bella?’ Niamh aske
d once Alicia was out of earshot. The fading blush upon her cheeks glowed again, deep crimson.

  The question seemed to spring out of nowhere. Surely their relationship was obvious. Bella glanced over her shoulder at Vaughan and the sculpted plains of his face. ‘He doesn’t keep me, if that’s what you mean,’ she said. ‘If, however, you’re asking me if he gives me his cock, then I should say that more often he keeps it to himself.’

  Niamh’s eyes shone as clearly blue as her brother’s were dark. Bella sucked her tongue, conscious that perhaps in this instance she’d said too much, and a little more tact might have served her better.

  ‘You’re far too forthright,’ Niamh said eventually. She pressed a finger to her lips. ‘I feel I should faint or make a dramatic scene every time you say something shocking. Although, God knows, my own reputation is equally tarnished.’

  Bella shook her head. ‘We’re not remotely the same.’

  Niamh frowned and they allowed themselves to be distracted by the race for several minutes. The contenders were rambunctious and rough, jostling each other as they hopped and waddled around the course. ‘How does Lord Marlinscar fit into this?’ Niamh eventually asked. ‘I was told that you were engaged to him.’

  Practising tact, Bella kept her eyes averted from Niamh’s face and buried all thoughts of the two men together as deep as she could. ‘We were never engaged,’ she replied. ‘They shared me sometimes.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘I’m in limbo, while they decide my fate.’

  It was truth of sorts, but she still felt guilty over the deception; she wasn’t going to be the one who explained Vaughan’s proclivities to his sister.

  Thankfully, Fortuna pushed her way between them at that point to giddily cheer the men on as they rounded the bottom of the dining table. They started the final lap, Vaughan and Raffe neck and neck, with a particularly florid Henry trailing close behind.

  ‘Keep going, my lord,’ Fortuna shouted, fooling no one over who she meant. Bella added her own support and watched dismay and determination wash across Raffe’s handsome face. He lurched right, towards Vaughan, and his elbow jutted against the seam of the sack, straight into Vaughan’s ribs.