His toes dug into the rock for purchase as he stared at the reflection of the heavens spread like a silver rainbow across surface of the moat. The wind was too wild to stand in its grasp for long. It tugged at his shirt and hair, distorted the silver rainbow. Carefully, he lowered himself off the ledge. The effort shot pain through his injured hand and he landed in an ungainly fashion on his rump in a bed of thyme. He flopped back into its fragrant embrace. Tomorrow, All Hallows Eve, the beau monde would descend on Pennerley. He had to focus on that, ensure everything was perfect.
De Maresi was confident they’d pull off their little tableau, but his attention had wandered since the arrival of Gabriel Allenthorpe, and he’d had to rely on Henry Tristan for assistance staging several of their props.
Still, it was a relief that François’ attention had been diverted. He couldn’t face his pawing at the moment, and maybe his calculated disdain had finally done its job. He wondered how long the affair would last, assuming the boy’s predilections matched de Maresi’s own, and he was by no means certain of that. He looked the sort to run, terrified, into the arms of the Church.
His mind straying towards Lucerne again, Vaughan extracted himself from the thyme bed, slightly sodden with dew, and followed the curve of the south tower to the dungeon door. He’d keep his thoughts from straying by concentrating on the details of the ghastly tale of Sebastian Alastair Elisud, 1st Marquis of Pennerley, a despicable rogue to whom he bore a striking resemblance.
He barely had the key in the lock when a new scent on the breeze caught his attention: strawberries and apple blossom. A moment later he was rewarded with a voice.
‘Lord Pennerley.’
Perhaps he wouldn’t need Sebastian Alastair Elisud after all.
‘Miss Allenthorpe.’ She floated towards him in a button-up nightgown with a cashmere shawl pulled tight around her shoulders. ‘Isn’t it a little late for a stroll, and somewhat indecent without a chaperone and a bonnet?’ Her long flaxen hair was flying loose about her shoulders. It curled prettily at the end, although his gaze settled not there, but on the pleasing curve of her belly and the apex of her thighs where the wind blew the flimsy flannel-gown taut against her body.
She had legs a racehorse would envy.
‘Have you ever worn a bonnet, my lord?’
‘I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.’
‘They’re cumbersome, itchy devices, which make you feel as if you’re wearing horse blinkers.’
In other words no use for sneaking around in the dark. ‘I see. Does that mean we’re to see you abandon your hats as well as your stays?’
Fortuna glanced down at her billowing shift and drew her brows together in a frown. ‘Do you consider us indecent for desiring freedom of movement?’
‘Quite the opposite. I simply mourn the opportunity tight lacing provides. There’s a certain satisfaction to be had from struggling to attain the pleasures held within.’
A vague feeling of arousal stirred in his groin. There was no heaviness yet, no imperative to pounce, but he knew he could lose himself in her for a while. She’d been desperate for his attention from the moment she’d arrived, but his thoughts had been elsewhere and his jaded palate had seen no challenge in her conquest.
Eyes bright, Fortuna took a wary step closer to him and touched the back of his hand where the bandage stretched across it. ‘Forgive me.’ She looked away, then back up at him from beneath her eyelashes. Her coquetry made him want to laugh, but there was something delightful about her attempted guile. She knew what she wanted, but he was certain she had no experience of getting it.
Why not?
‘I’ll forgive you when you do something that warrants such a reward.’
She leaned in again, and this time her curled fingers alighted against his cheek. Vaughan shook his head. ‘Touch me where you really want to.’ He leaned back against the iron pinned door, his hands raised either side of his head.
Her eyes widened until they resembled two great saucers.
She wanted him, he was certain of it, but she’d envisaged her ravishment as the play of his fingers against her skin and the whisper of coaxing words. Instead, he was inviting her to take charge.
Temptation, curiosity and fear each played across her face. Her eyes sparkled, her breasts rose and fell with each breath she took and, when she sighed, it was deep and wanting.
‘Come now, don’t be shy. No one’s watching.’
Her head jerked towards the gatehouse, but the windows were all dark and empty, the occupants asleep in their beds.
When she faced him again, he dipped his head and looked up at her from beneath his eyelashes, mimicking her earlier display. ‘Well …’ He wetted his lips and let his gaze slip slowly down from her eyes to her heaving breasts, where her nipples poked like two stiff towers against her shift, begging for his touch.
Finally, she stepped forwards. Her shift brushed against his chest as she leaned in to him and pressed an intolerably chaste kiss to his lips.
Vaughan sighed, a sound she obviously mistook for pleasure. This was for his pleasure, and that meant complete control. He was not going to make this easy for her. If she wanted easy, she’d chosen the wrong man.
When she lifted her chin for another such chaste kiss, he shook his head. ‘Touch me,’ he hissed.
‘I …’ Tentatively, she reached towards him, her fingers spread wide, but her palm merely skimmed over the surface of his shirt without ever truly making contact.
‘Do it.’
Apparently a little authority went a long way. Both palms immediately fanned across his upper arms, before sliding across his chest and down to his stomach. She hesitated at exploring any lower, her fingers twitching against the waistband of his pantaloons.
‘Go on. Don’t stop.’
‘You’re …’
So nervous she was quivering, she unwittingly pressed against him.
‘Erect,’ he helpfully provided. He took her hand and placed it over his cock.
‘Erm … How does this work exactly?’
He took pity. ‘Just touch me a little. Slide your hand up and down. Rub me. Yes-ss, like that!’ Her touch was unskilled but nevertheless what he needed to forget, much better than wine to wipe away the taste of Lucerne.
He still smelled of him. Could still taste him. Her hand wasn’t enough.
Vaughan forced his mouth down hard upon hers. The kiss was sharp, laced with bitter memories, but still she melted beneath him. He pulled back, only to stop her swooning. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles, then to her palm, and finally to the seam between her index and middle fingers.
Now aroused, he wanted more of her, longed for a firmer touch, and perhaps a soft pliant mouth in which to loose his seed.
Fellatio. Was there anything about it that wasn’t perfect?
She’d be unskilled, but so had Lucerne been, once.
Vaughan guided her hand inside the placket of his trousers. His cock pulsed in greeting at her warm touch, and Fortuna squealed.
‘Hush.’ He clamped a hand over her mouth. ‘Do you want to raise the castle?’
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. It was just a surprise.’ She glanced nervously down at him. Pretty fingers fluttered over the tip of his glans. ‘I’ll do whatever you want.’
‘Whatever I want.’ A low chuckle rolled from his throat. ‘My dear, you have no idea what you’re saying.’
‘I do. I understand.’
‘Here?’ He drew his tongue across his teeth, and then inclined his head towards the grass.
‘Your room.’
He laughed again. Less risk of exposure, it was true. Safer? Only if you didn’t mind locking yourself in with a hungry wolf. ‘If you come to my room, there’s no changing your mind,’ he said.
Fortuna inclined her head. ‘I know.’
‘No.’ He refastened his buttons, and placed her hand upon his arm. ‘You don’t. But you will.’
Sh
She was out of breath by the time they climbed the winding stair to his room. The vast chamber occupied the entire floor of the tower and was furnished in a sparse masculine style. Vaughan bolted the door behind them, then crossed to the fire to stoke the flames, leaving her standing awkwardly by his galleon of a bed. It was a monstrous thing, thick carved oak spread with white sheets. Any moment he would throw her upon it, pin her down and ravish her with the weapon she’d barely glimpsed, but which she’d felt hard and vital in her hand.
Finished with the fire, Vaughan stripped the rings from his fingers and left them scattered across the top of an iron bound chest. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever met, exquisitely saturnine, with dark eyes full of secrets and cruelly suggestive lips. Just watching him move did strange things to her. He circled her, making her pulse race as she anticipated his sudden approach.
He didn’t pounce. Instead he set a cushioned stool before her. ‘Sit.’
Fortuna obeyed, to find herself facing her reflection in the surface of a huge gilt mirror that lay propped against the wall. Vaughan stood behind her; she could smell the musk of his body, muddied with alcohol and something sweet. His shirt hung open to his breastbone, revealing the muscle beneath and a teasing glimpse of a flat male nipple.
His hands were impossibly warm against her shoulders as he drew her shawl from her, then hotter as he worked open the line of buttons that ran from her throat to her breasts.
Her breath seemed to stick in her throat as he pushed a hand through the opening and covered a breast. She fit neatly into his hand, and her nipples steepled. Their soft tissue crinkled and hardened until they were fully erect and arousal seeped through her body, causing the flesh between her legs to tingle with need.
‘Lift your skirt,’ he said.
Fortuna hesitated, hand on hem, afraid of what pleasures such exposure would yield, but it was impossible to deny him. He didn’t coax with words but with fingers, long agile fingers that played upon her nipples drawing squeaks of joy from her.
She shut her eyes and raised her hem to her waist. Her heart fluttered. ‘Look,’ he said, indicating the mirror before her.
The image she presented was incredibly lewd. Her breasts poked from the open neck of her shift and the rest of the fabric lay bunched around her waist, leaving the full length of her long legs on display. Never had she seen so much of her own skin. Even when she bathed she wore a shift. Her nipples were two dark pink peaks, her legs milky-white.
Vaughan insinuated a hand between her knees and pushed them apart, causing a knot of excitement to tighten in her belly and a flood of moisture to appear between her thighs. Up his palm slithered, forcing her legs wider, until her every secret lay exposed.
Sable curls framed the dusky pink split of her quim. Her moisture glistened on his fingertips as he dipped them into her heat. Without conscious thought she tilted her hips to give him better access and let his teasing fingers slide over her ripe flesh. He rubbed repetitively at her taut swollen nub, until she gasped and writhed against the stool, pushing herself against his hand.
‘Take me to bed,’ she pleaded.
Vaughan looked down into her face. A dark light flashed in his eyes, cold and unfathomable. ‘We’re not going to bed. I’m going to fuck you on the floor.’ His fingers tightened cruelly on her nipples and squeezed. His long hair brushed against her shoulders as he bent his head to her and licked the curve of her ear. ‘I sleep in my bed. I don’t break in virgins upon it.’
She burned with shame at his words but she couldn’t tear herself away from his touch. She was greedy for it. Wanted more from him: the thrust of his tongue in her mouth and the velvet heat of his weapon inside her.
Her pulse ran fluttery and light just below her skin.
Vaughan tipped her forwards off the stool and she landed on her hands and knees before the mirror, red-cheeked and slack-jawed. She felt the rub of his shirt against her back and the tickle of his ringlets, then two fingers probed her intimately.
His phallus nuzzled against her bottom, impossibly large. Tense with the excitement of it, she merely stared at her reflection. His cock-tip pressed into her quim, stretched her, though he was barely inside her. Then, with a sharp thrust he sheathed himself deep, filled her completely. The sensation – she’d never known anything so breathtaking as that moment. It hurt, but only a little, and in a good way. Everything felt so tight, but even that changed with his thrusts. She opened to him, became increasingly wet.
‘Look at yourself,’ he insisted. One arm wrapped around her body to reach between her legs. The friction immediately set her gasping.
From the mirror, her image stared back at her in total abandonment. She looked every inch the harlot she’d made herself. Shame washed a further ruddy glow across her exposed skin. Her breasts swung with their motion, as his cock filled her to distraction. She had to make sure her family never found out or they’d have her wed so fast she’d not have time to breathe, let alone say ‘no’.
Still, nothing would make her accept Hector Macleane now. Nothing. She wouldn’t doom herself to years of doing this with that simpering baboon. She knew it wouldn’t be anything like this with him.
Her clitoris tingled. Her thighs were soaked with the juices of their pleasure. Skin slid against skin, as he pushed her higher, then higher still. Rational thought exploded around her, as her orgasm peaked, broke and scattered through every tensed muscle.
Breathless, she flopped forwards against the Persian rug, but Vaughan barely allowed her a moment respite. He moaned, lost in his own need, then, subtlety abandoned, he crushed her breasts beneath his palms and drove into her with increased vigour.
His lips moved on the back of her neck, murmuring endearments she couldn’t quite catch. His roughness excited her again, enflamed her, and she rose to meet him, until their bodies slapped against one another and their heat ran together. She came again, and this time she felt him come with her, his cock flexing inside her as a long convulsion rolled down his back.
He jerked above her, his dark hair wild about his shoulders, then collapsed against her body. For several moments, he remained still, just breathing against her shoulder. When he rose, his hair framed his face, but even its shadows couldn’t hide the tear track that glinted across his cheek. Bewildered, she stared at his ashen face. He didn’t meet her eyes in the glass, just withdrew and turned away.
The feeling of ecstasy she’d felt moments before crumbled away. ‘Leave, now,’ he said, his voice no more than a whisper.
Hurt, a thousand questions swelled inside her mind. Had she displeased him in some way? Done something wrong? ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You don’t want to be here. I’ll use you, more than I’ve already done.’
He said nothing more. In the end, hurt and confused, she fled the room, leaving him to his demons.
16
BELLA ROSE TO a world of grey mist. The air, even at the top of the north tower was damp and sour with the taste of mulched earth. The previous night seemed like a dream. Louisa and Lucerne. She had lost her two dearest friends in one evening. There were no tears left in her, and now she merely felt numb.
She washed in cold water and put on a plain blue dress with a black ribbon tied about the sleeve. It seemed more appropriate than her trunk full of virginal whites.
The clinging mist was even thicker at ground level. It tugged at her with ghostly fingers as she made her way to the corner of the kitchen garden. There in the shelter of the arbour, she sat and reread Louisa’s letters. It seemed impossible that her friend was not sitting at a writing desk somewhere penning another epistle. Once she’d read them all, she retied them with the faded yellow ribbon and sat with them clasped within her hands, staring blankly out over the courtyard. She had no letters from Lucerne. They had never been parted long enough to warrant any.
‘We should never have left Lauwine, any of us,’ she said to the Louisa of her imagination. ‘I wish we were all back there: you, Wakefield, Lucerne, Joshua and me.’ The thought of her brother raised a wan smile, as did the memories of the ribald gambler, Charles Aubrey. They all faded beside her memories of Vaughan. He was her one remaining link to that time. What would happen if he forced her to let go?
Her gaze strayed to the south tower drawbridge, where she almost expected to find him, still waiting for Lucerne to return through the wicket gate. For days he’d tormented her, hunted her through the castle then tried to push her away, all with the shadow of Lucerne between them. And what did they have now?
Maybe nothing at all.
She’d have to face him. But not right away. Not while their wounds were still so raw.
Breakfast was a mistake, Bella realised, as Raffe slid into the chair beside her. ‘A rough night,’ he remarked. ‘Everyone is walking around as pale as ether this morning. I’ve just seen Miss Allenthorpe. She has eyes like saucers and clearly hasn’t slept a wink, and you look a deal worse than her.’
‘Thank you,’ Bella remarked, but Raffe seemed oblivious to her sarcasm.
‘Nothing a good breakfast won’t fix,’ he said, offering her a tray of kippers. When she didn’t take any, he put two on her plate and heaped mushrooms on top.
Bella looked at the heap of grey and yellow and her stomach lurched. ‘I’m not hungry.’ She shuddered at the thought of even bringing a morsel to her lips.
‘Then at least drink some tea to warm yourself. You were outside far too long last night.’
Bella stared at him in warning, and he appeared to take the hint that the events of the previous evening were off limits.
‘Pennerley needs to sort out these windows,’ he said blandly. ‘It’s always bitter in here first thing.’
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