‘Did you think I’d change my mind? I thought I made my intentions plain last night.’ He turned away from her enormous eyes. Eyes that seemed too large for her face. There was nothing he could do for her that would make it better. There was no part of him that wanted her. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Follow your dreams elsewhere.’
He heard her sob and the soft patter of her pumps against the floorboards. ‘You’re a fiend, Pennerley,’ he told himself, though in truth, he felt surprisingly little. He poured another glass and savoured the sweet port upon his tongue, letting the opiates numb him.
By the mirror lay his costume. He’d had it made especially for the occasion while he was still in London planning the whole affair. It was an exact replica of the suit Sebastian Alastair Elisud wore in his portrait that hung in the solar. They bore a striking resemblance, once he’d donned the preposterously feathered hat, ‘petticoat’ breeches and furbelows. He’d definitely cause a stir, assuming he wasn’t simply mistaken for Henry Tristan.
Taken with the idea, he chuckled at his own wit. Then, hat set at a jaunty angle, he swallowed another two sips of the poison, then discovered the glass was empty. ‘Ah, well.’ He’d brewed a decanter of the stuff. There’d be plenty of time for further fortification if he needed it, and at the minute, he really didn’t.
The numbness had worn off, and now a low level tingle of arousal crawled beneath his skin. He rubbed his hand across his loins and revelled in the dart of pleasure. He’d try to avoid Bella and Fortuna, and focus his torments elsewhere. Tonight, horror and pleasure would collide in a hellish opera.
Vaughan’s rejection stung. She’d known it would, but had still sat on his bed waiting for him. Fortuna cursed herself bitterly as she headed down into the courtyard, intending to find her sisters or maybe even her aunt. A strange lethargy seemed to have gripped her by the time she descended the final flight of steps. Limbs shaky and nausea brewing like a potion in her stomach, she staggered as far as the well and promptly threw up over the grass. Fortuna slumped with her back to the stone. Shadows swam before her eyes, ghostly figures in robes, a cavalier, and finally a man. He raised her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, then another to her palm.
‘All alone,’ Dovecote drawled. ‘How fortuitous.’ He grinned at his own joke. Two fingers curled beneath her chin, forcing her to look up into his eyes where he knelt before her. They were the deepest green, like two chips of jade. He tilted his head, then ran his thumb up over her lips. ‘Too much wine, my pretty poppy?’ He surveyed the ground beside her and wiped his thumb upon his coat. ‘Here, take the taste away.’ He pressed a hip flask upon her. Fortuna instinctively swallowed. The contents were coarse and streaked fire down her throat, causing her to splutter and wheeze.
Dovecote helped her to rise and, after obligingly patting her back, slipped an arm around her waist. ‘What do you say we go and find ourselves some excitement? I’m told the churchyard is altogether charming.’ His hold was comforting, but also a fraction too intimate.
‘I should probably lie down,’ she said. Her head felt as if it was full of water and she wanted to rest, not stagger around in the dark and risk being devoured by phantoms and other less fanciful terrors.
‘Nonsense.’ He shook his head. ‘A little light exercise and you’ll be right as my leg.’
With his arm firm about her waist and her body moulded to his side, Fortuna found herself propelled towards the drawbridge. They were almost across its rickety boards when Alicia appeared before her from out of the mist, accompanied a moment later by Lord Devonshire.
‘We’ve seen him,’ her sister gasped. ‘The first marquis. He chased Darleston and Neddy down towards the lake. You should have seen them run. Devonshire and I stayed in the shadows until he’d gone.’ Her eyes shone bright with excitement, only for her smile to collapse into a frown when her gaze fastened upon Fortuna’s face. ‘Tunie.’ Her giddy excitement fell away leaving only sisterly concern. She pressed a delicate touch to Fortuna’s arm. ‘Are you all right? You don’t look so well.’
‘Just a mild fright,’ said Dovecote. He squeezed Fortuna’s shoulder who blinked very slowly. ‘ She saw the marquis too, didn’t you, dear?’
With some effort she nodded her head, then the nod turned into a shake. It wasn’t the marquis who had scared her. It was the sudden prospect of a future lived according to the dictates of society. It wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to sit at home and make samplers or nurture a dozen children. She wanted permission to think, feel and maybe love. She’d seen a glimpse of that in a future with Vaughan, but his heart was clearly elsewhere.
As her thoughts drifted, she was hardly aware of Raffe’s gaze roving suspiciously over Dovecote and herself. ‘Is there a problem here?’ asked Raffe, squaring up to Dovecote. ‘If the lady isn’t feeling too well, surely the castle would seem a more sensible direction, not the gate.’
‘She’s fine,’ Dovecote replied. He was neither as tall nor broad-shouldered as Raffe, and clearly detected the growl behind his words. ‘She just needs to walk it off.’
‘Then we’ll see she does.’
Dovecote’s lips twitched at the corner. He seemed set to object, but then bowed his head stiffly and allowed Alicia and Raffe to lead her back the way she’d just come.
‘I just want to lie down,’ she said, but nobody seemed to pay her any heed.
19
THE SQUALLY TWILIGHT earlier had turned into a crisp and clear night; Vaughan’s favourite type of darkness, with stars spangling in the heavens and a great sliver of moonlight, making it perfect for flushing drunken bloods out of bushes, despite the tendrils of mist that still lingered around the graves and hovered over the still waters of the moat. He’d taken a turn upon the battlements, then scared the hell out of the Darleston twins in the vestry of the church. There was a line of statues and he’d posed himself by the last, lit by the grey moonlight and dappled by the stained glass. He’d come to life suddenly before their eyes, then chased them, bleating and cowering, down to the lake. Now he was ready to do full justice to the memory of his ancestor.
His Restoration costume was quite the most lovely thing: rich red coat, heavily braided front and back, with enormous cuffs you could hide a goose in. The breeches were red too, and curiously loose about his legs compared to his usual pantaloons. They seemed to float around him, brushing his skin in a way that made all his hairs stand on end, while the plethora of ribbon adornments flapped like butterflies’ wings every time he moved.
He was obliged to remove his hat before entering the castle again. It was at least three feet wide, and decorated with a red silk scarf the size of a tablecloth, bunched and folded into an imitation rose. He rubbed the silk against his face, luxuriating in the sensation of it against his skin, as pleasing as a lover’s touch. He was hopelessly purse-proud. Time he caught himself a mouse to play with.
Three promising wenches scattered before him in the great hall, screaming with fright. He pursued them along the endless bottom corridor into the dead end that was the billiards room. ‘Come out, come out, my pretties,’ he called as he swaggered over the threshold. It was impossible not to swagger in these breeches; they forced his legs so far apart. ‘It’s been a hundred and forty years since I tasted the flesh of a woman, and I’ve a mind to speak of country matters.’
He pounced at them. One slipped away under his arm, the other two he caught about their waists. ‘No escape now,’ he hissed, and clutched them to his chest.
It didn’t matter who they were, only that they were soft and lithe and wriggling against him, almost paralysing him with the sensation of their warm bodies rubbing against his skin. And their scent. Fear with a dash of innocence, or was it the other way round?
‘Let go, Vaughan! Let go!’
The girl on his right looked just like an ancient cameo of his mother, her eyes impossibly blue. Blue like cornflowers, blue like Lucerne’s. He forced his mouth down over hers to take away the memory and felt her go rigid.
The other girl gasped and managed to free herself from his hold. She backed away, up against the wall, her fingers curled tight within her palms and her mouth open wide.
Desires wakened with the thrill of the kiss, crude acts most would baulk at asking even a courtesan to perform. Her taste was familiar and precious. She squirmed and he held her tighter. Somehow she got a hand around his throat and forced him off, almost choking him in the process.
‘Yuck!’ Niamh rubbed her hands across her face, attempting to scrub his taste from her lips. She stared at him, completely horrified. ‘You’re crazy.’
‘I’m Sebastian Alastair Elisud, Marquis of Pennerley, and I take what I desire.’
She smacked him hard across the jaw, leaving him cross-eyed and momentarily speechless. ‘And I’m your sister, and you’ll damn well keep your hands off me.’ She tried to push past him but he caught her wrist. ‘No, not Vaughan, Sebastian. And well past time I claimed a victim to appease the Angra Mainyu.’ He let Niamh’s wrist slip through his fingers, his gaze now fixed upon the youngest Miss Allenthorpe, who was still trying to meld with the wall. Slowly he dragged his teeth over his lower lip.
Mae gave a startled squeak as he closed in on her, glancing briefly down at her plump and lovely curves before meeting her gaze with a wicked smile. He saw himself reflected in her eyes, a malevolent spirit with dark eyes and an even darker heart, a single ringlet down the centre of his forehead.
‘Grant me a kiss, and maybe I’ll spare your life.’
‘A kiss?’
‘Just that.’
She trembled but nodded her accord.
‘You might want to leave, sister, dear.’
Niamh gave a loud snort and left, and he kicked the door closed behind her. No doubt she’d stay pacing the corridor.
‘Why did she need to go outside?’ Mae asked tremulously.
‘Because I never specified where I was going to kiss you. And I was never one to use my tongue fairly.’
Vaughan sank gracefully onto his knees, then, to her shock, he lifted her hem and hoisted it to her waist. He nuzzled against her garter then dabbed his tongue against her labia, releasing a startled gasp that quickly transformed into a moan. She tasted salty and soft against his tongue, curiously familiar but very different to Bella. Vaughan pressed his nose into her dark curls and breathed in her scent. He was quite sure from the way her fingers tightened against his hair and her nails bit into his scalp that this was the first time any man had kissed her in quite such an intimate way. It would take little skill to bring her off, and he was conscious of how his own needs were calling. His prick was now painfully hard but he didn’t want to ravish her. He had another victim in mind. Still, it seemed a shame to deny her. Rather, he wanted to give her a memory to do his reputation proud.
‘My lord,’ she whimpered. He clasped her bottom and tilted her hips towards him. Mae’s legs trembled and she made a choking sound in the back of her throat. It softened into a long contented mewl as he focused his attention on her clitoris, flicking his tongue over the surface of the hard little bead with rapid repetitive strokes. It was tempting to deepen his kisses, but he knew that a woman’s pleasure was really a very simple thing to coax. If she liked what you were doing, unless you deliberately intended to prolong the discourse, you kept doing it in exactly the same fashion you’d begun. Still, there were limits to even his endurance, and the taste of her was thick upon his tongue, so when she started to sag against him, he urged her forwards, and let her cover his face with her quim. Then when she squirmed he pushed his tongue into her, to lick and jab with its velvety caress.
Mae’s breaths came sharper; she writhed against him, enjoying his touch with the whole of her body. She was far curvier then her sisters, impish and merry, and he suspected far more willing to give in return. She was a pleasure-seeker to her very core.
Vaughan returned to rapidly flicking his tongue against her clit, which now stood proudly from beneath its hood. He heard the change in her breathing immediately as she began to soar, and her hips jerked in sharp little waves. She panted as she came, as though she couldn’t quite catch her breath, rocking against him so that his face was smeared with her juices.
Vaughan leaned back and wiped them away with the back of his hand. Her pupils were dilated when she looked down at him. He rose and took her hand, pressed a chaste kiss to her knuckles while he held her gaze.
‘My lord,’ she croaked. Her gaze fastened over the throbbing length of his erection that not even his indulgent Restoration breeches could now disguise. The temptation was there, to coax her to her knees and offer his cock to her mouth and let her learn by her tongue and her imagination how to persuade him to spend.
‘My lady.’ He bowed with a flourish, then left. He nearly walked into Niamh, pacing on the other side of the door.
‘Mae. Are you all right? What did he do?’ he heard her ask.
Mae sighed dreamily in response. ‘He kissed me. That’s all.’
* * *
Outside, Raffe morosely accompanied Alicia and Fortuna Allenthorpe around Pennerley’s garden of earthly delights. Despite having been rescued from Dovecote, whose intentions were clearly far from honourable, Fortuna seemed strangely ungrateful. She shared none of her sister’s enthusiasm for the events and seemed rather distant behind her huge, sensitive eyes. He wondered if he’d been too late to save her from all Dovecote’s charms or whether someone else had upset her. His best guess was their host. Damn the man! Did he have to have every woman in his power?
For her part, Alicia had been both shocked and thrilled by every new nightmare, and seemed to be enjoying herself immensely.
Raffe sighed in frustration. He had hoped to find Bella in the crowd and enjoy the evening with her. He had no illusions that she would swoon conveniently to help his suit along, but he felt more engaged by her company than any woman he could think of. Sadly, she’d been swept away from him. He hadn’t spied her since and could hardly abandon his role of guardian and protector of the two sisters, while predatory rakehells prowled the grounds in search of easy meat. His only hope of escape was if they somehow wandered into Mrs Alvanley.
They spied Gabriel and Connelly clinging to one another in terror, Connelly’s swagger returning the moment he knew he was observed. Raffe didn’t stop to exchange tales, but swung instead towards the north curtain wall in search of new pleasures and hopefully the girls’ chaperone.
They had not gone far when a spear of light spilled from an open window high up in the north tower. ‘Isn’t that Bella’s room?’ Alicia asked.
Sure enough, behind the leaded pane he thought he spied her figure. Surely she hadn’t retired already? But the image was wrong, the woman deathly pale, slim and otherworldly, not curvaceous and fine. In disconcerting fascination the three of them watched as the apparition they’d first seen in the great hall gazed mournfully down at them, then with an anguished wail toppled from the window.
The ladies’ screams rang out clear and sharp. Raffe gasped as her slim white body fell. There came a sickening thump and a splash as the waters of the moat opened to receive her.
‘The marchioness,’ hissed Alicia. She caught tight hold of his sleeve. ‘Niamh told me of her earlier. She was driven mad by her husband’s wickedness and perversions, and threw herself to her death.’
He was aware of the story too, but God’s teeth! this had gone too far, if Pennerley had expected some poor servant girl to pitch herself into the filthy moat for their entertainment. In point of fact, the craziness was all beginning to wear rather thin.
Raffe sprinted to the wall, aware of the two girls following, and stretched over the wall to seek her body in the black water but he could make out nothing besides reeds and brambles.
‘See.’ Alicia appeared at his side and he followed the line of her outstretched arm to where she was pointing. Halfway up the castle wall, an oversized marionette dangled upon its strings as it was dragged back up to the tower. Relief washed thr
ough him, leaving him feeling rather foolish for being so gullible.
‘Just a scarecrow in a frock.’ Fortuna laughed. She seemed to have roused herself a little, and she propelled herself closer to the wall. Raffe stopped her slithering too far over and scowled into the darkness. Across the water, coloured flames bobbed among the tombs.
‘Look, there’s Mae and Niamh.’ Alicia continued to tug on his arm until he left the wall. ‘Let’s catch them. I want to know what they’ve seen and maybe we ought to find Aunt Bea for Fortuna. I bet she’s over there too.’
Raffe nodded his assent. Fortuna still looked rather pale, and maybe he’d find Bella among the dancing light in the graveyard too.
After their abortive conversation in the lower corridor, and before Vaughan had loosed his demons upon the castle, it had been Niamh’s intention to stick with Bella throughout the evening and take the opportunity to expand upon the plan Henry had presented and she herself had developed. She didn’t feel her friend needed to be mothered, but she understood that she felt both cornered and constrained by circumstances. In some ways, the phantasmagoria could not have fallen at a worse time. There was too much going on and too many other guests trying to trap Vaughan with their insecurities. Niamh knew only that her brother and her friend were hurting, but she didn’t understand why they found it so hard to take comfort in one another. Surely Lucerne’s loss should bind them together …
There were other advantages to be had from sticking with Bella though, like the worldly experience which Niamh lacked, and Bella’s ability to ward off the rogues who where roving the castle grounds. Vaughan could not have collected a more rakish ensemble if he had scoured the whole of England and, while Niamh was sure none of them would lay a finger upon her for fear of Vaughan’s retribution, there was one spectre she was not so certain of.
Edward had said he would come, and she did not believe her note would stop him. Leaving the castle grounds might even seem like an invitation for him to steal her away, so it was with reluctance that she let Mae tug her along behind Mrs Alvanley and the colonel to the graveyard.
Phantasmagoria Page 22
