The Ghosts of Christmas Past

by Madelynne Ellis

  There were presently only two people in the world whom the thought of made him stiffen. Their names echoed tortuously in his head as he made the journey to his room in the east wing.

  What he wouldn’t give right now to be able to find them curled within his bed. Instead, he had only the impression of the warming pan to look forward to. It was bitterly cold sleeping alone when you were used to having a body either side of you.

  “Leave.” Lucerne dismissed his valet. The last thing he needed when he was irritable was a man undressing him. He could take off his own shirt and breeches. His stockings and shoes too, for that matter.

  The only man he wanted to be undressing him was several hundred miles away in Shropshire, had long dark hair, soulful eyes you could get lost in the depths of and Satan’s gift for erotic torture.

  Right now, he’d appreciate a little torture. He craved Vaughan’s touch. Hell, even just the sound of his voice.

  His cock thickened as memories of the other man flooded his thoughts.

  God help him, he wanted Vaughan to prick his arse, while Bella watched and normally he hated it when their pair of them turned love making into some sort of performance. Strange that his sexual desire was focussed in that direction and not on the three of them all entangled.

  He opened his breeches and stroked himself a little, causing his erection to further swell. His hand and cock had become intimately acquainted over the last two months, because tossing himself was the only means of achieving any sort of relief. It did nothing to mend the gaping hole in his chest though.

  He could have made inquiries, found a willing bed mate, he was sure. Back before he met Bella in 1797, he’d made frequent trips to various Covent Garden ladies. There’d been one particularly saucy piece, Harriet, he thought her name was, that used to sing like a lark while he pricked her and then feign a fit of the vapours at the end, and another, Mrs. Barnaby who used to insist on saying the Lord’s Prayer, before and after sinning. Now, the thought of lying with another woman sickened him.

  He only wanted Bella in that way, and as she wasn’t here, so his hand would have to do.

  It had been in this room that he and Bella had first fallen into one another’s arms. Right on this sofa before the fireplace.

  Lucerne stroked himself a little faster. Yes, he remembered it all so well. He’d been trying so hard not to abuse Joshua’s trust, but Bella was having none of it. They’d swived on the carpet, their bottoms warmed by the blaze.

  He ought to have come clean to her brother about his action then, instead of acting the blackguard.

  He came to a sudden rest, and unhanded himself. Lucerne crossed the room to where an old sea chest sat in a dingy corner. From a concealed compartment in the base, he withdrew a small leather box, which he bore with him back over to the sofa and turned within his grasp. Dark memories lay hidden within. Pain, regrets, which he’d tried to lock away. He ought not to have done so.

  The little clasp was stiff from being unused, but he managed to work it open. The ring nestled inside on a little cushion shone with just as much warmth and brightness as when he’d first spied it through the window of a jewellers shop. Its beauty brought a smile to his face.

  The moment he’d seen it, he’d known it was perfect for Bella. He’d bought it and took it home, intending it to be a symbol of their betrothal. It had been his solemn intention to make her his wife, and while he could curse and blame Vaughan for why that hadn’t happened, the choice had ultimately been his.

  If he’d only bent the knee and offered Bella the ring, maybe things would have worked out differently.

  THREE

  Christmas Eve, 1799. Darleston House, London.

  “This way. Come with me.”

  Lucerne grasped Bella’s hand and tugged her through the throng of merry-makers exchanging seasonal greetings. The yule-tide ball at Darleston House was well underway, with everyone who was anybody squashed into the grand salon. However, festivities and dancing weren’t what he wanted right now. Lucerne ignored the debutants and their charges, the greenhorns and dandies, not stopping to exchange more than a nod of acknowledgement with any of them. Lord’s mercy, he prayed they would recognise his hurry and not take offence at his off-handedness. Men had found themselves in deep water for lesser slights, and unlike some beaux of his acquaintance, Lucerne had never had any taste for taking pot shots at his fellows.

  “Marlinscar…”

  “Lord Marlinscar…”

  “Good evening, sir…”

  He held tight onto Bella and kept on tacking through the waves of silks and curled wigs. He needed to do this now, while he still had bottom enough to go through with it, and before midnight struck. It had occurred to him that Bella might appreciate his efforts to play the part of Cendrillon’s prince, though he hoped he wouldn’t have to contend with pumpkins and lizards in order to secure his future.

  Lucerne smiled back at Bella—his future bride—feeling giddily besotted. He’d found the ring earlier today. Quite by chance, he’d paused outside a jeweller’s window in a street that was off his normal beaten track. The piece had caught his eye as the cluster of diamonds surrounding the vibrantly coloured ruby shone reminding him vividly of Bella. He’d accepted his destiny then and there, made the purchase and rushed home, rehearsing his proposal all the while.

  He was still reciting those lines now. Though lord knows, he definitely had them by heart.

  “Lucerne, what are we doing? Where are we going?” Bella dug in her heels as they neared the exit to the grand salon. “We’re not leaving so soon? People are still arriving. My dance card is filled for the next hour at least, and one of those men to whom I’m promised is Vaughan. You know he’ll be abominable if I’m not where I should be at the appointed hour.”

  The thought of her partnering anyone besides himself immediately sent prickles of irritation racing through Lucerne’s skin. He tried to shake off the sensation, but to no avail. Tonight he wanted Bella to himself, and to hell with everyone else, Vaughan included.

  “Lucerne?”

  “We’re not leaving,” he promised, tugging her through the doorway and out into the slightly thinner crowd milling about at the top of the grand marble staircase. “I just want a little breathing room. Admit it; it’s nice to be able to take in a lungful of air that isn’t quite so heavily laden with perfume and wig powder.”

  “There do appear to be clouds of it.”

  A whitish fog sat over the heads of the revellers.

  “Don’t you think it funny that everyone has dressed in their best tonight? You’d think they were about to curtsey to the Queen. You are right about the smell though. I think one or two might have soaked their clothing in pomade, never mind dampened their petticoats.”

  He paused to take a close look at her gown. “Please tell me you haven’t, it’s bitterly cold outside.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Lucerne,” she huffed. Then chuckled, “As if I’d ever confess to such a thing.”

  “Bella,” he scolded. “I swear if I find out that you have, I shall force you to leave now and take you home for a hot bath.”

  She pouted, though her moue soon gave way to a grin. “I do hope that’s not a veiled way of saying I’m contributing to the pong.”

  “What? No.”

  Bella turned her head from one side to the other and sniffed at her shoulders.

  “If you believe I think that, then you’re the one being ridiculous. You smell divine.” He leaned closer and took a deep breath. “Of rosewater and honeysuckle. Oh, come along now.”

  He tugged her along a pace, only to stop and frown. “I missed an opportunity then, didn’t I? I ought to have lied, so that I could have taken you home and we could have spent an idyllic Christmas Eve being water nymphs.”

  Bella batted his arm with her fan. “If you’d told me I smelled bad, I wouldn’t have been nearly so fond of you anymore.” She attempted to pout, but dissolved into laughter instead. “Also, I would have felt obliged
to point out the smudge of ash you have on your cravat.”

  “Where?” Lucerne prided himself on always being immaculately turned out.

  “You haven’t, you silly beast.” She tapped him again, this time on the chest. “As if your valet would ever let you step outside with so much as a hair out of place. You look perfectly upholstered.”

  “Upholstered. Are you suggesting I’m stiff?”

  “Aren’t you?” she asked impishly, lowering her gaze to the bottom of his waistcoat.

  “Bella,” he chastised. “There are far too many people around. You’re supposed to be virginal and chaste, remember.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t. Perhaps you’d best get on with spiriting me away to some lonely corner of the house. Then you can debauch me in time honoured fashion without the worry of an audience.”

  That wasn’t quite what he’d intended, but if it meant she’d come more willingly, then he wasn’t about to disabuse her of the notion.

  Luckily, Lucerne was well acquainted with the layout of Darleston House, having spent many hours in the company of the Earl’s two sons. He led Bella past the music room, took a right by the statue of Apollo, a left by Aphrodite, ducked beneath a bough of holly and mistletoe and reached for the next door knob. “It ought to be quiet in here.” He drew her into Neddy Darleston’s private sitting room.

  “In here. Are you sure?”

  The interior was illuminated only by the banked embers of the fire. The curtains were drawn tight across the single small window, and the masculine décor added to the general ambience of darkness.

  “You do realise half of London society saw us leave,” she said. “There’ll be gossip.”

  “Most of it true.”

  “Some of the harridans in attendance are hateful enough to deliberately stumble upon us.”

  “Vaughan will silence them, if they do.” And in any case, there’d be no scandal as his intention was to propose. Weddings legitimized pretty much any behaviour, everyone knew that. “Let me worry about the scandalmongers and the gossips. I want you to myself for a while, and this is the only way.” He drew her across the threshold and pushed the door to. “Will Signora de Fiore miss you?”

  Bella swirled around to face him. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s most likely asleep in a corner. She’s the worst chaperone in history, which I suppose is precisely why Vaughan employed her. Bella’s expression sharpened a little around the eyes. “Should I expect his arrival at any moment?”

  Lucerne pushed his hair away from his face. “I didn’t mean for this to be that sort of tryst. I just wanted a few moments in which to speak to you.”

  “You wish to talk?” She squinted hard at him. “Since when did you ever spirit me away in order to converse?” She ran a finger down the line of buttons on his waistcoat. “Or is this a new euphemism for debauchery I’m not yet acquainted with?”

  “No, it isn’t. I genuinely only intend for us to talk.” He captured her hand in his.

  “No seduction, no illicit thrills.”

  He shook his head.

  “Oh!” She took out her fan and flapped it a few times, before closing it once again. “There I was imagining a comprehensive ravishing, just as all our critics are doing, and—” She paced away from him shaking her head, and then returned to her original position. “Why are we here, Lucerne?”

  “I told you,” he said, drawing her towards the fire. “There are things that have been left unsaid between us for far too long that we really ought to discuss. This is our chance to do so.”

  “Surely we could enjoy a quiet tête-à-tête in the drawing room at home at almost any time. We’re guests at a ball right now. No one wants to be hidden away in a side-room, unless they’re enjoying a liaison. I want to make merry and dance.”

  “This will only take a minute.”

  “A minute isn’t nearly long enough to accomplish anything.”

  “Bella please.”

  “You have me here on false pretences.”

  “Fine, I’ll kiss you.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  He leaned forward to make good on his pledge, but she placed a hand upon his chest, stopping him while their lips still lay some inches apart. Bella cocked her head to one side, while a grin stretched across her mouth so that he could see her teeth. “Where will you kiss me?”

  “Bella…”

  “Play the game, Lucerne,” she said tapping her fingers against her plump lips.

  “Your fingers,” he suggested.

  Bella shook her head.

  “Lips.”

  “Predictable.”

  “Inner wrist, then.”

  “You’re missing the point.”

  “I don’t think I am.”

  She flounced away from him, muslin skirts clinging to her body. Damn her, she had dampened them.

  “Keep trying, Lucerne.”

  “Bella… You know I’ll kiss you anywhere you desire, but I really would like you to just listen for a moment.”

  “I am listening. Go ahead. What is it you’re so desperate to say?”

  Lucerne stared at her open-mouthed, his well-rehearsed lines suddenly garbled nonsense. He licked his lips, but that failed to help. Worse still, he couldn’t get down on one knee because his joints seemed to have locked.

  “Well?”

  He swallowed. “Inner thigh,” he said, completely chickening out. “On the smooth bit of skin between you garter and your cunny.”

  For a second she seemed confused. “That’s… Oh, that’s where you’re going to kiss me? Marvellous.” She clapped her hands. “Come and get me.”

  She rushed over to the loveseat, and hitched her skirt and petticoats up to her knees.

  Lucerne followed more slowly, stalling long enough to throw a few logs onto the smouldering fire demon lurking in the grate. The dry wood immediately splintered and popped. He didn’t know why his stomach was in such knots. He and Bella had never had any problems communicating with one another. Any misunderstandings were always as a result of outside forces. He wanted this, wanted it so badly, and it wasn’t as if he needed to make any great explanation or persuasive plea. This was about love, about loving her for the rest of his life.

  He turned his back to the fire, so that he could look at her by the flickering light. She was the most beautiful, bewitching woman he’d ever set eyes upon. There were others who better epitomized society’s desire for women to resemble pallid, porcelain dolls—Bella had curves and roses in her cheeks—but none of them ever had such an immediate visceral effect on him.

  Her eyes shone when he stepped towards her, and she began inching up the hemline of her dress, exposing her thighs a fraction at a time.

  “You did say inner thigh.”

  “Yes.”

  His lips parted. He very nearly succumbed to temptation. Of course he wanted to kiss her there, and taste her, and claim her as a man was meant to claim the woman he loved too, but business ought to come first.

  “I want… I want for you…” His breath seemed to stick in his lungs, so that his chest was rising and falling with effort. He dropped to his knees between her parted thighs. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”

  “Tempt you,” she said, opening her eyes wide.

  “Desperately.”

  “Is that why you’re so lost for words?”

  He lifted his shoulders, unable to answer.

  “It’s probably because all the blood has rushed down here.” She sat forward, and stroked a finger over the bulge in his breeches.

  “Bella.” His lips parted around a sigh as she squeezed. Damn, but her touch was intoxicating. He wanted her hands upon his bare skin. Why did being honourable have to be such torture? Yes, they’d coupled before, many, many times over, but he was trying to make things right, make them legitimate. Be my wife, that’s all he needed to say. Marry me.

  “Do you regret leaving Yorkshire?” he asked instead.

  No wonder she looked at him as if he were
half crazy.

  “I miss the landscape, and my brother, and all the wide open spaces. London is all surface glitter, and glamour. There’s no depth to it, but you know that. I don’t pine for my birth-place, though. Why? Why is this important all of a sudden?” She sat a little straighter, and her hand left his cock. “You’re not thinking of heading back to Lauwine, are you?”

  “It half crossed my mind. Not immediately. It wouldn’t be until the spring.”

  Her expression made clear her opinion. “I’m not sure that’s a good plan. What about my brother? I’d rather not see you and he ten paces apart attempting to blow one another to smithereens or slice one another open with cutlasses. I know he hasn’t pursued us to London, but if we’re under his nose, he’ll be forced to act. Lucerne, I can’t possibly go home unless I’m…”

  Wed.

  She didn’t say it, but then nor did he. Instead, Bella lowered her gaze and turned her head towards the fire. He watched her biting her lips.

  Somehow the word marriage had been excised from their vocabulary, and made forbidden. They didn’t even use it in whispers.

  He had never intended that to happen. When she’d first agreed to come south to London with him, he’d fully intended to make her his wife at the first opportunity. Then circumstances and Vaughan had rather got in the way.

  Still, he knew any other woman would have forced the issue long ago, demanded everything of him—money, title, possessions. Bella only asked for his love, and even that, she willingly shared with his male lover. Did any other woman exist in the whole of England who was remotely as understanding in that regard? Simply tolerating it was incredible enough. What he and Vaughan shared was beyond scandalous, because it was depraved enough that it could see them both hanged. Yet Bella went a step beyond acceptance, she actively encouraged their closeness—at least, she did in the bedroom. He’d be outright lying if he didn’t admit there was some degree of rivalry between her and Vaughan for his affections.

  “What if…” He slicked his dry lips with his tongue.

  God help him and his prevaricating.