Page 16 of A Gentleman's Wager

Bella coughed to draw his attention.

He turned his head, revealing bright, violet-coloured eyes that narrowed under long dark lashes. “Lord Marlinscar is in the drawing room,” he remarked, afore returning to his drink.

Curiosity roused; Bella rested her head against the doorframe as she watched him sip. He was graceful to the point of being languid, and beautiful in a way that entirely eclipsed Lucerne’s radiance. Where Lucerne was golden, this man was darkly saturnine. But who was he? Wakefield had told them surprisingly little of Lucerne’s other guests during his visits to Wyndfell. Might she be so forward as to initiate an introduction?

After a few minutes of enduring her gaze, the man rose, treating her to his full proportions. Black, close-fitting pantaloons encased firm thighs. His waistcoat was plum, shot with silver, coat the shifting grey of wet slate. He walked towards her. As he drew closer, Bella dipped into a curtsy and extended a hand, but instead of accepting it, he rudely brushed past her into the hallway. Stunned, she watched him fade into the shadows of the staircase.

“Arrogant nob,” she swore, more humiliated than angry.

“Ah, I see you’ve met Pennerley.”

A thrill went through Bella’s chest at the sound of Lucerne’s voice, though it didn’t quite eradicate her irritation. Across the room, light from a newly opened doorway painted fresh shadows over the carpet. Lucerne closed the cunningly disguised door behind him so that it blended seamlessly with the bookcase. He was dressed in cream and buff, as tall and handsome as ever and smiling warmly at her. “Miss Rushdale.”

“Lord Marlinscar.” She dipped into another curtsy.

“Another guest?” she asked, unable to help herself looking over her shoulder once again.

“Yes. Vaughan Peredur Forvasham, Marquis of Pennerley, an old acquaintance, newly returned from Italy.”

“Is he always so friendly?”

Lucerne replied with a non-committal shrug of his broad shoulders, leaving her to draw her own conclusions. He lifted her hand and pressed his lips to the soft skin of her wrist, in a vexingly intimate manner that had her leaning towards him, eager for closer contact. “You are here, but where is your brother, and the delightful Miss Stanley?”

“Still on their way, I imagine. I rode across the fields. You don’t mind that I brought my horse, do you? I did hope that we could ride out. If you’ll recall—”

“Such eagerness, Miss Rushdale.”

“Bella,” she corrected him.

“I only wonder as to the cause. Not to see me?” He cocked an elegant eyebrow. “I’m sure you’ve already seen enough.”

Whether he intended it or not, the memory of him nude and magnificent spun large in Bella’s mind. She bowed her head, unable to hold back a smile, which left her gaze directed at the crotch of his tailored breeches. How she would love to make a closer inspection. All the local ladies would be vying for his attention tonight. She had better stake her claim now if she didn’t want to pushed aside.

“No, never. I should be delighted to see a deal more.”

“Is that so?”

She met his gaze again, to find his expression dancing between desire and gentle mockery. He was used to fashionable London society, and no doubt thought her country manners rather quaint.

Bella parted her lips, inviting him to speak. Instead, he leaned forwards slightly. Her breath caught in her throat as she waited for him to deliver the Rubicon kiss, but he merely pressed his thumb to her lips and smiled.

“I assume your groom’s taken your horse.”

Bella nodded.

“So, what now? Would you like to see the house, or shall I introduce you to some of my more – ah – more sociable guests?”

“And Pennerley?” she asked. “Did I interrupt you?”

Lucerne shook his head, then brushed his fingers lightly against her upper arm. “Don’t worry about him. Vaughan’s more than capable of entertaining himself.”

-11-

Louisa

“Joshua, good man. You’re here at last.”

Louisa watched as their host greeted Joshua, while one of the footmen offered her hand to descend from the carriage. They’d become stuck in a muddy stretch of road for an abysmally long time. Long enough that she’d contemplated walking and would probably have arrived sooner had she done so. The reason she’d held back was to avoid turning up looking like a bumpkin with her skirts all splashed.