Page 45 of A Gentleman's Wager

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Lucerne

“Pissflaps!”

Lucerne steadied himself on the doorframe and glared at the loose piece of carpet he’d come afoul of. He’d decided to call it a night after finally managing to thrash Joshua at billiards on the sixth attempt. They’d begun a seventh, but he’d conceded after the opening, the balls having become too fuzzy to pinpoint. Presently, someone was dancing flamenco-style on his skull.

He rocked on his heels, then staggered forwards, keeping his grip on the wooden panelling. Two paces on he froze and watched in horror as a white lady came hurtling towards him. He gulped, then blinked uncertainly. Jesus, he was pickled, and now he was hallucinating. The spirit drew closer, now almost on him.

“Sorry,” it mumbled as it swerved sharply to avoid running into him.

“Louisa,” he hissed. “Christ, are you trying to petrify me?”

She stopped dead, then looked back at him with searing blue eyes. “Sorry.” There were tears on her flushed cheeks.

“Is something wrong?”

“No.” She sniffed.

Lucerne held out his hand. “Has someone upset you?”

She shook her head and bit her lower lip to stop it trembling. Then she threw herself at him, burying her face in his chest. He blinked in surprise and made sure he had his balance before letting go of the wall to put his arms around her. Was Wakefield responsible, or Vaughan? That name produced a rush of vertigo in Lucerne. He wondered what it did to her. He’d not delved into the details of Vaughan’s actions towards her at the ball, but he could well imagine reprehensible would cover it.

“Do you think you can make it to your room?” He really wasn’t sober enough to be of much use. His head too thrummy. She shrugged her shoulders inconsolably. “Louisa, come on. It’s not far.”

She sniffed again and dried her cheek with her hand. Lucerne’s heart turned over. He hated to see anyone cry. He pulled her closer and folded her tightly in his arms, only to become aware of the feel of her lightly clad body pressed against his. When he noticed her stiffen against him, he reigned in his instincts to let his hands rove. She was shaking enough already. “Let’s get you to bed where it’s warm.”

He bent and swept her up into his arms. It was only a short distance back to her room. The drink had made him clumsy, so it was just as well that she was so light. Still, it was a relief to reach the bed.

“I’ll be fine now,” she whispered as he lay her down.

“Are you sure?” He stroked her golden hair where it spilled over the pillow. The mattress was soft and welcoming. He yawned sleepily, wishing he could just put his head down.

“Certain.” It took him more effort than it should have to get up. She followed him to the door. “Good night, Lord Marlinscar.”

“Good night,” he replied, and then bent forwards to kiss her. Her mouth was soft and pliant, hot to the touch, and tasted salty from her tears. He hugged her reassuringly, but she pushed him away.

“Good night,” she repeated firmly, then closed the door. Lucerne looked blankly at the wood a moment, and then turned towards the stairs. His head was buzzing furiously, and he needed to lie down. He thought he might just make it as far as the daybed in his dressing room.

“You damned whoreson fop!”

The exclamation felt like a plate breaking inside his head. Through half-lidded eyes, he managed to focus on the figure coming towards him like a tempest. “Freddy?” He rubbed his eyes slowly to try to remove the hazy film that was distorting his vision.

“You utter bastard. Last night you played your stupid joke on me, and tonight you and that mincing dandy just had to tread on my”—Wakefield’s nostrils flared, and his lip trembled with emotion—“my love.”

Lucerne reared back in surprise. He was too tired for this. “What are you talking about?”

Wakefield flinched, then he recovered himself and he puffed up his chest. “You know. Why else would you be making love to her?”

Lucerne wasn’t even certain what they were talking about, but he suspected it might be Louisa. Too drunk for diplomacy, he opted for denial. “I wasn’t.”

“Damn it, I saw you.”

“You saw me kiss her goodnight. She was upset.”

Freddy’s eyes took on the quality of flint. “That was some goodnight kiss, Lucerne. Did you practice it on your grandmother?”

Lucerne shook his head. The pounding in his skull grew louder. He held up his hand. “Enough. Please. I wasn’t kissing her. And I need to go to bed. Goodnight.” He pushed past Frederick and lurched on to the landing, feeling resentful. What he didn’t need right now was another bloody argument. The ongoing discord with Vaughan was quite taxing enough. In any case, jealousy in all its forms was always tiresome, when it also stood between him and his bed, well… In any case, he’d only kissed her because she looked as if she could use some affection. Wakefield ought to go yell at her.