Page 98 of A Gentleman's Wager

Louisa refused to be drawn into that piece of speculation. “So, the marquis didn’t go with them?”

Emma frowned. “No. Miss, aren’t you the least bit excited that his lordship might propose to Miss Rushdale.”

“I’ll be ecstatic,” Louisa batted the hairbrush in Emma’s direction. Truly, she would be. If, it occurred.

The maid considered her thoughtfully. “How should I do your hair today?”

Louisa waved her hand. “Just something simple. Whatever you think best.” It wasn’t as if anyone would see it. She had no intention of engaging with Pennerley, and Charles wouldn’t notice if she stuck a whole ostrich on her head.

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Bella

“Louisa will be sore that we didn’t invite her,” Bella remarked as she climbed into Lucerne’s carriage. She did not like such conveyances, though Lucerne’s landau was well appointed, but conceded that they’d have arrived looking unforgivably moppy if they’d set out on foot or horseback. “She used to live not far from Meyrick Lodge before she went to live with her aunt.”

Lucerne slammed the carriage door, then barked at the driver to move on, resulting in him tumbling onto the upholstered leather seat opposite her when they darted off rather more imminently than he’d expected. With a snort, he righted himself. “On this occasion, I’m delighted she overslept.”

“Lord Marlinscar,” Bella protested, “I do hope you’re not being mean to my friend.”

She rather prayed Louisa would not hold this excursion against her. She had after all, just left her alone with the fiend—well, and Charles, but he hardly counted.

“On the contrary, I’m sparing her innocence.”

“Her—?” Bella’s eyes widened as Lucerne spread his thighs and stretched his palms over them. Given his love of tightly tailored pantaloons, there was no mistaking the bulge behind his falls. “Am I correct in thinking this isn’t so much a social call, as a—”

“Come here, wench.” He grasped her hand and tugged, pulling her into his lap.

Bella laughed in delight. “No longer scared of my brother?”

“Carpe florem. What’s done is done.” As he dipped his head to kiss her, Bella slid her hands around his neck and into his thick blond hair. Since their awkward exchange following the game of shades, their interactions had remained largely chaste. Lucerne, seemingly wary of her attachment, and she, resentful of his unwillingness to commit. It was not even that she desired a proposal, only reassurance that he wouldn’t hare off back to London with Vaughan to engage in whatever ribald nonsense gentleman of the ton got up to, leaving her behind to moulder in absolute tedium.

“Don’t you find carriage journeys to be deeply stimulating?” he postulated.

Vomit inducing was what came instantly to Bella’s mind, but she spared him that sentiment for fear of it killing the mood. At least this conveyance appeared to be well sprung, thus she was not seized with a desperate urge to stick her head out of the window. “Mostly I find them rather monotonous. All the rocking, back and forth,” she emphasized the motion with the swaying of her hips.

“Curious, that’s the part I find most stimulating.” Lucerne took a tight hold of her rump and pulled her fast against his cock so that they rocked together.

“Ah!” Bella gasped, feigning outrage. “My lord! What cudgel is this that you strike me with. I’ll have you know that I’m a most prim and proper maid.”

“You’re a wanton tart,” he purred into her ear. “Or you’d have brought a maid. Now, what do you say we have some fun?”

“Hm,” Bella feigned consideration, for of course she was delighted with the notion.

Lucerne plucked a coin from his pocket. “I’ve a nice golden guinea for you if you’ll show me your tits, two if you’ll flash me your cunny.”

“My lord!” Bella widened her eyes. “I can’t believe… Stop the carriage. Call the constable, and the militia. I’m being carried off by a fearful rapscallion.” She was pleased to see that her dramatics raised a smile.

“Five.” Lucerne negotiated, producing precisely that number of coins from his pocket, which he rolled between his fingers. “But if you take them, you have to bathe St George.”

Bella eyed them covetously as he made them dance. “Bathe St George? I’m not at all sure I’m acquainted with the fellow.” She looked about as if she might find a hereto overlooked passenger amongst the squabs.

“I assure you; you are.” Her confusion seemed to tickle Lucerne immensely. He leaned forward and slotted the guineas one by one into the slit of her décolletage. “It means I want you to suck my cock.”

She gasped in shock and delight. “Truly?” Vaughan had tormented her with the notion of such pleasure, but denied her the realisation of it, and Lucerne had thwarted her previous attempts to fellate him. She eyed him archly as if contemplating the prospect. “What happened to the nice, well-mannered libertine—”

“Lovelace—”

“—I believed myself to be with?”