A Gentleman's Wager (13 page)

‘Like hell! I know you too well, Marlinscar.’ Lucerne felt a weight on his left shoulder, strong fingers curling into the fabric of his coat. ‘What, will you tuck Miss Rushdale in as well?’

‘Get off.’ Lucerne jerked aside to try and shrug off the restraint, but Wakefield moved with him and shifted his grip, boxing him in against the wall.

‘You’ll apologise.’

‘For what? You’re the one who’s been free with your favours.’

Lucerne clawed at Wakefield’s hands, trying to bend his fingers back, but to no avail. The stitching of his coat began to give under the strain. Lucerne yanked at Wakefield’s arm and the fabric tore. Wakefield held up a piece of the cloth and Lucerne shoved him backwards. Rage filled Lucerne’s eyes like a bloody film, making him conscious of the brooding anger he’d muddied with drink. It loosened his tongue. ‘Might I add that after tupping her best friend you’ve no right to be jealous.’

‘You told me you weren’t interested.’

‘I’m not.’

‘So what’s this,
primae noctis
?’

Lucerne’s patience broke. He’d swallowed his anger and tried to be fair for too long. ‘Cur!’ he snarled. ‘Which of her accomplishments are you interested in? Her painting and singing, or her money and her muff?’

Wakefield swung at him; Lucerne blinked uncertainly as he saw the fist coming towards him. He put up his arm to block the punch, somehow deflecting it so that it only caught him slightly on the chin, but he felt the dull explosion in his ear. In retaliation he lashed out wildly with his right fist, followed by a sharp uppercut to Wakefield’s jaw with his left. His opponent swayed backwards, slightly disoriented. Lucerne hit him squarely in the midriff and sent him sprawling to the floor. He choked down the urge to continue, feeling that his point had been made. He staggered past the downed captain, wheezing slightly, wondering if he’d taken more hits than he remembered. As he turned to cross the lower landing to the east wing, he saw Wakefield grab the banister and haul himself to his feet. He glared at Lucerne then charged at him.

Lucerne’s shoes skittered on the stone as he was thrown forwards by the impact. He threw his arms out to save himself and saw the marble stairs rise towards him. Everything slowed around him and he tasted bile in his throat.

He hit the bottom surprisingly intact but, by the time he’d recovered, Wakefield was on top of him.

Lucerne tried to roll, but a shooting pain in his ribs stopped him. He gasped and spat out the metallic-tasting saliva in his mouth as Wakefield hit him in the stomach. Still coughing, he made a grab for Wakefield’s head, caught a handful of thick brown hair, and twisted. It earned him a howl of outrage, bringing a grim smile of determination to his bloodied lips. They both fought for advantage, grappling and pummelling. Lucerne felt a
thumb
digging into his throat, and reacted by driving his elbow into Wakefield’s eye socket. The hand gripped harder and he kicked away, gasping for air.

‘Gentlemen … please.’ Vaughan’s voice echoed down the stairwell, accompanied by his descending footsteps. Lucerne breathed hard. After a moment he felt a hand on his shoulder pulling him away from Frederick, who had fallen against the bottom of the stairs.

‘Lucerne!’ Vaughan squeezed his shoulder, and put a restraining hand to his arm. ‘Calm down.’

‘What’s this infernal racket?’ bellowed Charles gruffly. Lucerne looked up the stairs to see him tiptoeing around the blood-spotted marble in his nightcap and gown, just above where Frederick had collapsed.

‘It appears they’re trying to kill each other,’ explained Vaughan. He glanced at Lucerne, then at Wakefield. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer pistols at dawn, gentlemen? Brawling is for the rabble.’

Lucerne shook his head, having suddenly lost his will to fight. ‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said. He watched Wakefield nod in agreement, then accept Vaughan’s handkerchief for his bleeding nose. Vaughan returned to Lucerne’s side and offered him a hand up. Lucerne pushed him away. He was no greenhorn; he could get up on his own. No matter that his legs protested. He grimaced with determination, and managed to stand.

‘What were you fighting over?’ asked Charles

‘Nothing,’ he mumbled, and tried not to think of how he was going to feel once the numbing effect of the brandy wore off. A sliver of ice seemed to have embedded itself in his left side. He thought he might have to resort to laudanum just to sleep.

‘Louisa,’ admitted Frederick.

Charles snorted derisively. ‘What the hell for? The maids are more comely. Got more meat on ’em.’

Lucerne frowned. He saw Frederick’s jaw harden and his eyes narrow. He wanted to warn Charles not to make light of it, but was distracted by Vaughan sniggering behind him.

‘YOU’RE LEAVING?
’

Lucerne met Joshua’s cheery face with a troubled frown. They were standing in Lauwine’s marble entrance hall, not far from the bloodstained steps which a pair of maids were busy scrubbing. The smell of scouring powder assailed his nostrils, mingled with the cleaner odour of the rain beyond the open door.

Joshua shrugged on his greatcoat. ‘Yes. I’ve business in Richmond, and a few days in town should give Frederick’s temper a chance to cool. Plus, it will give us some time to sort out this nonsense with Louisa.

‘It’ll do you both good,’ he continued, as he patted Lucerne’s shoulder. ‘The bruises will be gone by the time we’re back, and heads will be clearer too.’

‘I suppose so.’ Lucerne rubbed his aching jaw and peered out of the door at Frederick, who was already seated in the carriage. He’d hoped for a chance to sort out last night’s muddle and retract some of his remarks, but the other man showed no inclination to talk.

‘You’ve a nasty gash there,’ remarked Joshua, and Lucerne came back to the present. He had one cut on his cheekbone that he was hoping wouldn’t scar.

‘Quite. How’s Freddy?’

‘Some nice bumps, and a beautiful black eye,’ Joshua replied tactfully. ‘I trust honour is satisfied?’

Lucerne broke eye contact.

‘Now, Lucerne –’ Joshua’s expression became unusually serious ‘–I’m going to have to leave Louisa and my sister
under
your protection. I could send them home to the Grange, but I know Bella; she’d be back before nightfall. Can I trust you to make sure that decorum is observed?’

‘Of course. You have my word,’ replied Lucerne, surprised and flattered by his request. He wondered what had built such an understanding between brother and sister. In the city, it was virtually unheard of for an unmarried lady to be left in the care of a man to whom she wasn’t related. Of course, now that he’d given his word he’d have to behave himself, at least until Joshua returned.

‘Come back soon,’ he called as he watched Joshua sprint down the steps to the carriage.

He shut the door against the weather and looked around. For the first time, he noticed Bella on the balcony and Vaughan waiting in the shadows by the library door. He turned his back on them both, and strode away towards the west wing.

‘Ah, Aubury. You’ve finally made it,’ Lucerne congratulated Charles as the portly landowner reached the top of the hill, puffing like one of James Watts’s steam engines. ‘Do sit down awhile. Only another three miles to go.’ Too out of breath for a more eloquent reply, Charles resorted to a glare, before he collapsed wheezing against a flat stone.

Vaughan allowed himself a smile. He was perched beside Lucerne on the top of a dry stone wall, listening to the wind whip around them. The sky had mostly cleared after lunch and only a few clouds remained. It had been Lucerne’s idea to come out on a long walk; he probably thought it would clear the air. Vaughan supposed it was working quite well, given the fact that the exercise was likely to kill Charles; for his own part, fresh air wasn’t going to change his mind. Eventually, he
mused
, Lucerne was going to have to face the facts about himself.

He leaned across to Lucerne and pulled a stray fern from his friend’s hair. He saw a nervous smile twitch about the viscount’s lips.

‘Begad, Lucerne, there was no need for that mountain,’ gasped Charles.

Lucerne stopped drumming his fingers on the moss-streaked wall and turned away from Vaughan. ‘It’s a hill,’ he remarked dryly.

Vaughan released the fern, letting it sail off on the wind.

Charles blew out a long breath and propped himself on his elbows, face glowing beetroot red. ‘Aye, for sheep and goats, maybe. How is it you two aren’t out of breath?’

‘We have less of a load to bear,’ said Vaughan. He dropped to his feet, feeling the springy turf give beneath him. The spray of droplets splashed Charles.

‘Hey, watch out,’ he complained.

‘You should spend less time at the card table swigging port and get out more,’ said Lucerne.

‘Get out more!’ exclaimed Charles as he shook out his spotted cotton handkerchief. He mopped the sweat from his brow. ‘Damn your eyes, Marlinscar. I often ride out with the hounds. What would you know? You’ve spent your life idling in London.’

‘I’m not the one panting.’

‘Clearly your chosen sport isn’t taxing you enough,’ remarked Vaughan.

Charles made a throaty grumble. ‘You stay out of this, Pennerley.’

‘I was merely going to suggest that you take up steeplechasing.’

‘What an excellent idea!’ Lucerne sprang to his feet. ‘Let’s race.’

‘No,’ groaned Charles.

Vaughan met Lucerne’s twinkly blue eyes and saw laughter in them, and then they were both running.

‘Last to the steeple pays the tab at the Golden Cock,’ Lucerne called over his shoulder.

‘Marlinscar, you confounded popinjay!’ Charles yelled as he staggered after them, all red face and brown corduroy.

Giggling like boys, they ran down the grassy slope. It was half a mile of rugged pasture to the village of Reeth. At the end of the gorge, Vaughan leaped the stream and heard Lucerne splash through just behind him. He picked up the pace as he ploughed through the thick wet grass; it was hard work since the ground was still boggy after the rain, and there was no clear path. His soles squelched in the mud with each step. By the time they emerged on the grazing field that bordered the church, they were neck and neck.

Lucerne was racing him for the kissing gate. They’d only be able to go through one at a time. Vaughan veered right, pushed off on the top of the church wall and cleared it. He landed heavily on the far side, ducked to avoid laying himself out on a huge granite cross, and saw Lucerne sprint past him. Kicking out with his last reserve of energy, Vaughan chased him the remaining hundred yards to the church door. Lucerne won by a fraction of a second.

They staggered into the leafy porch, bent and panting. ‘Lucerne.’ Vaughan rubbed the sweat from his palm on his trouser leg, and offered his hand. They shook warmly.

‘I’d never have won but for that wall,’ confessed Lucerne. He straightened his back and coughed the phlegm from his throat as he smiled. ‘That was hard work.’

‘I daresay Charles will think so as well.’

Lucerne shielded his eyes and turned to look for him. A blurry figure was moving slowly towards them in the distance. ‘I believe that’s him coming.’

‘Quick!’ Vaughan grasped Lucerne’s sleeve and tugged him along the uneven path around the side of the church. They scrambled between the blackberry bush and the vestry steps and fell on to the grass snickering behind a high, boxy sepulchre.

The sun was warm against Vaughan’s chest. He lay still for a moment, listening to the birdsong and the sound of his own breathing. Lucerne was kneeling beside him, peeping cautiously around the edge of the tomb. Vaughan tugged at his coat. ‘Get down. He’ll see you.’

Lucerne allowed himself to be pulled back. He fell on to the grass beside Vaughan, stifling his laughter. Charles’s voice drifted towards them on a breeze that smelled of ripe berries. Vaughan looked down into his friend’s bright cornflower-blue eyes and sighed. He watched all the humour vanish from Lucerne’s face, as the viscount’s lips thinned and the light in his eyes dimmed.

‘Vaughan, we have to talk,’ he whispered.

There was a heavy silence. Vaughan shook his head almost imperceptibly. ‘What’s to be said?’ He shifted his gaze to Lucerne’s gently rising and falling chest to hide the pain of rejection in his eyes. He thought that, after all this, Lucerne’s defences might have shown at least an appreciable crack.

‘I’m sorry, Vaughan.’ Lucerne touched his ringlets, unintentionally brushing the skin of his cheek. Vaughan flinched; the well-meant caress hurt more than a slap. He didn’t need Lucerne’s sympathy.

‘Don’t pity me.’

Lucerne shifted uncomfortably, drawing back his hand and laying it palm up on the grass. It looked like a
gesture
of surrender. Vaughan pounced, pinning his wrist, and felt the viscount’s startled exhalation against his cheek as he lowered his mouth to kiss him. He’d prove his point yet.

‘Ho, found you.’ Charles leaned over the top of the sepulchre, just as their lips were about to brush. Vaughan jerked away sharply and rolled on to his side. Beside him, Lucerne sat bolt upright.

‘What were you doing?’ asked Charles.

‘Nothing.’ Lucerne’s voice was gratingly sharp. Vaughan watched him pull himself to his feet, and brush down his breeches. ‘Let’s go for that drink.’

‘Of course, of course, though I suppose you still want me to pay. Still, the Golden Cock has the finest ales, porters and small beers around, so I shan’t complain. I expect such beverages will be wasted on your lordships. You’ll be wanting sherry or Madeira,’ he finished dubiously.

Vaughan caught Charles eyeing them suspiciously. Aubury wasn’t as simple as he made out. At the very least, he was now wondering how far their friendship went. Let him wonder, he thought. Vaughan had never been afraid of his own sexuality, and he wasn’t the only man among the nobility that played both sides. He graced Charles with a lecherous grin, and enjoyed the startled-rabbit response. They might have to have a talk later about ill-timed intrusions.

Lucerne offered Vaughan a hand up and he accepted it graciously. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Lucerne turned away and led them into the lane. Anything left unsaid would have to wait, for the moment.