Chandelier (Tarnished Crowns Trilogy Book 1)

by Annie Dyer

  I hear the anger in my brother’s voice. Before he is a prince and an heir, he is a man and he’s a good one. As much as he’ll take advantage of Elise and whoever else slips into his bed, he’d never intentionally hurt anyone. That’s where he’s like our father.

  “Do we know this officially?”

  “No.” Lennox huffs the word. “But don’t ask too much about where he was last night.”

  I shake my head. I wasn’t going to anyway; I had no interest in where William Goldsmith was last night. Or in joining in my brother’s political games.

  “Don’t do this again.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Arrange for a meal with a man I don’t need to be alone with.”

  I’m met with silence.

  “Seriously, Lennox. This isn’t fair…”

  “We’re trying to clear the differences between us, Blair. Stop this ridiculous feud between us…”

  I know a speech is about to start.

  “That’s fine,” I interrupt. “But you need to discuss with me what I want before agreeing for me to have private dinners. That’s a whole different thing.”

  There’s silence again which means he knows he’s fucked up.

  “Lennox, I mean it.”

  “You’ll be okay tonight though?”

  I can feel Ben’s eyes on me and I know if I don’t want William here, he’ll make sure it doesn’t happen.

  “I’ll be fine. I’ve spent my life being trained for these situations.”

  “He’s a decent man. Just enjoy it.”

  There’s no point in explaining it to him. Every word I say, every nod I give, William will analyse because that’s what we do. Lennox does the same, but it’s that encapsulated in his life, he no longer notices it.

  “What are you doing tonight?” I’ve heard only briefly from Elise. She’s working as a buyer for a clothing company and she’s just been offered promotion. Not that she needs the income but she likes the status. She hasn’t mentioned Lennox in a couple of weeks, other than to dig for gossip.

  “Taking Fiona for a meal.”

  I roll my eyes at Ben because I know he can hear what Lennox is saying. “Who’s Fiona?”

  “Guy Dowie’s daughter. She was the year below you at school.”

  “The oil heiress?”

  “That’s the one.”

  I smother a groan before it escapes. Fiona is everything my brother needs to avoid. She’s beautiful and rich and she knows how to behave, but he’ll die of boredom if he pursues anything with her and that would be trouble for everyone. My brother likes women. Plural. Just not enough to settle down with one.

  “Lennox, please don’t go there. She’ll be giving secret statements to the press.” And he didn’t need that. His one major flaw.

  “It’s just dinner. I’m not taking her home. Or anywhere else. Mum’s asked me to go out with her a couple of times. Not sure why.” He’s starting to sound bored. “Look, just be as friendly as you can with William. I’m not asking you to marry the man or anything.”

  “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

  We say our goodbyes and hang up. Ben is still there, watching.

  “There’s media outside.” His voice is low, quiet, as if we’ll be heard, as if the hacks are standing outside the room.

  I understand what he means. Someone has tipped them off that William Goldsmith is visiting. Someone has an agenda and that someone could well be Lennox.

  “They’re the human equivalent of maggots.” My opinion isn’t high. “Let’s hope the Prime Minister isn’t keen on sharing his tales.”

  Ben shakes his head. “I don’t trust anyone, Blair. But in this case, I think I’m justified. I’m going to stay in your room while he’s here.”

  I nod. “Thank you.” A current connects and I feel a buzz.

  I never got over Ben. He was the boy I always thought about when I was with the few other men. It was his hands I’d want on me, his lips breathing my name.

  I don’t think he got over me either. Not if the way he’s looking at me is anything to go by.

  William Goldsmith is on time, almost to the second. He’s escorted to the door by one of his team, probably security, and he’s let in by Franklyn who hasn’t buffed his shoes as much as normal, which tells me everything I need to know about Franklyn’s perspective on William.

  “Evening.” He reaches to take my hand.

  I offer it to him to shake, but instead he lifts it to his mouth, pressing a kiss to it and looking at me with an expression which suggests I should be bowled over by his smoothness.

  When I was a child, I had an uncle who used to insist that I kissed him every time I saw him. Nothing inappropriate, but if I refused he’d act upset and hurt and I’d feel bad. I complained to my mother, but she’d argued back, saying we saw him infrequently and it was just the way he was. For the sake of causing an argument about how I was spoilt, I could accept his usually sloppy kiss on my cheek.

  Since then, I’d hated being kissed when I didn’t want it and I hate the way William seems to think that I’ve been honoured.

  I don’t wipe the kiss from my hand away on my trousers, like I might’ve done as a child, but I know as soon as it’s acceptable, I’ll be off to the bathroom to wash my hands.

  “I’m so glad we can have dinner. Get to know each other a bit better, especially as your father and brother are keen for our countries to work closely together.”

  I hear nerves in his voice. He’s repeating lines he’s learned and whatever sincerity is there is hidden beneath masked fear.

  “Have a seat.” I gesture to the table that’s been set up. “I’ll have the sommelier bring us wine. I asked for red – I hope that’s okay.” Usually, I’d pour it myself, but that implies intimacy and friendship and I want to keep this as professional as possible.

  He nods. “I can do it.” Then he looks about the suite, anxious.

  “It’s fine. All taken care of. It’s always a little strange when you have people waiting on in a place you’re used to being casual, so I just pretend I’m in a restaurant.” I offer a smile. “Without the extensive menu choice.”

  He laughs and relaxes, and we start to talk. I keep the conversation light, focusing on every day topics and batting away anything personal or anything encroaching on finding out something about me. All the time, I’m aware that he’s hunting for details and that Ben is in the room nearby, listening.

  “How come you’re still single? No pressure to marry?” He puts down the fork from our dessert, a red velvet cake that would’ve gone better with a different wine.

  I have a choice. I can agree that I’m still single or I can lie and hint otherwise. Gone are the days of the virgin princess and I don’t have to pretend to live in a fairy tale.

  “I keep my private life out of the public eye. The people need a royal family to be a figurehead, not a scandal ridden soap opera.”

  He nods and I can tell he wants to push for more information. “So you are seeing someone?”

  “It’s early days.” So early, neither of us have woken up yet.

  “Not serious then?”

  I smile. “More wine?”

  The door from my bedroom opens and Ben appears in his suit, looking very much like my security. I glance at him quickly, pulling my eyes away before they linger too long.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but the plane is going to take off earlier than we anticipated due to weather in Scotland so we’ll have to leave around half an hour earlier.” He doesn’t smile, just looks busy and agitated, giving William a brief nod before heading back into what has been my bedroom.”

  “Your security?”

  “He is. Head of. He’s taken over from Micky – although I’m not sure if you’ve ever met him.” I stand up and push my chair under. “I’m really sorry about this. I thought we’d have had longer to chat.” My smile is bright enough to light a room and as a false as a thirteen-dollar note.

  He stands too, looking disappo
inted. I have no idea what he expected from the night.

  “Maybe I can persuade you to visit me in London in the next few weeks, before parliament is in session again? Show you the sites from a Londoner’s perspective?” He takes a step towards me, shortening the distance.

  I’d like to move away, but it would be curt to do so. “I don’t know what my schedule’s like for August – I have an actual vacation that’s not work later this month. But I’ll have Franklyn let you know when I have available.”

  His smile is wider this time. “I’ll look forward to it. Or maybe I could join you on vacation at some point? It’s Jumby Bay Island you’re heading out too, isn’t it?”

  I feel my spine stiffen and my next inhalation is deep and long. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “I like to research the things I’m interested in.” And this time the smile isn’t nervous or even pleasant. It’s predatory. I know that Ben is near and he’ll listening. But I’m not comfortable. And I’m not a thing.

  “I think the resort is pretty much booked up for Blair’s holiday.” Ben is there and I’ve no idea where he materialised from. “If you have your secretary contact the palace, I’m sure another meeting can be arranged when she’s back working.”

  William’s eyes turn cold. Hard.

  “You speak for her often?”

  “Only when she’s getting angry. I know of old she doesn’t like being called a thing.”

  He steps back. “That wasn’t how I meant it. And I don’t want to end the evening on a sour note. I hope we can repeat tonight sooner rather than later.” His eyes are back on me.

  “No harm done. And yes, just contact Franklyn. He keeps my diary.”

  “I can’t have your number?”

  I shake my head and give the naïve smile that’s been my saviour too many times. “Security protocol I’m afraid.”

  “Very well. I’ll wish you a good flight and leave you to it.”

  We end the evening, Ben closing the door behind him and turning the lock. Then his hand is on the small of my back and he’s guiding me in the second bedroom that hasn’t been used but is well away from the door.

  The door shuts and we’re alone, enclosed.

  “He’s dangerous.”

  “I know.”

  “Lennox…”

  “Is a dick. I’ll tell him what happened. You shouldn’t have called him out about the holiday.”

  Ben shrugs. “Worse that can happen is they fire me, but they won’t do that.”

  He’s too close to me. And he’s right.

  Because I wouldn’t let them.

  The room is suddenly too small, the walls closing in.

  “Ben.” His name escapes my lips. “Why did you never contact me when you joined the army?”

  “Because that would’ve made it too hard. Where would me writing to you or calling have gotten us?” He turns his head to look out of the window and I catch sight of a white line across the side of his neck. He’s scarred.

  The two metres between us is nothing compared with the miles that were there before and I move next to him, my finger tracing the scarred skin, almost imperceptible.

  “How did you get this?”

  “I pissed somebody off.” He catches my hand. Moves it from his neck but he doesn’t let it go.

  He doesn’t kiss it like William Goldsmith did, he doesn’t hold it tenderly as if it was made from the most fragile porcelain. He grips it, warning me not to touch; needing me to touch.

  My lips are on his at the same time an explosion goes off in my chest, taking, taking, taking because he doesn’t give anything back but now his hands are on my ass and I’m melting from the inside out. He’s hard under my hands, sheet muscle with enough power to floor me and enough again to break me. For him, I am a fairy tale, just the princess he couldn’t save.

  I’m terrified.

  I break away, step back from him, move out of his hold. He hasn’t kissed me back, remaining frozen. An ice man, just like when he was an ice boy and his resolve was frozen.

  But his hands told me otherwise.

  I don’t let his gaze leave me, holding his blue eyes with mine. “Should I apologise?”

  “Never apologise. We really do have a plane to catch.”

  My eyes drops to his trousers and I see what I didn’t feel. He’s hard. Just from a kiss and cupping my ass.

  I lick my lips and he doesn’t smile.

  I won’t make him smile. I’ll bring him to his knees.

  Chapter Seven

  The loch is still, stiller than it’s ever been and I’m on a boat, wearing white, my dress full of lace and silk. The sky is grey and the mountains are murky, dark grey blocks against everything else.

  There’s no sun but I’m still warm, too warm and I keep fighting to take off what I’m wearing, but it won’t come off, my fingers won’t grip.

  At some point, I realise that this is a dream. The loch is never this still and the sky always moves with the wind rather than being static, but although I’m frustrated with the dress, I don’t want to leave here.

  I’m flat on my back, watching the sky, thick unmoving clouds a dense duvet. I don’t think anyone is with me; the boat is static. Not even a bird’s wings flutter across the grey ceiling. My hands are trapped in the material I’m draped in and I can feel panic stirred deep inside me. Alone. No one to help.

  There’s a tear, the rip of material and I’m sitting up, warmth behind me, but the boat doesn’t wobble. I feel air against my chest and my nipples harden, now exposed because the rip was my dress. It’s now gone. Evaporated, as if it had been made of the mist.

  Big hands cup my breasts, the skin rough and calloused, a working man’s hands. He isn’t gentle as he touches me. He pinches my nipples, massages my breasts, pushing them together. I relax back, completely at his mercy. Allowing myself to be at his mercy because there’s nowhere else to be, except here, exposed.

  His scent is familiar, as is the press of his cock against my back. I can feel his desire but he’s oblivious to it, this is about me, primarily. But soon it won’t be because he’s going to take what he needs, a pearl for him to feast on.

  Between my legs is soaked, my cunt slick with my juices and my hips buck slightly with need and the want to be filled, but he won’t touch me there. His sole focus is on my tits, playing with them so much it’s painful. Teeth graze my neck, biting softly and I’m desperate for him to suck on my tits, to bend me over and enter me, fuck me like it doesn’t matter who I am.

  There’s a clamp on my hips, another set of hands and for a moment I panic. My hips can’t move anymore and I need to find some friction, something to cure this interminable ache.

  There are words but I don’t understand them. Voices, but I can’t make out what they’re saying but it doesn’t matter because someone is sucking on my clit, then licking, tiny flicks of a powerful tongue, a serpent’s tongue and I need to be held down, else I’d be flying.

  I don’t see who’s between my legs. The hands on my breasts are still there, cupping them, teasing, creating a current between my centre and them. I hear myself moan, begging to be allowed to come, but each time I’m nearly within touching distance of the grail, I’m pulled away by both of them as they slow their hands and mouths.

  A finger enters me, pushing against the spot inside that reduces me to ash and tinder. My nipples are pinched hard and I erupt; the sky now has stars and I’m shooting towards them, but instead of feeling the air around me, I feel the cold laps of water.

  We’re sinking.

  The hands have gone and I’m being pulled under by the current, a swirling levy of fury. And then they are there again, the hands.

  Steadying. Touching. Lifting me up, touching my nakedness while they are still clothed. It’s wrong, to be seen and touched. I’m breaking rules but as my head comes out of the water, I’m orgasming again, their hands bringing me rapidly to that edge and letting me surface into something new, their bodies supporting me.

>   My eyes open and I shudder as my cunt pulses around nothing, the orgasm not just in my dreams. The sheets are sweaty, my nightdress pushed up high, like a virgin’s on her wedding night. It’s been too long since Cuba.

  I touch myself, feeling my wetness and groan. I know the dream was to do with Ben, even if he wasn’t explicitly in it. Since we’ve returned from Manchester, he’s avoided me as much as he could, saying nothing about me kissing him or how he touched me. We’ve hit an impasse, a stalemate, pretending that each other doesn’t exist and it’s made me want to bite my arm in frustration.

  I remember how he touched me when we were younger, his hands were smoother then although they’d felt rough against my skin, his fingers big when they played with me, slipping between my legs and over my clit, then pressing inside, at first the pain giving way to pleasure. I think of him now, how he would play with my body now it was different. Older. Now I know more about what I like, what I want to try, how I like it.

  How I want him.

  He was catnip and cocktails and the hidden ray of sunshine on a dingy day. I think of him as my own hand slides over my skin, my fingers delving into my wetness, spreading it over my clit, pinching my nipple with my other hand.

  I imagine him spreading me open for him to see, just as he did before, his head between my legs, tasting me, gripping my thighs as he drank, only now he doesn’t stop there, flipping me onto my front and pushing two thick fingers into my cunt, stretching me ready.

  In my mind, he enters me roughly, gripping my hips as he pushes his cock inside me in one swift move and then he’s reaching underneath to find my clit, the rhythm of his fucking the beat to my finger and I come hard, gripping the mattress to save my sanity because he makes me lose every ounce of my mind.

  I come on my hand, my fingers saturated and I’m panting. Beneath me the sheet is wet and my nipples are exposed to the room. Sleeping naked is new, but I want to feel the sheets over my skin because any sensation is craved. Needed.

  The floor is cool beneath my feet, contrasting sharply against the sticky warmth of my bed. I would stay in bed, but it would be a waste of a day when I don’t have anything planned; a day to get ready before we head off tomorrow for three weeks’ vacation on a tropical island as far away from the public as we can find ourselves.