A Country Scandal: a sexy, scandalous page-turner

by Sasha Morgan

  ‘It must be what?’ He ran the side of his hand down her face. Megan felt that tingling sensation start to return.

  ‘It must be stressful, knowing so much is hinging on you,’ she replied, trying to concentrate. His hand cupped her chin, whilst he bent forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

  Then he straightened and replied, ‘Yes, there is a degree of pressure, but nothing I can’t handle. Anyway, I won’t be here for the foreseeable future.’ He was exaggerating, testing the water to see how she’d react. Her look of alarm answered his question and gave his ego a satisfying boost.

  ‘Where are you going?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘I’m renovating a house, thought I’d live in it whilst working there. Get the job done quicker.’

  ‘Oh,’ she sounded deflated, making him smile.

  ‘I won’t be far away.’

  ‘I see,’ she replied flatly. He’d got the reaction he wanted, so came clean.

  ‘It’s Ted’s cottage. The estate owns it. We rented it to Ted as an almshouse years ago. He was in need of a place to stay and the cottage was free. My father was happy to help him.’

  ‘Really? You mean—’

  ‘We’ll be neighbours, Megan,’ he replied with a grin. Megan’s mouth opened in astonishment. He nudged her chin up to close it. ‘Drink up, Megan, your tea’s getting cold.’

  Chapter 26

  ‘So, do you think we made the right move then?’ Gary was sitting back in his favourite recliner, hands behind his head, looking round the spacious lounge.

  ‘Definitely,’ replied Tracy. She was lying on the black leather settee. ‘It’s lovely here and everyone we’ve met so far seems quite chatty.’

  ‘Yeah, the local’s a good pub, isn’t it? I know it’s full of la-di-da horsy people, but they’re actually all right when you get talking to them.’

  ‘I think they find our northern accents a bit funny, though,’ Tracy sat up and crossed her legs, ‘you know, the way they try and copy us, as if they think it’s funny.’

  ‘They probably do. Maybe it’s their way of being friendly.’

  ‘Hmm. Lord Cavendish-Blake’s never showed his face round here. If it were me, I’d pop round and say hello.’

  ‘Perhaps he’s waiting for an invite.’ This gave Gary an idea. ‘Let’s have a house-warming party, invite the whole village. It’d be a great way of getting to know everyone.’

  Tracy looked apprehensive. ‘I’m not sure about that, Gary. It could be a bit over-facing.’

  Careful not to upset her in any way, especially as she had struggled to try to settle, he quickly replied, ‘Yeah, see what you mean. How about just a select few?’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Well, the girls from The Templar seem nice enough.’

  ‘And that jockey, Dylan Delany, was very friendly when I asked for his autograph,’ added Tracy with a grin.

  ‘You mean when he was looking down your top,’ quibbled Gary.

  Tracy giggled. ‘He does seem quite a character.’

  ‘What about Lord Cavendish-Blake himself?’

  ‘Yes. I’d be interested to see what he’s like. I’ve only ever seen him fleetingly in his car, on his horse or in the pub. I was sorry we didn’t get to meet him the other day.’

  ‘Good, let’s do it. I’ll arrange the invitations. Two weeks’ notice should be enough.’

  ‘I’ll arrange the catering. I don’t think my hotpot would fit the bill.’

  ‘I do! A Lancashire hotpot, what could be better?’ Gary enthused.

  *

  Dylan pounded the treadmill. He’d clocked up four miles and sweat was pouring from him. He always left the tread mill till last, after the weights and rowing machine, to really blast the rest of his adrenaline. Lately he’d been almost punishing himself, pushing his limits to the very brink. Mentally he was haywire. The guilt Flora had installed in him had embedded and taken root. Every word she had yelled at him had been played and replayed over and over again in his hyperactive mind. Each time made him hate himself a little more.

  For someone so young, Flora spoke an awful lot of sense. Flora, probably without knowing it, had made a big impression on him. She’d put his lifestyle into perspective. He’d come to realise how superficial those around him actually were – only singing when you were winning. What about when you lost? Would they still be there, solid as rocks, supporting him? Or would they be like sand, slipping away? He knew where he’d place his bet.

  He finished his run and wiped his face with a towel. He needed a long, hot shower and a rest in the sauna. Maybe a good steam would help ease his aching body and mind.

  The hot air hit his lungs as he entered the sauna. It was empty, so he sat on the upper ledge, closed his eyes and tried to relax. He heard the door open quietly, then close. After a few minutes he became aware of someone sitting on the bench beneath him. He opened his eyes slightly and saw a blonde head. His heart missed a beat, and for a split second he mistook her for Flora. Wishful thinking, he thought with a sigh and closed his eyes. Moments later he felt a slight tug at the towel that covered his lap. His eyes shot open.

  ‘Hello, Dylan. Remember me?’ For a dreaded moment he thought it was that bitch who had sold her story to the paper, then realised it was the girl who worked at the gym as a personal trainer. They’d once got friendly in the sauna before.

  ‘I do.’ Hell, what was she called? She pulled his towel completely off him. Dylan felt his libido start to stir. She was able to see the blood surging through his shaft as it pulsed, lifting up towards her in invitation. An invitation she couldn’t resist. Her tongue moved slowly, excruciatingly slowly along his length from base to top. Dylan groaned as it dipped and tasted the sensitive tip. Her lips were driving him insane as he gripped the bench with both hands. Unable to take any more he reached out and lifted her, placing her legs spread-eagled across his muscled thighs. She moved slowly against the rigid hardness of his arousal. Her towel slipped. His mouth closed over her exposed breast and sucked hard on the nipple, making her moan in pleasure. She then curled her fingers about him and began to guide him inside her, inch by inch. He grasped her hips, his mouth capturing hers as he began to thrust rhythmically inside her. Desire engulfed him as his thrusts deepened and hardened. He felt her tighten around him as she cried out in pleasure, then the heat of his own release surge down and burst inside her. It had been hot and frenzied. Both recovered composure quickly, rewrapping their towels tightly. Good job, as a minute later another person entered the sauna. Dylan got up to leave.

  ‘Nice meeting you again,’ he nodded.

  ‘Yeah, you too,’ she furtively smiled back.

  Driving home, however, his mood hadn’t lifted. If anything he felt worse. More guilt. What was the matter with him? He’d never experienced this before. No one had ever got under his skin the way Flora had. He had to see her, but then he recalled her last chilling words to him. Get lost, Dylan. He decided to go for a drink in The Templar instead of heading straight home.

  Finula picked up on his frame of mind immediately. ‘You all right, Dylan?’ she asked, passing him his fresh orange. Since celebrating his win at Newmarket, he hadn’t touched a drop of alcohol.

  ‘Not really. I think I’m having a mid-life crisis.’

  Finula raised an eyebrow. ‘At thirty? I doubt it,’ she laughed. Then realising he was serious she stopped. ‘What’s the matter, Dylan?’ she asked in a sincere tone.

  Why not tell her? It might do him good to offload. Finula would be discreet, he knew. So he did. He relayed how he had met a girl with whom he had a lot in common, got to know her, like her, then messed up big time.

  ‘I take it she’s read the article about your night of passion with Sadie Stringfellow?’

  He nodded pitifully. ‘She saw us. She was here in the pub. I just hadn’t noticed her.’

  Finula frowned, wondering who she was. Probably someone who lived, locally if she was here. Then she remembered a blonde girl sitting alone in the
corner that evening after her friends had left. It was Flora, who worked in the stables at Treweham Hall.

  ‘It’s Flora, isn’t it?’ Finula asked quietly.

  ‘Yes.’ Dylan looked at Finula, and his blue eyes were so sad she actually felt sorry for him.

  ‘Have you tried talking to her?’

  ‘Yes. She won’t listen. Told me to piss off.’

  ‘Give it time. She’s only young.’

  ‘Flora may only be twenty, but she’s the most genuine person I know.’

  ‘Then don’t give up, Dylan. Persevere. She’ll come round if you’re really contrite.’

  Chapter 27

  Tobias commended his timing. As he was about to move into Ted’s cottage, Aunt Celia decided to grace Treweham Hall with her presence. Arriving in the morning, with her luggage piled at the front entrance, wearing a tweed suit and a tight smile, she flounced in, ordered the staff to collect her cases and demanded to see Tobias. Hearing the commotion from his bedroom, Tobias made his way down the stairs.

  ‘I thought you were going to ring me, Aunt Celia.’

  ‘Ah, there you are. Order tea, will you? I’m parched. I decided to get a taxi.’

  ‘Come into my study. I’ve something to show you.’

  Owing to the efficiency of the staff, Tobias and Aunt Celia were soon sitting drinking tea at his desk. He was talking her through the plans for converting the old stable block into a café and gift shop. Since his talk with his mother, Tobias had given the plans for the old stable block plenty of thought. The conversion idea seemed a good one, especially as he had seen similar projects work well.

  Celia’s beady eyes darted over the foolscap paper containing the drawings. She pushed her tight curly grey hair behind her ears in concentration. Tobias valued her opinion. Celia might be eighty, but she had a sharp mind and was extremely intuitive. He waited for her verdict. She looked at him and shook her head.

  ‘It won’t work,’ she stated flatly.

  ‘Why not?’ Tobias replied, surprised.

  ‘How would you gain access?’

  ‘We’d have to build a pathway at the side of the Hall.’

  She looked warily at him, ‘And have people traipsing past your home all the time? Can’t see your mother buying that.’

  He had to admit, it wasn’t ideal. In fact it would be quite intrusive. Sighing, he folded the plans away.

  ‘I’ve got to do something, Celia. We’re broke.’

  ‘It’s going to take more than coffee and cupcakes to save this place, plus you’d be spending money on the conversion and the staff.’

  He nodded in agreement. ‘I thought it would be a good way of utilising the old stable block. It’s just standing there doing nothing.’

  ‘You need to do something that won’t cost you to set it up.’ Then she narrowed her eyes, a thought having occurred to her. ‘Have you closed any of the rooms off yet?’

  ‘Mother won’t hear of it,’ he answered dully.

  ‘Good.’ He looked up questioningly. ‘The answer’s staring you in the face. Open up the house—’

  ‘She’d never allow it,’ he cut in.

  ‘Listen, this place is huge enough to separate your private quarters from the rest of the rooms. Guided tours could be conducted with the minimum of disruption. Just set your boundaries as to when and where the public can visit. You could even renovate one of the rooms into a tearoom. Damn sight cheaper than converting a stable block.’ She sat back and sipped her tea.

  The more he considered the idea, the more he liked it. Celia was right, it would be far less costly to open the house up to the public and make a tearoom. A fixed timetable could be implemented. They could even sell merchandise with the coat of arms on, as he had originally thought. It need not be intrusive if limits and confines were adhered to.

  ‘You could be on to something, Celia. But how do I sell this to Mother?’

  She huffed, ‘Tell her straight. It’s either open the Hall, or face ruin. Good God, that woman’s been wrapped in cotton wool all her life.’ Beatrice was the polar opposite to her much older sister. Celia had practically brought up Beatrice, the baby of the family. She’d witnessed how her parents had doted on their sweet little Bea. She’d watched how her husband had adored her and showered her with gifts; and now she was seeing how her elder son, who had inherited all the consequences of such frivolous spending, was still trying to protect her. It angered her, and that jealous, resentful emotion that had plagued her childhood was starting to rear its ugly head again.

  Tobias’ mind was buzzing with ideas. It was so obvious now he came to consider it. The rooms he’d wanted to close and cover in dustsheets would be cleaned, polished and showcased. Sharing the family home with the public meant bringing the Hall back to life again; and at minimum cost.

  ‘Do you want me to speak to her?’ Celia looked at him directly, arms crossed, lips pursed.

  ‘No… thank you. I’ll break it to her. Perhaps that Caribbean cruise won’t have to be cancelled after all.’

  Celia beamed, making the corners of her eyes crinkle. ‘Attaboy.’ She patted him on his shoulder. Settling back in her chair she asked, ‘Any news from Sebastian?’

  ‘He’s touring in Stratford at the moment. We’re expecting him home next week.’

  Celia nodded, then added, ‘I take it your mother still doesn’t know he’s queer as a coconut?’

  ‘Celia, please.’

  She shifted in her chair, ‘Lovely boy, but it’s time he faced his own mother and told her.’

  ‘Why? If you sussed it out, maybe she has.’

  ‘I’m more worldly wise than your mother is. She ought to know. Good job he’s the spare and not the heir.’ Tobias couldn’t stop his lips from twitching. ‘Talking of which, isn’t it time you started producing?’

  ‘I’m on the case,’ he replied drily.

  *

  That afternoon, after leaving an excited mother and aunt to talk about their Caribbean cruise, Tobias set off to old Ted’s cottage. Parking outside, he started to unload his belongings for the next few weeks. He noticed Megan’s curtains twitch and smiled to himself. She’d make a terrible secret agent, he laughed, remembering also her hiding behind a tree to spy on him horse riding.

  Once he’d packed everything into the spare bedroom, he set about his itinerary armed with his notebook and pen. First he’d rip out the kitchen and replace it with distressed wooden units and a Belfast sink. He decided to keep the pantry; it made excellent storage space and added a quaint touch. The floor tiles needed replacing. French doors instead of the solid wood back door would create light and a sense of space. He unlocked it and stepped outside into the garden. It was lush and colourful, just needed cutting back a little and some pretty garden furniture.

  He peered over the garden fence into Megan’s garden. He could see her at the kitchen window. She waved and he beckoned her outside.

  ‘All moved in?’ She was wearing a red linen dress with a scooped neckline. His eyes homed in on her birthmark again.

  ‘Yes, thanks. Any chance of a cup of tea?’

  ‘I’ll pop round with one.’ She scurried back inside. Entering Ted’s kitchen, Megan was surprised at the smell of damp. ‘It’s only been empty a few weeks, but it feels like for ever.’ She handed him a mug of tea.

  ‘I know, these old stone cottages are quite cold. Once I’ve got the wood burner and heating installed it’ll be a lot better.’

  ‘Sounds like you’re going to be busy,’ said Megan, blowing on her tea.

  ‘I am, but I’ll not rip out the heart and soul of the place. Apart from a new kitchen and bathroom, everything else will be restored like for like. Ted said to keep some of his furniture.’

  The old bureau and the half-moon table in the lounge suited the cottage. Megan was touched that Tobias wasn’t obliterating Ted’s presence. This may no longer be his home, but it must contain many happy memories in the nooks and crannies.

  ‘I must go and visit Ted, take Za
c.’

  ‘He’d appreciate that, Megan.’

  ‘Well, I’d better let you get on.’

  ‘Thanks for the tea.’ He kissed her on the cheek, then whispered in her ear, ‘What time’s dinner?’

  Megan laughed. ‘Would you like to come for dinner, Tobias?’

  ‘Oh, how thoughtful, Megan, I’d love to.’

  *

  Having spent the rest of the afternoon ripping out the old kitchen units and throwing them in the skip, Tobias decided he’d had enough. He often enjoyed getting stuck into a manual job. Not only did it keep him fit, it released his pent-up energy and stress. Going over the estate accounts again had filled him with utter dread. For once, he had seriously contemplated losing the Hall. The thought crippled him. Coming to Ted’s was a break. Covered in sweat and dust, he swept away the rest of the debris into bin liners before taking a much-needed shower. He was looking forward to spending the evening with Megan in her cosy kitchen, rather than enduring a dinner with his mother and aunt banging on about their holiday. That said, Celia had definitely come up trumps with her suggestion of opening up the Hall to the public.

  After showering, he towel-dried his hair, put on a clean white shirt and faded denims, which hugged his muscular legs, and set off next door. As he was walking down the pathway he heard a voice. Nick Fletcher was here. Slowing to a stop, he stood to listen.

  ‘I’d like to visit Ted. If you’re thinking of going, I could come with you.’

  Tobias’ hand curled into a fist.

  ‘I was thinking of taking Zac,’ replied Megan.

  ‘Yes, he’d love that. So when should we—’

  ‘Evening,’ Tobias interrupted. He glared at Nick, who jumped slightly.

  ‘Oh, hello, Tobias. What brings you here?’

  ‘Megan and I are about to have dinner,’ he stated.

  ‘R…ight, so…’

  ‘If you don’t mind,’ Tobias inclined his head towards the pathway, indicating Nick’s wanted departure. Megan decided to kneel down and pat Zac to hide her embarrassment. The two men clearly hated each other and she felt caught up in the middle.