It wasn’t even that the sheer effort to organize this day, this weekend, had all been for nothing, with Brianna Jade standing there looking even more frozen than the damn statues in the gazebo. It was Tamra’s realization that her hard work had actually given a huge advantage to Milly. That was what burnt, deep down in her gut, as if she’d drunk a big slug of drain cleaner. That was what was making her swear revenge on that scheming little bitch with her golden curls, her big blue eyes, her butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-the-mouth expression.
Tamra didn’t know exactly what Milly had said to Brianna Jade to trigger her daughter’s meltdown, but she was bent and determined on finding out. And whatever it had been, Milly would pay for it. That Tamra swore on her life. Milly had no idea who she was messing with, but she was about to find out. Big time.
Chapter Sixteen
‘So you know how awful Daddy is?’ Sophie asked the gathered house party after dinner. ‘Really, he has the worst temper. He’s famous for it. And he’s not getting better with age. He threw a shoe at his private equerry the other day, can you imagine? So the chap’s got all these little things he does to take revenge – secretly, of course, so that Daddy never realizes, but it sort of gets him back. Want to hear? They’re awfully cunning!’
A chorus of ‘yeses’ immediately followed, of course; Sophie’s audience was naturally very keen to hear a juicy piece of gossip about Prince Oliver, heir to the British throne, her notoriously short-tempered father. Even despite her profound disappointment at her daughter’s meltdown at the photo shoot, Tamra couldn’t help but be delighted at the success of her redecorating of Stanclere Hall: the cluster of guests was gathered in the Great Hall, curled up on the velvet sofas around the fireplace, sipping after-dinner drinks. The pianist was now playing versions of Barry White and Lionel Richie that had people hearing snatches of the chorus and swaying in their seats, humming ‘Do It To Me One More Time’ and ‘Can’t Get Enough Of Your Love’.
The lighting was soft and shadowy, a few huge silver-shaded lamps placed with care around the gigantic room, creating welcoming pools of light and equally enticing shadowy areas. Candles flickered in artfully tarnished mirrored sconces and candelabras, and the fire positively roared behind the high wrought-iron grate which bore the crest of the Respers family. Chocolates and petits-fours were piled on silver plates on the various tables. Waiters slipped up to the tables every now and then, refreshing drinks, taking new orders, perfectly trained not to interrupt the conversational flow: as Sophie reached the punchline of her anecdote, they hovered back at the far end of the hall.
‘So, Daddy’s a terrible, terrible spoilt fusspot, but of course he’s much too lazy to lift a finger for himself; he makes his equerry do absolutely everything,’ Sophie continued. She was fairly tipsy by now, her blonde hair partially falling down from her updo, her cheeks pink with both drink and proximity to the fire: she looked very pretty. Lady Margaret, sitting in an armchair in a wall embrasure a little removed from the group by the fire, smiled almost maternally to see her god-daughter not only so happy, but also able to party with her friends without reverting to the wild-child days full of scandal, bitchery and self-destructive behaviour.
‘He won’t put his own toothpaste on his toothbrush – you know that, right? He has to have the paste already squeezed onto the brush, ready and waiting for him, morning and evening,’ Sophie told her eager listeners. ‘And he’s very particular about the kind – he has to have Colgate Total Plus or something. One of the whitening ones with the special stripe. So sometimes, if he’s been really arsey that day, the equerry mixes in some Crest that he keeps specially – he puts it under the Colgate, so it tastes different but looks the same. He says Daddy goes mental, because he can’t see the difference but he hates the taste, and the equerry gets all concerned and says does Daddy think it’s a health thing – you know, tasting things differently – and Daddy gets all wound up because he’s a huge hypochondriac. The equerry says he can’t do it that often but it’s absolutely hilarious when he does.’
‘That’s fiendish,’ Dominic said, even drunker and more flushed than Sophie.
Tipsiness suited him just as it did her: his eyes glittered, his lips were moist and parted, his dark curls tumbling over his forehead, one leg casually hooked across the other knee. He was sprawling like a Georgette Heyer rake. If he’d been wearing a cravat, it would have been loosened; as it was, his shirt collar was open, his black bow tie dangling in debonair fashion. His arms were spread wide along the back of the velvet sofa, not just to demonstrate alpha-male credentials and to dominate his territory, but so that he could secretly reach far enough to stroke one thumb in slow, lazy circles at the back of Tamra’s neck. She was next to him on the sofa, part of the main group, resolved to seem as bright and relaxed and happy as if her daughter hadn’t been emotionally absent for the entire evening.
Because Brianna Jade had been like a gorgeous, glossy mannequin during drinks and dinner, almost completely silent. A casual observer would have thought that Edmund was planning to marry a very expensive blow-up doll. She had excused herself straight after dinner, saying that she had a headache, and gone to her room: Tamra had tried to ask her some questions after the shoot, but Brianna Jade had started vibrating like a tuning fork and very sensibly, Tamra had backed off fast, fearing that her daughter might actually break down if she pushed things any further. All Tamra wanted for the rest of the weekend was to achieve some damage control, and then she would sit down with her beloved daughter when all the guests were gone, find out what was worrying her so badly, and move heaven and earth to make it right for her.
Well, perhaps that isn’t everything I want, Tamra thought, steeling her body not to react visibly to the pleasure of Dominic’s thumb tracing those circles on her bare skin. It was utterly divine, heat and damp rising between her legs in delicious bubbles like a pot coming to the boil, and she shifted a little, catching his smug smile as he registered her reaction to his caress. Thank God for Dominic. This is just what I need tonight, some cheap slutty boy to fuck so I can take the edge off, calm my nerves. Nothing remotely serious, no one who’s going to fall for me and complicate my life. If there’s anyone who knows the rules of a one-night stand, it’s Dominic.
To avenge herself for the smug smile, Tamra hitched the already short skirt of her blue velvet, off-the-shoulder 3.1 Philip Lim dress an inch up her thigh, ostensibly so that she could re-cross her legs, but actually to give Dominic, on her left, a swift flash of the elaborately patterned navy lace top of her hold-up stocking. One perfect leg scissored over the other, she adjusted her skirt demurely and settled back against the cushion behind her. Dominic’s thumb was as frozen on her back as his eyes were glued to her upper thigh, and a quick sideways glance confirmed that his jaw was dropped. He looked as if he were about to drool.
All I can manage tonight is to get laid. I can’t control what upsets my daughter, Tamra thought grimly. I can’t fix the past and make the photo shoot miraculously come out okay. Jodie Raeburn and her team have gone, dammit, and I was so bummed she couldn’t stay over tonight, but honestly, with BJ gone emotionally AWOL, it’s ended up being for the best.
Shit, I could strangle that poisonous little Milly with my bare hands! But I mustn’t think about that now, or I really will kill the bitch. I need to take all this angry energy and turn it into sex and fuck Dominic so hard tonight he won’t be able to walk straight for three days . . .
Some of this must have been conveyed in that swift look at Dominic, because his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, and his arm retracted along the back of the sofa, his legs shifting as he sat up straighter, resettling himself so that the prominent bulge in his trousers was at least partially disguised from view. Luckily, everyone was listening to Sophie’s story much too attentively to notice the short interplay between him and Tamra.
‘But the best story’s about Daddy’s socks,’ Sophie was saying. ‘Did you know they’re not just handmade, they’re actually fi
tted individually? No, seriously, it’s true!’ she insisted to Edmund, who was sitting next to her and had murmured doubt at this information.
‘They’re made for the right and left royal trotter, honestly!’ she giggled. ‘So when Daddy’s been a total petulant irritating bastard, this chap lays the socks out the wrong way round in the dressing room. You know, it’s not super obvious, and Daddy wouldn’t dream of doing anything so common as looking closely at his own socks, of course. But then he goes on to have a simply horrid day, feeling something’s wrong but he can’t work out quite what, and getting all fretful till he takes his socks off again . . .’
Lady Margaret put down her whisky glass and shoved her cigarette into the corner of her mouth to free both her hands so that she could applaud this story loudly.
‘Bloody perfect!’ she said enthusiastically. ‘I love this story! Top man!’
‘Well, no one’s going to beat that anecdote,’ Edmund said, grinning and rising to his feet. ‘Have we all digested the very excellent meal that Mrs Hurley regaled us with? I’m sorry to say that Tamra hasn’t yet put in a heated pool or hot tub for us all to splash around in—’ He winked at his future mother-in-law as play-groans of disappointment rose from the group of guests.
‘Oh, that hot tub’s coming!’ Tamra said, laughing up at him. ‘I just need to figure out the right place to put one in the grounds of a stately home.’
‘God, you, me and a hot tub,’ Dominic muttered in her ear, leaning towards her. ‘The things we could get up to . . .’
‘I’ll test you out on a mattress first,’ Tamra whispered back. ‘See how you run in basic conditions before you get ambitious.’
‘Christ,’ Dominic murmured devoutly, whipping the hem of his dinner jacket over his crotch.
‘But I think we could all do with stretching our legs a bit?’ Edmund was saying. ‘We’ve got billiards and table tennis, but my contribution to the entertainment’s a rather fun idea I’ve been planning: does anyone feel like a game of croquet?’
‘Outdoors?’ Milly, who was very tiddly by now, squeaked in surprise.
‘We’ve got torches set up all around the lawn, so we can see what we’re doing, and to warm us up a bit,’ Edmund revealed. ‘And I ordered a set of glow-in-the-dark balls off the internet! Who’s up for it?’
Almost everyone was. Dominic made a valiant attempt to convince Tamra to sneak upstairs with him and make a start on the mattress test-run, but she was fizzing with energy and loved the idea of outdoor croquet with glow-in-the-dark balls. She slapped him away playfully as he grabbed at her in the corridor outside her suite; they had all raced upstairs to change into warmer clothes and flat shoes for the women.
‘I’ll come and find you later,’ he promised. ‘Here, right? I’ll come to your room?’
‘Of course.’ Tamra tossed her hair back. ‘Do I look like a woman who has to sneak down corridors to get laid?’
‘You look like fucking sex on legs,’ he said, snatching her hand and pressing it eloquently to his crotch for a second, moulding her palm around the outline of his cock. ‘Feel how hard you get me? I can’t wait till I get you naked—’
But just then Edmund and some other house guests rounded the corner of the wing, and Tamra, saying: ‘Hold that thought, tiger,’ slipped through her door and shut it firmly in his face. For a second or two, she considered giving herself a quick orgasm or two, taking down the pressure that was pounding between her legs; she was swollen herself, the blood racing to her crotch, and the feeling of Dominic’s cock had had almost exactly the effect he had intended. Almost: it hadn’t been quite as big as she had been hoping for.
But hey, there are angles that’ll work for that. And I’m always up for a good ass-fucking, she thought with a wicked smile. Best thing to do with an average-to-small dick. God, I’m horny!
Tamra had been so busy putting together the shoot and the house party, pulling Stanclere Hall into shape (or parts of it – the main guest wing and some of the public rooms; there were definitely doors that still needed to remain firmly closed to guests) that she hadn’t had time to let loose, to ring Diane’s agency and book herself in a boy or three. Jeez, Dominic had better have been eating raw meat and working out to keep up with me tonight! she thought. I’m loaded for bear.
Dominic was late to the croquet game, and when he did arrive his smile was even more devilish than usual. Even by the flickering light of the many torches, it was obvious that he had been up to something. Edmund asked suspiciously what the hell he’d been doing, but Dominic just smirked and wouldn’t say a word. Edmund frowned, but Tamra just assumed that Dominic had, frankly, been knocking out a quick one before joining the game, and winked at him flirtatiously. She was hugely impressed with Edmund, who had not only put a great deal of effort into organizing this croquet game, but had done it all secretly, knowing that she had more than enough on her plate without adding this idea of his into the mix. She told him so as they awaited their turns, sipping hot mulled wine and rum toddies from antique cut-glass punch cups, their gloved fingers carefully clasping the miniature curved handles, another lovely surprise that Edmund had arranged with Mrs Hurley.
‘It was supposed to be a treat for Brianna Jade,’ he said rather wistfully as he blew on his toddy. ‘She loves croquet, and she was talking the other day about the hot buttered rum drinks that you have over in America. I thought she’d really like all this. I did pop into her room, but she’s lying down and says she has a terrible headache. It must have started before the shoot, I think, because she didn’t seem quite her usual cheerful self when it was all going on . . .’
‘God, your British understatement,’ Tamra said bitterly, slugging down her rum, her eyebrows raised. ‘Not quite her usual self? She’s in pieces! I don’t know what went wrong today, but I’m going to get to the bottom of it, I promise you that—’
‘Tamra! You’re up!’ Lance called, and Tamra handed her cup to Edmund and went off to take the stroke for her team.
Dominic, however, having turned up late, had found all the teams full and no chance to play; he compensated by drinking steadily for the entire duration of the game, and by the time they all strolled over the lawns back to the Hall, he was visibly reeling. A murmured word from Edmund: ‘Old chap, you’re totally bladdered and you stink of rum, I’d stick my head under the cold tap if I were you’ – and Dominic staggered upstairs, hauling himself up by the balustrade, heading for his room to follow Edmund’s advice.
He was just towelling off when the door of his bedroom burst open and his host stormed in.
‘Dom, what the fuck!’ Edmund shouted. ‘I had a feeling you’d been up to no good when you turned up at the croquet court, so I went up to my room, and sure enough, you’ve been up to your old tricks! You put a bloody raw fish in my bed, you bastard!’
Dominic, whose head was spinning from the amount of rum he’d added to the whole bucketful of cocktails, champagne, wine, and brandy he’d already drunk before the lethal punch bowl had been produced, reeled back from this onslaught, clapping his hands to his temples.
‘Really loud,’ he moaned. ‘Ow, Ed, no need to shout.’
‘I’m not bloody sleeping in there!’ Edmund yelled. ‘I’ve got a poor maid coming to take the damn fish away, but I’m not sleeping on that mattress! Honestly, Dom, it’s the total limit! How did you even get a fish – did you take one from the kitchen?’
His eyes fell on the cooler pushed against the bedroom wall.
‘God, you planned this out enough to bring one?’ he said incredulously. ‘Dom, that’s so bloody juvenile! We’re in our thirties now, you know? I’m getting married, settling down . . .’
An even more serious thought struck Edmund then.
‘I tell you what, no way am I letting you anywhere near organizing my stag night,’ he said with awful emphasis. ‘You’ll take me on safari in Africa, get me drunk, take my clothes off, tie me to a tree and shove raw chillies up my bum like Toby did to Plumpy Thurston.’
<
br /> Dominic hung his head: this was indeed exactly what he had been envisaging for Edmund’s stag night.
‘Look, get your toothbrush and your pjs and whatever else you need,’ Edmund ordered firmly, ‘and fuck off into my room. You put that fish in there, and you can sleep with the smell – it bloody stinks.’
No problem, Dominic thought drunkenly. I’ll be ravaging that gorgeous cougar all night long in her palatial boudoir. I’ll be fine – I won’t need to spend the night in Edmund’s stinky-fish room either.
He couldn’t tell Edmund that, of course; his friend had already made it clear that he took a very dim view of Dominic flirting with Edmund’s mother-in-law-to-be. So Dominic gathered his toothbrush and picked up his pyjama case, which had been laid out for him by the maid on his four-poster bed, and made his way down the corridor to the master bedroom of Stanclere Hall. Even after the sluicing down with cold water, he wasn’t feeling very well: on arrival, he shut the door behind him, took a couple of deep breaths and then staggered over to the imposing bed to put down his pyjama case.
Unfortunately, bending over to put the case on the bed was his undoing. It was the fish reek that did it. Edmund hadn’t been exaggerating about the smell: it was as if, for extra stink effect, the fishmonger had gutted other fishes and shoved the entrails into the mouth of the one Dominic had bought. Lifting his head again brought on a violent case of the retches. Everything he had eaten and drunk that evening came up, suddenly and furiously, and it was lucky for Dominic that there was a wastebasket next to the bed, because there was no way he could have made it to the new en-suite bathroom. The contents of his stomach took quite a while to void, and the wastebasket was brimming with gelatinous gunge by the time he felt, gingerly, that the last clutching spasms of his upper colon were finally beginning to recede.
It was by no means the first time Dominic had upchucked, and it was very unlikely to be the last. He was fairly phlegmatic about the situation: these things happened when you partied hard. Better out than in. All he needed now was a little rest before he went back downstairs and completed his seduction of Tamra, that glorious American sex goddess. There was a large and comfortable leather armchair in Edmund’s room, and Dominic subsided into it, closing his eyes.
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