Bad Brides

by Rebecca Chance

  Bit of shut-eye, and I’ll be as good as new, were his last thoughts before he passed out, exhausted by his recent endeavours. Wake up in twenty minutes, wash my face, brush my teeth, shove on some more aftershave, shag till dawn. Perfect.

  His chin dropped to his chest and he started to snore heavily. It was a deep, rumbling snore, a precursor to equally deep sleep: Dominic passed out completely until dawn was breaking and the smell of his own vomit woke him to a raging, dehydrated hangover.

  Chapter Seventeen

  No one else had hit the punch bowl as hard as Dominic; Minty and Sophie were not completely steady, but the cold air had balanced out the alcohol. Edmund proposed a game of Twister in the library, and Tamra shot him a very approving glance. This was how to run a house party, moving guests from one delightful activity to another, ideally ensuring that no one got too raging drunk along the way.

  ‘You’re doing a great job,’ she said to him as they walked towards the library, leading the way. ‘I really didn’t expect you to be such a good host.’

  Edmund grinned, his smile very boyish. ‘You must think I’m completely devoid of all the social graces, Tamra,’ he said teasingly.

  ‘I love the way you guys talk!’ she said, very amused. ‘Like you swallowed a dictionary! You’ve got to admit, Edmund, all of that stuff you were spouting about not wanting to have parties in the Hall—’

  ‘Not wanting to have them non-stop, when I have a farm to run,’ he corrected her. ‘But I must admit, I wasn’t expecting to enjoy this weekend half as much as I am. Obviously posing for photos isn’t really my thing . . .’

  ‘Hey, that’s the price of the ticket,’ Tamra said, flashing him a smile that teased him back.

  ‘But yes, I do know that’s the price of the ticket,’ he agreed equably. ‘And seeing the old place come to life like this is genuinely,’ he considered for a moment, ‘inspiring. Truly, I mean that.’

  ‘Wow, Edmund, seriously?’ Tamra put her hand on his arm, dropping the joking, her dark eyes fixed on his; in her four-inch heels they were almost the same height. ‘That’s the biggest compliment you’ve ever paid me.’

  He patted her hand; the house guests flooded past them, pulling out the Twister mat from the box on the console table, arguing about whether they should all play at once or in a series of matches.

  ‘I owe you an apology, Tamra, for being a bit of a grumpy bastard yesterday,’ he said disarmingly. ‘I realize, to be honest, that my parents weren’t exactly gifted at entertaining. It always seemed like a terrible headache for them when we needed to host parties – and, to be even more honest, the state of the place was an embarrassment too. It felt like Mummy was always scrabbling around to manage something remotely decent, and failing, you know? Just sort of constant humiliation, if I am being completely frank. This is worlds away from all of that.’

  ‘Oh, Edmund!’ She squeezed his hand hard, full of sympathy; she knew what it was like to be embarrassed by poverty. ‘No wonder you didn’t want to have parties!’

  The Twister group had drawn lots, and Minty and Tarquin were the first up; already the spectators, perched on the Chesterfield armchairs or standing smoking by the fireplace, were collapsing in fits of giggles as Lady Margaret, who had taken command of spinning the pointer to avoid any pressure to play herself, announced: ‘Right hand green!’ and both Minty and Tarquin fell over each other competing for the same convenient dot of colour.

  ‘You’re gifted at being a hostess,’ Edmund said simply. ‘You make it look easy. Whereas Mummy made it seem like she was waging the Battle of Stalingrad every single time. I mean, if things are fun, it makes all the difference in the world.’

  They both glanced over at the Twister mat, Minty and Tarquin spidered out across it, Minty’s narrow hips piking up over Tarquin as she tried desperately to reach back with her foot to a yellow dot: even Lady Margaret had tears of laughter in her eyes as she spun the pointer again.

  ‘I’d say things are definitely fun,’ Tamra agreed. ‘And now the Hall’s running so well, I can pass the reins over to Brianna Jade. Once the building works are finished, of course. I just know she’s going to love throwing parties just as much as I do . . .’

  She started strong, but the expression of doubt on Edmund’s face made her tail off.

  ‘Well, she will. In time. As she builds her confidence,’ Tamra said more feebly.

  ‘Tamra, she’s more than fine as she is,’ Edmund said gently. ‘I’m not expecting her to be like you, and nor should you, if you see what I mean. She’s finding her own place here.’

  ‘Yes, at the damn pigsties,’ Tamra murmured crossly. ‘I swear, it’s her favourite place in Stanclere.’

  Edmund laughed. ‘I love it down there too, you know,’ he said reassuringly. ‘You have to let her be herself, Tamra.’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ Tamra slapped his arm. ‘How dare you make more sense than me, when I’m kinda the mother and you’re the son? That’s completely the wrong way round!’

  ‘Tamra, stop saying that!’ Edmund said, irritated. You’re only a few years older than me. It makes me feel fantastically awkward, to tell you the truth.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I only do it because it annoys the crap out of you,’ Tamra said, her smile dazzling. ‘You know I do. And now I need a drink, dammit!’

  ‘And I need to go to bed,’ Edmund said, smiling at her. ‘I keep farmer’s hours. Thank you again for turning the old place into something so warm and welcoming.’

  ‘Fuck it, now I need a drink or I’ll cry,’ Tamra said, slapping him again. ‘Go get your beauty sleep, farm boy!’

  She went over to the drinks tray a footman had brought in and poured herself a stiff two fingers of neat vodka, dropping ice into it with tongs, and wondering where the hell Dominic had got to. He’d looked pretty drunk when he was staggering upstairs: she hoped and prayed he was sobering up.

  I’ll give him fifteen more minutes so it doesn’t look too obvious, she decided, and then I’ll head up to find him. Maybe he’s waiting for me in my room? I swear, if he’s too drunk to get his shit together, I’ll whale the hell out of him. He’d better not have got me all wound up with nowhere to go.

  She drank half the vodka in one go.

  Think positive, Tamra. It’ll be okay. You’ll get your jollies tonight.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Meanwhile, outside on the library terrace, Eva was beginning to feel that she would never get her jollies again. The first round of Twister was over. Minty had triumphed, and was now taking on Sophie: Tarquin had rejoined Milly, who was sitting on his lap, curled up like a cat and looking as smug as if she had not only licked up her own portion of cream but everyone else’s too. Eva was fully aware of the extent of Milly’s triumph today, had heard about Milly seeing Brianna Jade and the pig guy last night and seen how effectively Milly had played that card, just at the right time to panic her rival before the shoot.

  Eva seriously doubted that Brianna Jade was cheating on Edmund, let alone with the pig farmer; she just didn’t seem that kind of person. She actually didn’t think that even Milly believed it. But that hadn’t stopped Milly using the information to her advantage, rather than keeping her mouth shut, or having a quiet word with Brianna Jade to let her know that she’d been seen coming back tipsy from a drink with a friend.

  Tarquin would hate what Milly did today, Eva thought now. He would loathe the thought that his fiancée was capable of pulling such a dirty trick. But who was going to tell him? Again, not Eva. She sat on the terrace balcony, dangling her long legs over the edge, her hair falling over her face, chain-smoking as she contemplated jumping down onto the grass and running away; no one would miss her, she thought miserably.

  In that, at least, she was wrong.

  ‘Hey, there you are! I was looking for you!’

  It was Lance, emerging onto the terrace. Walking up beside her, he leaned on the wide stone balustrade, turning his head to look at her.

  ‘You look like a French fil
m star,’ he said. ‘Or a model. One of those cool ones who goes out with rock stars.’

  I wish.

  Eva swallowed hard. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered.

  ‘You’re not playing Twister?’ Lance asked. ‘Not your kind of thing?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re too cool for that,’ Lance said, and Eva bristled for a second, thinking he was making fun of her, and then realized he wasn’t, which was worse.

  ‘I’m really not,’ she mumbled. ‘I’m just . . . quieter.’

  ‘I think you’re amazing,’ Lance said. ‘And you’re just as pretty as Milly. Honestly, to me you’re much prettier. I think you should model for your jewellery, not just her. You know, a lot of your pieces work better on you than they do on her. You’re so much hipper. I’ve been wanting to say this for ages.’

  ‘Oh. Um, thank you!’

  Eva was taken completely aback by this unexpected praise. She swivelled a little to look at Lance, feeling that she owed him that after the compliment; she shoved back her hair from her face, not realising that Lance would take this as a cue to straighten up, lean forward and kiss her.

  His beard rubbed against her skin, his lips soft in their surround of bristly hair. It wasn’t the first time Eva had kissed a man with a beard, of course; facial hair on men had been fashionable for years, and there were plenty of beards in her Hoxton/Brick Lane social circle. She didn’t pull back instantly, and Lance, encouraged, managed to get his arms around her, twisting himself to press against her torso without pulling her off the balustrade; it was awkward, but the awkwardness would only have lasted a few seconds if Eva had fully cooperated, swivelling more to face him.

  As it was, he was kissing her, and she was merely letting him. Letting him hold her, letting the pressure of his lips open hers, letting his tongue slide inside, trying to convince herself that this was what she wanted. The human contact, the physical sensation of being held so close to another warm body, of being desired after all her lonely months of desiring someone who didn’t want her, was, for a very little while, hugely compelling. She went slack in his arms, trying to give herself to the embrace, to relax into it and hopefully feel something building inside her that would prompt a response to Lance’s obvious eagerness.

  He was so keen that he interpreted her limpness as full acquiescence; his tongue started thrusting in and out of her mouth, his beard rubbing against her entire lower jaw, his arms tightening around her narrow torso. Eva bore it as long as she could, until she was completely sure that she couldn’t fancy Lance, couldn’t endure this a second longer; then she shifted, managing to lift her arms enough to push him back.

  ‘Too much? God, I’m sorry. Too fast?’ Lance babbled. ‘Did my beard scratch you? I’ll shave it right now if you want me to . . . Just say the word, Eva, and I’ll shave it off, it won’t take me much time at all . . .’

  Oh shit. It was dawning on Eva that he really liked her, wasn’t just trying for a hookup at a house party; that he’d clearly had a crush on her for a while.

  ‘You’re so beautiful, and you look so sad most of the time nowadays. I want to make you happy, I’ve wanted that for so long!’ Lance continued. ‘Kissing you was a dream come true for me.’ He grabbed her hand. ‘I think you’re the most beautiful, most spiritual girl I’ve ever met.’

  Great. Now I feel even worse than I did before, like I led him on by letting him kiss me.

  ‘I just don’t feel the same, Lance, I’m sorry,’ she blurted out. Eva was incapable of anything but frankness; if it couldn’t be said directly, she wouldn’t say it at all. ‘I was trying to feel something, but I couldn’t.’

  ‘It’s the beard, isn’t it?’ Lance asked, grasping at the only straw he could find.

  ‘It isn’t the beard, Lance. I’m sorry.’ She sighed. ‘You’re a really nice guy. I wish I could feel the same as you. It would make things so easy. But I just can’t.’

  She swung her legs down from the balcony and dropped to the terrace.

  ‘I should go to bed,’ she said gloomily.

  ‘Oh no, now I’ve chased you away. I’m so sorry, Eva.’ Lance sounded on the verge of beating his head against the stone wall of Stanclere Hall.

  ‘It’s okay,’ she said, her voice dull. ‘I was tired anyway. Goodnight.’

  Poor Lance was left behind on the terrace, nursing his wounds, staring out into the night and mentally writing lyrics even more miserable and poignant than most of Ormond and Co’s current output. The song, titled ‘Balustrade of Tears’, would eventually become a ballad on their upcoming album, not strong enough to be a single, but generally considered not only very moving but considerably easier to understand than Tarquin or Elden’s lyrics.

  Eva’s re-entrance was completely unnoticed by the raucous crowd in the library, now in a foursome Twister competition that Lady Margaret was refereeing with brusque snapped orders, like a staff officer trying to keep control of an increasingly rowdy mess party. She slipped through the room and back to the Great Hall, surprised to see Tamra about to ascend the staircase; she had assumed that Tamra was back in the library in the Twister group.

  ‘Going to bed?’ Tamra said, seeing Eva approach, and reading her disconsolate expression with the skill of a woman who had spent years observing pageant competitors in every possible emotional state.

  Eva nodded.

  ‘I’m not really a Twister person,’ she said, managing to summon up a feeble excuse, as if there were a current diktat at Stanclere Hall that the guests’ only activity choices were Twister or bed.

  Tamra was kind enough to nod politely and accept Eva’s words at face value.

  ‘I’m turning in myself,’ she said as they went up the staircase together. ‘It’s been a long day.’

  This made no sense to Eva: Tamra was so vibrant and so fizzing with a glowing golden energy that it seemed impossible that she might be ready to go to bed. But Eva nodded equally politely, and at the top of the stairs they bade each other goodnight, Tamra turning left towards the central part of the Hall, Eva right towards the unmodernized guest wing.

  Nice girl, Tamra thought as she picked up the pace, walking swiftly towards her room, where she assumed Dominic was waiting: shame she’s so close to that bitch Milly. She’d be a great friend for Brianna Jade otherwise. And I like how she dresses. She knows what works for her, and I always respect that in a woman . . .

  And then all thoughts of Eva fled as she opened the door of her room, and saw, even by the dim light of the flickering fire and the bedside lamps which the maid had switched on when she came by to turn down Tamra’s bed that evening, that the pristinely smooth coverlet and crisp white sheet were not sullied with the presence of a lounging Dominic de Rohan, preferably wearing nothing but a come-hither smile and grasping his stiff cock in one hand.

  ‘Fuck!’ she said between gritted teeth. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’

  Tamra was a woman of swift decisions and great determination: she wasn’t going to give up on her plans to get laid tonight until she had exhausted the possibilities. Instantly, she stripped off all her clothes and pulled on her Loro Piana cashmere dressing gown, sliding her feet into matching slippers, grabbing a handful of condoms from her vanity case and slipping them discreetly into her pocket.

  All she had to do was check that the corridor was empty, all bedroom doors shut, before she slipped into Dominic’s room, and that was exactly what she did, gliding down the carpet that ran down the centre of the polished hallway as silently as a ghost. This whole wing of Stanclere had been redone with en suites to every room: no one needed, thank God, to leave their room to use the bathroom any more. So she was quite unobserved as she shot a quick glance around, turned the handle and nipped inside.

  The room was almost completely dark, just a few glowing embers in the fire by which she could make out the shapes of the furniture, the drawn curtains of the four-poster bed. For a moment, she thought that Dominic wasn’t here at all, and then she heard slow, steady breathin
g from behind the heavy brocade curtains and realized that the bastard had, instead of sneaking into her room, come back to his and gone to sleep.

  How dare he? Well, if he thinks he can turn me on and leave me hanging, he’s got a second thought coming! I’m going to ride him like a bronco for this!

  The cashmere dressing gown fell from Tamra’s perfect silky shoulders and puddled on the carpet. She kicked off the slippers and, naked and angry, condoms in hand, stalked to the four-poster bed, pulled open the curtains and climbed up onto the mattress beside the man she thought was Dominic.

  Edmund, who had been fast asleep, stirred into semi-consciousness at the brief glimmer of light as the curtains parted. They fell closed behind Tamra, and the next thing he knew, the covers were being pulled off his recumbent body, and a warm hand was reaching decisively into the slit of his pyjama bottoms and taking hold of his cock in a way that meant business.

  ‘Christ!’ he mumbled sleepily, feeling himself respond instantly. ‘Oh, God . . .’

  She was tickling his balls now with the fingers of her other hand, working them expertly, making him moan even as he managed to say:

  ‘I thought you went to bed.’

  ‘Ssh!’ She was very conscious of her daughter sleeping in the next door bedroom, didn’t want Brianna Jade to hear a thing. ‘Keep your voice down!’

  Straddling him, she bent down to silence him with a kiss which she deliberately turned into a sharp, punishing bite that had his cock springing up, rock-hard now.

  ‘I don’t care what you thought, you fucker,’ she whispered against his lips, her voice so like her daughter’s that, at this low pitch, it was indistinguishable from Brianna Jade’s. ‘Stop thinking and get ready. I’m going to start fucking your brains out in about thirty seconds, so you better brace yourself and hang on for dear life.’