On the Bare

by Fiona Locke

  Haley had only met Lord Asquith once, six months before. And it had been disastrous. He had held a huge New Year’s party for his friends in the Great Hall. And he had generously let the hotel staff use one of the smaller rooms for their own party.

  Haley was there with Matt, who was almost as eager as she was to see him in the flesh. They were both rather tipsy and Matt wanted Haley to sneak off to one of the hotel rooms with him.

  ‘You’re insane!’ she giggled. ‘Do you want me to lose my job?’

  ‘Come on, no one’ll see.’

  Haley scanned the room and, sure enough, there was Mr Bathurst, standing near the bar. ‘Uh-uh. Bathurst’s got ESP. He’ll know.’

  Matt looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he grinned devilishly. ‘So offer him some favours in exchange for looking the other way. As long as I get to watch.’

  Haley nearly choked on her champagne. Matt was a voyeur of the highest order, but he still sometimes surprised her.

  ‘You’re right,’ Matt continued, scrutinising her boss. ‘He would make a good Mr Darcy.’

  Haley shook her head sadly. ‘He may be gorgeous, but I’m no Elizabeth Bennet. He’s completely un-seduceable.’

  Matt shrugged. ‘Too bad. It’s his loss. We’ll just have to take our chances.’ He took Haley’s arm and made as if to drag her off.

  ‘Stop it, Matt! It’s not worth the risk.’ She pulled away.

  Matt affected an exaggerated pout, looking so boyish and adorable that she was tempted.

  ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But your prudery has a price.’

  ‘Oh yeah?’

  He arched an eyebrow. ‘Two prices, in fact.’

  ‘What’s the first?’

  ‘We crash the fancy party.’

  A naughty grin spread across Haley’s face. ‘Oh, yes,’ she purred.

  The Great Hall was as festive as Haley had ever seen it, but the party was nowhere near as raucous as the staff’s one. Garlands hung from the portraits of staid, dour-faced old men. Balloons with trailing streamers bumped against the great hammer-beams above them. But the guests were polite and restrained. Dressed in tasteful finery, they glided through the party with patrician grace. There would definitely be no photocopying of bottoms here.

  ‘Real class,’ Haley said admiringly.

  ‘Yeah.’

  She scanned the room for Lord Asquith, but she couldn’t see him anywhere.

  Matt cleared his throat. ‘Now for the second price.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Your knickers. Give them to me.’

  She squirmed. ‘OK. Just let me go to the loo and –’

  He caught her by the arm. ‘No. Right here.’

  Her eyes widened and her cheeks flooded with warmth. ‘Everyone will see!’

  ‘Yes, I expect they will.’

  Astonished at his boldness, Haley’s body nonetheless responded to the idea. But there was no way she could do it here. Not in front of the wealthy and titled guests of Lord Asquith.

  ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘I suppose I’ll have to take them off myself, then.’

  His hand crept up under the hem of her short red dress and Haley shrieked in surprise, making everyone nearby turn to look at them. She dissolved into gales of embarrassed laughter. The onlookers turned away with disdain, no doubt lamenting the lack of discipline in schools today.

  ‘They should bring back the birch,’ muttered one prim dowager.

  ‘Come on,’ Matt said, leading her deeper into the room.

  Nervously, Haley allowed herself to be led, wondering if he would really go through with it. The thought thrilled her and she imagined herself after a few more glasses of champagne, stripping off and dancing on the tabletops.

  Matt pinned her against the Jacobean panelling and slipped his hand under her skirt again, cupping her cheeks and making her moan. He drew his hands around her thighs and gently rubbed his knuckles up and down the damp gusset of her panties. Haley shivered. Then he slid his hand under the elastic and peeled the flimsy red lace down below her skirt. French knickers. Matt’s favourite. With a whisper, they slipped down her legs and she stepped out of them.

  Matt held out his hand expectantly.

  Haley was emboldened by the exhibitionistic thrill of being bare underneath her dress. It brought out the mischief-maker in her. She picked up her panties and dangled them in front of Matt. Then when he reached for them she pulled them away, hiding her hand behind her back.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said with a teasing smile. ‘You’ll have to catch me first.’ And she raced for the nearest door, her high heels clicking on the waxed oak boards.

  When she reached the door she glanced back over her shoulder. She didn’t see Matt anywhere. He must have gone out through one of the main doors at the other end, intending to cut her off.

  The funhouse thrill of being chased excited Haley even more. She didn’t know where the door led, but she didn’t stop to worry about it. The room she found herself in was sophisticated and elegant, with dark antique furniture and heavy velvet curtains. A faded Persian rug sprawled beneath her feet and a fire crackled in the hearth. She paled as she realised where she was: she’d stumbled into one of the family’s private rooms.

  Terrified of being caught, she whirled round to run for the door and crashed headlong into someone. Champagne splashed all over the man’s dinner jacket and Haley babbled an apology, frantically brushing at his lapels as though she could wipe away the champagne like so much dust.

  ‘Oh my God, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean …’ Haley froze.

  It was Lord Asquith.

  He didn’t speak. But his quiet bearing intimidated her more than any rebuke. Champagne dripped from the base of his now-empty glass onto the rug. His jacket was probably ruined. But his expression was inscrutable. The bottomless black eyes betrayed no emotion. They simply regarded her, unblinking.

  Spellbound, Haley couldn’t look away. The silence stretched between them like a hangman’s noose. Asquith held her with his penetrating gaze until her own eyes felt starved for moisture. Finally, she blinked, breaking the spell and the silence.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ she repeated, shaking her head. ‘I got lost and – I wasn’t watching where I was going.’ She winced at her inane words; he was well aware of that. But she had to say something. The silence was unbearable.

  He wasn’t looking at her, though. He was looking at something on the floor between them. He placed his glass on a nearby table and bent down to retrieve the scrap of material. Haley turned scarlet as he held her knickers up inquiringly, stretching them between his fingers like a scientist examining some new discovery. His eyes met hers again and still she could read nothing in his face.

  Without a word he calmly used them to blot at his jacket. Haley could only stare at him in blank-faced astonishment. When he was finished he tucked her wet knickers into his pocket. He eyed her impassively for a moment and then continued on his way, leaving her alone in the room.

  When he had gone Haley realised she was trembling. It was only when she found Matt again that she was able to shake off the moment.

  ‘Aha, there you are!’ he said, beaming like a kid with a secret to tell. ‘You’ll never guess who I just saw.’

  Haley turned to him, ashen-faced. ‘Lord Asquith.’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘No. My knickers …’

  ‘What about them?’

  ‘They’re … in his pocket.’

  Matt looked doubtful. ‘Are you taking the piss?’

  Haley shook her head, bewildered. She hardly believed it herself.

  Matt thought about it and then burst into laughter. ‘Brilliant! Though you should have charged him a tenner at least. Those were expensive.’

  Haley blushed and slugged him hard in the shoulder. She felt exposed and vulnerable. But the thought that Lord Asquith had her panties in his pocket was delicious. A sweet violation.

  ‘Are you nervous?’ M
arissa asked with disbelief.

  Haley jumped. ‘Of course not,’ she said hurriedly. ‘What makes you think I’m nervous?’

  ‘Well, your hands don’t usually shake like that.’

  Wiping her clammy unsteady palms on her apron, Haley fabricated an excuse. ‘Oh, I just … I didn’t have breakfast. My hands get shaky when I don’t eat.’

  Marissa bought it. ‘Well, try not to spill wine on the guests,’ she offered with a sympathetic smile. ‘Mr Bathurst will go postal.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  The truth was that Haley was extremely nervous. And not just because she would see Lord Asquith again. She and Matt were planning to host their own little party the next night and it was up to Haley to procure the refreshments.

  The intimate gathering only required two waitresses and Haley tried to focus on her duties and avoid eye contact with the guests. Normally that wouldn’t have been a problem. But she could feel Lord Asquith’s eyes on her, boring into her as though he could read every thought in her dirty little mind.

  While Marissa was clearing away after the first course, Haley lingered in the kitchen long enough to shove two bottles of wine into her rucksack. Then she heard Mr Bathurst coming and she scampered back out to join her co-worker.

  Another course. Another bottle. And another near-interruption by Mr Bathurst. This was not as easy as Matt had said it would be.

  The staff were meant to keep a record of how many bottles they opened for a party. It was some accountant’s job to see that the figures matched. Sir Peter and his friends were putting it away like lads at a stag night and Haley was sure no one would question whether they’d drunk ten bottles or twenty.

  ‘Haley? Are you sure you’re OK?’ Marissa asked. ‘You’re white as a sheet.’

  ‘Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just hot in here.’ She mopped imaginary sweat off her face and hurried back out to the guests, doing her best to avoid Lord Asquith.

  At last, it was time to serve the pudding. There was enough for everyone to have seconds. But they weren’t as gluttonous with the ginger as they’d been with the wine. Reverting to well-trained public schoolboys, they ate the portions they were given and soon began to take their leave.

  In the kitchen, Haley eyed the leftover ginger covetously. ‘Marissa, do you mind letting me stay and clean up by myself? I could really use the extra money.’

  ‘Sure, no problem.’

  Marissa was a sweet girl, but hopelessly gullible.

  When the guests had left, Marissa slipped away as well, leaving Haley on her own. Mr Bathurst was nowhere to be seen and Haley heaved a huge sigh of relief. Finally!

  She wrapped the rest of the crystallised ginger in cling film. Then she stuffed it into the side pocket of her rucksack, along with another bottle of wine for good measure. Now that the hard part was over, it was time to clean up.

  There was one open bottle of wine with about a glass left in it. She sniffed it. The wine smelled sweet and flowery. She was no connoisseur, but she could tell it was good stuff. Unable to resist, she held the bottle to her lips and treated herself to a taste. It was heavenly. She let the flavour dance on her tongue for nearly a minute before having another gulp.

  ‘Just what do you think you’re doing, young lady?’

  Jolted, Haley whirled to face her accuser, spilling wine all down her front. ‘Mr Bathurst!’ she gasped, wiping pathetically at her apron. ‘I … didn’t realise you were still here.’

  ‘Obviously.’ His sharp eyes swept the kitchen, taking in the empty ginger dish, the cling film and the bottle she’d been swigging from. His gaze came to rest on the bulging rucksack on the floor. The neck of a wine bottle jutted from it obscenely.

  Haley began to tremble.

  ‘A connoisseur of good wine, I see.’ His tone made it clear he recognised the bottle.

  She was busted; there was no point in lying. ‘It’s the first – the only time, Mr Bathurst, honest. I just thought no one would miss a couple of bottles.’

  ‘A couple of bottles? Young lady, do you have any idea how much “a couple of bottles” of Château Ducru-Beaucaillou costs?’

  Haley lowered her head. ‘No.’

  ‘About £70 a bottle.’

  Her mouth fell open.

  ‘So how many bottles have we got here?’

  With a shudder, she sank to her knees and reached inside the rucksack as though she expected the contents to bite her. One by one she took the bottles out, setting them carefully on the stone flags. One. Two. Three. Four.

  Mr Bathurst watched her, his arms crossed imperiously across his chest. ‘I trust you were planning to reimburse Lord Asquith?’

  She opened her mouth and closed it again. What was she supposed to say?

  ‘I’ll take that as a no,’ Mr Bathurst said. ‘But you’re going to pay for it one way or the other. Do you have that much money?’

  Haley felt ill. ‘No,’ she whispered. She was really for it this time.

  He walked the length of the kitchen, deep in thought.

  ‘I’ll work it off, Mr Bathurst,’ Haley said in desperation.

  ‘I don’t think that quite meets the bill, young lady. Not for theft.’

  She lowered her head. Theft. It was such an unfriendly word.

  ‘You will stay here while I fetch Lord Asquith. We’ll see how he wants to settle the matter.’

  Horrified, Haley couldn’t get up from the floor. She stared at the wine, marvelling that it could be so expensive. Bloody Matt. It was all his fault.

  When she heard the second set of footsteps she felt as though the warders had come to escort her to the gallows. She remained where she was, kneeling like a penitent. Perhaps Lord Asquith would take pity on her in her wretched state.

  A pair of knife-pleated black trousers stopped directly in front of her.

  From behind, she heard Mr Bathurst’s voice. ‘Come on, girl. On your feet.’

  Haley stumbled to her feet, unable to look up. She stared disconsolately at the floor.

  ‘And so we meet again,’ came the baritone voice of Lord Asquith.

  ‘You know this girl, your Lordship?’ Mr Bathurst asked, surprised.

  Asquith chuckled. ‘Our paths have crossed before.’

  Haley cringed. She prayed he wouldn’t tell Mr Bathurst the circumstances.

  ‘How poetic,’ he said in a sporting tone. ‘This time you’re the one covered in wine.’

  She glanced down. The bright red stain on her apron might as well have been blood.

  Asquith contemplated the row of bottles on the floor. Then he nudged the rucksack with his polished shoe. ‘What else have you got in there, my girl?’

  Again she couldn’t read him. It was unnerving. His cut-glass accent made her squirm as authority always did. But no schoolteacher had ever stolen her knickers.

  ‘Um, just some ginger, sir,’ she mumbled, still too afraid to meet his eyes.

  ‘Just?’

  She felt tears prick her eyes. Why were they torturing her?

  ‘Look at me when I’m speaking to you, please.’ His gentlemanly phrasing only enhanced his authority.

  Haley obeyed, fingering the edges of her wine-drenched apron.

  ‘What is your name?’

  Swallowing audibly, she raised her head. He was dressed less formally than last time, but he was just as striking. His black eyes seemed to look right through her. ‘Haley Devlin, sir.’

  ‘Haley,’ he repeated. ‘Tell me something, Haley. Are you wearing knickers this time?’

  She blushed furiously and darted a glance at Mr Bathurst, but he merely raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘Of course, sir,’ she said, realising the ridiculousness of her statement as she said it.

  He chuckled at that. ‘Of course.’

  She burned with shame, but it was a delicious sort of shame. He was toying with her.

  ‘Show me.’

  Here it was. The gauntlet. There was only one way to reclaim some of he
r dignity. With a coquettish smile she raised her skirt to display the black French knickers she was wearing. Just like the ones he had confiscated at the party.

  Lord Asquith nodded his appreciation. ‘Do they meet with your approval, Mr Bathurst?’

  He inspected them with the same cold appraising eye that scrutinised her cap and apron and always found fault.

  ‘Acceptable,’ he said. ‘Just.’

  His indifference astonished her. Then again, she had been shamelessly flirtatious with him when he’d first hired her. He knew she was a promiscuous little tart. He probably even knew the sort of games she and Matt got up to.

  ‘So we come to the issue of atonement,’ said Asquith calmly.

  Haley gulped.

  ‘Oh, you expected to walk away scot-free, did you, my girl?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t hear that.’

  Her cheeks burned. ‘No, sir.’ She glanced at the open door and then back at Lord Asquith. ‘What – what are you going to do?’ she asked in a quavering voice.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ Asquith said. ‘What do you think, Mr Bathurst?’

  ‘Personally, I think she needs a damned good thrashing.’

  Haley thought she would faint. She squeezed her legs together in a vain attempt to still the throbbing between them.

  Lord Asquith was nodding. ‘Yes, that might do her good, mightn’t it? Right, my girl. Remove your uniform, please.’

  She blinked. ‘S-Sir?’

  He smiled pleasantly and looked at Mr Bathurst. ‘I’m certain she heard me.’

  ‘Yes, she must have done,’ Mr Bathurst responded, mirroring his smile.

  Asquith raised his eyebrows expectantly. ‘Haley? Are you going to remove your uniform or must I do it?’

  Baffled, Haley glanced from one to the other. Both men were watching her expectantly. Sternly. She had no choice but to submit.

  Her hands shook with uncertainty and anticipation as she untied her apron and slipped it off. Mr Bathurst held out his hand and she surrendered it. He folded it meticulously, placing it on the counter like a blood-stained exhibit in a murder trial.