by Sk Quinn
They’ll be home at 7pm, and Daphne will take him to bed.
Right now, I’m to join Patrick at the Glass Bar for a pre-dinner cocktail.
The message was well timed – I was starting to worry about Bertie.
‘Where’s the Glass Bar?’ I ask.
‘It’s at the back of the castle,’ Louise explains. ‘In the observatory.’
‘Oh,’ I say. Like it all makes sense. But it doesn’t really. This castle is such a maze. I think I could live here a lifetime and still find new rooms and surprises.
‘Would you like me to show you the way?’ Louise asks helpfully.
‘Yes please.’
Natalie and Tracy help touch up my makeup and hair. And then I go into the changing room and slip on the blue dress.
‘Wow,’ says Louise, as I open the changing room door. ‘Someone call Hello! magazine – they’re going to want a picture of you.’
‘I know,’ says Natalie. ‘Isn’t she stunning?’
‘Stunning,’ Tracy agrees.
‘She picked the best dress on the rail,’ says Hugo, giving me a wink.
I follow Tracy around the castle and outside – to an oval red-brick building with a glass roof.
The grounds of Mansfield Castle are just settling into pinky grey dusk.
‘This is the Glass Bar,’ says Louise, as we reach the red-brick building. ‘Well. I’ll leave you to your celebrations.’
She trots away, and I push open the chunky oak door.
69
The room I walk into is totally round. The walls are redbrick. And there’s a round glass bar right in the centre.
Patrick stands behind the bar, throwing a silver cocktail shaker high into the air.
He’s about to catch it when he sees me in the doorway.
The cocktail shaker crashes onto the bar. Blue liquid and ice cubes tumble across the glass bar top and onto hard, red floor tiles.
I laugh. ‘Weren’t you in the Olympics? I thought throwing and catching would come naturally.’
Patrick doesn’t take his eyes off me. ‘I think most men would forget how to catch if they were seeing what I’m seeing. In fact, it’s amazing I can speak at all.’
I take a step forwards, the dress swishing around my thighs.
‘Is that your way of saying I look nice, Mr Mansfield?’
‘You look more than nice,’ says Patrick. ‘You look astonishing.’
‘Where’s Dad?’ I ask. ‘And Danny?’
‘Cleaning up for dinner,’ says Patrick. ‘And choosing their suits.’
‘Oh. Did you have a good afternoon?’
‘It went very well as far as I’m concerned,’ says Patrick, still watching me. ‘Christ, the way you move in that dress …’
‘Do you like it?’
‘I do.’
‘This is good practise for our wedding,’ I grin. ‘Saying our “I do’s”.’
‘I do, I do, I do,’ says Patrick, coming around the bar towards me.
‘Steady on, Mr Mansfield,’ I say. ‘Don’t go rumpling the dress. It’s designer, you know.’
Patrick puts a hand on my backside and pulls me towards him. ‘I never have cared about designer.’ I can feel he’s rock hard.
‘No?’
‘No.’
‘Can I tell you a secret?’ I whisper.
‘What?’
‘I’m not wearing any underwear.’
‘Christ.’ Patrick grabs my backside with both hands and pulls me right against him. ‘Take it off. Right now.’
‘I’ve only just put it on!’
‘I don’t care. I need to see you.’
Patrick spins me around and pulls the zip all the way down to my backside.
He lets out a long breath when he sees my naked buttocks.
‘Who the hell put you in a dress like this?’ he asks.
‘Me.’
‘You do realise what torture this will be,’ says Patrick. ‘While we’re having dinner.’
‘Lucky we’re not having dinner right now then,’ I say.
Patrick slides my arms and hips free and the dress drops onto the cold stone tiles.
I stand naked in my glass high-heels.
‘Nice shoes,’ Patrick breathes, running fingertips up and down my bare calves.
I feel lovely tingles.
He stands, takes my hand and helps me step free of the dress.
Then he picks me up by my backside and sets me on the glass bar.
‘Oo! Cold!’ I yelp.
‘You’ll be warm soon,’ says Patrick.
He picks up my leg so my high-heeled foot sticks right in the air. Then he leans and kisses my ankle. He works his way up until his lips are on my inner thigh.
‘Where are my manners,’ he breathes into my skin. ‘I haven’t even offered you a drink.’
‘So rude of you,’ I murmur.
Patrick grabs the fallen cocktail shaker from the floor.
Ice rattles inside it.
‘I was making you my speciality cocktail,’ says Patrick. ‘It’s called an Ice Lake. Perfect for you in that dress, don’t you think?’
‘Shame it ended up over the floor,’ I breathe.
Patrick is still holding my ankle, stretching my leg high into the air.
‘There’s a little left.’ He sets the shaker on the bar and takes out an ice cube. ‘Here. Try.’
He holds an ice cube to my lips and I taste something cool, sweet and strong.
‘I like it.’
‘I know.’
He takes the ice cube in his palm and touches it against my ankle.
I flinch.
‘Cold can be good,’ says Patrick, sliding the ice cube around my calf. ‘Once you get used to it.’
The ice cube begins to feel hot against my leg.
Patrick moves it onto my inner thigh, rubbing up and up.
‘Oh,’ I moan, my eyes closing.
Patrick rubs the ice cube around my naked buttocks.
‘It really is good,’ I murmur. ‘Very, very good.’
‘How about now?’ Patrick asks, as he slides the ice cube right between my legs, moving it up and down.
I gasp as Patrick slips the ice cube right inside me.
My head snaps up and my eyes open.
‘Whoa!’
While I’m getting used to the sensation, Patrick takes a handful of ice cubes from the cocktail shaker.
He pushes them inside me, one by one.
The alcohol and ice burn and I feel icy cold water dripping around my buttocks.
Patrick frees himself from his tuxedo trousers. Then he parts my buttocks and plunges himself into my backside.
The icy water eases him in, and I feel the full length of his hardness.
I cry out with pleasure and pain.
Every bit of me is on fire – but it’s a good fire.
Then Patrick starts to move, his eyes locked on mine.
I grasp the glass bar top and clench my teeth.
‘God, god, GOD!’ I cry out, as he moves harder and faster, grabbing handfuls of my backside and forcing me into him.
I feel ice melting and the freezing water is running between my buttocks.
Patrick grabs another handful of ice and rubs it between my legs.
He moves backwards and forwards, rubbing the ice all around until I’m screaming with pleasure.
I come before I even know what’s happening, my whole backside pulsing against him.
But Patrick carries on moving – hard.
It’s too much. I want him to stop. But then just as I think I can’t take any more, I come again – a huge, sweeping orgasm that makes me fall back against the bar.
I grab Patrick for support.
He forces himself all the way inside me, and I hear the roar of him coming too. He pulls my buttocks onto him, pushing himself in as deeply as he can.
He grips my backside, his eyes softly closed, his breathing fast.
I pant, my elbows propping me up on th
e bar, my back arched.
My legs are wrapped around Patrick, glass high heels pointing up.
Patrick’s eyes slowly open.
I smile.
‘Is something funny?’ Patrick asks, easing himself out of me.
‘I just … I’ve never had an orgasm quite like that before,’ I say.
Patrick leans forward so his face is near mine. He goes to stroke my hair, then stops himself. ‘I’d better not touch this creation, had I?’ he asks. ‘You’re not going to thank me for messing up your hair before dinner.’
‘So.’
‘So.’
‘I guess I can’t spend the evening lying naked on the bar.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because. We’re meeting my family for one thing.’
‘Ah yes.’
‘And I think I might get cold.’
‘Nothing wrong with getting cold.’ Patrick pulls me upright against his white shirt. ‘As long as you have someone who can warm you up again.’
70
Patrick helps me back into my dress. ‘If you’re going to insist on not wearing underwear, you might find I end the dinner early …’
‘It’s not my fault,’ I say. ‘It’s the dress. It’s designed that way.’
‘I think this just became my new favourite outfit.’
‘I hope you can control yourself around my family,’ I say. ‘I don’t think it would be appropriate to throw me on the table during dinner.’
‘Says who?’
‘Says me.’
‘I still haven’t made you a cocktail.’
‘No you haven’t.’
‘Would the lady care for the house special?’
‘I probably should try it. Since I’ve just had it inside me …’
‘Keep talking like that and I’m going to have to take your dress off again.’
‘Okay, okay. What I mean to say is yes please.’
‘Two house specials coming up.’
Patrick leaps over the glass bar and grabs the cocktail shaker. He throws in a scoop of ice and a slug of bright blue liquor.
‘I never knew you could make cocktails,’ I say.
Patrick throws the shaker behind his back, then up in the air. ‘We all have hidden talents. What’s yours?’
‘Roller skating. I can do it backwards.’
‘Shame you didn’t bring your skates up here,’ says Patrick, raising an eyebrow. ‘I’d like to see that move in that dress.’
‘A great shame.’
‘So.’ Patrick grabs two triangular glasses and pours icy blue cocktail into each of them. ‘The Ice Lake. This castle’s signature cocktail.’ He pushes a glass towards me, then watches as I take a sip.
‘It really is good,’ I say.
‘You like it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Because I invented it.’
‘You did? I’m impressed. After that sandwich you made me …’
‘Are you going to admit to your father that you loved me the moment we met?’ says Patrick.
‘We’ve been over this. Maybe I did … ’
‘Maybe! I had you from the start. Just like you had me.’
‘You so did NOT have me from the start.’
‘Didn’t I?’ Patrick leans closer. ‘Not even when I packed that snow around your ankle?’
‘No,’ I tease. ‘I just thought you were a little strange. Stalking around without your shirt on.’
‘Funny. Because your chest was fluttering like a little bird when I picked you up.’
‘I never asked you to pick me up. You insisted, if you remember …’
‘I remember. I remember like it was yesterday. And you, Miss Harper, are a terrible liar. That first time I picked you up we both felt it. Like lightning.’
I can’t help smiling at the memory. ‘Oh all right. I felt something.’
‘And I knew I was going to marry you.’
‘You did?’
‘Yep.’
‘And here we are. Getting married. Who’d have thought it?’
‘I did. From the very beginning.’
We sit, drinking and staring into each other’s eyes.
Eventually, Patrick says: ‘May I take you to dinner, Miss Harper?’
‘Yes Lord Mansfield. You may.’
71
Patrick escorts me down the stone corridors, and up a spiral staircase I’ve never seen before.
It has bright red carpet and little arched windows that look out over the woodlands.
‘Are we going to yet another new part of the castle?’ I ask, my glass heels tip tapping on the stone. ‘No wonder I get lost in this place.’
‘We’re going to the formal dining room. Where all our important dinners are held.’
‘Natalie said you’ve had some big occasions here,’ I say. ‘Royal visits. Animals killed in honour of your special guests.’
‘Indeed we have,’ says Patrick leading me up the stairs. ‘And this dinner will be special too.’
‘You do realise that my family aren’t royalty,’ I say. ‘We’re just normal people. Dad and Danny would be happy with fish and chips.’
‘Your family are royalty to me,’ says Patrick.
‘Listen – you haven’t killed a goat or anything have you? I mean, I love my family. But like I say, we’re simple people.’
‘A formal dinner is a formal dinner,’ says Patrick. ‘We have to treat the occasion with the reverence it deserves.’
I laugh, putting a hand to my forehead. ‘I’m kind of expecting to see a whole pig on the table or something.’
I glance at Patrick. He’s smiling.
‘Tell me we’re not going to eat a whole pig.’
‘You’ll have to wait and see.’
72
‘This is Mansfield Castle’s Dining Room.’ Patrick leads me to another room I’ve never seen before – a grand long room with huge arched windows and a sloped roof like a church.
I stop for a moment, stunned by the splendour of it all.
Huge crystal chandeliers hang over the longest table I’ve ever seen. The chandeliers are filled with real candles, twinkling over a dining table of gleaming white plates and gold cutlery.
Bouquets of thistles are set along the dining table and the napkins are embroidered with the Mansfield castle emblem.
The eight giant arched windows are set with stained glass pictures of crosses, boats and shields.
‘How many people are eating, exactly?’ I ask.
‘Just us, your family, Grey and his companion,’ says Patrick. ‘But traditionally the whole table is set. And then the extra plates are taken away when the guests sit down.’
‘Why?’
‘Traditionally, we do that for unexpected guests. To show that the castle is always generous and welcoming. That it will feed anybody who comes through its doors.’
Patrick leads me to the end of the table and pulls a chair back.
‘You and I won’t sit next to each other. That’s tradition too. Your father will sit at the head of the table. You and your brother will be either side of him. And I will be next to your brother.’
‘We’re not sitting next to each other?’
‘It’s the traditional way of respecting your father. To show that I’m humble. That he’s the guest of honour.’
I laugh. ‘For someone who likes nature so much, you really do like tradition don’t you?’
‘Not all tradition. But I respect the traditions of this castle. Here. Take a seat.’
I sit down, and Patrick slides the chair in for me. Then he walks around the table and sits opposite.
‘You feel like a long way away over there,’ I smile. ‘Are you sure you can’t bend tradition? Just for tonight?’
‘Very sure. Ah! Here comes your father and brother.’
I hear the clatter of footsteps and see Louise leading Dad and Danny into the dining room.
They’re both dressed in suits.
I expected Dad to look awkw
ard, but actually he’s walking tall and looking kind of proud.
Danny has his usual Danny swagger. He looks pretty good, all suited and booted. Still a little bit dangerous, but that’s just Danny.
Patrick stands and bows. Then he seats Dad at the head of the table and Danny beside him.
‘Me? Here?’ says Dad, looking at bit awkward. ‘Shouldn’t you be here, Patrick? You’re the man of the house, after all?’
‘And you’re the guest of honour,’ says Patrick. ‘I wouldn’t dream of seating you anywhere else.’
‘How come I never got a feast when I arrived?’ asks Danny.
‘Danny!’ I snap. ‘You could barely even leave the bedroom when you got here.’
‘I know, I know. Just teasing. Hold on – who’s this coming now?’
Grey appears, wearing a tuxedo.
To my surprise, he has Vicky on his arm.
I grin when I see her. ‘Hi,’ I mouth.
She gives me a shy smile, then looks around the dining hall with wonder. I can tell this is all a bit overwhelming for her. I want to say that I feel the same way.
She’s wearing a simple wool dress with flat ballet pumps. Her curly hair is up, with a velvet band around it.
Patrick stands.
‘Mr Harper. Danny. Allow me to introduce my brother, Grey, and his companion, Victoria.’
Grey shakes hands with my father and Danny. Then he and Vicky take seats.
‘I’ve never been up here,’ Vicky whispers. ‘I’ve cooked banquet food. But never seen where it’s been eaten. This is such a privilege. I can’t believe my cooking has been served somewhere so lovely.’
‘I hope it won’t be too difficult for you,’ Grey whispers. ‘That today someone else is doing the cooking.’
‘Not all the cooking,’ says Vicky. ‘I did the side of salmon. The beetroot. The potatoes. The apple pie. And the other desserts.’
Grey shakes his head. ‘You were supposed to stay out of the kitchen today young lady.’
‘Couldn’t help it.’
‘When did you manage all that cooking, exactly?’
‘This morning. When you were out hunting. I couldn’t let the new chef do everything. It’s a lot of pressure. Preparing a meal this size in someone else’s kitchen.’
‘Very thoughtful,’ says Grey. ‘As always.’
There’s a pop as Louise opens a bottle of champagne and fills our glasses.