It still felt wrong.
‘Look . . .’ He seemed to sift through ideas, gauging the best way to make her keep his money. ‘Why not take your house-mates away for a holiday somewhere fabulous? It sounds as if your pal Brent needs it, if he’s been through the mill. Caroline took me to the Caribbean when we first got together . . . and the sun and the pampering did me a world of good.’
Lizzie narrowed her eyes. What was he up to? Why this fixation with Brent? Was he trying to set them up romantically again, so that he wouldn’t have to worry about her himself when he was gone?
And yet . . .
‘That’s not a bad idea, actually.’ Watching his face, she tried to determine his response, but he wasn’t a master negotiator for nothing. He gave nothing away. His expression was mild. No apparent jealousy.
You dolt, you didn’t really expect him to be bothered, did you?
‘There. See. Problem solved,’ John said briskly. ‘Now . . . are we going to go to this party or not? It’s entirely up to you, sweetheart. You look gorgeous in that dress, though.’ He gave her a hot look, as if savouring what he could see, and what was currently hidden. ‘You’re just as sexy as Audrey Hepburn as you are when you are Bettie Page. I’d be the envy of every man there with you on my arm.’
Yes, a party would be fun. Away from the jittery intensity of being alone together. Away from the danger of revealing herself far more profoundly than by any kind of nakedness.
‘Yes, I could fancy a party . . . What kind of a “do” is it? You were a bit mysterious.’
John didn’t speak straight away. His eyes were bright and, for a moment, he pursed his lips.
‘Well, it’s a sex party, if you’re up for that. Couples only. Single guests usually bring an escort along, but a “temporary sex friend” would fit the bill just as well.’
Good grief. Just like that. Well, that was one way to stop her getting nosy about his past and asking questions. A dozen images of writhing bodies flooded into her mind. Strangers fucking. Hot eyes, looking at her, wanting . . . expecting her to participate. Apprehension followed closely in the wake of the inner pictures. Was this really something she wanted to do? Even to please John?
‘Um . . . I don’t know . . . What’s involved?’
John laughed softly, but his eyes scanned her face, recording her every response. ‘Sex, of course, although all you have to do is watch, love. Nothing more than that. There’ll be more than enough exhibitionists to go around. Have you seen the film Eyes Wide Shut?’
Yes, she had. She nodded, remembering the bizarre, unsettling orgy scene, set at an enormous, secluded mansion. It had been arousing, but in a detached sort of way. She’d always been aware it was a construct for the camera . . . not real.
‘Well, it’ll be a bit like that only with much less chanting, weird ritual stuff and murder.’ He reached out and clasped her hand. ‘In fact, absolutely no murder at all. And quite a bit more BDSM . . . so just up our street, really.’
Did she want to go? The idea befuddled her. Part of her had never imagined getting a chance to experience a private, luxurious, sex orgy, and natural curiosity cried out yes, yes, don’t be a wimp. She’d plunged into the fantasy of being an accidental call girl and had the time of her life, so why not this, too?
And yet, another part of her was just Lizzie, completely normal, a woman of modest sexual experience who’d never really, truly had an adventure until she’d walked into a bar a few days ago and set eyes on the most gorgeous man she’d ever seen in her life.
She just wanted to return to their suite and have John all to herself for as much time as remained to her.
‘You don’t fancy it, do you?’ he said, his voice gentle. ‘That’s OK. That’s fine. We won’t go. I don’t want you to feel you have to do something you don’t want to. I wouldn’t enjoy it at all if I knew you were unhappy . . .’
He meant it, she could tell. His expression was understanding; he didn’t seem in the slightest disappointed.
And it was that, the fact he put her first, over his own preference, wishes, whatever, that made her think again. Why be afraid? He’d said he’d never hurt her, and that meant whatever wild thing was going on at this sex shindig, John would be there to protect her, and guard her limits. How the hell could she doubt him?
He’d keep her safe and, oh lord, she’d have a story to tell afterwards!
‘No! Actually . . . I think I do fancy it! How often does a girl get to try the Eyes Wide Shut experience? Especially when there’s no murder involved . . . and none of that stupid chanting. As long as it’s just watching . . . I’d love to go to the party.’
John beamed at her. She’d made the right choice. She was sure of that . . . wasn’t she?
‘Outstanding . . . you’re a bold girl, Lizzie. And I promise . . . We’re strictly there as spectators.’ Decisive as ever, he crumpled his napkin and then dropped it on his side plate. ‘Shall we go now? You don’t seem to be making much headway with that.’ He nodded to her barely touched chicken. ‘And I’m not really hungry either. There’s always a pretty lavish buffet at these affairs, anyway, if we get peckish later. Some people like to snack while they watch the “show”, and those who participate always seem to work up quite an appetite.’
‘Yes, let’s go.’
Before I change my mind, she thought, rising from her seat.
The limousine wove down a long, dark country lane, sometimes barely squeezing through between high, straggling hedges. At other times, they broke out into more open country, cruising between fields bounded by walls and lower hedges, the pastoral view dusted with magic by a high, brilliant moon.
John seemed to be lost in thought, and didn’t speak, though from time to time, he smiled at her in the hushed intimacy of the back of the car, and once or twice squeezed her hand, which he was holding.
After what must have been a little more than twenty minutes, a pair of imposing gates hove into view, and Jeffrey the chauffeur slowed the car to a halt, then jumped out and spoke into a small speakerphone set to one side, in a boundary wall. John’s name alone was clearly a VIP pass, because almost immediately the gates swung smoothly open.
The car proceeded on its way, up a long and winding drive. ‘Not quite as grand as Montcalm,’ John remarked as they glided between lines of trees that Lizzie couldn’t identify, ‘but still a pretty impressive pile.’
‘Do you ever go back to Montcalm?’
John’s eyes glittered in the dark. His fingers tensed infinitesimally around hers. ‘No, I haven’t been back in years, and then only on the sly to see my mother. But that might have to change . . . My father isn’t well. He’ll never summon me, so it looks like I’m the one who’s going to have to cave in, and visit him. If he’ll see me. I’d never forgive myself if he died and we hadn’t made peace.’
‘Oh God, I’m so sorry.’ She paused, sensing frustration and, yes, the ache of sorrow in him. ‘I’m not exactly the apple of my parents’ eyes, what with me dropping out and wasting the education my father cherished so much . . . But we’ve all come to understand each other a bit better nowadays, and I see them sometimes, and we manage to get on reasonably OK. Christmases and birthdays mostly.’
‘That’s good. I’m glad. You should never burn bridges. I wish I hadn’t now.’
‘Surely he cares for you deep down?’ She twisted her wrist, to hold and squeeze his hand.
‘I don’t know. The things I did . . . have done . . . He’s a proud man. Entrenched in old-school, aristocratic views. In his mind, I shamed him irreparably. And I suppose I did . . . And I let him down in other ways too. He was furious when I didn’t want to live the life he had planned for me. Joining his regiment, being part of the county set, marrying the fertile young daughter of one of his old army friends . . . and then I topped it all off by marrying a woman old enough to be my mother, and destroying his hopes of passing the title down the line of one of his sons.’
Lizzie frowned. But John had brothers, didn
’t he?
He was watching her in the flickering light of torches that lined the drive, his face more troubled than she’d ever seen it. He answered the frown without her having to ask. ‘My elder brother’s wife couldn’t have any more children after their daughter was born. My niece is a fabulous woman and very capable, but of course she can’t inherit. And my younger brother is gay, something the old man refuses to accept consciously, although I think underneath he knows the score.’
‘Oh dear . . . no wonder he’s angry.’ So many complications. So much baggage. It made the little ups and downs of her own life seem simple and easily negotiated by comparison.
A million questions surged to Lizzie’s lips, and she would have had a hard time suppressing them, and minding her own business as she knew she must, but at that moment they broke through the trees and the drive widened and curved in a semi-circle before a house that was indeed a ‘grand pile’. Pale stone gleamed in floodlighting, the roof crenelated like a castle, great windows like rows of aristocratic disdainful eyes glaring out.
Now wasn’t the time to quiz John about anything.
Least of all his future marriage plans.
The night was balmy and warm but John saw Lizzie shudder as she settled the delicate gold chain of her little evening bag on her shoulder.
Was she cold? Was she nervous? Worse, did she despise him? For his implied cruelty? In his father’s eyes, he’d brought shame on the family, but John knew he could, should have healed the rift, tried harder. Been the bigger man. Been kinder and made allowances. And yet he’d hadn’t and he’d been unyielding, and denied the old man even a chance to effect a rapprochement.
She probably thinks I’m a cruel bastard. Maybe I am? Why does she make me question myself after all this time?
He’d always tried to avoid this moral ‘black spot’ of his by running his business empire ethically, and being a silent yet extravagant philanthropist. But no amount of charitable donations, and secret funding of Montcalm, would ever make a stubborn old man happy . . . and maybe it was unforgivable to have left it so late?
‘What is it?’
He jumped at the sound of her voice, and realised he’d been wool-gathering.
‘Nothing . . . I was just wondering if I’d done the right thing, bringing you here?’
The simple answer, but not irrelevant. The final confirmation of his suspicions about her had rocked him. Even though it was exactly what he’d expected. He’d guessed that she wasn’t the accomplished call girl who’d done every sexual thing under the sun, and who wouldn’t turn a hair at a gathering like this.
More guilt swept through him, Lizzie-guilt. There was a big difference between suspecting something and having it confirmed. Far from being an escort, she was a fresh young woman who probably wasn’t all that experienced, despite her intoxicating enthusiasm and a natural sensuality that rendered him awestruck and rigid with yearning for her.
But it was more than that.
His friends here were sophisticated, and good people, despite their recherché appetites. In a feast of BDSM, there wouldn’t be anything here tonight to really hurt anybody, just intense, rarefied pleasure. But he was still swamped by an urge to protect Lizzie, to whisk her away to some safe stronghold and cherish her.
‘Are you really sure about this?’ He grabbed her hand, feeling idiotic, like a boy on his first date, scared that the most gorgeous girl in school would suddenly change her mind. ‘You don’t have to do this just to please me . . . I mean, I think you’ll enjoy yourself, but if you have doubts, any doubts at all, we needn’t bother. We can go back to the hotel.’
Shit, she thinks you’re a complete idiot now!
‘We’re here . . . and you promised me a movie experience. Let’s give it a whirl, shall we?’ Imperious, she drew him forward, flashing him a smile, then turning that full-beam beauty on the security men standing at the door. ‘I’ll tell you if I don’t like it, and we can skedaddle then, eh?’
John knew he was an articulate negotiator. He wouldn’t have achieved what he had done without persuasive, silver-tongued skills. But he was lost for words. Awed by this beautiful young woman, years his junior, blown away by her poise. If she felt any apprehension, she didn’t show it. Her façade of confidence was as spectacular as his own.
Huge pride filled him as they walked forward into the vestibule. The security men’s eyes followed Lizzie, and even the imperturbable butler who greeted them, taking her pashmina, seemed impressed as he offered them their masks on a silver tray.
John felt as if he was ten feet tall. He’d escorted some exquisite women in his time, and sometimes to events like this, but never before had he experienced this primitive thrill. The knowledge that the most splendid woman of the evening had chosen him to squire her.
Oh dear God, what’s happening to me?
But as she turned to him, a soft smile of pleasure on her face at the sight of the pretty carnival mask in her hand, John Smith was as confused as he was filled with wonder and lust.
18
Belle of the Ball
‘It matches my dress. How on earth did you manage that?’
The eye mask was a gleaming, creamy gold, covered in damask silk with an edging of delicate lace. It wasn’t an absolute exact match for her frock, but it was only a few shades off. How the hell had they known to have one ready to go with a dress she’d only bought that afternoon?
‘I texted the hostess a picture of your dress while you were showering and asked her to pick out the best mask to go with it.’ John reached for his own mask, which was plain black silk with no trim. It still looked stunning, though, as he fastened ties at the back of his head, dramatic and dangerous, and a stark foil for his golden angelic colouring. ‘Here, let me help you,’ he offered, taking the golden mask from her hand and moving around behind her.
Unsurprisingly, it fit perfectly too, and John’s fingers were deft and gentle, fastening it in place without disturbing her carefully arranged hair. Satisfied with it, he drew her towards a long mirror that hung on one wall, presumably placed so guests could check their appearance before they joined the party.
Lizzie caught her breath, her lingering doubts evaporating. What a couple they made. John elegant and tall in his dark suit, snowy shirt and plain dark tie. He wasn’t in evening dress, but he cut a perfect figure all the same. Beside him, she should have seemed an ordinary girl . . . but she didn’t. She didn’t even seem to be herself with this new look. A princess stood beside her prince, taller and straighter and more stylish than she’d ever looked before, even though her shoes weren’t the most toweringly high.
It was difficult to see his expression behind the mask, but Lizzie could have sworn John was just as stunned as she was. He opened his mouth, as if to say something, then shut it again, just smiling.
Beside her, the security man said, ‘Your phones, please, if you would. And, of course, any cameras.’ He proffered the tray again.
Of course, they wouldn’t want anyone sneaking risqué photographs at an event like this, even if people were masked. Lizzie took her phone out of her bag, but felt a pang. It was irrational, but what if something happened? What if Brent rang? Despite being drenched in John’s presence, thoughts of her friend still surfaced in her mind. He’d told her to go, to enjoy herself . . . or he’d be cross with her. But still she couldn’t help worrying about him, and how brittle he’d seemed lately.
She turned to John, watching her from behind his mask, mysterious and inscrutable. She could almost imagine he’d read her thoughts, the impression she so often seemed to get from him.
‘Shall we?’ He offered her his arm and she slid her hand under it, relishing its solidity. They were in a dream, but he was real beside her. The man who’d touched her and pleasured her and let her see new things. She’d never felt inferior to him – she didn’t have that kind of complex – but she acknowledged that knowing him had changed and broadened her horizons.
Even when he was gone, she would
never be the same.
They entered a vast, high-ceilinged hall, flanked by pillars that supported a balcony above. Soft classical music was playing in the background, but she couldn’t have put a name to it, and there was a lively hum of voices as a counterpoint. Advancing into the room, they were greeted with discreet smiles, and the occasional ‘Hello, nice to see you again,’ aimed at John. The masks were obviously a formality. Everybody seemed to know everybody else, but John’s hand over hers, where it clasped his arm, seemed to induce a protective field of safety and confidence around her. She didn’t feel shy.
It was a diverse gathering. Many people were in formal evening dress, but just as many were in cocktail wear, most of the men in the sort of suits that had become a major turn-on for Lizzie since she’d met John. A waiter appeared beside them, offering a selection of drinks on a tray, Champagne, glasses of what looked like whisky and gin, and also softer stuff, fruit juice and water. Lizzie took a Champagne, resolving it would be just one, to take the edge off her nerves. She couldn’t help grinning when she looked beyond the tray. The masked waiter was bare chested and wearing leather trousers. She would’ve thought him a stunning hunk if she hadn’t already been with the most handsome man present.
Taking a sip of Champagne, she looked further into the room. ‘OK?’ said John beside her, running the backs of his fingers down her bare arm.
‘Yes . . . fine . . . This is all very glamorous, isn’t it?’ Her gaze flitted hither and thither as she trembled at his touch. ‘And . . . um . . . interesting too,’ she added, eyes widening.
There was more than just posh evening wear on show. Observing the throng more closely, she saw fetish wear too. Men and women in leather and vinyl. Corsets. Cut-outs. Collars. Chains. Masks that were far more forbidding than their own party-wear versions. Gimps and executioners. Dominatrices and masters.
‘Good to see you again, John,’ said a low, husky voice from just behind them.
They turned to find a stunning blonde smiling at them. She was quite tall, and her hair was a beautiful cap of platinum curls. Her gown was strangely retro, power wear from the 1980s almost, with big, big shoulders and flounces. With it she wore long, tight black satin gloves that reached above the elbow, and her mask was glittering with precious stones.
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