She stared into the empty cup.
He reached for the teapot handle. “Refill?”
She focussed on the golden liquid as he poured. “He came home drunk one evening and told me at this bloody table that he’d volunteered to go back to Iraq weeks before.”
His heart went out to her. Tessa’s devastating betrayal suddenly seemed insignificant. “No wonder you don’t sit here.”
She smiled weakly. “I don’t remember much of what happened after that. I yelled and cried a lot. Accused him of not loving me. Threw things. I didn’t even see him off when he shipped out a week later.”
She rocked back and forth, gripping the edges of her chair. His analytical skills kicked in. “And you feel guilty about that because he came home in a box.”
She looked at him as if he’d said the moon was made of green cheese. “An improvised explosive device detonated next to him and he was blown to bits.” She swallowed hard. “I do feel guilty but it’s because part of me thought it served him right. He left me when he didn’t have to. I couldn’t compete with a godforsaken country in the back of beyond.”
She clenched her fists and brought them down hard on the tabletop. Tears trickled down her cheeks. “I never said goodbye.”
He got out of his chair, pulled her up against him and cradled her in his arms as she sobbed.
Anne had never known what it was to be comforted by a man. Blaise’s solid strength was an anchor in a sea of loneliness in which she’d floundered for too long—perhaps even since before her marriage. Geoff had no patience for weakness. The tears gradually turned to heavy sighs that eventually became hiccups.
He reached over to retrieve a box of tissues from the counter. “You might need these.”
She pulled out a wad and blew her nose. She must look a fright, but he kept their bodies locked together, his arms around her waist. It was impossible not to be aware of the hard maleness pressed against her. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me,” she murmured.
“A good cry is cathartic,” he replied with a smile, rubbing her upper arms as he eased away. She missed his warmth instantly.
“Now, lead the way to the parlor. You should relax and put your feet up.”
“I have work to do for an important client,” she protested weakly.
He put an arm around her waist and forced her to walk to the door. “Later.”
Glad to have someone else make a decision for her, she obeyed with only feigned resistance and led the way, embarrassed when he noticed his grandfather’s papers scattered on the carpet. “They fell off my lap,” she explained. “I meant to pick them up, but…”
He sat her down on the couch then gathered up the research and leafed his thumb through the pile before putting it on the armchair. “You read quite a bit.”
“Yes,” she replied sheepishly. “But let’s not talk about that now.”
He sat beside her, leaned back into the corner and gathered her into his arms. “I agree. I’ll have to leave in half an hour for my meeting, but I’d like to just hold you, if that’s okay.”
She laid her head on his chest and put her feet up on the couch. Difficulties lay ahead, but for the moment she was content to lie in his warm embrace and listen to the steady thud of his heart. The guilt she’d held inside for too long seemed to have lost its power over her.
After Tessa’s matter-of-fact declaration that she couldn’t possibly marry a man who didn’t have the means to provide for her in the manner she’d expected, Blaise buried himself in his work.
He often worked through lunch, preferring to spend his time with paperwork than face the outside world of restaurants and cafeterias. He fell into the habit of staying late at the office, only leaving in time to catch the last train home to Surrey. De Wolfe Hall was the reason he’d lost the love of his life. The less time he spent there the better.
Colleagues suggested women they knew that he might take out, and he eventually agreed. He took various attractive and intelligent women to lunch, to the theatre, the cinema, even on one occasion up the Thames on a riverboat from Westminster to Hampton Court Palace—possibly the longest four hours of his life.
He itched for every date to be over. He found he had nothing to talk to them about. It wasn’t a surprise when they politely declined his half-hearted attempts to arrange another date. If pushed, he might be able to recall their names. He remembered more of the interesting trivia he’d learned about Henry VIII and his magnificent palace from the guided tour.
He looked down at Anne’s blonde head resting on his chest and marveled that he felt at ease with her. At least his heart was at ease. His cock was standing to attention. She’d resurrected urges and needs he’d feared Tessa had killed stone cold dead.
He toyed with the idea of cupping Anne’s tempting breast but thought better of it. Too soon, and in any case he’d stopped carrying condoms.
He rubbed his thumb along the stubble on his chin. Difficulties lay ahead. He’d have to be forthcoming about his financial situation. He thought he’d been honest with Tessa, but apparently she’d only heard what she wanted to hear, and admittedly he’d spent money he could ill afford on courting her.
Opening that can of worms would inevitably bring up the restoration grant he’d been guaranteed by the president of the Sons of the Conquest, who happened to be his boss.
If he succeeded in becoming a member.
Anne was the key to that. She’d hinted there might be problems with the research, but surely that didn’t mean he wasn’t a descendant of Sir Gaetan? The entire de Wolfe family history was predicated on that belief. His view of himself and the world he lived in depended on it being true.
Suspecting she’d nodded off, he reluctantly eased himself off the couch, tucked a cushion under her head and left for his appointment.
Anne turned over on the couch and stared at the crown molding, listening to the thwack, thwack of tennis balls. Someone was using the courts over in the gardens. It must have cooled off outside while she slept.
She hugged the cushion, content that she’d been comfortable enough with Blaise to fall asleep in his arms. She hadn’t even heard him leave.
She sat up and stretched, filled with an exciting premonition that a relationship with him held promise. She was a butterfly emerging from the cocoon of loneliness and resentment.
Time to leave the past behind.
But then she remembered he was a client who was expecting great things from her, though she didn’t understand why, and she already had serious misgivings about his research. Something was missing, but she couldn’t put her finger on what it was.
However, she wouldn’t find the answer by lounging around the parlor.
She got to her feet, retrieved the de Wolfe papers and went to her office.
DINNER FOR TWO
At three o’clock the next day Anne signed out of the prestigious library at the Society of Genealogists after spending several hours trying to verify some aspects of the de Wolfe family history.
The roar of the noisy London traffic came as a shock after the silent sanctity of the library.
She eventually flagged down a taxi on Goswell Street and settled in for the twenty minute ride back to St. George’s Terrace. Turning on her mobile, she discovered Blaise had left her a text message earlier in the afternoon.
Hi Anne. Dinner 2nite?
Anticipation zinged. He’d never been far from her thoughts as she delved into his lineage and had been hoping he would call. She added his number to her contacts and called him back.
“De Wolfe.”
His gruff manner took her by surprise. “Er, it’s Anne. Sorry it’s taken me so long to reply. I was in a library and mobiles aren’t allowed.”
“I was afraid you were avoiding me.”
His warmer tone settled her nerves. She was beginning to crave his company, but it was too soon to admit that, even to herself. “No. But I have a better idea. I’ll cook dinner for us.”
“Are you
sure?”
His surprise was genuine and he sounded almost relieved.
“Yes. It will be more intimate.” That wasn’t what she’d intended to say. “I mean we can discuss my progress on your research without any interruptions. I think you’ll be happy with what I found.”
“I like the sound of intimate,” he replied, the deep timbre of his voice causing a warm tingling to blossom and spread from her thighs to her nipples.
“Five, five-thirty,” she stammered, casting an anxious glance at the cab driver’s rear view mirror. His attention was on the road and thankfully he didn’t seem to have noticed she’d melted into a seething mass of sexual desire.
Having spent the day researching medieval documents, a thought sprang to mind. “Wanton woman,” she declared.
The cabbie cocked back his head. “Wot, miss?”
At five minutes to five, Blaise rang Anne’s doorbell bubbling with an anticipation he hadn’t felt in years. He chuckled at the realization he didn’t care a whit that he’d accomplished nothing all day at the office, totally preoccupied with seeing her again.
He clutched the beautifully wrapped and beribboned yellow carnations, reasonably confident she wouldn’t suspect he’d almost had a heart attack when the florist told him the price of a dozen roses.
“I’m in the kitchen,” she called after the lock buzzed open.
Bursting with energy, he took the stairs two at a time and handed her the flowers when she greeted him shyly with a peck on the cheek. “How did you know I love carnations? I have no luck with roses. They wilt as soon as they see me.”
He shrugged, comfortable with the lie he was about to tell. “I just knew.”
She propped the flowers in the corner of the sink, went to the cupboard and reached up for a vase. Her shapely bottom and long legs stirred interest at his groin. He came up behind her and put his hands on her hips, elated when she pushed back against his arousal. He folded his arms around her, relishing the swell of her breasts on his forearms. “You tempt me,” he whispered.
She covered his arms with hers. Her purr of contentment when he nibbled her outstretched neck pushed him over the edge and his hips took on a life of their own.
“I’ve thought about kissing you all day,” she murmured.
He turned her to face him and bent his head. She opened readily to his coaxing and their tongues mated. He trailed his fingertips along her neck, savoring the warm taste of woman, inhaling a delicate perfume he couldn’t name mingled with the alluring scent of an aroused female.
She raked her fingers through his hair, came up on her toes and pressed her pelvis to his needy cock.
An angry hissing sound broke them apart when something boiled over on the stove. She hurried to remove the pan from the element. “Shit!”
Indeed, his throbbing dick echoed.
“Everything is nearly ready,” she said, her face beet red. “Just have to mash these potatoes. I hope you like chicken.”
“I do, and I’m ravenously hungry,” he replied as she drained the pan into a colander.
He was disappointed when she didn’t rise to the bait. “Good. We’ll eat in the dining room and I’ll tell you about my research, then maybe later…”
He arched his brows, encouraged by her seductive smile. “Maybe later I can do some in-depth research of my own.”
Inviting Blaise to eat in the formal dining room tested Anne’s mettle. She’d probably overdone it with the gold-plated cutlery, damask tablecloth and Irish crystal, but this was after all an occasion to celebrate.
She placed the china plates on the teak table and he held out her chair as she sat. “Smells delicious,” he remarked with a sly smile, his eyes fixed on hers.
She picked up the bottle of wine, her tummy doing strange fluttery things. “Malbec?”
He held out his glass. “Waterford,” he exclaimed. “We used to have the same pattern, but…”
A sadness crept into his eyes as his voice trailed off, but then he clinked his glass against hers. “My father reserved the Waterford for V.I.P.s.”
“You are a special guest,” she admitted, her eyes darting around the room.
He followed her gaze. “Let me guess, you haven’t used this room for three years.”
She sipped her wine. “Right again, now eat before it gets cold.”
“Yes, mum,” he teased. “Tell me what you’ve unearthed.”
My heart. My desires. My life.
But her hopes might all come crashing down around her ears. “Your grandfather made some errors, not surprising given the lack of resources at the time, but overall his research is solid.”
He stopped chewing, the relief evident in his jewelled eyes. “So the de Wolfes are descended from true Normans?”
She should keep her reservations to herself and simply endorse his application. She chewed her bottom lip. “There is no doubt you are a descendant of Gaetan de Wolfe.”
He sipped his wine, then filled his mouth with another forkful, chewing happily.
She hesitated. “And Gaetan did accompany the Conqueror to England. His name is on the list of William’s companions that sits above the door of the church in Dives-sur-mer.”
He grinned. “I’ve heard of that, but I’ve never seen it. Maybe some day you can take me to see where the invasion kicked off.”
The notion of travelling through Normandy with him, visiting places of great historical significance, was more than appealing, but he might not want to see her again after she was done. “My Norman ancestor was the man who compiled the muster role,” she murmured, hesitant to mention the Montbryce name. “I discovered that piece of information in the family annals begun by the fourth Earl of Ellesmere. They were donated to the Shropshire Archives in Shrewsbury.”
“Really. Maybe our ancestors knew each other.”
“Probably,” she confirmed, getting the distinct feeling he was only half listening. “They both fought at Hastings and were granted earldoms in recognition of their service to King William.”
His eyes widened. “Gaetan was made an earl?”
“Of Wolverhampton,” she replied.
He raised his glass. “To the conquering heroes of Hastings.”
She’d never heard of anyone’s grip snapping the stem of a Waterford wineglass, but feared she might set the precedent. There was just one more thing to verify, but if she told him he might not take her to bed.
HUNGRY WOLF
Blaise had an urge to strut around the dining room thumping his chest. Everything was going to work out. The substantial grant from the Sons of the Conquest was his. De Wolfe Hall would be saved. The icing on the cake was that he’d found a wonderful woman. He had a very good feeling about the future of his relationship with Anne Smith.
He finished every last morsel of his dinner, enjoying the first meal in a long time he hadn’t eaten with his gut in knots. “You’re a good cook,” he said between mouthfuls. “But you’ve hardly touched yours.”
She shrugged, laying down her knife and fork. “I’m not very hungry.”
He put her obvious hesitation down to nervousness, sensing she knew as well as he did that the evening was going to end in the bedroom. The condoms were in his blazer pocket. The little swimmers in his balls were already on the move.
She gathered the dishes, got up and took them into the kitchen. He was tempted to follow, but decided to allow her some time to settle her nerves. He didn’t want to give the impression he was a randy wolf on the prowl.
He chuckled at his own joke.
A hungry de Wolfe!
A classic Duran Duran song drifted into his thoughts. Hungry like the wolf. He whistled the first few bars.
“You’re a good whistler,” Anne said as she reappeared carrying what looked like a large bowl of trifle. “That’s a Duran Duran song isn’t it? They are one of my all-time favorite bands. Can I tempt you with dessert?”
Anne wanted to bite her tongue. Regaining her seat, she looked away from the unmistakabl
e fire in Blaise’s eyes that she’d ignited without meaning to. Or maybe she had.
Perhaps her desire to sleep with him had taken control of her brain, but there was the nagging matter of verifying one last detail about Gaetan de Wolfe. Was it something she’d read long ago in the Montbryce papers? “Sorry. That sounded rather suggestive,” she quipped lamely, brandishing the serving spoon.
Blaise took the utensil and lay it on the table, then reached for her hands. She hoped the trembling tying her tummy in knots wasn’t obvious to him. If he asked why she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to explain it.
She wanted him. He drew her in a way Geoff never had. She’d loved her husband, but just looking at Blaise was like a blow to the solar plexus. Her hormones were getting the better of her. Maybe she’d been too long without sex.
But if they embarked on an intimate relationship with something unspoken between them…
He stroked his thumbs along the backs of her hands. “I want you, Anne,” he rasped.
The need in his deep voice convinced her she was overcomplicating things, not for the first time in her life. They were both consenting adults. “I want you too,” she whispered, twirling her thumb across his palm.
Anne took Blaise’s hand and led him up another flight of stairs to her bedroom.
His impression was that it was just as tastefully furnished and decorated as the rest of the house, but he was too preoccupied with other thoughts to pay attention.
He’d come close to absent-mindedly removing his blazer and leaving it in the dining room, which would have left him up the creek without a paddle—make that up in the bedroom without a condom!
It didn’t matter now that he hadn’t told Anne of his financial woes. It was fitting that her expertise had saved his bacon.
Hungry Like de Wolfe Page 4