Two chocolate coins later, I called Abby, thinking I might volunteer for her charity committee. But she told me it was a bad time for new sign-ups. Apparently, someone on the committee offended the Goldsmith family, and now it’s mayhem amongst the ladies. She did, however, send her driver to deliver a care package to my house to make up for not being able to hang out with me.
The care package got me through the rest of the day. The winning item was her iPad, a device that enabled me to window shop from the comfort of the dining room. Blair seemed thoroughly unimpressed that I was ignoring him, though maybe he was cross because the veal he’d cooked for dinner hadn’t turned out as well as he’d wanted. It tasted more than fine to me – delicious, even – but apparently my opinion didn’t come across as sincere, not in between my whingeing about shoe prices anyway.
It’s two in the morning now. My eyes hurt from all the iPad use, so now I’m sitting in the armchair in the piano room, staring at nothing in particular. I’m exhausted, annoyed that Oliver didn’t reply to my thank-you text, and paranoid that Blair will sneak into my room when I’m asleep.
I groan when there’s a knock on the door. The likelihood that it’s the ghost of an ancestor and not Blair is unfortunately very low.
Blair doesn’t wait for an answer before entering. As I don’t have the energy to turn my head and glare at him, I react to his insubordination by slumping further down in the armchair. I’m sure it’s a very intimidating, threatening move, one I plan to patent and charge the British Army for use of. If only I had changed into a military outfit rather than staying in these Cavalli jeans and comfy t-shirt.
He saunters over, all tousled hair, rumpled white V-neck top and navy pinstripe pyjama bottoms. This is a late-night seduction move if ever I’ve seen one. If I could play the piano as competently as Abby can, I would jump onto the bench and play some seedy, seventies porn theme. I’m not sure if such a tune would work on a piano, but I would certainly try. ‘Bom-chicka-wow-wow’ in E-minor.
The next step in the mating ritual is him standing in front of me, arms folded across his chest. My response (after appreciating his arm muscles) is to grunt in a dismissive manner. I was wrong when I said the ghosts of my ancestors were not around. It seems I am channelling Lady Silsbury-Caveman.
Blair, however, seems annoyed. Maybe I was supposed to be more medieval than prehistoric in my response. How am I to know which time period is our inspiration?
‘Your Ladyship, it’s three in the morning.’
‘Is it? I thought it was only two.’
He rolls his eyes, probably thinking I’m trying to be funny. Pretty sure misreading the time is not that funny, not unless you’re doing slapstick humour with a sundial.
‘No, really.’ I try to sit up, struggling to muster enough energy. ‘It isn’t two o’clock? Last time I checked the iPad it was half-one.’
Where is the iPad anyway? Looking for it would involve rotating my head, and I don’t think I can do that right now.
‘You look borderline crazy sitting here with only one lamp on. You should have a glass of port in one hand and a plan for world domination in the other.’
‘How can I take over the world if I can’t even tell the time?’
‘I’m going to get in trouble if you’re sleep-deprived by the time Saturday morning comes along. God forbid that you fall asleep on your date.’
‘I’ll tell Oliver to get the sofa bed ready. Or to, you know, save me room in his bed.’
This is definitely the wrong thing to say. I’m sitting in a dim room being glared at by a butler. Someone should paint this scene. I’d call it ‘Tension, oil on canvas’.
‘Isn’t it inappropriate for the date to be at his place? You hardly know him,’ he says through gritted teeth.
‘You’ve been holding that in for a while, haven’t you?’
‘So, what if I have?’
Yawning, I sit up properly now, though I’ve probably gouged out a significant portion of the arms of the chair from clawing my way up it. ‘Why are you awake at this time anyway? Roaming the house, checking up on me? Or did you come out of the attic to attack Steve in his sleep?’
‘Oh, yes, I came down here to butcher your stupid floral arrangement.’
I snort. ‘Finally, some honesty.’
I don’t bother with our customary staring contest. Instead, I shut my eyes and pretend that his comment was the last thing I needed to hear before falling asleep.
‘Are you even aware that I provided a complimentary turndown service for you tonight?’
‘Huh?’
‘I turned down your bed.’
‘Was it offended? It shouldn’t be asking you out anyway.’
‘Very funny, m’lady.’
‘Did you leave an after-dinner mint on my pillow? I always like that in hotels.’
‘Are we really going to stand here discussing the finer points of hotel service?’
‘I’m not standing. You are.’
There’s no response. I know he hasn’t left, because I haven’t heard him walk away. Unless he can fly, he’s still standing in front of me, waiting for me to open my eyes.
‘I’m going to carry you to bed if you don’t get up in five, four, three –’
‘Hold it right there.’ I open my eyes, even though my lids feel like they’re being weighed down with sandbags. ‘I will move now. To my turned down bed.’
‘All right. Let’s see it.’
He steps back and proceeds to watch as I struggle to get up. Determined to spite him, I make it all the way out of the room. I take a breather at the staircase, giving him enough time to catch up. He leans against the bannister on the opposite side, smug expression on his face and Abby’s iPad in hand. He must’ve found it in the room.
‘Why are you taking glee in this? Did you stand around The Savoy, laughing at invalids?’
‘I’ll meet you upstairs. When, and if, you make it.’
I yell at him as he ascends the stairs. ‘I don’t like you.’
Despite my protests, I really could fall asleep right here. I barely make it up another four steps before Blair returns, presumably to gloat some more. He mustn’t be that tired if he’s descending the stairs two at a time.
‘You’re ridiculous.’
I mumble the words ‘Speak for yourself’, but I think they come out incomprehensibly. I’m much clearer, though, when he comes up to me and grabs me around the waist.
‘What are you doing?’
Before I can think to swear, he picks me up and throws me over his shoulder, the suddenness of the move making me instantly queasy. I instinctively don’t put up a physical struggle – knowing I could fall if I did so – but pound on his back once or twice when he pivots and starts bounding up the stairs.
‘Blair! This is positively barbaric!’
‘Consider it an extra service.’
Oh, how I like his touch and body heat. It doesn’t excuse his behaviour, though. ‘Slow down, I feel ill.’
Finally, a direction he accepts as reasonable. ‘Sorry.’
‘Oh, well, if you’re sorry then it’s all okay.’
He chuckles and pats me on the arse as we turn again, ascending the next flight.
‘Inappropriate, Blair.’
‘Just checking you’re still awake.’
Acquiescence takes less effort, so I’m docile until we get to my bedroom. He not-so-gently drops me onto my bed and then goes over to close the door while I moan about the dismount.
Closing the door results in a shortage of light. I reach out for the lamp but am too far away to turn it on.
‘Don’t be a creep. Turn the light on.’
‘I’m getting to that.’
He switches the lamp on before walking over to the other side of the room. I roll over, remove my phone from my jeans pocket, and watch as he rifles through the drawers, all the while wondering what his true motive is.
‘Palm trees? White nightie?’
I groan again, cl
osing my eyes. ‘Leave me alone.’
He must be doing that thing where he’s not going to talk to me unless I open my eyes. However, when I do open my eyes, I see him holding the white nightie in one hand, his head bowed and his shoulders slumped.
‘You’re right. I should leave you alone.’ The nightie gets tossed back into the drawer. ‘You’ve had all day to make a move and you haven’t. I should take the hint.’
‘Oh, come on. Don’t be like this.’ I hate this side of him. ‘You rejected me. You don’t get to be all angry and sad.’
‘I’m not feeling sorry for myself.’ He runs a hand through his hair. ‘It’s the opposite, actually. Anyway, I’ll serve your breakfast late and pick up your dry cleaning after that. Abby’s driver gave me the docket. One of the outfits she wants to lend you is still at the cleaners.’
‘Shut up about your duties.’ Boy, I get snippy when I’m tired. ‘If you really want a consolation prize, then sleep here tonight. But don’t touch me. You confuse me and I don’t know what to do with you.’
‘Really?’ The hope in his voice is a little adorable.
‘Bring me some gum. I can’t get up to brush my teeth.’
‘I don’t have any gum.’
‘Fine. Whatever.’
I fluff my pillow and then get into a tangle when I try to get under the covers. The turndown service has confused me. I have a degree from Cambridge but now I fight with sheets.
It’s Blair to the rescue. He manages to pull out what I’m tangled in, making sure I’m now under the covers rather than wearing them. Seconds later, he turns off the lamp and before I know it I feel the bed shift under his weight. He’s next to me now.
‘Comfortable?’ he asks.
I yawn again. ‘Crashing after a big night, sleeping in jeans, with make-up still on and my bra digging into me. It’s like being back at uni. Though I guess you wouldn’t know. You’re not a girl. And you’ve never been to uni.’
‘I know what it’s like to crash after a night out. Don’t be so condescending.’
He’s right. Feeling guilty, I reach over and pat his arm. Or is it his chest? ‘Sorry.’
He sighs, probably wondering if accepting my offer was a good decision. ‘I know you’re tired, but can we talk for a bit? You’ve been avoiding me all day.’
I make a non-committal noise. He’s pushing his luck. He’s already lucky. If Oliver had texted me back, I wouldn’t be so generous tonight.
How long does it take to send a text? Ten seconds. Just an acknowledgement of my acknowledgement. It was a text that required an answer. I thanked him, yes, but also asked how he was doing.
‘You know, you shouldn’t trust a man whose surname is double-barrelled,’ Blair says. ‘Or who knows a hotel bartender that well, and drinks a gin and tonic at two in the afternoon.’
I invite him into my bed and his reaction is to pick an argument about Oliver. Are all men this ungrateful?
‘I know you had to endure talk of that day, but you don’t need to be snotty about it.’
He snorts. ‘Right.’
I respond, more from the fact that it’s a strange place to end a conversation. ‘Don’t act so high and mighty. Like you’ve never had a drink before sundown.’
‘I don’t go out much anymore.’
‘But if you did? Your Facebook photo is of you drinking. Or were you only there for the floozies?’
‘What floozies?’
‘The scantily clad women in the background. The barmaids.’
‘You sound jealous.’
‘They’ve seen you happy, so maybe I am jealous.’
‘I’m happy sometimes. Right now is not so bad.’
‘Mmm-hmm.’
To me, this is the end of the conversation, but Blair keeps talking.
‘That photo is almost two years old now. When my mum got even more useless, life became harder. There was a time when I drank too much and it wasn’t a good example for Stephen or the girls.
‘Look, I know I said you weren’t a good role model. It’s not that you’re not a decent person. It’s more that I can’t have Julie looking up to someone like you. You don’t know struggle. She can’t afford to want nice things without putting in the effort to get them. I want her to want to work, to be independent and to not depend on a man’s salary like Mum did.’ He pauses before hitting me where it hurts. ‘And like you intend to do.’
The way he phrases it isn’t as sugar-coated as when Abby had a go at explaining it. Tense now, I hug myself and try to speak without snapping. ‘This way of life is what I’m used to. It’s what all my friends have, what my family has always had. I’m not going to learn all of life’s money lessons overnight.’
‘No, I guess not.’ The lamenting way he says it makes it sound like I’m a lost cause.
‘Sorry I’m not up to your standards,’ I whisper with a surprising bitterness.
He inches closer, the mattress shifting. ‘Has he texted you back yet?’
‘How did you –’
‘You’ve been checking your phone all night.’
‘He’s a workaholic. He’ll get back to me eventually.’
The excuse sounds even more pathetic in the ensuing silence.
Blair’s next move is the boldest of the night. Shuffling closer again, he places a hand on my arm and leans in to kiss my neck, his lips immediately awakening the desire that had been dormant in my tiredness. I moan as he continues, inching closer again, until I give in and let him hold me so that we’re now spooning. I reward his boldness by pressing my arse back against his groin, encouraging him to get hard. He grunts, grinding against me while reaching under my t-shirt to cup my breast.
‘Reclaiming me, are you?’ I ask breathlessly.
‘In a manner of speaking, yes. If that arsehole wants to ignore you, then that’s fine by me. I’ll fuck you and remind you what a real man is made of.’
I’m so fatigued, mentally and physically, that it suddenly becomes all too easy to give in. It’s stupid, and desperate – and wrong. Yet, as with a lot of things that are stupid, desperate and wrong, the fact that it feels good overrides all the other concerns.
Blair has to help undress me, a challenge in the dark. My coordination is incredibly lacking, so much so that I need assistance to get out of my jeans and also to unhook my bra. Wriggling out of my knickers is the only thing I do on my own, but only because Blair is also busily undressing himself.
The covers are then thrown off, making me shiver from the cold. I feel so exposed in the dark, not being able to see Blair’s next move until I feel it, and it’s a feeling that strengthens when I splay my legs, offering myself to him in the darkness. He’s next to me at the moment, his fingers trailing over my bare stomach, teasingly close to my nether regions.
‘I’m so tired.’ I sound lost to exhaustion and lust, deranged even. ‘Hurry.’
‘Ssh.’ He’s getting into position now, keeping a hand on my thigh as he moves so that he’s stationed between my legs. I think he’s kneeling. I expect him to rush, to take me before I change my mind, but the sensation I feel seconds later is unlike anything I’ve experienced with him.
And for good reason.
‘Oh God.’ I arch my back as he tastes me, his tongue hungrily probing my wet folds. The pleasure is instantaneous, a spine-tingling jolt that makes me want to go all primal. If I wasn’t so tired, I would reach over and hold down his head, encouraging him to probe deeper and suck more ferociously.
Blair is going down on me. He’s actually going down on me.
‘Blair, I could kill you for this.’ I moan over and over as he changes his technique, licking me slowly and surely in long strokes before holding my hips down as he laps with more vigour. Involuntarily, I end up trying to clamp him in place, his stubble rubbing against my thighs.
This man is glorious. My head lolls from side to side as the tension builds, my sense of decency nowhere to be found as I delight in how wet I’m getting.
I whimper when
he withdraws his tongue.
Blair smacks his lips. ‘Needless to say, m’lady, I find you quite the treat.’
‘Don’t stop. You were doing so well.’
He chuckles, repositioning himself again. Just as I’m guessing that he’s on all fours and about to get going, he teases me again, kissing my collarbone with his wet lips before fondling my breast with his hand and sucking my other breast.
Frustrated but also in bliss, I whimper again as he nibbles on my nipple. Everything he does makes me hot for him. It’s like he’s known me for years, instinctively doing what I want him to. Unable to see, I reach out and touch his bare back, running my hand over his muscles, up his neck and then through his hair. He’s always wanted me, and I’ve always wanted him. Being together again feels natural, even though it shouldn’t.
I can’t keep my legs still. I’m desperate for him to enter me.
‘Blair.’
He releases my breasts, my nipples erect from all the attention. ‘Ready, are you, Lady Emilia?’
‘Yes. Please, hurry.’
Chuckling, he holds down my bucking hips again and then glides into me with a gasp, his thick cock smoothly stretching my walls and making me quiver from the thrill. They say that the third time’s a charm but, in this case, the third time is so much more than that. I want to chain myself to him and promise to never, ever refuse him.
I wrap my arms around Blair’s neck as he lies down on top of me, his weight and warmth so incredibly comforting.
I’m not breathing. I can’t. He’s too much.
His voice is husky when he speaks. ‘Miss me?’
‘Yes.’ I tighten my hold and sigh in content as he nuzzles my neck. ‘Oh, fuck, you’re so big.’
‘Don’t sound so surprised.’
Slowly, he moves inside me, each drive so controlled that I’m convinced his intent is to make this last as long as possible. I shut my eyes and lose myself in his rhythm, surrendering to him.
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