As my new clothes were packaged up, Ben looked up from his phone. “Ann, Jane is going to need evening attire for a formal dinner party. Would you be so kind as to arrange that, as I need to go and purchase the same for myself.” She nodded at him, calculating the addition to her commission so overtly I could almost see the numbers floating from her head. He looked over to me apologetically. “I’m sorry, I had no idea there would be a formal dinner tonight at Hopetoun that we would be expected at. I didn’t pack a dinner suit. Get whatever you like, but please do so quickly. We do need to get going quite soon, I’m afraid.” With that, he turned and headed to another part of the store. Ann beamed as she led me to the racks of designer gowns. The last time I wore a fancy dress was two years ago as a bridesmaid, and it was bubble gum pink.
Chapter Five.
Formal wear loaded in the car and the hefty tab signed for by Ben, we pulled out of Edinburgh that afternoon. I was too happy in my new clothes to care that Ben drove like a maniac. Yes, I wore the designer clothes from the fancy department store like a five-year-old child. I’m surprised they didn’t offer to burn my ratty old ones.
As we pulled out of the city, I was able to relax somewhat in the luxurious car. With less traffic to navigate, Ben’s careless driving wasn’t as much of an issue. The gray stone of the city slowly slipped into verdant greens and rolling hills—Scotland was beautiful, and I felt excited to be seeing it. Coldplay was streaming through the smooth speakers as we drove. Ben seemed distracted, and as he downshifted and slowed the car to allow an errant sheep to cross a country road, barely wider than the car, I thanked him for the clothes.
My addressing him broke the trance he was in, and he glanced over at me, his eyes shielded by mirrored Ray Ban aviators. “Oh, it’s nothing, pay no mind to that. You’re quite welcome, Jane. I’m sorry, my mind is on Hopetoun and obtaining that sculpture. I’m not sure why Stuart would have left it there—he hated the Hope Family with a passion, it makes no sense.” How did he know that? “You knew him?” Ben thought for a moment before confessing, “Yes, in passing. Most of us art-types tend to move in the same circles.”
As Ben sped up again, the car cornering tightly around a sharp curve, I began to feel queasy. “You’re quite pale, are you ill?” he asked. As I began to answer that I was fine, I instantly realized I wasn’t fine. As I struggled to find the button to roll down the power window, my stomach decided to empty itself. I felt like I’d never stop heaving up my huge breakfast—all over the fine ivory leather of the car, all over myself, and ultimately, all over the side of the narrow road as Ben stopped the car and ran around to help me out.
“Jane, it’s alright. Let it out. These narrow lanes can be very challenging to the motion sick.” His arm was around me, holding me steady in such a warm way I couldn’t bring myself to point out that it was his insane driving on the narrow road that made me hurl up my room service. “I-I’m ok, I’m sorry…I didn’t know I was going to be sick until it was too late.” His hand stroked my back, his voice soft and caring. “Let me clean up the sick and we’ll get you some rest,” he said as I leaned on the side of the car.
After he’d wiped up the driver’s seat the best he could with what appeared to be one of his shirts, he laid another expensive white shirt across the passenger’s seat and helped me in before returning to the driver’s seat.
“Our clothes…” I muttered, still feeling queasy but grateful to be sitting.
“No worries, the staff will launder them at Hopetoun, it’s fine.” I glanced down at my new jeans, now crusty with drying vomit, relieved that at least my boots had stayed out of the line of my vomit-fire. Ben shot me a warm smile, and after a quick pat on a clean section of my thigh, he pulled back onto the lane and drove very slowly for another ten minutes. “You’ve been here before…you recognized the room the Cupid was in, and you said your friend lives here?” He nodded, “Yes, Elizabeth Hope, the daughter of the current Duke. I’ve been here many times.”
“Why the dinner party then? Can’t we just grab the sculpture and go back to Cambridge?”
Ben sighed deeply. “Well, Elizabeth is playing games—it’s what she does. She said the piece is locked in The Yellow Room, where it’s been since Stuart placed it there a month ago. She refuses to let us into the room to retrieve the Cupid until tomorrow morning.”
Just as I thought about inquiring as to his relationship with this game-playing Elizabeth Hope, we turned into a long, spectacular drive. Sitting up ahead was the largest house I’d ever seen. Hopetoun House reminded me of something from a movie—gleaming gray brick, palatial wings, and an enormous lush green lawn surrounding it. The gate was open and we were able to pull directly up in front of the house. Three uniformed household staff members, two women and a younger man, immediately approached the car. The man began to unload our baggage from the trunk, while the women moved to open our doors. Ben signaled toward my seat to the older woman at his door.
“Miss Andrews is unwell—I’m afraid we’ll need the sick tidied up. Thank you, Maureen. I do appreciate your assistance.” He shot her a warm, apologetic smile.
“It’s no trouble at all, Mr. Hunt.” She glanced toward the woman who’d just opened my door, and instructed, “Molly, please escort Miss Andrews up to her room. I’ll get Mr. Hunt sorted and have the valets clean the car. Young Carly can get started on the laundry.”
As the woman referred to as Molly took my arm and gently led me from the car, Ben called out, “Jane, do get some rest. I’ll check in on you in a few hours.” I merely nodded, still feeling queasy and suddenly exhausted, as Molly led me into the opulent house, gilded and polished like something from a Jane Austen novel. I actually felt like I had been transported into Pride and Prejudice, with my very own potential Mr. Darcy. Except, like my real life, the adventure and romance were always ruined by reality. I still felt green, and was further mortified that I’d hurled all over the fancy car and Ben’s designer clothes.
It seemed like miles to walk to my room in the guest wing of the cavernous house, and by the time Molly finally opened the door I was sick again. She led me speedily to the marble bathroom, where I heaved into the gleaming white toilet. When my stomach finally settled, Molly wiped my face with a plush white towel and led me toward the massive antique bed. With barely enough strength to even thank Molly, I peeled off my soiled clothes and handed them to her. In my bra and panties, I climbed into the security of the warm bed and slept.
The sun was setting, darkening the room as he slid under the covers behind me, his naked body spooning against mine. His large hand ghosted over my bare torso as he whispered, “Jane, are you feeling better?” I couldn’t answer, my mouth wouldn’t form words, so I simply nodded. “I was so worried about you, baby…” he moaned as his warm lips skated over the tingling skin along my shoulder blades. I was mute, completely unable to speak, but my body said volumes. I wanted him…badly. It had been over a year since I’d been with a man, and in that moment I didn’t care what he wanted from me. I ground my eager, wanton ass into his erection, willing him to take me. However, his warm body slipped further away and further away…the contact between us evaporating like a mist. I pushed back harder, desperately, but he was gone. I sat up suddenly in the darkening room, completely alone. “Ben!” I cried out before my awakening brain had time to process that it was just a dream.
Chapter Six.
A glance at my iPhone showed me that it wasn’t very late; the sun set early here this time of year. I turned on the bedside lamp to see that my clothes had already been washed, dried, and hung in an opened wooden wardrobe in the corner of the room. My new designer gown was hanging beside them, with the shoes in a box underneath. Someone, I presume Molly, had unpacked my things while I slept. I was still shaking off the dream—it was so vivid, so real. I had to admit to myself that I was drawn to Ben; attracted, of course, but it was more than that. I decided to look for him—I’d never been to a fancy dinner at an estate like this and needed some guidance.
I dressed in my freshly laundered new jeans, slipped the cozy boots back on, and left the warm room to search for the only person I knew in Scotland, Ben.
The long corridor from my room was empty, all of the doors closed. When I finally emerged from what seemed to be a bedroom wing, I came upon a small library. There was a man there—a handsome, dark haired man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties. He glanced up from his newspaper at me and nodded, reaching over to sip a drink from a crystal tumbler.
“And you are…?”
“Hello, my name is Jane Andrews—I’m here with Ben, Ben Hunt.”
He took another sip of his drink, once again appraising me.
“With?” he asked, one eyebrow raised in a question.
“Um, yes, well with as far as he brought me here. We’re not…together like that.”
He nodded, as if he assumed as much.
“Where is Ben? I wanted to talk to him before dinner…”
“Yes, well, Hunt went riding with Elizabeth. I doubt they’ll be back for a while.” He sneered in jealousy at the mental vision of Ben with Elizabeth.
“Oh, okay, I was just going to—”
“They’re fucking. Ben and Elizabeth are off in the gardens fucking their living brains out.”
I was shocked at both the revelation and his bluntness in conveying it to me.
“Oh! I didn’t realize they were…”
“Yes, well, she’s my wife.” He sat his drink down and brusquely left the room. I flopped down into the tall wingback chair the angry man had vacated and finished his drink with barely a grimace. It was some sort of sweet alcohol mixed with Coke, and I liked it. It seemed that this odd place was turning me into a drinker. As I rose to return to my room, I realized with sad resignation that a man like Ben Hunt would only want me in my dreams.
When I returned to my room, Molly was there straightening the bed. She gave me a genuine smile, which I returned. “Would you like me to help you get ready for dinner, Miss Andrews?” she chirped. “Please just call me Jane,” I insisted. We were nearly the same age, and the same station in life—the “Miss” thing seemed overly formal to me. “Oh, Miss, we’re not allowed to call guests by their given names.” Of course not, I nodded. “Well, I could use your help zipping up the gown. What time is dinner?”
“Dinner is at eight, Miss, but they will expect you in the lounge at half seven for cocktails.”
“Half seven is…seven-thirty?” She merely smiled an affirmation. I glanced at my iPhone—it was already after seven, I’d need to hurry. Too modest to dress in front of Molly, I put the new dress on in the bathroom. I emerged for her to zip the elegant, fitted black sheath dress. The dress felt like it was made for me—a glance in the mirror revealed that in that fine dress, even my flat-chested, narrow body looked feminine. With Molly’s assistance, I stepped into the high-heeled silk pumps that the stylist at Harvey Nichols had chosen to go with the dress. I ran my hands through my limp hair, regretting that there wouldn’t be time for me to rewash and blow dry it. “Would you like help with your hair?” Molly volunteered. “If you think you can do anything with this mess in a few minutes, be my guest…” I muttered as she gestured for me to sit on a plush red stool in front of the walnut vanity table.
Molly missed her calling—she made me look beautiful that night, no small task. She fluffed my hair, using a misting spray she produced from the drawer of the vanity. Clearly, she’d assisted visitors before. After my hair was miraculously brought back to life, she brought an eyeliner stick from one of the small drawers and asked, “Some color?” I nodded as Molly worked her magic with a wide array of cosmetics, transforming me from mousy Plain Jane to something resembling a lady. “Beautiful…” she breathed with a smile. I couldn’t believe it was my face in the mirror.
There was a firm knock on the door, cutting short our admiration of Molly’s masterpiece. She answered my quizzical look, saying, “That’d be Mr. Hunt, Miss. He’s your escort, he’ll be fetching you for dinner.” Ben…fuck, how could I face him knowing he was just with someone else’s wife? Before I could think, he was standing in the open doorway. His warm blue eyes widened momentarily in surprise and his perfect nose crinkled at me as he walked into the room. He mouthed the word “wow” before regaining his composure. The anger I felt at him—unjust anger to be fair—evaporated into the dry air of the room as he approached me. “Jane, you look…you are stunning.” It wasn’t the words that did me in, it was the look—the pure lustful grin on his pink lips, the lust that was mirrored in his eyes. My eyes frozen on his, I finally mustered the ability to tease back, “You don’t clean up so badly yourself, Mr. Hunt.” His lusty grin rose into full amusement as he crooked his arm for me to walk with him. “Molly,” he said, turning back toward the room, “we’ll be leaving quite early in the morning. Could you ensure that Miss Andrews is packed by eight?” After her dutiful, “Yes, sir,” we left the room and walked arm in arm down the long hallway.
“You’re feeling better then?” he asked in a cool manner. The thought of me feeling sick in bed, dreaming of Ben, while he was off having sex with another man’s wife flooded me, and the filter between my brain and mouth failed to function, a common occurrence for me. “Yeah, Ben, I was sleeping off the motion sickness caused by your lunatic driving while you were off fucking Elizabeth Hope!” My tone was so acidic that it shocked us both. He steered me to the wall, hovering over me as if it wasn’t too late for anyone nearby to have overheard my outburst. “Who told you that?” he snapped, his grip on my elbow too tight. “Her husband,” I bit back, wrenching my arm from his iron grip. His face was flushed in anger against the starched white collar of his shirt, the silky white bow tie snug around his neck as his eyes darkened. “Edward Brown is an idiot; he has no idea what he’s talking about. Elizabeth and I went for a ride this afternoon—nothing more. I can’t help his jealousy, Jane. Elizabeth Hope, I mean Brown, and I were together once, but that was long before they married. It’s ancient history.” I was irrationally relieved; I believed him. “I-I’m sorry. It’s not my business anyway. I’m sure Verity will appreciate your fidelity—”
“Verity?” he interrupted, puzzled. “What does she have to do with this?”
“She’s your girlfriend.”
He chuckled—a loud, bemused laugh. “No, Jane, Verity isn’t my girlfriend. She’s a lesbian, actually. I fuck her in front of her girlfriend on occasion; her partner, Cass, gets off on it.” He ignored my gasp and laced his fingers through mine with a slight tug as we resumed walking down the long corridor. Holy shit, this man is kinky, I thought to myself, and I’m drawn to him like a magnet to steel.
Chapter Seven.
He walked me down to a room he called the drawing room. There were several couples already mingling, all holding cocktails. A server, dressed in black with white gloves, held out a silver tray toward Ben and me. Various drinks were on the tray, and Ben chose a mixed drink in a crystal tumbler, while I stuck with the more familiar bubbly flute of Champagne. “Cheers, Jane,” he said warmly as we clinked glasses. He smiled at me, his blue eyes dancing, before saying, “Let’s face the wolves.”
A blonde approached us, her mane of hair cascading over her bare shoulders. “Elizabeth, I’d love for you to meet my friend Jane Andrews. Jane, this is Elizabeth Hope, an old friend.” An old friend, my ass. I reached out and shook the viper’s hand, although her eyes never met mine—her chocolate browns were locked onto Ben. She wanted him like a cobra wants a rodent. She licked her lips, took a sip of her white wine, and said unconvincingly, “We’re so glad you’re here, Joan.” Ben’s topaz eyes left mine and met hers, coldly replying, “Jane.”
“Yes, Jane, I hear you met my husband Edward earlier. I’m sure he’d like to apologize for being…dramatic.” Elizabeth and her perfect hair turned to leave us, her emerald dress swishing as she walked toward Edward, who was sulking in a corner eyeing a gray-haired man. “That’s Lord Hope,” Ben explained as he led me toward the older man, “Elizabeth’s
father.” As we approached Lord Hope, with Edward and Elizabeth hovering nearby, Ben reached out his hand. “Sir, I’d be honored for you meet my friend, Jane Andrews, from America. She’s Stuart Andrews’s niece.”
The man’s expression softened as he reached out his hand to me. “Jane, welcome to Hopetoun. My condolences on your loss. While Stuart and I had our differences, we respected one another.” I took his hand, muttering a timid, “Thank you, sir.” He turned his attention to Ben, who still had my arm in his. “So, Hunt, you think this item of Stuart’s is actually worth seeking?” Ben shuffled, a momentary show of nerves, before he regained his composure. “I’m not sure, Lord Hope. It could be worthless, you know how Stuart was.” Lord Hope emitted a loud laugh, took another long swig of his drink, and said, “I do, yes. However, Sean Devane rang this morning asking about that piece Stuart left in The Yellow Room. He wanted me to hold it for him. However, I guess you got here first. And, well, Jane here is the rightful heir, is she not?” After an audible gulp, Ben responded, “She is, yes. And Jane has asked me to help her fulfill Stuart’s wishes, not Sean.” Lord Hope nodded yet again, clearly amused at the rivalry between Ben and Sean.
There was another couple to meet, Troy and Avery Davis. They were also staying at Hopetoun. Avery was an artist doing an exhibition at a gallery in Edinburgh, and her husband Troy was a physician in London. They were acquaintances of Ben, although he whispered to me that Avery’s paintings were “absolute rubbish.” Throughout the awkward dance of mingling over cocktails, Ben clung to my arm and hovered over me. I wasn’t sure if he was protecting me from them, or them from me. As I drained the remnants of the Champagne, the butler approached with a replacement on a silver tray. Ben studied me as I reached for the crystal flute, as if making a mental note of how many drinks I was swigging. “Allen, how are you?” Ben asked the salt and pepper haired butler, dressed in formal black suit complete with ascot. “I’m well, Mr. Hunt. Would you like another drink?” Ben placed his empty tumbler on the tray with a gentle clink, and answered, “No, thank you. I hate to ask, but I hear Stuart Andrews was here not so long ago. He was a guest of the family?” Allen broke his impassive facial expression for a split second before correcting his knowing grin. “I can’t recall why Mr. Andrews was visiting with us, Mr. Hunt. I do apologize.” Ben nodded, as if he hadn’t expected the butler to reveal anything. “Of course, that will be all,” he said, dismissing Allen the butler to continue to the next guest.
The Hunt for Eros Page 4