by Pia Tremayne
Her head felt heavy. She lay back, wondering what would happen now. He hadn’t told her the deal was off. He had ordered her out of his suite, sent her back to her room. But then she had slapped him. She hadn’t meant to. It just happened. And on top of that she had insulted him, criticized his behavior. She doubted he’d ever want to see her again. It was over and she was back to square one. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She had counted so hard on that money! Dad was right. If something seemed too good to be true it probably was.
After a while, she threw aside the covers and got out of bed. Lying in bed crying wouldn’t solve anything. If he wanted her gone, she might as well know now and get on with it.
After splashing some water on her face she changed into navy slacks and a pale yellow sweater and went out of the room. She paused in the corridor, listening. The house was very quiet, not a sound, not a voice to be heard. She hesitated then walked quickly down the corridor. As she started down the stairs she heard a door open, and she tensed but kept going. But it was only Hodgett, who suddenly materialized from one of the rooms on the ground floor.
“Good morning, miss,” he said, when she arrived on the landing at the bottom of the stairs.
“Good morning, Hodgett,” she replied. “I…I’m afraid I overslept.” She dug her nails into her palm, steeling herself to take the plunge.
“Yes, miss?” Hodgett said encouragingly.
She took a deep breath. “There is a matter I need to discuss with Sir Anthony. Could you ask him to see me for a few minutes? It won’t take long. I’ll wait here.”
“I’m sorry, miss. I’m afraid I can’t do that. Sir Anthony left for London early this morning.”
“Oh,” she said, looking at Hodgett nonplussed. “Did he say when he would return?”
“He didn’t, miss.”
“I see. Thank you, Hodgett.” She turned and started back up the stairs, feeling unaccountably let down.
“Would you like to have your breakfast in the morning room, miss?” Hodgett called up to her. She paused on the stairs, turning to look down at him. “It’s the second room on your right, up the corridor. There’s a nice fire going. You can make yourself comfortable while I prepare a breakfast tray for you. I’m sure you must be hungry,” he added, observing her intently.
She realized she was hungry. And besides, hadn’t Dad always said it was better not to make decisions on an empty stomach? She came back down the stairs. “Thank you, Hodgett. That sounds lovely.”
As he had said, there was a lovely fire going in the morning room, and she sank gratefully into one of the two comfortable armchairs flanking the fireplace. Hodgett disappeared and returned within minutes, wheeling a trolley laden with covered dishes and cutlery, which he placed on the desk. There was a small round table between the two armchairs. He pulled it closer to her chair and laid out the dishes on it.
“Enjoy your breakfast, miss,” he said. “If you need anything, just ring the bell.” He indicated a bell pull hanging near the fireplace, pushed the trolley against the wall, and left the room.
After she had eaten she sat gazing thoughtfully into the fire. Her invitation to join Sir Anthony at his country house had stipulated that she would be there for an indefinite stay. He was at liberty to change his mind at any time, but his bid for her would stand whether or not he wished to continue his liaison with her. If, on the other hand, she failed to live up to the term of their agreement that she be available to him for the next six months, she would receive only a fraction of the bid, prorated to reflect the time she had spent with him. The rest of the money would be returned to him, provided that his treatment of her had not been unreasonable. But according to Henrietta Colefax, thus far nothing like that had ever happened. She dreaded the thought of being the first woman to fail and causing Henrietta to think that inviting Nicola to participate in the Midsummer Auction had been a dreadful mistake.
He had left for London this morning, giving no indication as to whether he wanted her to leave or to stay. Common sense dictated that she should wait, let him be the one to make the decision. If he sent her away, the money would still be hers, whereas if she chose to leave she would get almost nothing. She couldn’t possibly claim that he had been unreasonable to reject her at the very moment his lovemaking had taken her to the peak of fulfillment. It was his prerogative to decide when and where he would have sex with her. Walking out because he had decided not to simply wasn’t an option.
She knew from Henrietta that he had bid ninety thousand pounds for her, so her share would be well over sixty thousand pounds. That amount of money would more than solve her problems. She would easily be able to repay the loan and the interest, and the estate would be hers and Em’s, free and clear. And then, then, with what was left over, she could start working toward realizing her dream.
But first you have to earn it. When she heard that little voice inside her head, her nostrils flared, the tips turning white. Her love for the land had ensnared her in a trap and there was no other way out. All right. I’ll stay until he asks me to leave. I may be selling my body but at least I’m doing it for something worthwhile. What’s his excuse? He had outbid everyone else, paid a fortune for her in cold hard cash. Why? Feelings didn’t enter into it, she knew that much because he had certainly made that clear. Had he been willing to pay so much just for the thrill of winning? Fine! For whatever reason, whatever sick fantasy he needed to fulfill, it seemed he wanted to fulfill it with her. Something had gone wrong last night, but if he had second thoughts and wanted to continue the game she’d give him exactly what he wanted, hold up her end of the bargain. Eyes on the prize, Nicola!
She got up, marched over to the bell rope, and tugged on it.
Within seconds, Hodgett appeared. He looked at her approvingly, noting the empty dishes and that the color had come back into her cheeks. “You’re free to tour the house if you like, miss. And to use the swimming pool if you care to,” he said, picking up the tray.
“I’d like that,” she said eagerly. Then her face fell. “But I didn’t bring a swimsuit.”
Hodgett regarded her inscrutably, and she blushed, understanding.
“Oh,” she said.
“There are cover-ups in the change room, miss, if you want to relax by the pool after you’ve had your swim.”
“Thank you, Hodgett,” she said, her face still a little flushed. Then a thought occurred to her. “Are there any rooms I’m not supposed to go into?”
“If there are, they will probably be locked, so don’t worry. Just feel free to wander around.”
She decided to take the tour while she waited for her breakfast to go down. Mum had always been adamant about that. The rule was you had to wait at least one hour after eating before going swimming or you’d sink like a stone.
Since she was already on the ground floor, she decided to tour it first. She wandered up and down the corridor, opening doors and looking into the various rooms that were open. She peeped into the formal living room that looked as though it didn’t see a lot of living. It was so grand, a grand parlor really, with its gigantic baroque-style fireplace. Near one of the windows was a beautiful Steinway, angled to allow the player the benefit of natural light. Still, she didn’t think she would want to spend a lot of time there. She eyed some of the portraits on the wall, probably Sir Anthony’s ancestors. Obviously distinguished, but why did they look so…so…bilious, like they needed a good dose of Andrews Liver Salts to set things right? Amused at the thought—it had been Mum’s solution to whatever ailed you—she shut the door and proceeded with the tour.
Behind another door down the corridor there was a large boardroom with a projector screen at one end. Probably where they held their meetings, she thought, closing that door quickly too. She entered a lovely sunny sitting room, welcoming and informal with comfortable sofas and chairs upholstered in colorful chintz that reminded her of the tropics, small highly polished tables adorned with priceless-looking knickknacks, and beautiful paintings on th
e wall that were probably worth a small fortune. She looked around it thoughtfully. For sure, a woman had decorated this room for her own use. It had a warm and feminine touch. Feeling like an intruder all of a sudden, she closed the door and continued down the corridor. The next door she opened revealed a large dining room with two magnificent chandeliers hanging from the ceiling above the massive table that could probably seat forty people.
Most of the doors on the first floor seemed to be locked. The corridor walls were adorned with more portraits and beautiful landscapes, some of which looked like originals. She identified a couple of Constables and a Turner and, of course, a Monet. Everybody had one hanging in the living room, but if this was a reproduction it was outstanding. Dad had taught her a lot about art. These pieces must have cost a fortune, even the frames would break the bank—her bank, anyway.
At the end of the corridor, a staircase led to the second floor, and she stood at the bottom of it, looking up. It was dark and forbidding. Who in their right mind would want to go up there by themselves? Unless, of course, they were teenagers in a horror film, in which case they always were killed off, deservedly so for being brainless enough to go up there alone in the first place.
Eventually, the hour had slipped by and she decided to have her swim. Following Hodgett’s directions she made her way to the pool and went into the change room. As he had said, there were several cover-ups hanging on hooks. Feeling a little odd, she removed her clothes, pulled on one of the cover-ups, came out, and sat on the edge of the pool. She tested the water with her toes. It felt okay. After five minutes of building up her courage, she walked around to the deep end, removed her cover-up, and dove in. The water was colder than she had expected. It took her breath away at first, but as Dad had always said encouragingly, as soon as you got moving, you would be okay. She did about ten laps. She was a good swimmer. She splashed around in the water for a bit, then got out, dried off, and put her clothes back on. She would go back to her room, take a shower, and wash the chlorine out of her hair. Then maybe she would sit in that lovely little sitting room and read for a bit.
There was a full-length mirror on the inside of her bathroom door. She studied her reflection objectively. Her figure was as slender as a reed, but her breasts, waist, and hips were well proportioned, her stomach as flat as a ballerina’s. As she examined her body, the embers that still flickered inside her from the previous night burst eagerly into flame as the memory of his mouth on her—the memory she had deliberately repressed, had refused to allow into her head all morning—pushed itself brazenly to the forefront of her mind.
With her hands she pushed up both breasts, making them appear full and voluptuous. She closed her eyes and caressed her nipples with her forefingers and thumbs until they peaked, urgent. She could feel herself tingling down there. She remembered the feel of his mouth sucking her there and shivered. She opened her mouth, breathing short, quick breaths through it to expel the desire that had been secretly eating at her all morning to feel him touching her, kissing her like that again. It was intolerable, this feeling of…of wanting more from him in spite of how callously he had treated her. But he had been thinking of her only as the woman he had bought, while in her mind, he had become her lover. He would summon her again, of that she was suddenly certain. But from now on she would make sure never to let on how his touch, how the feel of his mouth taking her had ripped the heart and soul out of her and had turned her into a quivering mass of jelly. Never ever again.
She dropped her hands, turned the shower on hastily, and got into the cubicle. She held her face up to the spray, waiting for the sting of it to paralyze her nerve endings so that she no longer had to feel this unaccountable sense of loss.
Chapter Ten
She was stuck inside his head like an old school song, the one a person remembered all the words to and could sing it from beginning to end without missing a word or a beat. And other times, just snatches of the refrain ran through your head. That was how it was with her. Sometimes he envisioned all of her so clearly. Other times, it was just bits and pieces, turning up in his subconscious out of the blue. The mossy pools of her eyes, her mouth, the hollow of her throat—all the intimate places where his lips had lingered. He might as well face it, never again would there be a time when she wasn’t with him. She was in his head to stay.
When she walked into his suite last night the sight of her took him back light years, but he saw immediately that she hadn’t the faintest idea who he was, didn’t recognize him. He experienced a stab of disappointment but decided to play along. He quickly realized she had changed, become a woman, the type of woman who not only indulged in erotic fantasies but could be paid to sit naked on a bed recounting them to strange men. It was hard to face the truth, which was that to her he was just another one of those strange men who would pay handsomely for what she had to give. Like them, the sight of her had filled him with lust, and he had fallen on her like a starving dog sighting a piece of meat. But instead of just fucking her simply because he could, he had begun to make love to her.
Even now, his mouth watered at the memory of her scent, how she tasted, felt. He had had sex with a lot of women, but he recognized instinctively that Nicola was sensual to the bone and utterly sexually driven. He had responded to it like a madman, wanting to tear her apart, to know every inch of her inside and out, to eat her, to drink her up, to swallow her down. And she acted as though it was what she wanted too. But when she begged him to put his cock inside her, it was like a slap in the face, the kind that may not hurt you physically but that brings you to your senses. She would have let him fuck her despite not knowing him from a hole in the ground. It angered him because it meant he had been right all along. To her he always had been and still was nobody. Coming to terms with that was incredibly hard.
After sending her out of his room he realized he couldn’t stay there either, couldn’t lie on those sheets that reeked of her. He spent the night on the couch in the sitting room that used to belong to his mother. When morning came, he knew he had to leave. He headed for his Mayfair town house to hide out and to put distance between them so that he could think, without the distraction of knowing she was close by, right there under his roof.
By the middle of the afternoon he was so desperate he had already taken out his mobile at least six times to call Henrietta to ask her what she knew about Nicola and what possible reason she could have for doing this. The Edgertons had possessed more money than God, so why in God’s name had she put herself up for auction? Was it because she found the game so enjoyable?
But each time, he had decided against calling Henrietta. It was a code of honor that bidders could not pry into the women’s background. That was Henrietta’s job and they had to trust her, or the game was over. He had another reason too, for not wanting to ask Henrietta for personal information about Nicola. It might make her feel that he was calling in favors. Several years ago, she had lost a lot of money in the Lloyd’s crash, and he had helped her to get back on her feet financially with a significant loan, which she had repaid without interest. He could easily have afforded to just give her the money and offered to do so. She had refused, insisting on paying him back. But he had flatly rejected her offer to pay interest. Erstwhile lovers, they had remained best friends. He couldn’t do anything now that might jeopardize that friendship.
By eight o’clock he couldn’t take it any longer. He charged out of the house and jumped in his car. He had to go back to Hampshire because she was there. He had only been fooling himself when he left this morning and deep down inside, had known it, known he had unfinished business with her, known he had never gotten over his fascination with her. Now that she had so unexpectedly resurfaced in his life, he wasn’t ready yet to just let her fade out of it again.
He couldn’t walk away from her. No matter how childish his motives were, she was a demon from his past that had to be exorcised. And there was only one way to do it. Tonight she would find out who he was, this man she h
ad sold herself to and desperately wanted inside her, begged him to come inside her. All for the money. Would she draw the line at him? He doubted it, but she had slapped him last night, had lectured him like a schoolboy. He had been tempted to haul her back into the room by her hair, tell her who he was, and fuck her till she couldn’t walk. Tonight he would remedy that oversight.
It was raining, coming down in thin, wintry sheets, the kind of rain he hated because it seemed to have no particular purpose except to annoy, delay, and cause accidents. The drive back took almost twice as long and did nothing to lighten the foul mood that had plagued him since last night. He parked his Aston Martin in the garage and let himself in, using his private entrance. Save for the dim glow of the sconces along the corridors, the house was in darkness. Hanging up his raincoat, he made his way to the drinks cabinet in his suite, picked up a glass and a bottle of brandy and took them over to the desk by the window. He stood at the window, looking out at the rain, drinking, and feeling the liquid curling down into his stomach, licking his gut like heated tongues.
He finished it off and poured himself another shot. He stared through the window, not seeing the rain now. Thoughts ran through his head about what would she say, about what would she do when she realized who he was? Was he really prepared to face her scorn or, more devastating still, her laughter that he should presume that his accidental social status made him her equal? There was only one way to find out. He tossed back the brandy and shut his eyes as it seared his throat and pooled in his belly like a lake of fire. Setting the empty glass down on the desk, he headed into the corridor and mounted the stairs to her room.
He opened her room door quietly and stood still just inside for a few moments so his eyes could adjust to the darkness. To his surprise the bed was empty. Then he saw her, standing by the window watching him. She had known that he would come, then.