The Accidental Bride (Black Lace)

by Portia Da Costa

  Oh God …

  He drew in a deep breath and, as he exhaled, a slender hand closed around his arm, reassuring, urging.

  ‘Prison isn’t easy for anybody. It’s not supposed to be. But when you’re a particularly young-looking twenty-four-year-old ex-public-school boy with an über-posh accent and blond curly hair and you’re thrown into a closed society of hard, embittered men, some of whom are used to using violence to get exactly what they want … well, it’s no birthday party, I can tell you.’

  ‘But you don’t have an über-posh accent.’

  He laughed again, some of the reluctance and anxiety loosened by her simple words, and the feel of her warm fingertips against his skin. ‘I did then, sweetheart, I’m afraid. Awfully cut glass, and upper crust, don’t you know?’ he said, dredging deep and recreating the ‘county’ tones that had been so natural to him during the course of his younger life.

  She laughed and kissed his shoulder. ‘Ooh, you were a snobby git, then.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, love.’ He paused, gathered himself and went on, ‘I was terrified for my life,’ he admitted, feeling the dread again after all these years, like a dowsing in the cold of the North Sea. ‘The moment I walked in I suspected I’d be a target, and I was.’ Was he shaking? He didn’t think so, but she held on tighter to him as if he was. ‘But in a way, I got lucky … sort of. I was put in a cell with an older man, Jack. He was a tough, hard-living, and huge. Tattooed. The Full Monty. He could see right through me from the start, and he knew my fear.’

  He had to stop. Reaching for the coffee, he took a sip, grimacing because it was cold. ‘He laid things out for me. Yes, I would be seen as “a prime piece of arse”, and certain prisoners would pursue me and just take what they wanted. Didn’t matter if I was fit and could box a bit, and defend myself well enough under normal circumstances. Inside, I didn’t stand a chance.’

  ‘Oh, John,’ she said softly, rubbing her cheek against his shoulder again. ‘It must have been a nightmare. I can’t begin to imagine what it must have been like.’ She held him harder, almost hurting him, and smothered his upper arm with kisses.

  The way she held him gave him strength, just as in the oddest of ways Jack had given him strength all those years ago. It was weird to think of the man by name again; he’d tried to expunge as much as he could of that time from his conscious memory, even if his subconscious seemed to dwell on it constantly, against his will.

  ‘Jack offered me a deal. He could take care of himself. Nobody messed with him. And he offered to take care of me too, and not let anyone mess with me … in return for certain favours. The nature of which I’m sure you can deduce, my sweet.’

  ‘What did you do?’

  She already knew. She’d be imagining what he was remembering. Night after night, lying awake, wide awake, wondering if tonight would be the night Jack demanded ‘payment’, for the protection service he’d so effectively rendered.

  ‘The most logical thing. The least worst thing. It was either that or be gang raped, or repeatedly beaten up, or worse.’

  ‘Oh God, it must have been awful.’

  ‘In some ways it was, even though I’d been with a man before. There was Benjamin at public school, and I’d experimented with a couple of others, at Uni.’ He stared into the garden, unable to show his face to her now. The most awful thing had been that he’d actually enjoyed it some of the time, and hated himself for that. The lying awake had always involved a narrow strand of forbidden anticipation, all wound in with the fear and self-loathing and hope that nothing would happen. ‘Thankfully, Jack didn’t make too many demands. Far fewer than I expected. I think he hated himself for wanting me too, but that didn’t stop the wanting. He was just as screwed up as anyone in there, and more so than a lot of them. But mercifully for me, I was the one he’d developed a crush on at first sight.’

  ‘So, you lay awake every night, wondering and waiting if this Jack was going to want sex.’

  Not a question. An observation of a logical outcome. She was so wise.

  ‘Yes, and the lying awake, listening to his breathing, and his every movement. That was far, far worse than anything he did to me, or wanted me to do to him.’ His eyes prickled suddenly. Tears, possibly, but also the memory of that terrible gritty sensation beneath the eyelids, from being unable to close them, and relax, even though he’d tried and tried to. ‘He was quite gentle, in fact, and strangely fastidious. But still, I couldn’t sleep, wondering if he’d want me, and wondering if tonight would be the night when things got more brutal.’

  ‘Did they ever get more brutal?’ Was she appalled? Repulsed? Was it wishful thinking that led him to believe not?

  ‘No, thankfully. Never. I probably had rougher sex when I was fooling about with Benjamin.’ He dragged in a breath. Why did the air suddenly feel so thick and hard to breathe? ‘It was mostly oral. Jack didn’t care for fucking all that much. I don’t think he even considered he might be gay or bi.’

  A gentle hand snaked out, cupped his jaw and compelled him to turn his face to her. Her eyes were clear, concerned yet non-judgemental. He blinked, awed by her. She only wanted to understand, and to know him.

  ‘And did this relationship go on all the time you were in prison?’ she asked.

  ‘No, only for about six months. I was transferred then. The old man had relented from some of his fury and disappointment in me by then, and I think he must have pulled some strings. I ended up in a really cushy open prison for the rest of my sentence. We all had our own individual cells there, though they called them “rooms”, just to make us feel better.’ He remembered the relief … hell, the sleep! And yet, paradoxically, he’d missed the presence of Jack, this man he’d almost expunged from his conscious memory, even though it seemed he might never erase the psychological result of being with him. ‘I slept again, properly. In fact, I slept better in cushy prison than at any other time in my life. And I was able to eat … I put back on all the weight I’d lost, which was two stones in six months, and got buffed and healthy again, and did a hell of a lot of reading, and thinking about my future. I had an HIV test and I was clear, and I thought I was “all better”, body and mind. It wasn’t until I was released that I even knew I had a problem.’ He laughed. Oh the irony, how he’d remembered.

  ‘It was funny, really. I never knew I couldn’t sleep with anyone else in the room until I tried, for probably the first time in my life, to do something to please my father.’

  Lizzie breathed slowly, evenly. It was important not to let John know how horrified she was. Not at him, but for him, having to endure what he’d been through in prison. Her heart ached for him, the beautiful young man, wracked by fourteen flavours of guilt, confused, his comfortable, privileged world turned upside down. Maybe, in many ways, it’d been the making of him, but it was a harsh path to travel in order to learn a lesson; especially as the inciting incident had not been his fault, whatever he claimed to the contrary.

  ‘For your father? What did you do?’ She had an inkling, though. Something he’d once said to her popped into her mind.

  ‘Well, I’d always known he wanted me to go into the army, and join his regiment, so I gave in, when he did a bit more of his famous string-pulling, and I joined up. You can imagine how that worked out, can’t you? In “basic”, in the training centre barracks …’

  Oh God, sharing a sleeping space with not only one man, or person, but dozens.

  ‘But I thought you couldn’t leave the army once you were in? You said you were only in, like, a couple of weeks?’

  John heaved a sigh. ‘That was something of an understatement, for dramatic effect. I was in a good while longer than that … But from day one, I was pretty much without a wink of sleep at night. Medication didn’t work. I nearly killed myself trying to hack it, but I ended up in a state of total nervous collapse … damn near psychotic.’ He turned away from her. He was ashamed. She reached out and cupped his jaw again, making him look round.

  ‘Was it m
edical grounds, then? That you got out on?’

  ‘Partly. That, and a very decent and compassionate CO. I found out later that he’d lost a sister who’d committed suicide after chronic sleep issues, so he was unusually sympathetic to my problem. But the main reason –’ he paused, with a sudden wry smile ‘– was more of my father’s goddamned string-pulling.’

  ‘Must be handy to have a dad who can do that. And it shows that whatever you say about him, he cared enough about you to want to get you out again quickly.’

  John threw back his head, his blond curls glinting in the moonlight. His laugh was harsh.

  ‘Oh no, sweetheart, he tried to pull strings to ensure that I had to stay in the army, and that I wouldn’t be mollycoddled. If my sainted father had got his way, they’d just have had the RSM hit me on the head with a mallet every night to knock me out. But fortunately the commanding officer could already see my side of things, and he also thoroughly resented the high and mighty Marquess of Welbeck continually trying to stick his oar in. So he gave me a very rare Administrative Discharge just to piss my father off.’ He turned to her again, and slid his arm around her beneath the blanket. ‘And that was pretty much the final straw between the old man and me, only to be compounded when I married Caroline, a woman old enough to be my mother, with whom I’d never have a child. My elder brother George and his wife Rosemary had just discovered they couldn’t have any more kids after Helen, so Pa had pinned his dynastic hopes on yours truly, his second son, to produce a male heir, who could eventually be Marquess after George and me. But instead, I just heaped disgrace and bitter disappointment on him, and he washed his hands of me.’

  ‘Oh, you poor thing, what a drama,’ said Lizzie, snuggling in closer. ‘It makes my little contretemps with my own father seem like a tale of familial sweetness and light.’

  ‘It could all have been a lot worse,’ said John, pressing his lips to her temple. ‘As I’ve pointed out before, my chequered history is what led me to being in a certain place at a certain time … and to meeting you at the Waverley.’ He rubbed his face against her hair, and his breath soughed against her forehead. ‘And that’s something I simply can’t contemplate ever having missed, believe me, my love.’

  ‘I can’t contemplate it either.’ She tightened her hold on him, loving the feel of his bare torso against her own naked arms. His tale had been a nightmare, but it had no effect on the impact he had on her. And no effect on the respect she felt for him, either. In fact, it was just the opposite. He’d gone through all that, and still come out a strong, charismatic, sorted man, a humane man, in control of his destiny and that of others.

  ‘So, you don’t think I’m a total screw-up, then? Ex-con, failed soldier, subject to all kinds of disastrously poor judgement … and worse. I thought you might be revolted by it all.’

  She dug her nails ever so lightly into his flank. ‘No, I just think you’re an idiot sometimes. What’s past is past, John, and you’re doing pretty well for yourself now, in just about every department.’ She had to make him believe her. ‘And if you think because you had sex with a man in prison I’d think any less of you, you’re very much mistaken.’

  ‘I adore you, Lizzie,’ he whispered, twisting around to face her, cradling her jaw, then kissing her on the lips, slowly, softly and sweetly. His mouth was like velvet, infinitely desirable.

  As they broke apart, Lizzie made a decision. An easy one. ‘Look, seeing as you can’t sleep, and I’m not sleepy either … What say we go back to bed and make love again? Then, tomorrow, we can catch up on zeds when we get home, and I can even nap on the plane, if I need to.’ She stole a quick kiss again. ‘That way, everyone’s a winner!’

  ‘But what about your sore bottom?’ He slid a hand down over the bottom in question, squeezing it gently as they made for the iron staircase leading to the bedroom.

  ‘Oh that? I’d forgotten all about that. Another bout of delicious sex will do it a power of good anyway.’

  ‘Well, in that case, let’s get up there, shall we?’

  Lizzie gave him a sharp look. There’d been a note in his voice, an odd little twist. Great emotion despite the smile on his face. Gratitude?

  Grabbing his hand, she tugged him onwards. Actions spoke louder than words, and having him inside her, making love to her, would speak loudest of all, in this case.

  This was another first. Another new experience, courtesy of John. Part of the high life that he led, and which she now shared.

  Lizzie peered out of the window at the scene passing by below as they flew home. Beneath them was central France, dotted with chateaux, acres of farmland, winding rivers, and vineyards producing heady wine, white and red. Currently she couldn’t see any of those, because there was heavy cloud cover today. Under all that white fluff, it was probably a grey miserable morning, and raining. A good day to be heading back to Blighty, where apparently, according to her weather app, it was warm and sunny.

  But it didn’t matter what it was like outside, because in the passenger compartment of their small, sleek jet, everything was sumptuous, pampered and deluxe. It was the first time she’d travelled in a private plane. On the outbound journey they’d taken a scheduled flight, first class of course, and that had also been a new experience. She’d never even travelled first class on a train, never mind flying.

  But travelling by private jet aced everything!

  The leather of the armrest was soft and fine, and Lizzie ran her fingertips over it. She grinned, the super-comfortable seat reminding her of John’s ‘throne’ from their grove adventure. Trust him to remember that silly fantasy of hers, and make it real as part of their first holiday together.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ he enquired from his seat a few feet away. He was working on his laptop at a small pull-out table. ‘Getting pangs of conscience over obscene and conspicuous luxury again?’ He grinned, teasing her over her ‘issue’.

  ‘A bit, I suppose, although it’s all very lovely.’ She glanced at her coffee cup, remembering the exquisite pattern in the foam that the flight attendant had created for her. She’d been offered Champagne, but somehow, heading home, it seemed a better idea to get out of their holiday wine-drinking habits and back into more sensible consumption. John was already hard at work, alcohol rejected, and coffee at his side too.

  He pushed aside the table, the laptop and whatever deal he was currently in the process of brainstorming. ‘We could join the Mile High Club, to take your mind off it, if you like?’ The twinkle in his eye was suggestive, but she had a feeling he was still just teasing. He would fuck her in the equally luxurious bathroom compartment, if she wanted him to, she knew that. But … the flight attendant would know exactly what they were doing, and John had more savoir-faire and good taste than to embarrass her that way. This wasn’t like the sophisticated fetish party he’d taken her to, where everybody wanted everybody else to know they were shagging or spanking or whatever. This was a form of real life, albeit a very luxurious and rarefied one, and in the real world, outside the bedroom John always behaved like a perfect gentleman.

  ‘That’s an incredibly sweet offer, Mr Smith, but I’ll take the proverbial rain check, if I may?’ She grinned back at him. ‘Tempting as the offer of your glorious body is, this is the first time I’ve travelled in a private jet, and I am enjoying it, even if I do think it’s unbelievably extravagant.’

  ‘Well, if it’s any comfort,’ said John, moving his table back into position, ‘if we hadn’t decided to travel in it, this jet would have been returning home empty. So at least that’s a slightly less onerous carbon footprint.’

  Just before their holiday, John had bought a majority share in a private jet hire company, operating out of their local regional airport, and this was their first opportunity to sample the goods. A celebrity author who lived in the area had flown out for a holiday in the south of France, and in the best use of logistics, John had requisitioned the aircraft for his and Lizzie’s journey home.

  ‘I suppose so.’


  ‘I know so,’ he said, adjusting his laptop back to face him. ‘Ah well, back to work if nookie is off the menu.’ He was joking, but there was the shadow of a frown across his forehead.

  Oh no, he wasn’t worrying about that, was he?

  ‘Look, John, what you told me last night, about your experience in prison. It doesn’t put me off you, you know. It doesn’t make me want you any less than I did before. It’s just something that happened to you. It doesn’t make you a different man to me. I still think you’re the sexiest thing on two legs, and the best fuck a woman could ever have. You know that, don’t you?’

  ‘Thank you. You’re an angel, Lizzie, a true angel.’ The smile was wide now, unsullied by any doubt. ‘I did worry … about that … but you proved to me last night that it wasn’t an issue. Several times, in fact.’

  They’d made long, tender love after his revelation on the terrace, coming together again and again, touching, kissing. At first it had seemed important to Lizzie to allay any fears of his, but very quickly, she’d simply started enjoying John’s body and his fabulous technique, just for the sheer joy of it. She couldn’t imagine any man being more of a man than he.

  There were still one or two things she wondered about, but somehow, this wasn’t the time, or the place, to explore them. When they were back at home, tucked up in the sitting room, relaxing with a cup of tea, and maybe a slice or two of Mrs Thursgood’s lemon cake, well, maybe then she’d ask more questions, but not before.

  ‘Well there you are. No problemo. So, get on with sussing out whatever it is you’ve got in the cross-hairs today.’ She nodded at the laptop. ‘What is it? Trying to work out how to persuade Elon Musk to sell you a bit of the SpaceX action? Now that you’ve got yourself some jets, space rockets and satellites are obviously the next desirable items on the agenda.’

  He gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Don’t laugh, madam. I’ve got interests in several telecoms companies so I already own part shares in a satellite or two.’