‘Why does that not surprise me? You filthy plutocrat, you.’
‘But I like what you say about rockets. I’ll put them on the to-do list.’
They lapsed into a companionable silence for a while, John perhaps mulling over how he might obtain his rockets for a competitive price, and Lizzie reading the bunch of emails she’d downloaded before they boarded, and reconnecting with life as she now knew it. Which was full, fuller than it had ever been, and consisted of living at Dalethwaite Manor with John, and working with Marie Lanscombe at the New Again Dress Agency, doing alterations and now a little bit of designing too, special projects for one or two of the shop’s most long-standing and high-spending clients. She was also doing her utmost still to be the best friend she could to Brent and Shelley, who’d been her house-mates up until a few weeks ago.
She frowned. That was the hard thing. The three of them had been so close, their lives practically interwoven, but now, no matter how assiduously she tried to maintain the integrity of the bond between them, she could feel it faltering.
Perhaps I’m just being arrogant? Perhaps they don’t need me as much as I thought they did? Perhaps I’m just too different now … now that I live with a multi-millionaire?
She’d made a point of dropping in at St Patrick’s Road a couple of times before she and John had set off for this holiday, but each time, she’d barely had chance for the briefest of chats with her friends. She’d extended a dinner invitation, regaling Brent and Shelley with the glories of Mrs Thursgood’s cookery, but in the days prior to her trip to the south of France with John, there had never seemed to be an evening when everybody was free.
Well, I’ve got a new man, so why shouldn’t you two be all swept up in your new men too?
Especially Shelley, who seemed to have found a kinky hunk all of her own, even though Lizzie still wasn’t sure whether or not her friend was paying for the privilege. Sholto Kraft was an escort, just had Brent had once been, and as Lizzie had pretended to be, the first night she’d met John. Shelley claimed she was just having fun with a guy she liked, but even though she was seeing her friend less than before, Lizzie could sense there was more to the Shelley/Sholto relationship than just a bit of BDSM experimenting.
And as for Brent … Happy as she was for him, Lizzie couldn’t for the life of her work out quite why her friend was so cagey about the hot new man in his life. Brent hadn’t had a boyfriend for a long, long time, not since his serious lover Steve had been killed; but before then, he’d always loved to dish every last fruity detail about his dates and their prowess. This time, though, he was as close-mouthed as a very close-mouthed thing. Lizzie would have been frantic with concern, but for the fact that she’d never seen Brent so happy before. Which was a bit insulting in a way, because he seemed in far better spirits now than he’d ever been when he’d briefly dated her.
I’m going to prise some intel out of both of you when I get home, if it’s the last thing I do. You two were both nosy enough when it came to me telling you about John and his peccadilloes.
But today, there wasn’t a single email from either of them amongst the downloaded stuff. It was all newsletters from Amazon and suchlike. Lizzie frowned, about to close the program, but then noticed something that she’d missed amongst all the tempting offers for books and clothes and tech toys.
It was an email from Marie, her boss at New Again. It’d probably be some nice chatty updates on the shop and the expansion they’d been discussing. The two women had rapidly become fast friends since Lizzie had started working at the dress agency. She’d sensed that Marie had been marking time with New Again, and that her own arrival had energised the other woman’s interest in the business, suggesting new horizons. With someone on hand who could not only do expert alterations quickly, but also make garments from scratch, the shop could be so much more; a prime example was their unexpected plunge into making bridal gowns. Admittedly, it was just one finished dress so far, with two more on the books and several strong enquiries, but it was all very exciting and could end up being a very big thing indeed!
The title of Marie’s email – You won’t believe this! – was a bit ominous, though. Lizzie opened the message.
After the usual salutation, the other woman was ecstatic.
The little shop on the Kissley Magna village green … I think we’ve got it! I thought it’d been sold, but suddenly it was back on the market again with another agency, to lease. I thought, what the hell, I’d apply for details again … and blow me if they’d dropped the terms way, way down … I can’t believe it. It’ll cost us next to nothing, really. I kept asking them if they’d made a mistake, but they said no. And the place is just perfect. Barely anything to do, just a bit of fitting out. We’ll need some more stock, but I’ve got my rainy day savings … and maybe if your bloke John would like to invest a bit, we could go into a proper, formal partnership? If you’d like that, of course. I think he should invest in you as a big-time designer, but being selfish, I’d love it if you’d come in with me, you know?
It was a long, rambling email, happiness in every bit and byte. Lizzie smiled, but sighed silently too.
Here we go again, she thought, recognising a familiar pattern in the suddenly available property at a bargain price.
It was a perplexing situation, and she still didn’t quite know how to handle it. But she’d have to find a way. Because it would keep happening, and she couldn’t keep getting in a state about it, and becoming confused and irritated.
It wasn’t Marie’s fault. Lizzie’s employer and friend was in seventh heaven, relishing the next exciting step for the business that was suddenly right within her grasp. Something Lizzie really wanted for both of them too …
No, it was the way it had been done that was troubling. Unsettling. Because she, Lizzie, knew exactly how it had come about. Exactly. She’d been manoeuvred, again, by the man she loved. Just as she was previously when the house she’d shared with Brent and Shelley at St Patrick’s Road had been purchased by a ‘mysterious new owner’, who’d promptly dropped the rent to a ludicrously minimal level.
Across the cabin, John’s head snapped up, and he gave her a long, shrewd look. She’d never known anyone like him, anyone who could pick up on another person’s vibes the way he did. She could swear he’d read her mind. Or maybe it was just because he’d simply been waiting for her to discover what he’d done … and to react. She wondered how long this had been in the works.
Crikey, that’s fantastic! she typed in a draft email to Marie, ready to send when they landed. Totally brilliant! Let’s talk about it in detail as soon as I get back, but yes, I’d love to be in on this with you, as a partner, if you think I’m up to it. I don’t think there’ll be any doubt whatsoever about the fact that John will invest, or loan me some money. That’s a given. I can’t wait!
There was no use being mulish about this. He did what he did. Even when he’d said he wouldn’t do it, the devil. And just as before, there was no point fighting, or spoiling things for other people. After all, his motives were benign, and it was what she wanted too.
But it was another of his pre-emptive strikes and she was going to give him the mother of all bollockings about that; for the way he’d done it rather than what he’d done. He was going to have to learn to consult her about things first, especially big stuff like this.
You say I’m your equal in all things, John. Well, treat me like one. Equals keep other equals in the picture, don’t they? They don’t leave them to discover what they’ve done after the fact.
She held John’s gaze for a moment, watching him wait for her to say something. Instead, giving him the faintest smile, she returned to her messages.
Chew on that, control freak.
She added another sentence to the email. This new leasing company … it wouldn’t happen to be called ‘Oldacre Holdings’ by any chance, would it?
She’d absolutely no doubt what the answer to that one would be.
3
&nb
sp; Back to the New Reality
Dalethwaite Manor felt both strange and familiar to her. This was the new reality of her life. Before they’d gone away, she’d been ill, then there’d been the kerfuffle of moving her stuff – well, most of it – from St Patrick’s Road. Then there’d been catching up with Marie at New Again, not to mention a ton of various ‘official’ things to sort out with respect to living in a new home. John had offered her the services of one of his cadre of personal assistants and secretaries, but Lizzie had insisted on doing as much of it herself as she could.
I love you, but I don’t want to depend totally on you. As long as you insist on benignly manipulating my life, beautiful man, I’m going to insist on maintaining at least some semblance of feminine independence.
But arriving home from the airport was like the king and queen arriving at their palace.
Mrs Thursgood was on the steps to greet them. There were flowers everywhere. A new minion of John’s, called Martin, swept forward, reeling off a list of phone calls, meetings and critical messages to be dealt with, and requesting instructions. John’s principal personal assistant Willis was now his liaison at his London headquarters, with newly promoted Martin his right-hand man up here in the north.
Even Alice the cat was waiting in the hall too, milling around Lizzie’s and John’s legs, and graciously accepting the stroking and affection of her human underlings, although as a determinedly independent creature herself she’d quickly wandered off again.
Used to just plonking her holiday luggage somewhere or anywhere for the time being, and then unpacking it haphazardly over a period of days or even weeks, Lizzie found the idea of handing it over to someone else slightly alarming. Alarming but also seductively tempting. She hated unpacking with the power of a thousand suns, which was why it usually got left so long.
‘Er … OK then, thanks ever so much,’ she said as Mrs Thursgood took charge. ‘Everything’s a bit mixed up. But the … um … worn stuff is on the top.’ God, nice as it was to hand off the chore, it was also embarrassing too.
‘Don’t worry, Miss Aitchison. Leave everything to me. Just relax and rest after your journey. Mary is in helping us today, and she’ll bring you some tea. I’m sure you could do with some. It never tastes right abroad. Perhaps you’d like it served in the orangery? It’s lovely in there this afternoon.’
Feeling helpless, Lizzie glanced across at John, who was deep in conversation with Martin. He met her look immediately and grinned. He knew this was all odd to her, and he mimed, Don’t worry!
‘Yes, tea in the orangery would be great. I’m dying for a proper English cuppa. It’s been lovely on holiday, but you’re so right, tea anywhere else but here just doesn’t taste as it should.’
John smiled approvingly at Lizzie, as Mrs Thursgood took control of Lizzie’s cases, and the very willing Martin, who clearly didn’t stand on official roles and ceremony, lent a hand taking the luggage upstairs.
‘Come on, sweetheart, let’s have that tea. I’m dying for a cup too.’ John slid his hand into hers and led her to the orangery.
Lizzie still had vivid memories of their fun in the orangery that first day, when they’d been viewing the house. The sunny room would always be an evocative space for her. But right now, it was just warm and golden and welcoming. She flung herself down on one of the inviting, pale, deeply upholstered sofas and, as John settled beside her, they heard the sound of a cheery voice singing and, miraculously quickly, Mary, one of Mrs Thursgood’s several daily helpers, appeared with a laden tea tray.
‘Oops, sorry about that,’ Mary said with a grin, setting down the tea things on a low table. ‘This is such a lovely house. I always feel like singing when I’m here. Did you have a nice holiday, Miss Aitchison, Mr Smith?’
‘Brilliant, thanks,’ said Lizzie. Yes, it was a lovely house, if a bit daunting. When she really settled in, she could imagine herself singing all the time too. ‘But it’s lovely to be home, too.’
‘Especially for English tea again,’ added John, with a smile that clearly had a powerful effect on Mary. ‘Thanks for this, Mary. It all looks lovely. I think we can manage for ourselves now, though. We’ll ring if we need anything else.’
Mary drifted out, with a dreamy smile on her face. That was what the John Smith wonder-smile seemed to do to most women.
Sinking back into the comfortable upholstery, Lizzie sighed with appreciation. Suddenly, a wave of tiredness swept over her. She could feel herself decompressing. France had been an amazing, intense sexual marathon in lush, beautiful surroundings, but in spite of all her qualms and misgivings, Dalethwaite did feel like home. It was home. Things were new and strange, but for all that, she was right where she should be, and with exactly the man she was meant to be with.
‘Tired, love?’
Her eyes snapped open, and she realised she’d almost been on the edge of dozing. John was holding out a cup of tea to her, one with just the right degree of milkiness. He never forgot anything.
‘Yes, a bit. Well, a lot. The villa was fab, but … um … we seemed to be having sex almost all the time we weren’t sightseeing or swimming in the villa’s pool or walking or cycling or whatever. I feel as if I need a holiday here at home to get over our holiday abroad.’
John laughed. ‘You know, I feel just the same.’ He picked up his cup, sipped, then sighed happily. He was just as much a tea lover as Lizzie. ‘Don’t get me wrong, I loved every moment of our time together, because you’re just like an irresistible drug to me. But I love being back here too, and us just hanging out together.’ He winked. ‘That is, until I get horny … which won’t be long … In fact, the way you’re sitting, in those trousers …’ He paused and, for a moment, laid a hand lightly on her thigh. ‘But seriously, I love it that you’re able to think of Dalethwaite as “home”. I want you to be happy here. I think we can both be happy here. But I know this life is an adjustment for you, and I’ll do anything I can to make you feel comfortable and able to live how you want to.’
Lizzie drank some tea. It was perfect. She hadn’t been hungry when she arrived, but all of a sudden, the slices of lemon cake on the tray looked infinitely enticing. Without being asked, John slipped one on a plate for her.
His blue eyes were lambent, and the gracious light of the sunny room made him look more the golden god than ever, with his blond hair and his confident, sparkling smile. But he looked serious too.
‘You mean the world to me, Lizzie, and I know that you’re the one having to make the biggest changes, just to be with me. But never forget that I appreciate that.’ He looked away for a moment, less sure of himself somehow. ‘And if you ever want to take a few days out, spend time with your friends again … Well, I understand that. I’d miss you like hell, but I want you to feel that you’re free. Free to do what you want. You’re not just an “accessory” of mine; you know that, don’t you?’
Lizzie swallowed, her eyes a little blurry. For all his faults, for all his compulsion to be in control, and to act first, then ask questions later, his intentions were good and true. Now was not the time to get into a discussion with him over buying new premises for New Again, or to succumb to the ever-present niggling itch to ask him questions. More questions about his past. About prison. About his rift with his family. About his bloody ex, Clara, whom she simply could not make herself think about without animosity, even though Lizzie usually tried to give just about anybody the benefit of the doubt.
She put aside her cup, and leaned in towards him, touching his handsome face, now a little kissed by the sun, and cradling his cheek. When he set his own cup on the table, she plunged in, kissing him hard on the lips. It was complicated to put into words what she felt, but with a kiss, she could say just about anything. He slid his arms around her, responding but letting her lead, for now. She tasted tea and a hint of lemon from the cake as she slipped her tongue into his mouth, exploring.
Pushing him back onto the long, low sofa, she half climbed on top of him, still kissing,
and digging her fingers into his golden hair, loving its silkiness and the way it curled in a wild, youthful way. She smothered his face with kisses, and slid a hand down his body, to find him hard, inevitably, risen to her in the space of seconds. For just a heartbeat, she hesitated. What if someone came into the room? Mrs Thursgood, or Mary? But then, she relaxed again. She would have to learn to live with this, and trust that the people who worked for John, and for her, were no fools, and also the very souls of discretion. They knew that their employers needed to be left alone like this, because they were new lovers, and … well … they were likely to get frisky quite a lot, and very often.
This was the new reality, but in this thing at least, it wasn’t any different to the old reality. She would often want John, and he would often want her.
Breathless, she pulled a little way away from him, and was rewarded by that smile, that beautiful, evocative ‘I want you’ smile. The gilded grin that went with the hard knot of his erection, pushing up against her belly.
‘What did I tell you?’ he said softly, reaching up, digging his hand into her hair as it trailed over him, like an inky curtain. ‘And you haven’t even had a slice of cake yet.’
‘Ooh, that lovely cake,’ she said with a sigh. John was infinitely more delicious to her, but Mrs Thursgood’s lemon drizzle cake was almost as addictive in a different kind of way. Lizzie straightened up, a knee on either side of his pelvis, and one foot on the floor. Lowering herself across his bulging groin, she reached for her cake, broke off a piece, and nibbled it. ‘Glorious,’ she purred. The sharp but sweet flavour was divine, and so was the erection pressing against her. She took another bite, and massaged John with her crotch.
‘Indeed,’ he agreed, his eyes narrowing salaciously. She licked crumbs from her lower lip, and could have sworn his cock kicked against her. ‘Have some more.’
As she broke off some more cake and conveyed it to her lips, John reached for the zip of her trousers and whizzed it down. While she was still chewing the divine confection, he crooked his wrist and wiggled his hand inside her trousers and her underwear both, burrowing unerringly between her sex lips. ‘Glorious,’ he said softly, finding her clit.
The Accidental Bride (Black Lace) Page 5