The Accidental Bride (Black Lace)

by Portia Da Costa

  ‘Answer me. Tell me if that’s good.’ His voice was dark, deep, thrillingly husky. In this most vanilla of positions he was still her all-powerful dominant.

  ‘Yes … Yes … It’s good. It’s so good.’ She moaned, long and brokenly, when the pressure on her clit suddenly increased, the rub firmer, the pattern of circling more complicated. ‘Oh! Oh hell … John!’

  She came, her body clenching and gripping him, her clitoris leaping in a pulsing dance beneath his fingertip. Arching and rocking, she rode the pleasure while John’s grip was unyielding, his free hand sliding between her hip and the mattress, holding her in place, keeping her steady.

  ‘Stay still, beautiful girl.’

  It was impossible. She was still coming, her body filled with wild energy. She tried, though, half failing, half obeying, shrieking when he assaulted her clit anew with clever, wicked and loving manipulation.

  Tears of bliss dripped from her eyes, running sideways onto the pillow. She clasped one hand between her legs, over his, and with the other grabbed at his thigh, holding on tight, fingers digging into the firm, flexing muscles.

  Holding her, he pushed in further, seeming to reach places that were impossible, almost part of her soul.

  The crisis went on, everything dynamic. Lizzie laughed through the pleasure, mocking everything she’d read, and perceived, about spoons being a gentle and passive position. This was as wild, somehow, as anything they’d done, and yet in reality they were hardly moving. The tiniest action, and reaction, was enormous in sensation.

  ‘Yes! Yes!’ John shoved harder. Lizzie seemed to float, her sex and belly golden with exquisite sensation while in her mind, coloured lights seemed to drift up and up, like slow motion fireworks.

  ‘Yes … Yes …’ she sighed, smiling, and almost dreaming as she felt him pulse inside her, deep to the hilt at the very limit of his in-stroke.

  For a while, afterwards, they lay together still joined, almost breathing in unison. Normality returned, though, as it always did. Lovely … but real.

  ‘I’m lying on your arm, aren’t I? Has it gone dead?’ Lizzie shifted position, feeling John withdraw, his cock sliding out of her body as he wiggled his arm from under her. She shuffled away a little way, her pyjama bottoms still caught around one leg.

  ‘Just a bit.’ He sat up, giving the limb in question a little shake. ‘Don’t worry; it’s waking up again now.’ He flexed his fingers. ‘See, no harm done.’

  Lizzie reached for his hand, drew it to her lips, and kissed it, nibbling the fingertips. ‘Yep, seems OK to me.’

  Sleepily – well Lizzie, at least – they sorted themselves out again, and lay back down again, side by side. She studied her lover in the darkness. He seemed calm and relaxed, but she had a strong feeling he might not sleep again. Even though she was fighting to keep her eyes open, and already half drifting off, replete, sated.

  ‘Sleep, sweetheart … Don’t worry about me.’

  His voice sounded so soft and fond. The words wound around her like a protective cocoon, guarding her from all worries and fears. There was plenty they had to face together, and it might not all be easily dealt with. But they were together. That was what mattered.

  They were together.

  5

  Touching Various Bases

  John was gone when Lizzie woke up again.

  Sitting up sharply, she glanced around the room, then chided herself.

  Don’t be an idiot; he won’t be hiding behind the chair or in the wardrobe. He’ll have gone to his own room, long since. You’re alone.

  Expecting a pang of disappointment, she was surprised. Yes, it would have been super romantic and like a movie to wake up in bed beside him, but she had nothing to feel neglected over. He’d made a real effort to sleep with her last night, and they had even managed to doze together for a while. This wasn’t something they could set to rights in one night, and it might be a long time before they achieved it, if they ever did.

  But they’d made progress, and John’s delicious lovemaking in the night had more than offset any childish whim of hers for everything to be perfect, utterly perfect, all at once.

  Fishing beneath the pillow, she located a couple more of the condoms she’d tucked away there, and popped them back in the drawer. Goodness, how many performances had she been expecting? John had the sexual vigour and recuperative powers of a man half his age, but even he was only human, after all.

  A soft rap at the door made her grab for her light robe, draped across the bottom of the bed.

  ‘Come in,’ she called out, not sure whether it would be John or Mrs Thursgood, or even Mary or one of the other day girls. A quick glance at the clock said it was probably early for the latter, though.

  Mrs Thursgood entered with a tray.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Aitchison. Looks like a lovely day today.’ She strode over with the tray, then flipped down its little legs and set it on the bed.

  Ah, tea. Lovely. And a couple of newspapers, The Times and the local weekly rag, as well as a lovely rosebud in a little crystal vase.

  ‘Wow, thanks. This is great!’ Before Lizzie could reach for the teapot, Mrs Thursgood was preparing her a cup, just how she liked it. She’d been well briefed by John. ‘Thanks for the rosebud. It’s very pretty.’

  ‘Oh, that was Mr Smith. He picked it himself for your tray. He’s in his office, working already, the silly man.’ Mrs T tut-tutted. ‘But he says, when you’re ready for breakfast, he’ll either join you in the little dining room or up here, whichever you prefer.’

  Lizzie took a sip of tea. Perfect! ‘Oh, dining room, I think, if it’s no extra trouble to you. Just some cereal and toast for me, as usual, please. Um … thanks.’

  It was still getting some taking used to, this having staff around the place, doing things for her. But luckily the Thursgoods weren’t stand-on-ceremony types and they were so nice and discreet that it was gradually becoming more natural to have them around.

  A short while later, Lizzie wandered into the small dining room, a casual little breakfast space adjacent to the kitchen. It had old-style French doors that opened on to the garden, and it wasn’t nearly as posh and intimidating as the formal dining room, where Lizzie presumed that at some unknown, dreaded date in the future they would entertain.

  John rose to his feet as she entered, his golden smile lighting up the room.

  ‘Sleep well, love?’ He pulled out her chair for her.

  ‘Yes … eventually. But more to the point, did you sleep again?’

  ‘A bit, yes.’ He squeezed her shoulder and bent down to kiss her cheek. Just like a proper, long-standing couple, she thought. ‘Thanks to you,’ he whispered in her ear, his voice lowered and more intimate in case Mrs Thursgood were to appear any second with coffee and toast.

  Soon they were eating and chatting. Comparing notes on articles in the newspapers, mapping out tasks they needed to fulfil now they were home.

  ‘I’m planning to go into JS North for a few hours,’ said John. ‘Will you be all right on your own?’

  Ah, typical man. Assuming that not only the whole world, but specifically that of his woman, revolved around him. Lizzie hid a grin. His confidence and self-assurance were so masculine, and even though he was the most special man in the world to her, he could be a cliché just like any other male.

  ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I thought I might call in and see Marie for an hour or two, and go over what’s occurred in my absence. Including the obvious, of course.’ She gave him an old-fashioned look, referencing his hand in securing the new premises. ‘Then perhaps I’ll swing by St Patrick’s Road and touch base with Shelley and Brent, if they’re around. Maybe have a bit of lunch with them, unless you’ve got plans?’

  Agh, we are just like a married couple.

  ‘Sounds like a good idea, sweetheart. I don’t want you to lose touch with your friends.’ He smiled, but there was seriousness in his eyes. ‘I don’t want you to miss anything in your life that you’re us
ed to. I want us living together to, well, add more to your life, not take things away.’ His little shrug was so boyish, so adorable that she suddenly wanted to leap over the table and ravish him. He looked as edible as the home-made muesli and the country loaf toast they were enjoying, in his navy blue T-shirt and well-worn jeans that fit like the proverbial glove.

  ‘I know, and I thank you for that, John,’ she answered with her own seriousness, while trying to squish her ever-present lust for him.

  The way his eyes twinkled seemed to suggest he was dealing with the same kind of problems.

  ‘And at least now I can tootle about all over the borough in my swish new Audi!’

  ‘Indeed!’ John grinned, reaching for his coffee cup. ‘But take the thing for a spin up and down the drive a bit, first, to get the feel of it. When was the last time you actually drove?’

  He was right. She hadn’t been behind the wheel in a while.

  ‘I shared the driving with Brent and Shelley last year, when we all went to a friend’s wedding in Scotland. Brent does have a car, but it’s a bit of an old banger, and we’ve tended to use public transport most of the time lately. Running expenses and all that.’ She grinned at him. ‘Mind you, now that Brent and Shelley have got such a bountiful new landlord, he can probably afford to put it back on the road.’

  ‘This landlord of theirs must be a true humanitarian. A blessing to society,’ said John airily before sipping his coffee in all innocence. ‘But I meant what I said, about the test drive. I know I’m an old worrier, but I’d feel much happier if you try out the vehicle first.’

  ‘Right you are, boss,’ said Lizzie, winking at him.

  A while later, after they’d zipped up and down the drive a couple of times, and taken a spin along the lane, around the nearest roundabout and back to Dalethwaite again, John seemed satisfied with Lizzie’s road-craft. In fact, quite impressed.

  ‘Is there anything you don’t excel at, Miss Aitchison?’ he remarked fondly, unclipping his seatbelt, beside her.

  ‘Not a lot!’ Lizzie grinned, feeling pleased with herself. The S3 was a dream to drive. It handled beautifully, was perfectly responsive, and was a miracle of ergonomic driving design. She hadn’t actually driven all that many different vehicles, but it made Brent’s old Vauxhall seem like a right old rattletrap, and her father’s own, older Audi positively antediluvian.

  ‘Even so, take care, love. And check in with me from time to time, eh?’ John leant across and laid his fingers against the side of her face. ‘It’s not that I want to lay down the law to you or keep you wrapped in cotton wool or anything. It’s just that you’re incredibly precious to me, Lizzie. I couldn’t bear it if anything were to happen to you.’

  Lizzie gulped, then bobbed forward and took a kiss from his lips, a long, intent kiss. He was real and warm and alive beside her, and yet, even now, sometimes he seemed like a dream. Especially at moments like these.

  ‘I will, John. I’ll take care and I’ll drop you a text or two.’

  His eyes blazed, and cupping her face, he kissed her back with an almost desperate ferocity. Trapped by her seatbelt, his mouth and his hand, Lizzie shuddered with pleasure, parting her lips to admit his bold tongue.

  ‘Jesus, woman, now I’ve got a hard-on again!’ cried John, laughing as they broke apart. ‘I’ll have to do a swift bit of biofeedback to get myself back in order again. Either that or make a dive for the downstairs cloakroom and take myself in hand. You really are the most arousing creature, you minx. I swear you gave me tongue then just to get me stiff.’

  ‘I did not!’ It might have been a lie, though, albeit subconsciously.

  ‘That’s as maybe.’ John’s expression grew wolfish and twinkling. ‘How about a quick blowjob instead? To deal with my little difficulty.’ He nodded towards his crotch.

  Oh, lordy, what a temptation. Lizzie was a hair away from unclipping her seatbelt, inclining over him and prising out that beloved monster to do the deed.

  But only a moment ago, she’d glanced towards the house. Windows were open to air various rooms, and she’d no doubt that Mrs Thursgood and possibly Mary, too, were busy with dusters and polish. But not so busy that they couldn’t glance outside and catch sight of the master of the house being given head!

  ‘I know … I know …’ He reached for her hand and squeezed it. ‘I wouldn’t embarrass you, my darling. I was a wicked pig in the orangery yesterday. I’ll not put you at risk of compromise again.’ He kissed her fingers gently, then furled them around the wheel. ‘Now, go on, check in with your friends, and just try to ignore the fact that you live with a horny old goat for a few hours.’ Popping open the door, he stepped out, walked around to the passenger window, and when she wound it down, he leaned in to give her one more kiss.

  Lizzie fired the ignition, and just before John stepped back to let her pull away, she said, ‘Don’t worry, Mr Goat, I’ll give you that blowjob tonight. Now make with the biofeedback or you’ll give Mrs Thursgood and Mary a fit of the vapours.’

  With that, she was on her way, watching John laughing in the rear-view mirror as she went.

  The coffee in the workroom at New Again wasn’t as delicious as that at Dalethwaite Manor, but Lizzie still enjoyed it while she and Marie chatted and caught up. As she’d suspected, her friend had quickly figured out how the new premises had fallen so easily into their laps.

  ‘It was the luckiest day of my life when you walked in asking for sewing work, Lizzie,’ Marie said, a happy grin on her face. ‘Not only did I get the services of a first-rate seamstress, I also got one hell of a fairy godfather into the bargain!’

  Lizzie took a sip of her coffee, not quite sure what to say. It felt weird, still, when people expressed their gratitude to her for John’s generosity. Much as she loved to help anyone out, he was the giver.

  ‘He’s a very generous man, Marie. He … well, he just doesn’t think twice. If it’s something that’ll make my life easier, or even make the lives of people I know easier, it’s a case of money no object.’ She reached for her coffee and swigged down a sip. ‘It’s wonderful, but it’s a bit terrifying too. The only thing I have to give in return is myself.’ She blushed furiously, realising what she’d said, and put her coffee cup down with a rattle.

  Marie laughed, and Lizzie joined her.

  ‘You’re a sweetie, Lizzie, and a smart girl too. I’m not surprised he adores you. And I feel very lucky that he’s a generous guy with pots of money. If I didn’t love my Eddie to pieces, I’d be putting my name forward for John’s little black book, just in case you two ever split up.’

  Lizzie shivered.

  ‘Not that you will! Not that you will!’ added Marie quickly. ‘From what I can see … Well … I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you don’t accidentally become one of your own bridal clients before long.’

  ‘Oh … I don’t think so. I’m not sure if he ever wants to get married again. And even if he did, it’s … well, it’s very complicated.’ She sighed, feeling the weight of titles and expectations suddenly bearing down on her. One didn’t just marry ‘John Smith’. The groom in question was Lord Jonathan Llewellyn Wyngarde Smith, second son of the Marquess of Welbeck, and on his broad shoulders and lusty loins rested the last hope of continuing the family line. Not to mention the eventual stewardship of a famous stately home.

  ‘How complicated? He isn’t married already, is he?’

  Lizzie had never really told Marie the whole story before, beyond the fact that John was unbelievably wealthy, but now she revealed a little more. Her friend’s eyes popped wide at the mention of Montcalm and the title and the somewhat tortuous relationship John had with his family, especially his father.

  ‘Golly, I never realised he was aristocratic too,’ said the older woman, ‘although it doesn’t surprise me. He has that bearing, you know? Like a prince … the lord of all he surveys … well, quite literally, I suppose.’

  ‘He’s not a snob! He doesn’t act in the slightest bit posh,’ said L
izzie, defending him.

  ‘Oh no, he’s lovely, but he definitely has a very classy air about him.’ Marie grinned. ‘Look, if you do get married, please tell me you won’t give up work straight away, and that you’ll hang out here with us plebs for a while, eh? Can you imagine the cachet that having a bona fide “lady” working in the shop will give us? And exclusively designing for us. The Kissley Magna Mafia will be wetting themselves to give us more business, I tell you! The sky’s the limit!’

  ‘Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, shall we?’

  Lizzie had been dancing around the implications of being involved with John in the longer term. Pretending they didn’t exist. Because they scared her. She loved him, but marrying John and becoming his bride meant a different life altogether, in the future. His older brother would be the Marquess before him, but George and his wife, much as they loved their daughter Helen, hadn’t been able to produce a son and heir for the title. Which meant that at some time in the future John would accede to the title … and whoever was married to him would eventually become the Marchioness.

  Bloody hell! I love you, John Smith, I really do. But I can’t be a marchioness, I just can’t! It’s … mad!

  Making a concerted effort to shove that particular piece of insanity into a securely locked mental box, Lizzie smartly changed the subject. It wasn’t difficult, because there was masses of stuff to discuss with Marie about the shop, their new projects, and the rather daunting list of appointments for alteration fittings that had accrued during Lizzie’s holiday. There were several new bridal enquiries that had come in to New Again while she’d been away too. Marie hadn’t even advertised; word of mouth alone was working like a charm.

  From being one of the laziest women in the universe, I’m going to have to turn myself into at least as much of a workaholic as you are, John! It’ll be a bloody sight easier than trying to become a toff, though.

  For all it meant lots of hard work, Lizzie relished the thought of being busy and challenged. At last, she had a solid purpose and direction in her life, something that had once been lacking. She might be unsure of some aspects of her future, but in the moment, she was Elizabeth Aitchison, with a viable career and real self-belief in it. Would this have happened without John? Had he directed her towards this new potential? Or might she still have got there on her own? Either/or, she suspected, but John had probably speeded up the process, and that was just another reason to love him.