by Sara Forbes
Ken wraps an arm around me at the sight. I collapse into his side, snaking my arm around his waist. What did we just do?
Within minutes, we steal into my bedroom, gigging like children.
“Don’t wake everyone,” I say as Ken growls into my naked breasts.
“Okay, this time I’ll go nice and slow,” he says, grinding his hips against mine, nice and… slow.
Then he makes long, slow love to me.
17
KEN
“WE WERE RIGHT IN treating it as we did,” Dr. Conway says as we walk out the door of the stable together. “It’s hydrangea poisoning. Hydrangin is serious when chewed by a horse, as it mixes with the enzymes that create hydrogen cyanide. He must have eaten the flowers.”
“Was fed the flowers,” I correct the vet.
“Yes. But the sodium nitrate shots seem to have worked. He’s definitely breathing easier now and the colic is reduced. Any convulsions?”
“No. Not since the night it happened.”
“He seems to still have problems digesting, so we’ll keep him on the stomach acid blockers but otherwise I would say he’s very lucky. It helped that his health condition at the time of poisoning was excellent.”
“Well, he’s a racehorse. Was a racehorse.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t rule out this boy running again.” The vet gives me a tentative smile.
My heart swells with happiness. “Are you serious?”
“Let’s just keep a good eye on him.” Dr. Conway cocks his head in the direction of the stalls. “I see he’s got company now.”
“Yes, that’s Armageddon. I’ll schedule her in for a check with the practice too.”
“Very good, yes.”
I rush to share this news with Liv. She’s in the downstairs living room but when she sees me at the door, we creep upstairs to her bedroom. Since we came back after our horse stealing episode, we’ve lived in each other’s pockets—more in her pocket then mine. This means sleeping together every night for the past week. Her third-floor bedroom in a wing of its own is starting to feel very familiar and I like its seclusion and how it offers a view over who comes and goes at the stable.
Liv’s mother has seen me around but we don’t know whether she thinks I’m here just because of Sill, or has some inkling of what is going on with her daughter. I don’t hang around long enough to find out.
“Oh, that’s fantastic!” Liv says when I tell her what the vet said, kissing me when we’ve flopped onto her bed. “You must be thrilled.”
“Yes, I’d love more than anything to see him run. And win. That’d show them.”
Seb has given me some days off to deal with Sill and “the new horse.” He approves of the idea of Liv starting a new enterprise, despite his quibbling that he can’t see how it’ll be profitable.
“The money the abattoir pays can be quite high,” Liv admits with me as we linger on in bed after some fast and furious sex, “but many owners are just keen to get rid of the problem and the expense of upkeep of the animal so they’re willing to forgo any payment. What they want is expediency and privacy. I’d wager we could even ask them—especially the richer ones—to pay a substantial amount towards our efforts—a guilt tax if you will. In this way, we can keep costs down and the business can be viable without my having to dig into the Strathcairn estate coffers.”
“I do love your post-coital conversations,” I murmur to cover up how impressed I am.
She swats me playfully on the shoulder. “Seriously Ken, I’ve recruited three of the local kids to help out, starting Monday. They’re more than happy to do it on a basic wage. Some of them would do it for nothing in a pinch, but I hope it doesn’t come to that.”
“You are quite the businesswoman, aren’t you?” I say, wishing I had half her sense of organization.
She smiles wryly. “That’s not what my economics professors said in London.”
“They didn’t appreciate you,” I say, smoothing my hand down her back and around the curve of her sexy ass.
She giggles into the pillow and just like that, I’m hard again and need to take care of it. Immediately.
But there’s sadness in this house, too. Liv is sad. Underneath the happiness that I pride myself on bringing into her life, she’s got this huge worry about her father. That worry has transferred over to me.
While the earl is never going to like me, I hope he lives on for as long as possible and that the quality of whatever life he has left will be good and filled with happy moments with his loved ones. Liv and I have decided not to break the news to him that we’re seeing each other. He’s barely conscious so there’s not a huge point in doing so. Part of me is angry that Peter stole two years away from me in which I could have gotten to know her father and convinced him I’m not as useless as he seems to think.
18
LIV
LIFE SETTLES INTO A beautiful rhythm as August comes to an end and September begins with blustery but sunny days. Despite my sadness at Daddy’s condition, I can’t remember ever feeling so happy, so glowing, so loved.
One afternoon as we’re heading out to the stables in the evening, I get a call from Peter. I automatically turn away from Ken with the phone pressed to my ear, and head back into the house.
“Peter,” I say, when I’m in the hall.
“Hello Liv. So, you wanted to get in touch with me?”
I cringe at the sound of his voice again. So familiar and so unwelcome. We left it that we’d be “friends”—no animosity. But that was a convenient lie. There’s venom under the surface on both sides. On his side, because I initiated divorce proceedings before he did. On my side, because he’d been so obviously non-enamored with me for two years of marriage and had the audacity to see people before we split up officially.
Still, we’re used to socializing in circles where people rarely think and act out the way they actually feel. Our veneers are perfectly intact.
“That’s right.” Because it is true. I chose to contact Peter. All for a good cause.
“What’s on your mind?” His imperious tone brings it all back. The feeling of being small and useless all the time.
But I’m prepared for this. I played it over in my mind so I wouldn’t get derailed from my purpose. “Yes. Here’s the thing. I know you’re friends with Edward Greer, right? Well, I run a horse sanctuary now and I’m looking for sponsors and possible business partners. He’s one of the biggest players in the business so I thought you might be able to connect us.”
“Oh, it’s a business call,” he says flatly.
“Well, yes.” What were you expecting, you idiot?
“Edward Greer…. Gosh, I haven’t seen him for such a long time.”
The blatant lie sends a spear of ice through me. During our two-year marriage, I’d never been able to conclusively catch him out in a lie. And now here’s one, plain as day. Except now, I don’t care.
I just wanted to know if Greer has any clue who might be sabotaging racehorses. It’s clear that Peter’s protecting him in some way. All very suspicious. I’m starting to actually believe Ken’s theory about Greer being involved somehow.
“But I could look him up for you,” Peter continues. “It wouldn’t be so much trouble.”
His tone suggests it would totally be a problem for him and that I would have to pay him back in some way. “You might have to give me a few weeks though.”
“It’s all right,” I lie. “He’s just one of a big list I’m going through.”
“Well, now that I have you, Liv, how’s Angus?”
Peter calls Daddy by his first name, which is pretty presumptuous of him, but as he’s an Earl himself, he feels entitled to do so. And, strangely, Daddy has never minded.
“Not good.” I can’t lie about this. Why should I?
“Well, I was talking to my old friend Patel Singh the other day and a new colleague of his has started in London University hospital. He’s a world expert on bowel and bladder cancers. I think he would be
just the person to get a consultation with. What is he? Stage four?”
“Yes,” I say grumpily.
“This man has had phenomenal results. Remission at stage four. Lots of cases.”
“Can you help me?” I ask, unwilling to get my hopes up. He was too busy before, but I don’t want to mention that and sabotage any chance of getting Daddy the best treatment, no matter how remote the possibility of it ever happening is.
“I’ll do my best, Liv. Once the time and date is set up we’ll come to you in Fernborough. All right, well, I’ve got to leave you. I have a paper to prepare for the Philosophy Society’s debate tomorrow. I’m sure you understand.”
“Yes.” Perfectly.
“Well then, see you soon.”
I shudder and head upstairs for something warmer to put on. It’s late afternoon and the sun shines outside but I feel chilly. At my bedroom window, I stop to look out. Ken’s working in the stables, a distant figure in white t-shirt, blue jeans, the sun creating a halo of gold around his head. My fists unclench and I become aware of how tensed up I am. I remain at the window while a series of negative memories flit through my brain at high speed.
I guess I’m not as mentally strong as I thought I was just a few minutes ago before the call. All my bravado has vanished, replaced by memories of a marriage gone wrong. Memories of hopes dashed, and fears awakened. Since I left Peter and returned home, I haven’t had much time to sit around and process these thoughts so they’ve been romping about my subconscious like unwelcome advertisements on a TV, playing in an endless loop, eating up my sense of self, impossible to switch off. When these thoughts come to the surface they’re still overwhelming.
I’m glad the call got cut short when it did. Given half a chance, Peter would try to convince me I’m a worthless human being, an idiot for divorcing him, and even stupider for running back into the arms of a wayward gambler that my dying father vehemently disapproves of. It wouldn’t take a lot of convincing and Peter can be very persuasive when he puts his mind to something.
I shake my head and tell myself to stop thinking like this. I know it’s not helping.
“Where is he?” Ken asks casually when I join him outside. He puts down the pitchfork he’s using to toss the straw on the floor of Sill’s stall.
“Who?”
“Peter.”
“London.”
“Why did he call?” He grabs up the fork again and tosses more straw.
“We had to discuss some things about the lawyers’ fees.”
I’ve never been a good liar. Which is surprising. I’d have thought that living with Peter would have sharpened my skills in that regard, but it hasn’t. And I hate lying to Ken.
Ken takes a step away from me, his mouth tight.
I sigh. At least I can tell him the truth about the oncologist. “He gave me a recommendation for my father. A consultant. And he knows him and has a way to get him to come look at Daddy as a payback for something.”
“I feel guilty that I don’t get on with your father. And that you feel you have to keep our relationship a secret from him.”
“Hush, Ken that’s not your fault.”
“Well, it kind of is.”
“No. And I have told my mother.”
His smile reappears. “What did she say? Get thee to a nunnery, or some such?”
Oh really, Liv. That vagabond?
“Oh, she’s too preoccupied with Daddy’s health these days to care about anything.”
“Well, does that mean we get to dine together, like nobility? Or do I have to beg scraps from your cook, like a servant?”
“Ken,” I slap his arm playfully. He’s teasing. He always eats in his own house. And I often go over with him. Especially if Mummy retires early to her room and refuses dinner. That way I give Cook the evening off. Win-win. The Belgraves see me as one of the family.
He pulls me in to his chest. He’s angry because of Peter. I want him to take that anger out on me.
“Ken Belgrave,” I walk around him in a circle, unbuttoning my blouse. “You’re the one for me. Come and show me why I shouldn’t want any other man in my life.”
Lust flares in his face. “No, you come here, you tease.”
I walk up to him, my top half naked, my nipples brazenly pointing at him.
“Over to the post, that one.” He points at a vertical wooden beam holding up the barn’s ceiling.
I stand with my back against it.
Ken comes over, picks up my shirt from the ground, takes my arms and binds them to the post, behind my back. It’s not uncomfortable, but I can’t move my arms. He looks down at my body, not touching me anywhere. And I can’t touch him. I hope he’s not just going to leave me standing here, in a hay barn, needy.
“Ken, please…”
“Yes.” He tilts my chin up. “Patience.” And then he kisses me roughly, his mouth swallowing me, so I can barely breathe. The feeling of his power over me is intensified because I can’t move my hands or move away. Already my body is melting, I’m throbbing below, out of control, I’m just one big desperate organ that demands to be squeezed and rubbed, at his complete mercy.
His mouth moves to my breasts and he engulfs each in his hot mouth, sucking hard until I feel a wave of lightheadedness. “Yesss, please.” I’m going to come if he doesn’t stop. I buck and arch away from the pole. I can’t unbutton my jeans or rub myself to ease the tension. I need him to do something about the furnace between my legs.
He slowly opens the top button of my jeans, watching my face.
“So greedy today,” he says. “Again.”
“Yes.”
“Greedy for who, though?”
“For you. Only for you.”
“Let’s see how wet you are.”
He pulls down my jeans and my soaking panties and I step out of them. His hand presses against my mound, very pleasurably.
My head rocks back in delight, eyes shut.
“You’re soaking and you’re enjoying that,” he says.
“Mmm.”
His hand stops. My eyes pop open.
“But my cock wants to punish you.” He strips out of his trousers. And indeed, his cock is angry, straight and erect as he slides the condom on.
He grips the beam above my head and uses it to help him grind his hips against mine. We’re slick with sweat in seconds, pushing against the other’s chest, torso, groin and legs. It’s incredible what we can do with no arms in the way. And it’s incredible that we’re doing this outside in a barn. I’ve never had sex anywhere other than beneath the sheets in a locked bedroom.
“Open for me.”
I widen the stance of my legs. “Don’t worry,” he says, as if he senses my vulnerability at not being able to use my arms. With his gaze never leaving my face he pushes in slowly and surely, filling me up. I buck forward and arch back and soon he overtakes me with his rhythm. I fall into simply enjoying his control as he pumps faster and harder.
Ken takes his hand down from the beam and massages my nipples while he thrusts. Then he squeezes them. I like it, so I grunt my satisfaction, hoping he understands grunt.
“Harder?” he asks.
I nod. He does understand.
He kneads my breasts roughly. It feels confusing to have another point of focus while my vagina is aching for release, but I start to love how my senses are merging and I’m losing all sense of reality. I’m so desperate, I’m angry.
This time it’s more moan than grunt.
He manhandles my breasts even harder, to the point of pain, and I arch away from the beam as I feel the orgasm coming. I scream inside myself as waves of pleasure ripple out from my innermost muscles and float to my extremities. Ken follows with an anguished cry as he shoots his load. He clutches my shoulders as he shudders, once, twice, three times in aftershock.
Then he unties me and I flop against his warm slick chest, drunk with euphoria. He yanks his shirt off the ground, leads me to a bunch of straw bales, smooths his shirt down
as a kind of makeshift sheet and sits onto it. He sits down on top of his jeans. We’re silent and naked in the golden light. I contemplate the pattern of dust motes as the sun shines through. Gentle snorting from Sill over his stable and the clacking of birds outside add to the glorious here-and-now feeling. I don’t want to ruin this by saying anything. Nothing needs to be said.
◊◊◊
“You’re so quiet,” Ken says next morning when we’re alone in my room having breakfast in bed.
“Yes, it’ll be a busy day. I’m bringing Marwan to see Letty’s pianos today with a view to getting him to accept getting lessons from her. I signed his mother up to help with my accounts so she can earn something for herself and get out of that house. And we’ve had a new horse in. On top of that, I’m worried about Daddy and I feel guilty for even being busy outside. He’s ashen looking.”
“You can’t be expected to be his live-in nurse, Liv. He wouldn’t want that himself I’m sure. If there’s anything I can do to help with Marwan or the horse let me know though.”
“No, you’ve got your work and your mission. I believe in it. Word needs to get out.”
Ken’s traveling up and down the country, talking to owners, trying to get to the root of who’s trying to influence racing. Many yards don’t want to admit that their security has been breached, in case owners stop putting their horses there, so Ken is resorting to emotional blackmail, telling them he’ll mention it in his book.
Ken’s very caught up in his mission, as if determined to singlehandedly set the whole industry back on the right course. I’m glad Seb has given him the time off to pursue his passions. I guess the older Belgrave brother recognizes how important it is for Ken to stand up for something. I don’t think he realizes how dangerous some of these people can be.
“You can’t bully them, Ken, you’ll make enemies.”
“If they’re covering up some bastard who hurt Sill then yes, I can.”
I feel a twinge of unease. Part of me wonders why he can’t he just let it go? Am I enabling this bad behavior, like I did with Peter? Am I losing sight of what I stand for?