by Jagger, Kait
‘I daresay I will. You are not to worry about this, flicka.’
His arm curved again as he transferred his tumbler to his other hand. On their return journey his fingers, cool and slightly damp from the condensation on the glass, came to rest between her breasts, tracing a delicate line down her cleavage.
‘How was your day?’ she asked eventually.
He laughed again, not a particularly pleasant laugh. ‘My day was expensive. I shudder to think how much the lawyers will charge for performing chaperone duties for me and the Russian.’ Luna shifted against him and he added more seriously, ‘I think you have the right of it, that he doesn’t like being told no. He will not give this up.’
‘And his offer…?’
‘Is an insult. Or at least, that is what I thought until I realised he only wants the house and gardens. Apparently he is in the process of relocating his children to England, to take advantage of our fine grammar schools, and he envisions Arborage as an appropriate home for them.’
Luna snorted in disbelief.
‘Oh yes,’ Stefan assured her. ‘He has it all planned out. He is very loquacious, the Russian. He intends to enrol his sons at Eton and his daughter at your alma mater. He tells me he is happy for me to keep the rest of the land, and the estate’s holdings in the north. He feels that he could offer me some helpful guidance in how to more efficiently manage it, but…’
‘I hate him!’
Stefan finished off his Scotch in one long swig and chuckled, ‘My little champion,’ curling his arm around her collarbone, bending her body in tandem with his as he reached down to place his glass on the floor. Relaxing back onto the armchair, he returned his hand to her cleavage, working at the top button of her white silk blouse. Disconcerted to find him nowhere near as angry and upset as her, Luna swatted at his hand and made to rise, but he held her in place.
‘When I take on a new client,’ he began contemplatively, almost as if he were talking to himself, ‘I start by conducting an inventory of weaknesses at the very top of the company, the CEO and his or her direct reports. I do this in order to create a plan of action whereby they can eliminate these weaknesses, or at least mitigate them. But it isn’t too great a leap of the imagination for a management consultant like me to look for weaknesses that can be used against an adversary.’
‘You see weaknesses in Putinov?’
‘I do.’ Stefan undid her second button, and drew a fingertip along the lace edge of her bra. ‘For one, he is impatient. He thinks to bulldoze over me when it would serve his interests better to bide his time, peck away at my defences.’
‘What else do you see?’ she sighed as his fingers moved to the sheer cup of her bra, seeking and finding her nipple, rubbing against it.
‘I see little things, like that he isn’t technologically inclined. He’s made his money the old-fashioned way, through oil and gas and the larceny and grift that is endemic to Russian business, but he doesn’t even know how to use his own phone. He has someone to do it for him. He surrounds himself with men to do things for him, and that is a weakness too.’
Luna’s nipple tightened, not just because of his ministrations but because of the way he was talking, giving her a rare glimpse into the inner workings of his business mind. He was just so – she wriggled against him as he plucked at her nipple through its lace cage – so competent, so insightful and perceptive.
‘He has enemies,’ Stefan continued, inclining his head to nip at her earlobe. ‘One does not achieve the staggering wealth he has without making enemies, not in a country like Russia. And the enemy of my enemy…’ He slid his finger under her bra strap, pushing it aside.
‘And last,’ he said, pulling her breast free of its trappings, using his other hand to free its companion, ‘he is a bully. He is so convinced that this decadent country will whore itself to the highest bidder, it surprised and angered him, my personal rejection of his offer. I’m afraid I made no effort to even pretend to consider it, and this has enraged him.’ Stefan cupped her exposed breasts, placing his middle fingers on the very tips of her tightened nipples and pressing them firmly inwards. ‘He is a bully, at heart, and soon he will start acting like one.’
Luna’s heart faltered at his final words, but her anxiety was quickly subsumed by the flood of sensation his fingers were creating, rotating her inverted nipples within the globes of flesh that surrounded them.
‘Mmm,’ she exhaled, arching her back against him.
‘Do you know what I think, Miss Gregory?’ he murmured, circling his fingers slowly, inexorably. ‘I think all this management consultant talk arouses you. Shall we talk about key performance indicators now?’
Luna bit her lip. ‘Yes please, Herr Lundgren.’
‘Discuss options for growth?’ She purred her encouragement.
‘Or do we need to consider cutting costs, Luna? Have you been a…’ He slid a hand under her bottom, unzipping her pencil skirt. ‘Have you been a naughty CEO?’ She dissolved in helpless laughter, then, and allowed him to make short work of the rest of her clothes.
He drew her back onto him, slinging her bare legs over his till she was spreadeagle on his lap, and Luna briefly marvelled at the wanton she had become, the wanton he conjured in her. Lying naked against his tailored suit – and God help her if that wasn’t part of the turn-on – his cufflinks glinted in the darkness as he returned his hands to her breasts, flattening his palms against them, compressing them against her ribcage.
Unlike his adversary, Stefan Lundgren was a very patient man. He took his time massaging Luna’s breasts, moulding them, lightly stroking her aureoles till she was breathless with sensitivity, and every stroke, every feather-light touch tugged at the through line to her clitoris. Till she was undulating on top of him, her pubis rising and falling in silent supplication. Till she came close to sobbing her gratitude when his strong right hand dropped to her cleft and claimed her.
‘Ride me,’ he said, pressing his fingers hard against her as she arched into them. Luna threw her head back on his shoulder, writhing atop him, wantonly angling herself against his fingertips, which he held tantalisingly, infuriatingly still.
‘Please!’ she gasped.
‘Please what, Luna?’
She groaned, bucking against him.
‘You’ll have to be more specific than that,’ he drawled into her ear.
‘Please… use your fingers.’ A low sound of approval in his throat, and movement, blessed movement below, all four of his fingers and now, ahh, his thumb, pushing hard against her, moving in a swift, tight circle against her twitching, yearning flesh.
‘Tell me what you want,’ he commanded, wrist flicking hard and fast.
Luna’s mouth fell open in a wordless pant.
‘Tell me what you want, Luna.’ Stefan’s left hand clamped down over her eyes, claiming her, holding her in place as he strummed her relentlessly with his right.
‘Make me come,’ she begged. ‘Please make me come… please… please… pl—’ Oh, sweet God, his fingers were so perfect. There was nothing now except them and the mountainous, devastating pleasure they gave her. She just needed… just needed him to…
Lights exploded in Luna’s forehead and her womb contracted. Her clitoris raced to join them, pulsing uncontrollably as her body juddered under Stefan’s control. He slowed his movements, lightened his touch and carried on, seeing her through, till she was lost, drifting, boneless.
Afterwards, weak as a kitten, she curled her hands around his neck as he lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom. She was half-dozing, dimly aware of him disrobing, when he took a call from his mother and immediately cut it short, saying he’d phone back in the morning. By the time he sat next to her on the bed, resting his hand on her hip, she was hovering at the edge of sleep, scarcely registering it when he placed a call himself, standing and walking out of the room when it was answered.
Chapter Eleven
‘Robert’s letters to Margery, which gave incredibly detailed descriptions of life in King James’s court, are, quite frankly, unlike anything we have ever seen between husband and wife at that point in history. Robert painted a picture for Margery not just to entertain her, but to seek her counsel… and her aid, for although she appears to have elected to remain in seclusion at the Dower House, Lady Margery had an extremely influential network of family and friends whom she was not above manipulating for Robert’s benefit…’
Roland White trailed off and looked toward his assembled tour guides, stood in a huddle around him in the portrait gallery. ‘Very important to mention this. Otherwise their story gets a little Mills and Boon.’
As his guides laughed and scribbled in their notebooks, Tilly and Megan, whom Luna had brought along to watch, looked up at her in confusion. She whispered, ‘He means too mushy, too romantic.’
‘But it is romantic, isn’t it?’ Tilly asked, her brow wrinkling in confusion.
It was the day before the Robert and Margery exhibit’s grand opening and Roland was taking one last opportunity to tutor his staff. Behind him, workers moved to and fro, taking down the scaffolding and screen that had concealed construction work on the exhibit for the past several weeks.
Luna glanced at her watch. She’d have to go upstairs soon to get dressed for the ribbon-cutting party that night. Appropriately enough, today was Valentine’s Day, the perfect occasion for various friends of Arborage and her remaining board members to celebrate Robert and Margery’s story.
Luna would not, however, be getting mushy and romantic with her own lord and master. Stefan had been in Dubai for the past week on a long-standing assignment from which he couldn’t extricate himself, though he clearly would have liked to. ‘Strange,’ he’d said, standing with her in Terminal 5’s departure lounge the previous week. ‘I used to love travel. It’s part of the reason I became a management consultant.’ He bent down to kiss her. ‘But now everything I want is here.’
‘Rather charmingly,’ Roland was saying, ‘Robert had a pet name for Margery. Again and again, he refers to her as “my Falcon”, referring to her ability to see vital details in a large tapestry of court intrigue, in much the same way a bird of prey might see a mouse in a field of grain.’
Tilly looked up at Luna again and Luna nodded to her. ‘Go ahead, ask him.’ Tilly blushed and shook her head, so Luna lifted her hand and said, ‘Mr White, one of your visitors has a question for you.’
‘Ah, yes, Matilda?’
‘I just wanted to know… if Robert loved Margery so much, why did he banish her away for years and years?’
‘Excellent question, Tilly, and one that’s hard to answer. The only letters we have date from after their separation, and they only hint at the reasons for it. But I have a theory.’ He smiled. ‘Do you know how old Margery was when she and Robert were betrothed?’
Tilly shook her head.
‘Eight years old,’ he said. ‘That’s right, the same age as you. I know it seems incredible now, but at the time it was entirely normal for one so young to get engaged. How old do you think Robert was?’
‘Twelve?’ her sister hazarded.
‘You’d be close if you were counting in months, Megan. Robert was just over a year old when his father agreed a marriage contract with Margery’s family. Imagine, if you were little Margery, being presented with a baby and told he was your future husband, whom you would have to honour and obey for the rest of your life.’
The two girls exchanged a disgusted look. ‘Indeed,’ Roland nodded. ‘But Margery was a clever girl, and she became an even cleverer woman. She chose to conceal her distaste, and she arrived at Robert’s manor house thirteen years later determined to not only be a good wife, but to transform Robert into a powerful marquess. She gave him two sons and a daughter, but she also helped him run his estate, and deal with his vassals, and curry favour with the king. She was quite an extraordinary woman. Unfortunately her plan worked too well. Robert grew to be a proud man, every inch the “lord and master” she’d set out to make him, and eventually he began to chafe under her instruction.’
Roland’s tour guides were scribbling furiously in their pads now. ‘In a letter to his cousin at the time, Robert wrote that he had “locked away my termagant betimes”. In other words, he had rid himself of his nagging wife.’ Tilly crossed her arms over her chest furiously, gearing up to defend Margery’s honour, but Roland added gently, ‘It took six long years for Robert to see the error of his ways, and beg for his wife’s forgiveness.’
A sudden flash of colour and light burst into the other end of the gallery. ‘Babe!’ came a loud shriek. Luna touched the girls’ shoulders briefly to indicate they should stay put and went to meet Kayla, who was stood legs akimbo on the marble floor, resplendent in a diamanté-encrusted Backstreet Boys tank top and black leggings, surrounded by a cohort of musicians carrying cases and sound equipment.
‘Ah, babe,’ Kayla laughed, throwing her arms around Luna’s neck. ‘Thank you so much for this. I am mega excited about tonight.’
‘It’s me who should be thanking you,’ Luna disagreed, smiling at her backing band. ‘All of you.’
The opening party for the exhibit marked Luna’s first solo foray into hosting an Arborage event. It was to be a relatively small affair, a hundred or so attendees, but she’d felt the ghost of Lady Wellstone, hostess extraordinaire, dogging her throughout the planning process. Thank heavens for Kayla. And Luna’s partner in crime, who emerged from the exhibition space at that very moment, surrounded by various ‘Team Mika’ members she knew well from their time in Shetland together.
‘Everything okay?’ Luna asked.
‘Fine,’ he said simply. She nodded pensively, not quite meeting his eyes, and he added quietly, ‘Everything will be perfect tonight, Luna. I give you my word.’
‘Me too,’ Kayla promised. ‘The boys and I have been working on our set list and you are going to love it. A few old standards, with some modern stuff thrown in. You both have to promise to dance, right? I can’t stand it when nobody dances at these parties.’
Opening her mouth to reply, Luna glanced at Mika, who was studying his shoes. To her utter amazement, his cheeks reddened. Mika was blushing.
*
‘Right,’ Kayla said moments later, placing Mika’s left hand in Luna’s right. ‘I’m going to let you in on a little secret.’ She shifted around Mika, taking his right hand and positioning it on Luna’s waist. ‘When it comes to contemporary dancing, my girl here is hopeless.’
‘It’s true,’ Luna admitted as Kayla’s keyboardist began warming up behind them. ‘Kay’s taught me every single dance move I know.’
‘However,’ Kayla lifted a finger, ‘old-school dancing is a different story. I don’t want to give her a big head or anything, but, paso doble, rumba, foxtrot… you name it, my girl can dance the hell out of it.’
‘Private school, many dance lessons,’ Luna affirmed, pulling her shoulders back and resting the fingers of her left hand on Mika’s shoulder, assuming the position.
‘Luna also—’ Kayla’s eyes flitted to Megan and Tilly, who were sitting with the rest of the band, watching with rapt attention. Lowering her voice to a stage whisper, Kayla confided to Mika, ‘Luna also likes to top from the bottom.’
‘Kay!’ Luna exclaimed.
‘By that I mean that she is an assertive dance partner.’ Her friend winked at Mika. ‘Which is helpful, for a beginner like you.’ Kayla circled round till she was standing directly behind him. ‘Stand up straight,’ she commanded, rapping his shoulders. The girls tittered and Kayla moved closer, placing her hands on his forearms, effectively sandwiching him between herself and Luna.
‘I think I am going to like ballroom dancing,’ Mika declared, voice breaking slightly.
Luna nodded at the keyboardist.
‘We’ll start with a waltz.’
*
Luna sat at the dressing table in the bedroom she’d assigned to Kay for the night, a polished wooden jeweller’s tray on her lap. Nestled inside on a satin inlay were a pair of roughly hewn gold bands with closed golden bells attached to them.
‘Whoa,’ Kay exclaimed, bending down to examine them. ‘What are they?’
‘A gift from Robert to Margery,’ Luna said. ‘Roland thinks it was a private joke. His nickname for her was Falcon and these are designed to look like jesses, straps you’d put around a hawk or falcon’s legs. The bells were so you could find your bird, if it didn’t fly back to you. Can you…?’ Luna extended her wrists. Kayla slid the bracelets on, securing the clasps. Luna jiggled her arms and the bells tinkled sweetly.
‘They’re adorable,’ Kayla observed approvingly. ‘Do you get to keep them?’
Luna shook her head. ‘They’ll be part of the exhibit. It was Mika’s idea, just for tonight, to have Robert’s love tokens circulating in the room. Wait till you see the emerald necklace and ring.’
She rose and came to stand next to Kay in front of the room’s ornate rococo standing mirror, admiring their reflection. Kayla’s BMF and unofficial stylist Patrice had selected complementary outfits for them to wear that night, Kayla’s a perfectly tailored midnight-blue jacket and cigarette trousers teamed with a velvet bustier, and Luna’s a dress of the same blue velvet, with a full skirt and high, almost severe neckline. A trick of the eye, for though the bodice was deceptively demure from the front, it amounted to no more than a drape of velvet that covered her torso, leaving her back and shoulders tantalisingly exposed.
‘You look like a naughty governess, you,’ Kayla said salaciously. ‘I am loving the side boob.’
‘I’m not…’ Luna raised her arms in dismay, angling her head toward her underarm. ‘Am I showing side boob?’
‘Just a hint.’ Kayla waggled her eyebrows. ‘It’s provocative!’ She kept up a running monologue on the walk downstairs, about how small-breasted women like Luna could get away with side boob, and how lucky it was that Luna’s full skirt camouflaged her booty, and how ‘it’s like being on Santa’s sleigh with those bells of yours!’