Sunshine Over Bluebell Castle

by Sarah Bennett

  ‘Igraine.’ He lost himself in the sweet heat of her mouth, in the promise of those words and all the myriad things he would do to her in the long, slow hours of the night. He tried to pull her closer, but soon grew frustrated with the awkward angle of their bodies and eventually grasped her hips and urged her to stand.

  He didn’t drag her to the bed, well not quite, but she didn’t seem to mind his hurry as he tumbled her back across the crisp, dark sheets. Bracing himself with his hands on either side of her head, he wriggled his hips against hers until she widened them to let him settle exactly where he wanted to be. The heat of her scorched through the thin layers of their clothing, his mind racing as he tried to decide which of the many delicious things, he wanted to do to her first.

  ‘What’s the matter?’ she asked, when he didn’t immediately move.

  ‘Nothing, just savouring the moment now I’ve finally got you beneath me.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Her little hum of pleasure shot sparks of pleasure through him. Hooking a foot over his hip, she locked their lower bodies together. ‘I’ve been thinking about us being together like this ever since you waylaid me on my way to tea this afternoon.’

  Her hands slid up his back beneath his T-shirt her short nails teasing against his skin. ‘Now what was it you promised me earlier? That being with you would be so good I’d forget any other man.’ A sly smile teased around her mouth. ‘Perhaps you’re the one having second thoughts. Worried you won’t live up to those big words, are you?’

  The challenge in her eyes tipped him over the edge, and soon there was no more room for words, no more doubts about whether they were ready to take this next step, only the need driving him on, and hers rising to meet and match it. Only the secret whispers of lovers meeting in the dark.

  * * *

  The next couple of weeks passed in a blur of back-breaking days working on the water garden and sweet, sultry nights with Igraine in his arms. Everyone was so busy, the lack of public contact between the two of them had gone unnoticed-or at least uncommented upon. Helena had taken herself off to Ascot for a few days, giving them all a brief respite from the tension her presence at the castle was causing, but she’d arrived back again the previous evening, arms laden with wedding magazines.

  Lancelot was still living above the stables, and his continued absence from the dinner table was a constant point of unspoken stress. The continued hot weather wasn’t helping, either, and there’d been a few frayed tempers, especially from Arthur. The poor guy looked miserable as sin, and it was clear to Will he felt torn between the women in his life. The only one who seemed oblivious to it all was Helena. She was either a consummate actress, Will had decided, or she had a hide thicker than a rhino and zero self-awareness. Probably a combination of all three.

  Some nights Will and Igraine found themselves too exhausted to do anything but sleep, but that didn’t matter because waking in the morning to find her curled up next to him was a simple joy in itself. Glancing down at her now in the early dawn light, Will couldn’t resist running a finger across the shadowed line of her cheekbone. Grumbling in her sleep, Igraine raised a hand to swat him away before rolling onto her other side and wriggling back until her bottom slotted neatly against the curve of his hips.

  Curling his arm round her waist, Will settled down against her back, content to hold her until the alarm went off in another hour or so. She wasn’t a morning person, as he’d learnt to his cost when he’d attempted to wake her early the previous week with a kiss and earned a mouthful of choice words. No, he schooled himself to patience, best to leave her to sleep and let the alarm catch the brunt of her early morning grumpiness.

  The next thing he knew, the phone on his bedside cabinet was beeping and Igraine was elbowing him in the stomach. ‘Turn it off,’ she muttered, dragging her pillow over her head.

  Rolling over, he swiped off the alarm then rolled back to tug her pillow away. ‘Come on, sleepyhead, you’ve got a busy day ahead of you.’ She was going dress shopping with Lucie and Constance-and now she’d returned, Helena had decided to tag along with them.

  ‘Go away and let me sleep.’ She made a grab for her pillow, hair tumbling all over her face in tangled waves, but he reached it first, tossing it off the bed with a laugh.

  ‘You told me I had to make sure you got up on time.’

  ‘Well, I changed my mind,’ she said, stealing his pillow and curling up with it. His phone started to beep again, and she let out a groan. ‘You’re determined to torture me, aren’t you?’

  ‘That’s not my alarm.’ He reached for the phone. Who the hell was texting him at that time of the morning? It beeped again just as his hand was closing around it. And again, before he had chance to tap in his unlock code.

  The first message was from Anna, his assistant. Have you seen the papers yet?

  ‘Bloody hell, now what?’ There’d been a sporadic flurry of more of those stupid Where’s Willy articles, with claims of sightings from all sorts of unlikely places, including a couple of blurry photos of some poor rando on the beach in Ibiza. They’d soon lost interest, though, and Will had begun to believe he’d heard the last of it. Melody was stepping out with that singer whose party he’d forgotten about and looked for all the world to be as in love with him as she’d appeared to be with Will. There was an Oscar in that woman’s future, for sure. It had taken the heat off him, so he wished her nothing but well.

  Igraine propped herself up on her elbows. ‘What is it?’

  ‘Dunno,’ he said, tilting the phone to show her the message from Anna. ‘Some rubbish in the press again by the looks of it.’

  ‘Don’t they ever get bored of it?’ she sighed, flopping back against the pillow.

  His phone beeped again. ‘Apparently not.’ The next message was from his agent, asking him to call urgently and not to make any statements until they’d spoken. His gut started to churn, and he ignored the rest of his messages to open his web browser and type in the address for the most notorious of the red-tops.

  WILL CHEATSPEARE! Screamed the headline above a photograph of a man in a biker jacket staring down at a woman clad in a white dressing gown. It took the familiar twin grey bands encircling the arms of the jacket for Will to register he was looking at a picture of himself with Phillipa Cornwall.

  Feeling sick now, he flicked to another tabloid homepage WILL NICKS TONY’S JULIET. If anything, the photo they’d used was even more damning than the previous one, as it showed Phillipa standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

  ‘Shit.’ Will tossed the phone onto the bed, then raised his hands to cover his eyes, as though he could somehow shield himself from what he’d already seen. ‘Shit, shit, shit.’

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He opened his eyes to see Igraine reaching for his phone. ‘Leave it!’ he snapped, but it was already too late.

  ‘Is that you?’ Igraine frowned at the screen. ‘And who’s the woman you’re with?’ He watched in silent dread as her eyes flicked back and forth as she took in the lurid details and innuendo in the story below the image. When she met his gaze, her expression was incredulous. ‘Phillipa Cornwall? The Phillipa Cornwall?’

  ‘She was a client, nothing more,’ he said, crossly, trying to take the phone back off her. ‘It’s all bollocks.’

  ‘Just like Melody wasn’t your girlfriend, right? It doesn’t look like bollocks,’ she retorted, tucking the phone behind her back when he made a snatch for it. ‘It looks like you’re snogging a married woman on her bloody doorstep.’

  ‘Not snogging! She kissed me on the cheek, for God’s sake. Bloody hell, you’re as bad as they are, reading more into something than there is.’

  Her brows shot up, and when she spoke, her tone was icy. ‘Don’t speak to me like that. There’s a photo of you being kissed by a famous actress wearing nothing more than a dressing gown splashed across the front page of a national newspaper, so I don’t think you’re in any position to take the moral high ground with me!’


  Throwing back the covers, he jumped out of bed and reached for a pair of shorts. Yanking them on, he turned to face her, hating the look of distrust on her face. ‘Christ, if that’s what you think of me, you’d better get the hell out of my bed.’

  ‘Good idea!’ She tossed his phone down and got out, marching towards the bedroom door.

  She’d almost reached it, when common sense crashed through the anger and he ran to catch her, shoving the door shut just as she’d tugged it open. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be taking it out on you.’

  Igraine stayed with her back towards him, shoulders high around her ears. ‘You said she was a client …’

  ‘And only a client, I swear to you. I showed up because she wanted some alterations to a job I’d quoted and she tried to throw herself at me.’ Taking a risk, he placed a hand around her arm. ‘It was the same day you phoned me, that was why I was so distracted and didn’t pay proper attention to what you were saying to me.’

  She turned to face him. ‘You were in her house when I called?’

  Nodding, he reached for her hand. ‘You saved me from the most embarrassing situation of my life. Turns out Tony Cornwall isn’t the hero everyone thinks he is. He’s cheated on her for years, and she thought she might be able to get her own back.’ Gesturing behind him towards the phone on the bed, he continued to explain, hoping she’d believe what was sounding ridiculous to his own ears. ‘She got really upset and ended up pouring the whole sorry story out to me over a cup of tea. That kiss was nothing, just her way of saying thank you because I didn’t embarrass her.’

  Igraine’s expression softened. ‘Poor thing, she must’ve been mortified.’

  The relief flooding through him threatened to make him giddy. She believed him. Thank God.

  A scowl of suspicion clouded her face. ‘Is that why you changed your mind and took the job up here?’

  It was on the tip of his tongue to deny it completely, but any lie between them now could spell disaster. ‘I won’t deny that the chance to escape London had its merits, but I wouldn’t use you like that. As soon as I saw the photos you’d taken, I fell in love with the place.’ He reached for her hand, deciding there should be total honesty between them. ‘Bluebell Castle isn’t the only thing I’m falling in love with.’

  He could tell he’d taken her by surprise from the way she stared up at him, mouth shaping a little ‘O’ of surprise. ‘Iggy,’ he reached for her hand, but his bloody phone started beeping again.

  ‘We’ll talk later.’ With a smile that could hardly be called encouraging, she evaded his grasp and slipped out of the room.

  ‘Damn,’ he said to the empty air, wondering if he should go after her. His phone beeped again, and the next curse which left his lips wasn’t so mild. He needed to sorted this mess out first, and just hope his hasty words hadn’t inadvertently created another.

  Chapter 16

  Dread had filled Igraine at the prospect of Helena tagging along to Lucie’s dress shopping day. It was bad enough feeling like an intruder herself, but her mother had never been one for taking a back seat and Iggy feared she would steamroller over quiet, gentle Constance. Added to that was the constant feedback loop in her brain. Will had said he loved her-well, as near as made no difference-and she’d bolted from the room like a startled colt.

  She’d regretted leaving the moment she walked out of his room, but then she’d seen her mother’s bedroom door opening and she’d been too busy sprinting around the corner before she got caught sneaking around to worry about it. Showered and dressed, she’d been sucked into the vortex of Hurricane Helena and was still reeling. Though, she’d been an absolute angel to both Lucie and Constance, she’d still taken every chance to have a little dig at Iggy whenever the other two weren’t around.

  When they arrived at the boutique, Helena immediately ordered a bottle of champagne to be served-making a big show of assuring them she would pay for it-and something of a party atmosphere settled over the private fitting room on the upper floor of the boutique.

  Only when Lucie actively sought her opinion, confessing to feeling hopeless in the face of so many different shapes and styles of gowns did Helena speak up. She pulled the boutique owner into the discussion, and the two of them debated the pros and cons of fishtails, empire and princess lines, most of which had gone straight over Iggy’s head. She knew how to dress herself, knew what suited her shape but had never been a follower of any particular fashion trend.

  When it came to what Iggy should be wearing, however, Helena showed no such restraint. Not wanting to cause a scene on Lucie’s special day, Iggy had grabbed a handful of gowns and retreated into one of the changing rooms for a respite. She should’ve known it would take more than a curtain to keep Helena at bay.

  ‘What about this one? It’s not too fussy and will make the most of your figure.’ A hand dangling a drape of sage green satin from a padded hanger thrust through the changing room curtain, followed a few moments later by her mother’s face. ‘The colour will look lovely and fresh, even on the hottest day.’ She waved the hanger towards Iggy, indicating she should take it.

  Iggy stared for a moment, waiting for the other shoe to drop, for one of Helena’s trademark acid asides to take the sheen off the seeming pleasant façade. It didn’t take long.

  ‘You should really invest in some Spanx, darling, they’re a godsend for women with ample hips like yours.’

  It took all of her willpower not to look in the mirror behind her, or to drop a hand to shield the curves of her body. She was fit and healthy and had no issues with her physique, but it still stung her pride. Wordlessly, she took the dress her mother had brought, and hung it on the hook in front of her so she could study the lines more closely.

  The simple sheath had spaghetti-thin straps, a scooped cowl neckline which would hint at rather than reveal her décolletage and a flowing skirt created by some cleverly inserted extra panels of material. Though she wanted to reject it out of sheer irritation with her mother, she couldn’t stop looking at it. It was gorgeous, and-she reached out a tentative finger to stroke the shiny fabric-soft as a cloud. ‘Don’t you think it’s a little bit strappy for church?’

  ‘There’s a jacket that goes with it.’ Helena thrust her other hand through the curtain.

  Trying to ignore the smug expression on her mother’s face, Iggy studied the lace bolero jacket in the exact same shade as the dress. The sleeves looked as though they would come to the middle of her upper arms, and the scalloped edges of the lace would soften the muscular lines of her triceps. It was a more delicate garment than she would have instinctively chosen for herself, but her heart skipped a little at the sight of it.

  ‘I know it’s not your sort of thing, but it won’t do any harm to dress a bit more femininely even if it’s only for one day. All I’ve seen you in so far is jeans and trousers.’

  ‘I was wearing a dress the day you arrived,’ Iggy retorted before she could stop herself. Damn it, she knew better than to let Helena know any of her petty strikes were hitting their mark.

  ‘If you can call it that. It looked like something you’d stolen from one of your brother’s wardrobes.’ Helena shook her head. ‘Your father always did spoil you, letting you run wild instead of ensuring you had the kind of education fitting for a lady.’

  Okay, now she’d gone too far. ‘Don’t you dare say one word against him, Mother. Not. One. Word.’

  ‘I’m only trying to do what’s best for you, Igraine, that’s all. I’ll go and see how Lucie’s doing and give you a chance to get a hold of yourself.’ Lower lip trembling, Helena flounced through the curtain.

  Feeling hot and bothered, Iggy pressed her face against the cool glass of the mirror. ‘God, give me the strength not to strangle her before the day is out,’ she muttered.

  Tempted as she was to hide out in the dressing room for the rest of the morning, there was no way of avoiding Helena forever. Deciding to bite the bullet and get it over with, Iggy reached for t
he dress. It fit like it had been handmade for her. Clinging where it needed to and skimming over her hips and thighs to fall to her feet. The hem brushed the floor, but once she had suitable shoes on, the length would be perfect.

  Taking care with the delicate lace of the bolero jacket, she slipped it over her shoulders and settled the edges so they framed the soft cowl neck of the dress. It instantly transformed the dress from sophisticated to demure and would be perfect to wear in church, and for the official photographs. She could always take it off later once the reception got into full swing. A small smile played over her lips as she imagined the look on Will’s face when she removed the jacket before they took to the floor for a slow dance. Panic and pleasure rippled through her. Will had said he loved her.

  ‘How are you getting on, darling?’ It was Helena again, sounding for all the world as though they shopped together every day, and had fun whilst they were at it.

  At least the interruption stopped her mooning over Will. She couldn’t think about him now, couldn’t give voice to the hopes and fears his earlier declaration had stirred up within her. Today was all about Lucie and the wedding. ‘I’m coming out.’ Taking one last look over her reflection, Iggy sucked in a deep breath and pulled the curtains open.

  ‘Oh.’ She wasn’t sure which of the two women seated on the circular banquette in the middle of the room had made the little sound, but they were both beaming up at her, Helena with a hint of triumph, Constance with tears sparkling in her eyes.

  ‘You look beautiful,’ Constance said. ‘Simply gorgeous.’ Dabbing a finger to the corner of her eye, she turned to Helena beside her. ‘You really have the perfect eye for this kind of thing. Perhaps you’d like to help me with my outfit, too.’

  Iggy gulped, hoping Constance knew what she was letting herself in for. Although, it had to be said that Helena had been on her very best behaviour towards Lucie, so perhaps she’d manage to do the same towards Constance, too.