The Bad Boy Wants Me: A Bad Boy Romance (25 page)

She turned away and stood quietly with her back to me. Her accent and her manner were all reminiscent of someone from a much higher class than the people who frequented The Dirty Aristocrat.  Perhaps it was that disconnect, that thread hanging loose from the sweater that made me bring her home with me. I helped her out of her coat and tossed it on top of mine.

‘Want a drink?’ I asked walking into the hallway.

‘Screwdriver, heavy on the screw.’

I turned to face her. Her expression was bland and yet there was something about her. Something I couldn’t place my finger on. She was sexually aggressive in a fake way. I understood Kitty. You got what you saw. I didn’t understand this one. ‘What did you say your name was again?’

She smiled. ‘Chloe.’

‘Right,’ I said and carried on walking towards the bar. I poured myself a large cognac.

‘Did you fuck the slut in the red dress in the toilets?’

I let the fiery liquid run down my throat. ‘Yup.’

‘Was she any good?’

I looked at her curiously. ‘Why did you come back with me?’

‘I liked what you did to her on the dance floor.’

Somehow that was not the end of the story. ‘And?’

She bit her bottom lip. ‘My mother knows yours.’

My mouth tightened. Ah, the loose thread waiting to ruin the entire sweater. ‘Look, I went to The Dirty Aristocrat for a mindless fuck and I brought you back here for more of the same. If you’re looking for a relationship I’m not the guy for you.’

‘You’re exactly the guy for me. Wouldn’t you like a hot little cocksucker to finish the night with?’

I smiled, my cock twitching. ‘Yes, I could do with a hot little cocksucker.’

‘Then you won’t find a better one this side of the Atlantic,’ she said huskily.

I threw my drink down my throat and said, ‘What are you waiting for then?’

The hot little cocksucker got on all fours and fucking
crawled
towards me. When she reached me she rose to her knees, unzipped my jeans, and with her mouth stretched wide around my cock she began to swallow it like she was starving.  

Tawny Maxwell

Barrington Manor, Bedfordshire

It must have been hours before I finally raised my head from his body and looked around me. The fire had become embers, and there was no warmth left in him. A light pinkish-brown mucous was coming from his nose. I scrunched a bit of tissue and gently inserted it into his nostrils.

‘You’re free now,’ I whispered.

There was no answer.

Time to go find the good doctor. Time to start the whole merry-go-round. I straightened my back and walked down the great staircase with its blue runner carpet. On the walls were priceless paintings. I found the doctor sitting in the Yellow Room reading a book. It was a grand room with several sets of superb hand-painted Oriental wallpaper depicting stunning artwork of idyllic scenes from everyday life in ancient China.

‘He’s gone,’ I said, and it surprised me how perfectly calm my voice was. Inside I felt as brittle as glass.

Dr. Jensen’s eyes flashed dislike. He had always distrusted me.  His absolute loyalty to Robert meant I would always be the enemy. He would never allow me to administer any medicine. Always it was him or the nurse who did it. Everything was kept in a locked cupboard. As if they were afraid I would hurry him to his death. They had no idea.

If only they knew my secret. But they will never know. I will never tell.

Wordlessly, he ground his cigar into the side of the ashtray and, snapping up his little black bag, left the room. I hugged myself and thought of him entering the room, checking for signs of life in Robert’s still form. The room felt cold. I looked at the goblet of brandy he had left half-drunk and I wished for a drink, but I needed all my wits about me.

I stood by the window staring out at the darkness until Dr. Jensen’s image appeared on the glass beside me.

‘He’s stone cold,’ he accused.

The cold hostility was like a slap in my face. He would never have spoken to me like that while Robert was alive. I reacted in the only way I knew how. Aggressively. Not the way Robert had taught me, but how my mother had fought all her wars.

‘What do you expect? He
is
dead,’ I said.

His eyes were narrowed and suspicious. ‘How long ago since he died?’

‘He went ages ago.’

He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘You don’t do yourself any favors.’

I turned around and looked at him challengingly. ‘Would you pity me if I cried?’

‘I wouldn’t waste my pity on you. You got exactly what you wanted. It’s all yours now. Congratulations,’ he sneered.

A bead of cold sweat raced down my spine. I never wanted it. My dream was completely different. It was small and sweet and wonderfully ordinary. ‘It’s not all mine. Robert had three children.’

His smile was cold and his voice stabbed. ‘Come, come, Mrs. Maxwell, let’s not play childish games. I think we both know how this cookie will crumble. You worked bloody hard for it and now you get the lion’s share.’

I took a deep breath. This was just the beginning. Everyone was going to say this and if they did not, they were going to think it. I might as well get used to it. ‘Robert was no one’s fool. He did exactly what he wanted at all times.’

‘I’ll have to put it into my report that you did not come down to report his passing earlier.’

‘Go ahead,’ I challenged. I had nothing to fear. There was nothing anybody could do to me now.

He stared at me. ‘Why didn’t you? I might have been able to do something for him.’

‘What for, Doctor? So he could suffer the bedpan for a few more hours or days? He had enough. He
wanted
to go.’

‘Careful, Mrs. Maxwell, you’re revealing your true self and it’s not a pretty sight. I suggest a little more subterfuge,’ he said scornfully.

It was at the tip of my tongue to rage at him, but what would be the point? Robert was gone, and I was alone in a poisonous environment.

‘Perhaps it would be better if you left,’ I told him.

We stared at each other. I couldn’t understand why he was suddenly so openly hostile.

His lip curled. ‘What an excellent suggestion.’

With my insides churning and my heart troubled, I watched him stalk out of the room. When I could no longer hear the tread of his shoes, I turned around and carried on staring at the night. It had begun to snow. Soft, beautiful, big flakes. If it carried on it would be a winter wonderland tomorrow.

The butler, James, came in.

I saw his reflection in the glass and turned around to face him. He had been with Robert for twenty years. His bearing, as always, was erect and stiff.

He coughed politely.

‘What is it, James?’ I asked. My voice sounded tired and listless.

‘I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I couldn’t help overhearing. It used to break his heart to think of you alone in this den of vipers. You have to find a way to be nice to them. You can’t carry on like this.’ His voice was grave.

I hugged myself. The quiet strength of James seemed to cross the room and calm down my chaotic thoughts and feelings. ‘I know, James. I know I’m not doing myself any favors. Why can’t they see how much I loved him?’

‘It doesn’t matter what they think, Mam. The master always knew.’

I smiled sadly. ‘Yes, he knew.’

He nodded. ‘Can I get you something to drink, Mam? A pot of tea perhaps?’

‘A pot of tea sounds lovely. Thank you, James.’

‘Very good, Mam.’ He bowed in that old-fashioned way of his. I never thought man-servants like him existed outside of books. In fact, when I first came to this house, it shocked me to learn that he carefully ironed any little creases out of the morning newspapers before he brought it up to Robert. He was already at the door when I opened my mouth and called to him.

He turned around, his expression polite and helpful. ‘Yes, Mam.’

‘Thank you. Thank you for everything you did for Robert,’ I said.

His expression softened. ‘It was an honor to serve Mr. Maxwell.’

I bit my lip. ‘You will stay on, won’t you, James?’

He allowed himself a small smile. ‘I’d be delighted to, Mam.’

‘Thank you.’ I almost cried out with relief. I needed people around me I could trust. The last time I felt this vulnerable was when my mom died and I was all alone in a trailer and medical bills I could not pay. At that time, I had run away from my past, my debts, my pain. I had come to England and found Robert.

‘If you are agreeable I will take upon myself the task of informing the staff of Mr. Maxwell’s passing.’

I exhaled. ‘Yes, thank you. That would be very helpful,’ I said in acceptance of his kind offer.

He paused.

‘What?’ I prompted.

‘It would be prudent for you to inform Lord Greystoke as soon as possible,’ he said quietly.

I felt every cell in my body shrink at the thought.

‘It is what Mr. Maxwell would have expected.’

I nodded slowly. ‘Yes, you are right. Of course I will. I’ll call him right now.’

‘I’ll go and see about your tea.’

When his footsteps died away I walked up to the phone. I knew Ivan De Greystoke’s number by heart. Robert had forced me to memorize it.

‘He is the only one you can trust. No one else is to be trusted. No matter how nice they seem to be,’ he said again and again. 

I dialed his Ivan’s number and waited nervously. Some part of me hoped he was asleep and I could just leave a message on his answer phone, but he picked up my call on the third ring.

‘Is he gone?’ His voice was business-like and abrupt. It was so late, I must have pulled him out of bed, and yet he sounded so wide-awake, so unyieldingly hard.

‘Yes,’ I whispered, my hands gripping the telephone hard.

‘I’d like a word with the doctor. Put him on,’ he instructed. No sorry for your loss, or any kind of platitude for the grieving widow.

I closed my eyes. ‘Dr. Jensen left a little while ago.’

Even across the distance I felt his displeasure and irritation. I could imagine exactly the forbidding expression on the most arrogant, aristocratically chiseled, granite-like face I ever had the misfortune to meet. The only redeeming feature in his firmly set, hard face were the surprisingly full and sensuous lips.

Although I had assumed he must have been in bed, in my imagination he was still dressed in a suit or a dinner jacket. I had never seen him in anything else. Each one splendidly cut and terribly civilized, but unable to hide the raw, animal power of the lean, powerful body beneath. At six feet five inches and wide shoulders rippling with muscles he towered over most men.

I heard a woman’s voice, glamorous and trailing, ask, ‘Who is it, Ivan darling?’

His reply was brisk and left no doubt as to exactly what he thought of me, a pain in his neck. ‘No one. This is will only take a few minutes. Get back in bed.’

Stung, I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘I’ll start making the funeral arrangements tomorrow.’

There was a second, pregnant with a disbelieving silence before he spoke again, his voice strangely quiet. ‘Everything has already been taken care of. My secretary, Theresa, will liaise with you so you know where and when to present yourself.’

‘Oh,’ I said, at loss for words.

Of course, how silly of me. Obviously, everything had been done. It was not how it was when my stepfather died, when we ran around trying to arrange everything while he lay in the mortuary. Robert’s funeral would be a well-attended affair requiring much planning ahead.

‘I’ll see you at the funeral,’ he said, and the line went dead.

I replaced the receiver back on its hook and slowly walking to the window stared at the coating of snow on the edges of the windowpane. Ivan De Greystoke had eyes the color of sunlight falling on gray tinsel, but the moment Robert introduced me as his wife, they became glacial.

Expressionlessly, he extended his hand and took mine in a warm, strong clasp. I had not wanted to shake hands with him, not wanted any part of his body to touch mine, but when our skin met, I was overcome with the strangest sensation of wanting to prolong the contact.