‘Miss Manning,’ he began, but the girls chose that moment to reappear, and, oh! the sight of them was enough to make me cry out in dismay.
Their pinafores were torn and filthy, their faces smeared with mud, their ringlets tangled with dead leaves and twigs.
‘I thought you said hide and seek,’ remarked his lordship. ‘Not stick in the mud.’ He paused. ‘Well, I had come out here to invite these two young ladies to take tea with me, but it is clear that they are in no condition to do so.’
Even through the caked-on dirt, their faces could be seen to fall. In amongst my anger and distress, I felt a pang of sympathy for them.
‘Oh, Papa,’ remonstrated Maria, but he waved them away.
‘Go and put yourselves into a bath. I will speak to you in my study after tea. And, since I now require company for that repast, I will invite instead Miss Manning here.’
Maria and Susannah stomped off with murder in their eyes, and all directed at me.
‘Would you do me the honour?’ asked Lord Harville, standing and extending his arm.
How strange it felt to enter the house on his lordship’s arm – surely hardly appropriate, and yet also thrilling in the extreme. I am not a lady, but I certainly felt like one at that moment. I enjoyed it entirely too much.
At tea, he was terribly kind and managed to tease out from me the difficulties I had been having with the girls. I begged him not to be harsh with them but he made me no promises.
‘But do you see your way to establishing a firmer footing with them?’ he asked me. ‘For Rome, of course, was not built in a day, and I fear even the architects of that eminent city might themselves have baulked at the challenge offered to them by my daughters. But I think there is hope. I must allow myself that, at least.’
‘Oh, I am sure it is but a matter of their becoming accustomed to me,’ I said.
I did so want to reassure him – and myself at the same time – that I allowed a breath of optimism to enter my hitherto despairing soul.
‘I do not know how they can treat you ill,’ he said, his peculiar eyes upon me again. ‘I am sure I never could.’
By the time I was sure I had heard him aright, a maid came in, breaking the unholy silence between us. I excused myself immediately, claiming a headache.
What did I fear? Why did I leave so precipitately?
I scarcely know myself.
‘Woah, cliffhanger,’ said Jason. ‘He’s a fast worker, though, I’ll give him that.’
‘Lonely, I suppose,’ said Jenna. ‘Widower, rattling around in that house with two wild daughters. I bet he couldn’t believe his luck when he got a governess who was young and pretty.’
‘Do you think he ends up marrying her, though?’ asked Jason dubiously. ‘He could probably have talked her into bed without all that.’
‘Only one way to find out,’ said Jenna briskly, turning a page.
January 26th
I have been in such torment, such precious torment, and now it has been transformed into a sparkling ocean of pure joy.
‘Wow,’ said Jason with feeling. ‘Carry on.’
These past four days I have kept as strictly as I can to the school room and my bedchamber, for fear of encountering Lord Harville. I could not bring myself to express aloud, or even in my thoughts, my reasons for doing so, but I can say it now. It is because I love him. Yes, I love him. I have been fascinated by him since the moment I entered this house. No man has ever looked at me so, with such a penetrating need to understand what he sees. To begin with, it frightened me, for I could not accept that such a man might have any interest in me. I suspected that he might have some nefarious intention and I made sure to be circumspect. Besides, Susannah and Maria took up quite all of my time, with their demands and their disappearances and their long periods of mute defiance.
I was exhausted and low in spirits this evening, having bade them goodnight and taken my place in my window seat with my work basket.
A mournful wind set about the house and I was glad of my little fire, though it was burning low and I did not want to disturb the housekeeper by asking for more fuel. They are unfriendly enough in the servants’ hall; I have no desire to enter into any intercourse with them that is not strictly necessary.
Ah, but soon all of that will change . . .
But I gallop ahead of myself. There I sat, in my little nook, netting a new purse, when I heard a knock at my door.
Thinking it to be one of the girls complaining of an upset stomach or a quarrel with the other, I called for the knocker to enter.
Imagine my confusion – and my blushes – when my visitor proved to be his lordship. He was dressed formally, for dinner, in a silk waistcoat and tails, his hair brushed and curled.
‘Your lordship,’ I said, rising from my seat. ‘Is something amiss?’
‘Yes,’ he said, and his voice was so hollow it alarmed me even more. ‘A very great deal is amiss. Dine with me, Miss Manning, and I will expand on the theme.’
‘Oh . . . but . . . my dress.’ I was so plainly attired, and I possessed nothing suitable for the dining table of a lord.
‘Your dress is nothing to the purpose,’ he said, and he was impatient, not his usual courteous self. ‘Dine with me, damn you.’
In my shock at his uncouth language, I could do nothing but follow him downstairs.
The table was set for two and a bowl of soup awaited me, together with a crystal flute of wine.
‘I am honoured, my lord,’ I said, taking my seat. ‘But also somewhat surprised. Might I ask your reasons for inviting me to dine with you tonight?’
‘Yes, you might,’ he said, eyeing me as he unrolled his napkin. ‘The fact is, Miss Manning, I have admired you from the first moment I laid eyes upon you.’
The words were clear, and yet they did not strike my ear in a manner that allowed them to sink in. I had to ask him to repeat them.
‘I see no reason to keep silent on the matter,’ he continued. ‘You are unattached, and so am I. Therefore, it seems nothing prevents me from making a declaration. Miss Manning, I love you, and I want to make you my wife.’
I stared down at the soup, which was a white soup, topped with a sprig of parsley so highly coloured I doubted its veracity. It swam before my eyes, green and white, with the suggestion of a skin forming at the edges of the bowl.
‘I wonder if you can mean this,’ I whispered. ‘For it is so strange.’
‘What the devil’s strange about it?’ He banged his soup spoon on the tablecloth. ‘A single man proposes marriage to a single woman. It happens every day.’
‘Not to me.’
‘Well, I should hope not. Can’t have any old Tom, Dick and Harry proposing to my sweetheart, can I?’
His sweetheart!
The words gave me courage to face him across the table.
‘It is so unaccountable that you . . . should look at me,’ I explained.
‘You’re a handsome woman,’ he said, and I blushed anew. ‘But I suppose you refer to our disparity in rank and station. Well, well, that’s all the same to me. I am a man in need of a wife, and a mother to my children. You are a single woman in need of protection. Marry me, Miss Manning, and your family will never again know want or distress.’
The way he phrased it, like a bargain at market, wounded me. But I saw the sense of it all the same. And he had struck me with the hand of love already. I only needed the black rush of fear at the enormity of the decision to recede and then I would be able to . . .
I spoke.
‘Yes, my lord, I will marry you.’
He tapped his bowl with his spoon as if formally sealing the contract.
‘Good,’ he said. ‘That’s settled. Now, will you take some veal?’
‘What a romantic bastard,’ observed Jason.
Jenna’s laugh was a little rueful. ‘What is she getting herself into?’ she wondered.
‘Never mind her,’ said Jason, removing the book from Jenna’s hand and laying it ge
ntly on the table before cupping her cheek. ‘What have you got yourself into, eh?’
Jenna recognised the dark look in his eye and felt the familiar thrill.
‘What do you mean?’ she whispered.
‘You haven’t forgotten that bargain we made, have you? Back at the services?’
‘Oh.’ Her mind returned to that crowded, striplit café and the way she had walked back into it, knickerless beneath her skirt. ‘No.’
‘You get to drive my career. I get to drive you. And I feel in the mood for a nice drive tonight.’
‘What, after all that time we spent on the M1 today?’
But Jenna’s voice wavered and she knew Jason wouldn’t be diverted with a quip.
‘That was a boring drive. Too smooth. I’m thinking of something a little bit . . .’ He leant forward, his breath advancing towards her ear, then his lips were there. ‘Rougher.’
‘A dirt track?’ suggested Jenna, then she laughed with shock and her hand flew to her mouth at the image that came to mind.
Jason chuckled into her ear.
She could have kicked herself.
‘If that’s what you want . . .’
‘I was joking,’ she said hastily. ‘I meant . . . more of a B road.’
‘You want me to take the B route, eh?’
Oh God, this was even worse!
‘No, the A road,’ she said decisively. ‘Jason, can we just say it straight out? I’m just being stupid, not issuing an invitation to you to . . . to . . . oh God.’
‘Have your arse?’ he murmured, kissing her eartip.
‘Not tonight,’ she said and she was firm.
‘But you’re not saying never?’
‘I’m not . . . saying . . . oh, that feels good.’
He was kissing the space below her earlobe, pushing the tip of his tongue into the yielding skin of her neck. His teeth nipped, ever so faintly, at the dampened patches, sending tingles through her that made her want to swoon.
Moving swiftly and without hesitation, he laid her flat on her back on the sofa, covering her with his own weight. She enjoyed the stalwart heaviness of him, the breadth of his chest, the length of his legs as they slid into position between hers.
He was wearing jeans and his shirt had come untucked from the waistband so she could reach inside and put her palm to the warm, hairy expanse inside.
‘You need a good suit,’ she’d said earlier on when they dressed for dinner. ‘For meetings.’
‘Oh yeah?’ he’d retorted. ‘Well, if you get to dress me, I get to dress you. So watch it.’
She’d brushed the remark aside at the time as typical Jason chippiness, but now, as his lips descended on hers and she felt the domination of his body upon her, it returned to her. Jason needed some control over his life. He was going to make her pay for what she took from him in full.
The thought aroused her as she pictured herself made to attend meetings in tiny shiny miniskirts and fishnet bralets, Jason by her side in a sharp Prada suit, one hand on her tightly-packed bottom.
Of course it couldn’t happen in real life. Imagine the press! But the thought of it made her breath come more quickly, and she wriggled urgently underneath Jason’s bulk.
He released her lips and, to her considerable dismay, hauled himself off her.
‘Get your clothes off,’ he said gruffly. ‘Come on. Or do I have to rip them off you?’
She struggled to her feet, conscious of how her skirt had ridden up and her shirt was half-undone already. She was hardly the image of elegance she’d portrayed in the hotel restaurant.
She shucked off her high-heeled pumps and got to work on the remaining buttons with fumbling fingers. She tried to retain a modicum of poise, keeping a level, challenging gaze upon Jason as she worked. He stood, smirking slightly, enjoying the show, trying not to draw attention to his bulging crotch.
‘You ever seen a strip show?’ he asked her as she began folding the shirt with fussy precision. ‘They don’t fold their gear up. Just put the bloody thing down and get on.’
‘I’ve never seen a strip show,’ she said, feeling a little prick of absurd pain at having to discard the shirt unfolded. ‘It’s not really my kind of thing.’
‘I thought LA was full of sleaze. City of Vice and all that.’
‘Not my LA. I didn’t hang around Sunset Strip much.’
She unzipped her skirt, giving Jason an annoyed glare. Why would he expect her to have watched strippers? Did he think she’d spent her evenings snorting coke off hundred dollar bills in high end brothels? Nothing of the sort. She’d spent most of them on the phone, toying with freshly-delivered macrobiotic carb-free food in cartons. Wondering where Deano was.
The memory of all that loneliness washed over her as her skirt slithered down her stockinged legs.
Immediately Jason made a lunge for her, hooking the backs of her knees so that she tumbled on top of him, knocking scatter cushions everywhere.
‘Can’t resist a pair of stockings,’ he growled. ‘You put those on to get this, didn’t you?’
‘What if I did?’ she said, straddling his hips, trying her best to pin him down although it proved impossible.
‘All through that meal,’ he said, ‘you were thinking about getting me alone afterwards. I know you. I know what you’re like. Sex mad.’
She giggled, bending her face to his ear to purr into it. ‘Pot, meet kettle.’
He had her flipped over on to her stomach in an instant, and he crouched over her with his hands on her shoulders.
‘Yeah, well, if you don’t want me to be sex mad, you shouldn’t be so damn sexy, should you?’ he accused.
‘I can’t help it,’ she spluttered, his weight on her back forcing the breath from her lungs.
‘You do it on purpose.’
He braced an arm beneath her ribcage and pulled her up on to all fours. At least she could breathe again, but somehow her lungs didn’t want to do it properly. And who cared what her lungs were up to when her stomach was fluttering like a butterfly farm? Not to mention the hot, soaked condition of her knickers.
‘What do you want me to do about it?’ she asked, hoping the answer would involve the rapid conjunction of intimate body parts.
‘Absolutely nothing,’ he purred, ripping down her knickers.
And with that, he was inside her. No ceremony, no sweet talk, no stroking and feathering, just the quick, hot connection they both craved.
She didn’t know when or how he had shucked down his trousers and pants, but somewhere in those few panting, wanting moments between falling on the couch and getting nailed, he had managed.
What a talent, she thought, her head swimming with the delicious dirtiness of what he did to her. Well spotted, Jenna.
Now his hand was on her neck, holding her in position so he could thrust hard without fear of her collapsing forward.
She surrendered to everything: his control, her own desire for it, the primitive urgency of the coupling, letting herself fall into it and forget all else.
He let go of her neck and instead grabbed a ponytail of hair, wrapping it tight about his fist. She pushed her hips back, signalling how much she loved what he did to her, raising her bottom to him.
He smacked it, hard, but not too hard to break her intense focus on taking pleasure from her submission.
He grunted now with each thrust, plunging deeper. It was as if he was determined to find something hidden at her centre, a core of her, perhaps her soul. She knew he was demanding something of her.
She thought she knew what it was, too. She worked hard to sustain the rhythm they established and to make sure each forward drive of his cock rubbed against that crucial little spot inside her. He wanted her to come. He wanted her to feel that she owed him her pleasure. For that to happen, she must first let it overwhelm her.
‘Yes,’ she muttered, once she was sure she was on course to her orgasm. The first low stirrings rushed up from the pit of her stomach, then a tremendous climax rad
iated outwards from her g-spot, causing her to press her mouth to the arm of the sofa and howl into the buttoned leather.
‘Yes, yes,’ answered Jason, slamming into her. ‘You love it.’
He still tugged at her scalp but she felt no pain, only a melting, maddening tingling all over.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Give it to me.’
He grabbed her hips and emptied inside her, for so long that she thought there would be nothing left inside him, just a boneless shell of him lying limp on the sofa.
She was almost right.
When she managed to wriggle out from underneath him, he looked as if he might never move again.
‘Are you OK?’ she whispered, brushing his sweat-damp brow.
An exhalation parted his lips. It might have been some kind of laugh.
‘Fuckin’ hell,’ he whispered. ‘What do you think?’
‘You look . . .’
‘Shagged out? Yeah. There’s a reason for that.’
He encircled her with a shaking arm and brought her down to lie, squashed between him and the sofa back, leather on one side, quivering flesh and hot blood on the other.
‘I do love you, you know,’ she said, rubbing her forehead against his.
She felt his eyelashes flutter on her cheek.
‘Mutual,’ he said. ‘Don’t ever stop.’
Chapter Seven
JENNA WOKE UP the next morning feeling sore. Her bones ached and she needed a shower more than she needed air. Jason had kept her up half the night. If there was any justice, he should be feeling even worse.
She turned reluctantly to her side, ready to ask him, but he wasn’t there.
Must be in the shower, she thought groggily, but no sounds of water splashing on to the wet room floor could be heard.
She yawned and tried to prop herself on her elbows for a squint round the dim room. Too much effort. She flopped back down and reached for her phone on the bedside table. That made her open her eyes. Half past nine already! And she had meetings scheduled for eleven and two o’clock today.
She edged herself into a sitting position, wincing at the sting between her legs.
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