Outbid by the Boss

by Stephanie Browning

  Blissfully, she wandered to the window and reveled in the beauty of the rolling countryside. Her heart thumped and an idiotic grin spread across her face. He'd told her he loved her!

  Without any doubt, she knew that she loved him, and she truly believed he'd meant his own declaration to her. But love had to be unconditional if it was going to work, and obviously, they didn't trust each other. At least, not completely.

  Methodically, Sam began to tick off the obstacles in their path. She had made it clear to Chas from the beginning that her background was very different from his, in itself not so bad. But unbeknownst to both of them, her grandparents had worked for his and the last candlestick bound them together in the most unusual way.

  With Sam claiming her interest in the eleventh candlestick was a professional one, and Chas not showing her his collection, it was the pot calling the kettle black. And yet when she’d discovered his set, they'd had a terrible row. He still didn't know about the other candlestick back in her flat, and now she was too scared to tell him.

  She had no excuse. Not now, not after what George had told her about their shared family history. The rest of the story had to come from Chas, he'd told her. Let him explain.

  But he hadn't.

  And nor had she.

  But she was going to as soon as she finished packing up those last catalogue notes.

  She was, in fact, lowering the lid on the box when Chas returned a half-hour later. "Nice timing." Her heart leapt at the way the air charged as the room filled with his presence.

  When he didn't respond, she glanced up to see him striding towards her, muscles rippling with masculine intent. Still clad in jeans and t-shirt from their earlier ride, he was a magnificent sight. Sam felt her mouth go dry.

  She edged away from the table, her earlier determination completely forgotten.

  He was upon her now, so close the heat from their bodies met and mingled in a cloud of musky desire.

  "If you have any complaints about my work ethic, Miss Redfern..." Chas breathed in her ear, "feel free to take them up with management. In fact…” he nipped the tip of her lobe, “why not take them directly to your boss...but do be careful, he can be very demanding."

  With that, he cupped her bottom and drew her closer and closer until she could feel just how demanding he could be.

  He backed up against the library table and slid his hands down the backs of her thighs, parting her legs and lifting her until she found herself straddling him, her knees resting on the table top.

  Erotic images crowded her vision. Her breath quickened to light, fast inhalations of his male scent. Forgetting her resolve and the setting, she reached for him.

  “Would you like me to set up drinks on the terrace?” Mrs. Weekes called from the depths of the hallway.

  Blushing wildly, Sam broke away; Chas grinned wickedly. “Not tonight, Mrs. Weekes, but thank you,” he replied, not a tremor in his voice.

  He twirled a loose strand of Sam’s hair around his fingers. "Mmm," he inhaled. "We have time for a stroll down to the stables before dinner."

  Sam batted his hand away. "Oh, no you don't, not until I've had time to shower and change. And…and I am quite hungry." She caught his expression and hastily added. “For dinner, I mean.”

  Chas smiled and lowered his head to hers. "I’m guessing you have more than one little black dress with you,” he breathed.

  Uncertain, Sam nodded.

  “So how would you feel about wearing one to dinner this evening? It is, after all, our last night together.”

  Sam cleared her throat. “Chas…there’s something I need to tell you…”

  “All you ever need to tell me is how much you love me…” He looked down at her, his blue eyes piercing her to her soul. “In fact I’ve been waiting all day to hear you tell me.”

  “I…I love you beyond measure,” she blurted. “But, I must…”

  He cut her off with a long, deep kiss. “No, we must celebrate…we have an hour until dinner,” he whispered huskily.

  Sam wriggled away from him, heart pounding, feeling a little too breathless for comfort. “Then I had better get moving. It wouldn’t be professional to keep my boss waiting.”

  She nearly ran from the library, equally intent on escaping the throbbing passion Chas raised in her as in making herself as desirable as possible for the man she loved. Later perhaps, the timing would be better for her revelations. Besides, she told herself, if this was going to be their last evening together at Porter Hall, it wouldn’t hurt for him to be fully aware of what he had to lose.

  Even in her quick movements as she scurried down the corridor and entered her room, she realized how much she had come to love this entire house. The setting sun slanted through her window and the slight breeze that flitted through the open casement carried the fresh scent of thriving vegetation and the soothing symphony of the English countryside – bawling sheep, a horse’s whinny and the distant rumble of a motor.

  Sam paused to breathe deeply. In less than a week, all of this had come to symbolize the hidden side of Chas, the soul of the man hidden behind the cool surface of the sophisticated businessman. And knowing both sides of him, she loved him all the more.

  Purposefully, Sam cast aside her working clothes and stepped into the hot shower, lingering a little as the water streamed like her lover’s touch over her soaped body. The finest gold-fitted shower at the New York Plaza Hotel could not have given her the pleasure that this one gave. Because no matter how sophisticated or fun the evening waiting for her turned out to be, no evening would ever feel right again unless Chas was waiting for her.

  She dried herself and stood naked in front of the mirror. She was delighted with her body because Chas had been delighted. All the imperfections she had once fussed over melted from her awareness. She knew she was beautiful.

  Her lingerie was new and lacy, purchased to fit perfectly under the dress she had intended for the Sotheby’s cocktail party. The dress flowed across her skin, silky and flattering. Her chosen jewelry, small emerald stones in her ears to emphasize her green eyes, and a simple matching necklace that drew the eyes discreetly to her cleavage. She loved the soft feel of the brush stroking through her hair before she swept it up and the cool scent of her carefully applied makeup. She considered a spritz of perfume but decided instead to leave the soap’s lingering scent of roses on her skin.

  She stood a moment in the middle of the room, savoring the silence and the sense of herself perfectly suited to this place. No matter what her origins, it was time for her to come home. Unconsciously, her eyes drifted to the candlestick. A less-than-gentle reminder of how easily she had set aside her earlier determination to tell Chas everything. She had let the moment pass, and slid into his arms instead.

  Distantly, she heard the clock strike and giving herself a little shake, Sam threw off the weight of the past for the desires of the future. She left her room and walked confidently down the corridor, pleased with the swish of fabric around her thighs. Reaching the main staircase, she paused. Chas waited at the bottom, eyes lighting at the sight of her. He wore a tux, the crisp, white shirt highlighting his tanned face, and the fitted jacket emphasizing the broad width of his shoulders, powerful chest, and lean hips.

  Sam’s heart beat a little faster.

  Chas looked up and saw the woman of his dreams pause at the head of the stairs. Her hand rested lightly on the banister as she slowly descended toward him. For an instant, he had a vision of his ancestors descending like Sam, resplendent in the fashions of their time, elegant, sure of themselves. His heart swelled. They had had every advantage, wealth, poise and position, but he doubted that any had been as beloved as this beauty before him.

  He reached out, took her hand and raised it; his lips brushed gently against the backs of her fingers, his gesture of honor and respect for this amazing woman.

  Yet even as he drank in Sam’s undeniable loveliness, Chas knew that if honor was as i
mportant to him as he claimed, he had to share all of his past with her.

  As he led her into the dining room, her quick intake of breath filled him with pride, and with trepidation. Evelyn Weekes had outdone herself. The room was aglow with the light of ten candles. It was probably the first time in more than fifty years that the collection had been on display. He felt Sam’s fingers tighten on his arm. “They’re spectacular,” she whispered. “It’s like walking into a dream.”

  Wordlessly, Chas reached over and covered her hand with his. They noted the chaffing dishes waiting for them on the sideboard, the pair of candles standing elegantly upright in the silver candlesticks at either end, and then turned to take in the gleaming mahogany table. Mrs. Weekes had prepared the place settings so that they could sit across from each other flanked by the remaining candlesticks. It was exactly as Chas had requested. The candlesticks had been grouped in two sets of three to create an oasis of intimacy in the middle of the table. The candle flames flickered ever so slightly as Chas escorted Sam to her seat. “Miss Redfern,” he said releasing her so that he could pull out her chair.

  She reached up to stroke his cheek. “Mr. Porter,” she replied.

  And then with innate grace, she turned, smoothing her dress beneath her as she sat, as elegant and serene as her surroundings. She wore her hair up, and Chas lingered a moment, mentally ravishing his beloved as he trailed his fingers down the nape of her neck, reveling in the softness of her skin and the delicate scent of her hair.

  Breaking the spell, he shifted gears and moved to the end of the table where a bottle of sparkling wine lay waiting in an elaborate silver bucket. His eyes met hers in invitation.

  “Please,” was all he needed to hear. Chas plucked the bottle from its resting place, wrapped it in a white napkin and popped the cork with a flourish. Sam laughed delightedly, and the evening began in earnest. Seared scallops with ginger and lime, beef bourguignon, and a lemon sorbet followed by a chocolate torte and coffee.

  His housekeeper, had indeed, outdone herself.

  “What shall we drink to now?” said Chas returning from the sideboard with a small glass of cognac for each of them.

  “Hmm,” said Sam, touching the glass to her lips. “We’ve toasted us. Mrs. Weekes...”

  “Many times,” Chas agreed.

  “Burton-Porter…Great-Aunt Agnes…Max and Damien…” her eyes danced in the candlelight. “Remember the first time we ate together. At that chichi restaurant in…wherever…”

  God, she was gorgeous, Chas grinned. It had been quite a meal and he’d savored every minute of it. In fact, they both had, laughing over their initial bickering, the fall in the mud and all the daily adventures and misadventures as they grew closer and closer. “The restaurant was in the Cotswolds.”

  “Right.” Sam nodded. “And you said, ‘is there anything we might drink to without getting into a fight?’”

  “And then you said, ‘how about my impeccable taste in silver’?” And there it was, the subject they’d both been avoiding all night. Chas watched the light fade from Sam’s eyes as she realized the import of her words. She set her glass to one side.

  “It’s time, isn’t it?” she said, her hand reaching across the table for his, just as he’d reached for hers in the restaurant. Her touch had electrified him then, and it still did, but now it was filled with love and longing…and hope.

  “Before we go any further, I have something to tell you,” said Chas, “about the candlesticks. I was never just collecting them, I was buying them back, as my grandmother had done, in an effort to restore the family name.” He could feel his jaw tighten as he spoke, telling Sam how his grandfather had dishonored his wife and their home by his lecherous ways. “Before they were married, he had had free rein, claiming more than one young woman from the estate who feared for her livelihood and that of her family, if she dared refuse his advances. When things became….awkward, he paid them off.”

  His eyes were like glaciers. The distaste he felt for the havoc his grandfather had wreaked upon those who depended upon him and upon the estate for their very existence, had dogged him all his life. “And just to make matters worse,” he continued, “he bought them off, not with money, but with plate, giving them exquisite candlesticks that they were unable to sell for fear of being accused of stealing.” Chas could feel his throat constrict. He released Sam’s hand to reach for his cognac, but as he raised it to his mouth, he saw that her face was as white as the linen.

  “Is this too much?”

  Sam shook her head. “No, no. Please, go on.” She clenched her hands under the table where he couldn’t see them. His confession petrified her, yet filled her with resolve at the same time. He was fighting one of his biggest demons by sharing his deepest fears with her. She could do no less now that she knew the truth about her own family.

  Chas sighed. “My poor grandmother had no idea. She was the sacrificial lamb, you see, young, beautiful and wealthy. Her father arranged everything with his daughter’s future husband. I’m sure in the earlier months, my grandmother thought theirs was what a marriage should be, and then my father was born. Once he had his heir, my grandfather simply picked up where he had left off, leaving my grandmother to cope, or not, as she saw fit.” Chas snorted, and took another drink.

  The candles had burned down over the evening; their light cast harsh shadows across the rigid panes of her lover’s face. Sam’s heart went out to him.

  “How many?” She heard herself whisper.

  “Candlesticks? Only two were left when he died, seven when I inherited. My father couldn’t have cared less about the collection, but my grandmother did. She scoured the valley, quietly buying back the five she found. Making amends the best she could.”

  “And the rest?” Sam asked, hoping he hadn’t noticed the quiver in her voice.

  “I used my connections; let certain dealers know I was interested.” Chas waved his arm to encompass the candlesticks positioned about the room. “It took me years to find the next three. And then there you were, bidding on number eleven.” His fingers curled around his glass. “Luckiest day of my life! I know I should have told you sooner, Sam, but it’s not an easy story to share. With anyone. Even you. I was afraid of what you would think of my family, and of me.” His jaw twitched. “Forced to outbid the boss, and then blackmailed into accompanying him to Porter Hall. For a while, even I thought I was just following family tradition, taking advantage of the power they held over those who worked for them. But you understood and you trusted me when not many others would.”

  Sam swallowed hard. The irony was not lost on her as she prepared to test Chas’ mettle even further. “Do you have any idea…” she asked, “where the twelfth candlestick is?”

  “Yes, and no. But I don’t think we’ll ever get our hands on it.”

  “Why not?”

  Chas’ eyes glinted like steel daggers. “Because according to my father, it disappeared along with my grandmother’s maid and one of the grooms. My father was a boy at the time, but he remembered the gossip. There had been a fight. Over the maid. And my grandfather swore if he ever saw either of them again, he’d have them both horsewhipped and thrown in jail.”

  Sam couldn’t hold back a gasp. This was getting more complicated by the minute. “What about your grandmother? What did she say?”

  Chas shook his head. “She had already passed away by the time my father told me the story. Not that it would have made any difference. The candlestick is likely beyond reach. They probably went to Australia…or maybe even Canada.”

  “It was Canada,” whispered Sam.

  The room went still. Across the table, Chas literally froze in place. She could see his mind racing to make sense of what she had just said. For the first time, another horrible fear occurred to her, that he might think she set the whole thing up from the time she arrived in England and went to work for Burton-Porter. But she hadn’t known, not really, where to start or what to look for
. It had been about finding out who she was and where the candlestick fit into her family history. She had her answers, and now Chas deserved to hear them before he jumped to any more wrong conclusions.

  “Your grandmother and mine were more than mistress and servant,” she started tentatively, “They were friends. My grandmother’s name was Grace, by the way. She was lovely and hard-working and honest as the day is long. She was your grandmother’s maid before she was married and came with her to Porter Hall.”

  “It fits perfectly with everything you’ve just told me,” she went on. “But your father had it wrong. My grandmother was in love with a groom, Patrick Quinn. They wanted to get married, but had to keep their plans secret until they had enough money. Unfortunately, my grandmother became pregnant. She couldn’t hide it forever. And once your grandfather caught wind of it, he was furious. You know he considered the household staff his property. He went down to the stables with his horsewhip, only my grandfather knocked him out cold before he had a chance to use it. It was your grandmother who gave them the candlestick and sent them on their way.”

  Exhaustion swept over Sam as she waited for Chas’ response.

  It came with an ice-cold fury. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Samantha Redfern, but my grandmother spent the rest of her life trying to undo the damage her husband, and then her son, caused this family. And not once did she make any mention of your grandmother.”

  But Sam was not backing down. “I grew up with that candlestick,” she said. “In a tiny home in Toronto. With very little money, but with kindness and honour and love. I only knew two things about that candlestick. That it was precious and that there were more like it back in England; any more than that my grandmother would not say.” Sam’s heart was pounding so loudly, she could barely think. Even she had had doubts about her grandparents once she realized the connection. But not anymore. As much as she loved Chas, she had to set the record straight, even if it meant losing him.

  “Unlike the others,” she began, “my grandparents could have easily sold the candlestick. Lots of people emigrated with something portable that they could sell or barter to help them get a new start. But my grandparents never would…your grandmother had made mine promise to never tell anyone how they came by the candlestick, she was that afraid of her husband. So my grandmother never did.”