“You haven’t eaten.”
Frustration darkened his eyes as he got out of his seat and came around the enormous table to sit next to her. “I’m not hungry for food, Anne,” he said, taking hold of her hands. “It’s you I want. Please believe I didn’t sleep with you because I needed your endorsement. I was smitten when I first saw you looking over the top railing of your house.”
The warmth of his hands and the longing in his eyes melted away her doubts, but she couldn’t resist teasing. “I think the Savile row suit and the Burberry briefcase did it for me. Not to mention the old college tie.”
He laughed but then became serious as he stood and lifted the chair out of the way. Her heart did a peculiar flip when he went down on one knee and reached for her hand.
“I can’t offer you a grand mansion, Anne. I don’t even have a ring to slip on your finger at this very moment, but I’ll recover financially once the house is sold. I’m a good barrister, and…”
She had no doubts. “Yes.”
He blinked. “But you have to know what you’re letting yourself in for. I am after all descended from a bastard.”
She leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “But he was a brave and noble bastard and the answer is still yes. I love you, Blaise Emery Quentin de Wolfe.”
He cupped her face in his hands. “Don’t forget the Third.”
She loosened his tie. “Will Michael mind if I sleep in your room?”
“Mind?” he said, getting to his feet. “He’ll be relieved.”
She stood and went into his arms, blatantly pressing the need spiralling between her legs to his hard maleness. “Maybe tonight we could make a start on creating Blaise de Wolfe the Fourth.”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “No condom?”
“No condom.”
His grin stoked the fire of need building inside her. “I like the sound of that,” he rasped.
Ten minutes later, Blaise lay naked in his four-poster bed, sifting his fingers through Anne’s silky curls while she feasted on his cock.
For the first time in a long while he felt optimistic about the future. The woman he loved didn’t care about his financial predicament, and hadn’t looked twice at the state of his untidy bedroom. In fact she’d stripped off her clothes and tossed them to the four corners then urged him out of his with the bold assertion she wanted to taste him.
He’d died and gone to heaven.
He had a feeling there was something she wasn’t telling him, but his need to be inside her was too great to pause for discussion. He tucked a finger under her chin and tilted her face to look at him. “Ride me,” he growled.
She straddled his hips, arched her back and sank onto his arousal, never once taking her smoldering eyes from his. “Anne,” he whispered, “I can’t tell you how good that feels.”
Desire spiralled as she raised up, then sank down again, slowly. “Much better without latex between us,” she breathed.
“Faster,” he urged, clamping his hands on her hips.
Her eyes lost their focus, the warm sheath heated, her throaty moans of delight grew louder as she rode him, up and down, up and down, hands on her breasts, until she growled out her fulfillment at the very moment his seed filled her. “My thoroughbred,” she murmured after collapsing on top of him.
He folded his arms around her, trying to catch his breath. “Well, that turned out to be not quite true, but as long as you think so.”
They lay together in happy silence, breathing together for long minutes until she raised her head to look up at him, her eyes full of love. “The rules of the Sons of the Conquest don’t take into account that illegitimacy was a fact of life in medieval times. Gaetan’s bastardy didn’t make him any less important to the Conqueror, who was himself a bastard.”
He chuckled. “Ah, the whispered sweet nothings of a lover who’s a genealogical researcher,” he teased as his sated cock slid from her body.
She feigned a punch to his bicep and rolled onto her side next to him, her arm draped across his chest. “Mock if you will, but even my own ancestor, Ram de Montbryce fathered an illegitimate son, Caedmon FitzRam. You’ll meet some of his descendants if my half-cousins come to our wedding.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and gathered her closer, his heart full of love and gratitude. “You’re a rare find, Anne Smith.”
She chuckled. “Soon to be Anne de Wolfe, and just wait till I get my teeth into the SOC.”
He wasn’t sure what she meant, but none of that seemed to matter any more. “Speaking of which, how do you feel about getting married here? It’s a family tradition. De Wolfe Hall is approved for civil ceremonies.”
“Perfect,” she cried, climbing back on top of him. “The cousins I told you about will have great ideas about this house.”
She kissed him deeply before he had a chance to ask what she was talking about. As their tongues mated he tasted an enticing blend of chicken salad and his own essence. The need to join with her again stirred, banishing every other thought from his brain.
THE PENNY DROPS
After an early morning round of exhilarating sexual delights, in and out of the shower, Anne and Blaise eventually appeared around ten for breakfast.
Michael made no comment, except to wish them Good Morning with a slight arch of one brow as he poured their coffee.
She’d soon have to answer the questions Blaise had raised earlier, but there was no harm stringing him along a little while longer. She turned to the butler. “Michael, do you have any experience in the hospitality industry?”
Blaise squeezed her hand when the older man stared at her as if she’d spoken Greek. “Darling, he’s spent his whole career ensuring the comfort of our family.”
She soldiered on. “So you wouldn’t be averse to making sure guests were properly taken care of if we turned this house into, let’s say, an exclusive resort.”
Both men looked at each other then at her as if she had two heads.
She persevered. “Don’t you think this house would make a wonderful hotel?”
More gaping.
Obviously broad hints weren’t going to do it. “Let me explain. Members of my extended family found themselves in a similar situation with their properties, many of them far larger and more expensive to keep up than De Wolfe Hall. After the war, one brilliant half-cousin on the FitzRam side proposed they be turned into luxury hotels.”
“And where are these properties?” Blaise asked, looking skeptical.
“All over Europe,” she replied. “The largest of course is Château Montbryce itself, in Normandy.”
Michael gasped. “You belong to the Montbryce family, madam?”
Blaise slapped his palm against his forehead when she nodded. “Good Lord, Anne, it never registered in my feeble brain when you mentioned your ancestors. The Montbryce Trust is one of the most respected philanthropic organisations in the world.”
She shrugged. “We have our moments.”
“And your funds come from your hotels.”
“Among other things.”
He scratched his head. “Nobody really knows, I guess.”
“Actually, I do,” she replied, avoiding her lover’s puzzled gaze. “I’m the administrator of the trust. One of them at least.”
Michael cleared his throat with a loud ahem! “If I might suggest, sir,” he interjected, “the nearest Register Office is on Oatlands Drive in Weybridge. You’ll need photo identification and thirty-five pounds for the fee. Then you and the surprising Ms. Smith can be married in twenty-eight days.”
It occurred to Blaise’s confused mind that he ought to stop gaping and say something. Unable to process all the ramifications of Anne’s revelations, he decided Michael’s suggestion was easier to handle. “And how do you know this?”
“From my laptop, sir.”
Now things were really getting weird. “You have a laptop?”
His butler rolled his eyes and turned to Anne. “You’ll have to be patient with
him, madam, the de Wolfes tend to think we all live in the Dark Ages.”
She laughed. “He’s had too many shocks in the last few minutes.”
“Perhaps. Anyway while you lovebirds hunt up your passports, I’ll get the electricity bills.”
His butler forestalled the question he was about to ask. “You’ll need to prove you reside here. How better to show it than the enormous bills for heat and lights?”
Anne got to her feet. “I’ll make sure my passport is in my computer bag.”
The fog in Blaise’s brain cleared. “Hold on, Anne Smith, if that’s your real name, you can’t just announce in passing that you control hundreds of thousands of pounds in grants…”
Maybe it was her enigmatic smile, or the word grants, but the penny finally dropped. “Oh! The SOC.”
She rubbed her hands together gleefully. “Exactly. Maltravers doesn’t know what he’s in for.”
A TOKEN
They laughed and teased like two giddy teenagers on the way back from successfully arranging their wedding details at the Weybridge Register Office the next day. Anne sobered when Blaise pulled into the car park of a Barclay’s Bank.
“This is my branch,” he explained.
She assumed he planned to get cash out of the machine. “I’ll stay here.”
Halfway out of the car, Blaise sat back in the driver’s seat. “No. I want you to come in.”
She smiled smugly, batting her eyelashes. “Can’t bear to be away from me for five minutes?”
He wiggled his eyebrows. “Something like that.”
They entered the bank hand in hand. To her surprise, Blaise led her to the information counter where he informed the receptionist he had an appointment.
Anne frowned. “I thought you were just getting cash.”
He winked. “You thought wrong, Ms. Smith.”
The young woman directed them to a side counter where another teller handed Blaise a card. He signed it with a flourish. The teller examined it briefly, then buzzed open a security gate and ushered them through an open safe door into a large windowless vault lined with safety deposit boxes.
“What are we doing here?” Anne murmured as Blaise handed over a key to the bank employee.
“You’ll see,” he replied with a teasing smile.
The teller turned the key Blaise had given her in one lock of a small box, then used another on a large ring in the other lock. She slid the box from its sleeve. “Do you want to open it here, sir, or in a private room?”
Blaise accepted the thin, flat box. “Definitely in private, please.”
She led them to a small cubicle and closed the door as she left. Anne sensed something momentous was about to happen, but what?
Blaise set the box on the counter. “Anne,” he began, looking altogether too serious for her liking, “I have been forced to sell off a lot of precious belongings in the last few years, but there has always been one thing I was determined never to part with. I suppose I knew deep-down that one day the right woman would come along.”
He smiled finally, levered open the lid and took out a vintage ring box. She had an inkling of what the round leather box contained before he went down on one knee, undid the sweet little hook fastener and opened it.
Blinking away tears, she stared at the exquisite ring nestled in ivory satin—a stunning diamond encircled with sapphires. “I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
“This is the only thing of my mother’s I have left,” he rasped. “I would be honored if you’d accept it as a token of my eternal commitment.”
She swallowed the lump in her throat, awed by the love in his turquoise eyes. “The honor will be mine,” she replied as he slipped the ring on her finger.
“It’s a bit big,” he said softly.
“It’s perfect,” she replied.
A GOLDMINE
Blaise’s life changed a great deal over the course of the next three weeks. He was blown away by the efficient manner in which Anne contacted all her relatives—and there were seemingly hundreds all over the world—inviting them to the wedding. She explained that it was easy, given that all their names were in the Montbryce Trust database and electronic communications were so much more efficient than old-fashioned methods.
Despite his long and distinguished lineage, Blaise had a difficult time coming up with more than a dozen cousins. It was a painful reminder of how neglect of kinship could scatter a noble line and thus diminish its strength. However, Anne assured him she could probably dig up more branches of his family, given time.
Blaise became acquainted with some of the inner workings of the Montbryce Trust when Anne mentioned the prestigious organisation happened to find itself without a qualified person to head up its legal department.
Maltravers didn’t hide his gruff annoyance when Blaise tendered his resignation, and petulantly turned down an invitation to the wedding, citing conflict of interest on his part.
Blaise was afraid Anne might laugh herself silly when he passed on that piece of information.
The biggest change, however, was in knowing De Wolfe Hall would be renovated and restored to its former glory. Anne had assured him that even if the SOC grant didn’t come through, the project more than met the Trust’s criteria for funds.
It was as if digging up his roots had unearthed a goldmine.
Planning the wedding occupied most of Anne’s time, but the researcher in her wouldn’t let the matter of Blaise’s family rest.
She was determined to reestablish links with members of his extended line that had been lost over generations.
She found an unexpected resource in Michael who provided a great deal of information about Blaise’s father. It saddened her to discover that he had been largely responsible for the woeful state of the de Wolfe coffers, and for the alienation of many brothers and cousins. She had names from the research done three generations before, but Michael provided important details that proved invaluable in tracing de Wolfe relatives.
Of greater value was the new appreciation she gained of what Blaise had gone through because of his father’s neglect. It was all the more remarkable that he had turned out to be the wonderful man he was.
The certainty that he would make a good father to their children filled her with optimism for the future.
After their first meeting, she’d worried that delving into his history might open Pandora’s Box. Instead, she’d ended up finding a treasure of inestimable worth.
GOODBYE
The day before the wedding, Blaise backed the Vauxhall in the closest available parking spot near the gates of Margravine Road cemetery.
“I usually come on my bike,” Anne said, “but I’ve probably told you that at least five times in the last half hour since we left Virginia Water.”
He engaged the brake, switched off the engine and put a reassuring hand on hers. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”
She didn’t reply, but they both knew a visit to Geoff’s grave had to be faced.
“Shall I come with you or do you want me to wait here?”
“It’s important you come with me.”
He gave no indication of his feelings about her decision as they got out of the car and walked through the gates.
“It’s a bit of a hike to the newer part,” she told him. “The cemetery was only reopened in the last few years for burials, having been closed since the 1850’s, I believe. I’ve done lots of grave searches for clients here. Their service is quite efficient.”
Blaise took her hand. “It’s one of London’s Magnificent Seven.”
She smiled in surprise. “Yes. The city’s seven original cemeteries. Have you been researching?”
He shrugged and tightened his grip on her hand. “Just googling to make sure I had the directions right.”
She had dreaded having to say a final goodbye to Geoff, yet as they walked the tree-lined pathways she relaxed. “You should see it in autumn when all these leaves come down.”
Blaise too seemed to appreciate the serene beauty of the place. “It’s like a park. You’d never imagine we are in the heart of London.”
“Yes. It’s good they don’t allow vehicles.”
They carried on in silence for a few minutes. She sensed there was a question in his mind. “You’re wondering how often I come here?”
He lifted her hand to his lips as they came to a path lined on both sides by a double row of old graves with blackened headstones, many of them leaning precariously. “I didn’t want to ask.”
She studied her feet as they walked. “At first I was too angry to come, then I suppose guilt drove me here. Plus, I did miss him.”
They paused to admire a huge conifer surrounded by colorful plantings in the center of a roundabout where paths intersected. He put his arms around her waist and pulled her close. “You were lonely. There’s no shame in admitting it.”
She leaned into him, glad she hadn’t come alone. “You’re right.”
They resumed their walk and eventually came to Geoff’s unmistakable grey-white military marker. She let go of Blaise’s hand. “For some reason I always feel I should stand to attention,” she said with a nervous smile.
He hunkered down to read the epitaph. “Full military funeral, I suppose? Good heavens, I didn’t realize he was in the Queen’s Lancashire Regiment.”
“Yes, and he was horrified by the Daily Mirror’s accusations some members of his regiment tortured Iraqis to death. I have come to believe it was one of the reasons he felt the need to go back.”
Blaise stood and put an arm around her shoulders. “Okay?”
Surprised by her own tears, she nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. She put a hand on top of the slab, relieved to feel the sun’s warmth in the rough stone. “I came to say goodbye, Geoff. I’m getting remarried, to a man I love.”
The stood together for long minutes, then she linked her arm in Blaise’s. “It’s over. The anger is gone. Let’s go.”
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