by Janey Rosen
The confirmation of my suspicions brings scant comfort but I can at least comprehend what drew them together and held them inextricably tied. That does not, however, excuse such an arrangement continuing now that Sebastian is in a relationship with me.
“And now?” I ask guardedly. “I’m not stupid. Or blind. I see how you two are together and can only assume that nothing’s changed between you.”
“It has, Beth. He’s changed. Before, when her Ladyship was alive, he was tender with me. He always had another ‘side’ to him in so far as he liked to dominate me, instruct and guide me. When she died, he increasingly became more aggressive in his demands. He would humiliate me … and that was fine, to a degree, but it was almost as if he began to despise me. I’d try so very hard to make him happy with me. Whatever he demanded, I’d comply willingly.”
“On one occasion, he told me I’d not cleaned the house properly. He left me chained in the chamber for 24 hours. I had to pee in a bucket - it was so humiliating. He bought food and water but left them just out of reach…”
“Oh my God. He’s a monster!” My hand covers my mouth in horror, as I try to comprehend what she tells me.
“No, Beth. He’s not a monster - he was beside himself with grief, and guilt. He was sorry afterwards. He said I was so good to him and that he appreciated my loyalty.”
“Why did you let him do it to you Scarlett? Why didn’t you leave?”
“Everything he’s ever done, I’ve consented to Beth. He plays the dominant master so well but I’ve seen the vulnerability behind those dark eyes, Beth. He’s like … a lost boy. If I say no to him, turn my back on him, he’d have no way to challenge the demons upon his back – they would simply ride him hard, straight to the pits of hell.”
“Stop!” I implore, bringing the flat of my hand crashing against the surface of the wooden table. “You talk about him as if … as if I don’t know him at all. You’re describing the man I love as though he were someone I don’t know. Answer me one thing. When did it stop between you … or is he still fucking you?” My voice reaches a high-pitched crescendo of realisation and panic, as I spit the words venomously at her.
Scarlett retains a calmness and serenity that is totally at odds with my animosity toward her. She fingers a stray curl, which has tumbled across her cheek and meets my gaze, her eyes sorrowful behind inky lashes. “It’s not all about sex, Beth.”
A shocked laugh catches in my throat.
“No, we don’t have sex. Not since his Lordship first took you to his bed. You meet that need now, not I. What you don’t fulfil is his need to express his frustrations, his exertion of power and a channel by which to exorcise his demons. I still meet that need in Him.” She looks triumphant and at this moment I realise that Sebastian is actually meeting a need in her to be vilified and degraded in order to feel better about herself.
“What does he do to you now?” I whisper, barely audibly.
“Nothing that I don’t deserve,” she replies, a smile playing on her lips. “Nothing sexual. When I don’t please Him, he rightly punishes me. When he is anguished, I allow him to vent that anguish upon me but it’s never sexual. You have to believe me.”
“What I don’t understand is, what good is there for you in this treatment?” I ask incredulously.
“What good? I have a home of my own. I belong like never before. I’m needed … I’m happy.”
“But he treats you no better or differently from your own father…”
“Worlds apart, Beth. My father couldn’t have cared less if I died. His Lordship would be heartbroken if I died. My father didn’t need me he just needed the comfort of whisky. His Lordship tells me every day how much I’m needed. Appreciated. So you see, everyone benefits from this. You have a man who adores you, who shares your bed but you are spared any subjection to the dark side of the man.” She crosses her arms across her barely concealed breasts and regards me closely.
I consider what she has said and wonder if it is I who is deluded rather than her. “Actually, Scarlett I have seen the dark side of him and I rather like it, if you’re referring to the chamber and I find his dominance appealing. So you see, I know him better than you give me credit for.”
She smiles warmly. “Good, then we are all content aren’t we?” She rises and places her mug in the ceramic butlers sink and faces me with an air of arrogance that sees my temper coursing. I stand and pull back my shoulders in an attempt to match her stance.
“I’m warning you now,” I hiss. “You leave him alone. Remember you are just an employee and I can get you fired at any time. Got that?”
“I think you’ll find you can’t.” She shakes her head emphatically. “Beth, you misunderstand me. I’m not your enemy I’m a friend for you here. We’re kindred spirits, you and I. Both love the man in different ways and both owe him a debt of gratitude.”
“I don’t want to hear any more,” I gasp at her audacity and cringe at her asceticism.
“I’ve seen the marks on your wrists. Your … frailty. There is absolutely no way I’m living with a sick bastard or subjecting my daughter to it. We’ve been through enough. In the morning I’ll be going home, we both will. Now if you don’t mind, I’m tired and I’m going to bed.”
I leave the kitchen without a backward glance, refusing to allow Scarlett a glimpse of the river of tears threading down my cheeks. Damn him. Damn him to hell.
21
The sun is streaming through the window and I shield my eyes from its glare with my forearm. I stretch and slowly awaken, recollection of last night’s events hitting me squarely in the stomach. Sebastian. Scarlett. Ruth. Leaving. I sit up, rubbing the remnants of a fitful sleep from my heavy eyelids. That’s when I see the long legs stretched beside me on the bed. They are clad in black denim and are crossed at the feet. I turn to face Sebastian who is propped up on pillows, arms folded. His eyes, burning coals, which penetrate to my very core, offer no warmth, nor tenderness. His mouth is set in a stern line with no smile playing on his lips. Damn, he looks sexy in black tee shirt, all rippling biceps and meanness.
“Sebastian.” It’s more of an exclamation than a welcome.
“Elizabeth.” Fuck he looks furious. I’m furious. I’m ten thousand times more furious than he has a right to be.
“I’m leaving today,” I wait for his reaction but he stays silent, scowling at me without good cause to do so.
“Are you going to say something? Anything?” I fist the sheets in annoyance, meeting his stare.
“ What do you expect me to say, Elizabeth?”
He can be so taciturn it’s infuriating.
“Erm … please stay? I’m sorry for lying to you about where I was last night. I’m sorry I fucked my housekeeper and beat seven shades of shit out of her, oh and took advantage of her when she was so vulnerable. Or you could bullshit me some more. Its your choice Sebastian. What’s it to be?” I’m losing control at this point, on the precipice of hysteria.
He adjusts his position on the bed and runs a languid finger over his bottom lip. His black brow arched, in apparent surprise at my outburst.
“Well, that’s quite a list, isn’t it Elizabeth. How about, instead, I ask you what the fuck you think you’re doing interrogating Scarlett? Or shall I touch upon the total lack of fucking loyalty that you’re demonstrating? Or, we can discuss the fact that you couldn’t even follow a simple fucking instruction to take my call at 10pm last night? Had you of course done so, I would have told you where I was and that the purpose of the evening was to raise money for charity. And mind your fucking language.”
“My fucking language?” I repeat in disbelief.
“Precisely.”
“Fuck. Bugger. Shit.” I challenge him with my profanities. His lip curls in amusement and this serves to infuriate me more. I raise my hand, the palm speeding toward his face to deliver a slap but he grabs my wrist just as my palm meets his stubble rough jaw. He twists my wrist back painfully and he’s strong – I can’t free my h
and from his grasp.
“Damn you, Sebastian.” I hiss at him, which evidently heightens his amusement. His eyes light up with that wicked glint I have come to recognise and be aroused by.
“Now, now,” he laughs at me. “Play nicely.” He has me in an arm lock and, as much as I’m struggling, he holds me fast, pinned to the bed. In one swift fluid movement, he throws a leg over and restrains me, a knee pinning down each of my arms. Like a wild animal, I buck and toss but am rendered entirely immobile by the bulk of him.
“Are you going to play nicely, Elizabeth?” he asks sweetly, ignoring my protestation.
“Get. Off. Me. You ass.”
“No, Elizabeth. That’s not nice. Apologise and beg me to please release you.”
“Over my dead fucking body, creep,” is apparently not the correct response. He increases the weight upon my arms so that I keep still, to ease the pain.
“Dear oh dear. I think we need to revisit the definition of submission, darling girl.” He slaps my face. The shock of the sting brings tears to my eyes.
“I hate you,” I spit.
“I hate you, Sir.” He leans forward, his lips brush mine and I turn my head to the side in defiance.
Again he pushes down on my arms. I wince and weaken.
“Ok. I hate you Sir. Now get the hell off my bloody arms before you break them,” is apparently also wrong.
He slaps my face again. This time he follows the slap with a gentle kiss to my smarting cheek. Never having been struck to my face by a man before this comes as a total shock. Each slap sends unexpected tremors of arousal surging through my body. It’s strangely liberating and fuels a fantasy I have long secretly harboured – there is such a primeval rawness to it. Christ I really am as sick in the head as him, I reflect fleetingly, as he continues to kiss my stinging cheek. He leans further down over me and whispers in my ear.
“Say you are sorry and beg me to please release you.”
“I’m sorry. OK?” It pains me to apologise but my arms have pins and needles as the circulation is impeded.
“Properly,” he whispers.
“I’m very sorry, Sir.”
“Thank you and I believe you genuinely are.”
“Now let me go, my arms are going numb.”
“Ask properly.”
“Please will you release me?” You bastard.
“Of course.”
He immediately shifts his knees from my arms and I raise them above my head, clenching and unclenching my fists restoring the blood flow. I touch my sore cheek and feel how it still smarts, wondering how I will explain a bruise to Ruth and Bella.
“The redness will fade,” he says, reading my mind. He straddles me still and I look up at him above me, familiar stirrings at the apex of my thighs come unwelcome. I’m too mad at him to find him sexy. Yet, his hair is messed up, his broad shoulders and wide frame loom above me, bearing down. As if, again, reading my mind, he grasps the hem of his tee and tugs it off over his head. I hold my breath as I admire his manly powerful form and I want him with a carnal, raw desire. I feel my sex throb and grow slick in anticipation. His lips find mine and his kiss is brutal, his teeth biting at my bottom lip until I wince, sure he’s drawn blood.
“Fuck, Elizabeth. Why do you fight me? Why won’t you give yourself to me willingly?” he breathes into my ear before nibbling the lobe. My hands instinctively reach for him, my fingers raking through his hair, tugging at the roots as I pull his head to my neck, needing his kiss, his passion.
“I don’t know,” I sigh as his lips brush my neck, his fingers on my throat, my breast, pinching at my nipple until it throbs and grows taught. “I know I love you but you’re one fucked up guy.”
“Not so fucked up, Elizabeth. I’m what you need, darling, I can give you everything. Give to me completely and unquestioningly.” His fingers trail down past my navel to the hot aching bundle of nerves between my open thighs. My back arches as I thrust my groin up toward his probing fingers. He parts me and two fingers slide unhindered and slick from my arousal. They find the secret place within me that he knows so well and stroke it again and again until I feel the crescendo building, taking me to the edge. Still they knead and beckon in precisely the right way, his thumb rubbing my clitoris, and the waves of orgasm course through me as I clench his fingers tightly within me. At this moment all animosity toward him is forgotten.
“Oh God, Sebastian,” I cry. “I want to be yours.”
“You are mine. Only mine,” he sooths. I reach for his zipper, still trembling as my orgasm dissipates.
“I need you,” I breathe.
“I know, baby.” He pushes his jeans down his thighs and positions himself between my legs, the velvety crown of his erection finding my wet, swollen opening. He pushes his hips forward so that the head of his cock enters me. My hips rise to take the rest of him but he pulls back.
“No. Slowly.” He slides the pulsing head inside me once more and I feel his warm pre-cum on my labia. One forceful thrust and he fills me to my end. I gasp and clutch him deeper still with my legs around his waist until he is inside me to his very root. His thick pulsing cock throbs against my hypersensitive nerves. He lies heavily on me, his thickly matted chest slick with sweat against my breasts.
“Tell me you love me,” I implore.
“You know I do,” he pants, not saying the three words that I need to hear. “You. Are. My. Soul. You. Will. Never. Leave. Me.” He thrusts with each word and then faster still until I feel him climaxing, his body tensed, his jaw set and a deep growl reverberating from his throat. He holds me then, so tightly to him as though he knows that with his next breath I will be gone. I stroke his damp, dark locks of hair as his body lies heavily upon me and I know in my heart that I can’t leave him even if my head screams caution.
Bella is cooking a full English breakfast for us all. The kitchen is in total disarray, eggshells litter the granite worktops and bacon rind snakes around the tea canister. She’s wearing grey sweat pants and white vest, which is stained with egg yolk, and is dancing to a tune on the radio as she works. I admire the freedom my daughter has, free from the complexities of relationships and adult problems. She’s coped so maturely with the loss of her father and brother that, at this moment, I’m filled with love and admiration for her. She spins on her bare heels and meets my presence with a beaming grin.
“Mum! I didn’t see you there. I’m cooking us all the most amazing breakfast – it’ll be scrumptialicious!” she exclaims excitedly.
“It smells divine, sweetheart.” I flick off the bacon rind and place tea from the canister in the teapot. “I hope you’re going to clear this mess up,” I scold, good- humouredly.
“Nah, Scarlett can do it,” she quips.
“What can I do?” Scarlett enters the kitchen behind me, dressed in her uniform black dress looking svelte and in good spirits.
“Clean up after me,” Bella winks at her and Scarlett shakes her head disapprovingly.
“Good morning Mrs. Dove,” she says boldly, as if our conversation last night didn’t happen.
“Scarlett,” I say curtly.
“Will his Lordship and Mrs. Evershaw be joining you for breakfast?” she asks.
“No, he’s gone for a ride. Mrs. Evershaw is still asleep,” I reply frostily. “It will just be Bella and I.” Meaning you’re not welcome to join us.
As Bella and I tuck in heartily to bacon, scrambled eggs, fried bread and mushrooms, my daughter talks animatedly about her upcoming eighteenth birthday, just a week after my fortieth. Her best friend, Chloe is organising a night out for Bella, who categorically refuses to let me organise a party for her. I agree to drive Bella home to our house in Dorset three days after my own party. We will stay together at the house and I will use the time to catch up on work, realising how much I’m missing my staff at Evershaw Dove Recruitment. Ruth and I have worked tirelessly to build our personnel agency and it’s hard for me to be away from it all. Since Sebastian invested money in our grow
th plans, we are financially secure but I still like to oversee things.
“It’ll be a sick birthday, Mum.” Bella snaps me out of my daydream.
“If you mean it will be a wonderful birthday, then yes, I’m sure it will be fantastic sweetheart,” I smile. “Talking of birthdays, I need to find the guest list that Sebastian has drawn up for my own party.”
I leave Bella to clear away the breakfast dishes, and go to Sebastian’s study in search of my guest list. His twin pedestal antique desk is cluttered with paperwork and I decide to make myself useful by tidying his papers, inwardly criticizing Scarlett for not doing the task herself. I begin by taking punches of papers and shuffling them in to neat piles. I notice the top drawer is part way open and the temptation to snoop is just too strong. I slide the drawer toward me and scan the contents. An old brown leather address book grabs my attention and I retrieve it, thumbing through the first few pages.
Christina Travis
The Old Bakery
4 Portland Crescent
Padstow
01613 4489099
Christina Travis – Sebastian’s mother in law. I recall my encounter with Christina when she followed me to work and warned me about Sebastian. She claimed that he bought about the death of her daughter, Sebastian’s wife Libby. I remember the way she implored me to be careful lest ‘what he did to Scarlett and Libby’ would happen to me also. Initially I had put her ranting down to the grief of a bereaved mother but now, I see how Scarlett has changed since I first met her. The thought occurs to me that I need to see Christina again. I have to know what really happened to Libby. I pick up the telephone receiver on Sebastian’s desk and dial her number.
22
The Old Bakery is a charming cob cottage, which would not look out of place on a biscuit tin or chocolate box. Set on the outskirts of the fishing harbour of Padstow, it has a wonderfully tranquil, seaside setting.
