by Jenny Frame
Table of Contents
Synopsis
By the Author
Dedication
Dapper
About the Author
Books Available From Bold Strokes Books
Synopsis
Amelia Honey, cutter and suit designer at an exclusive London Savile Row tailor, is happy with her professional life, but her love life is barren and cold. When she is asked to stand in for her boss’s private appointment with the mysterious Byron De Brek, she couldn’t be more excited—or nervous. Byron is the perfect example of a dapper butch, and someone who fuels Amelia’s darkest fantasies.
Will she follow Byron’s lead and explore those darker needs, or will she run away from what her heart and her body truly hunger for?
Dapper
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Dapper
© 2016 By Jenny Frame. All Rights Reserved.
ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-898-6
This Electronic Book is published by
Bold Strokes Books, Inc.
P.O. Box 249
Valley Falls, New York 12185
First Edition: September 2016
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.
Credits
Editor: Ruth Sternglantz
Production Design: Bold Strokes Graphics
Cover Design By Melody Pond
By the Author
Heart Of The Pack
A Royal Romance
Dapper
Dedication
For Lou
My personification of Dapper
Dapper
The bleak January rain sputtered against the windows of Grenville and Thrang bespoke tailors. Amelia Honey tried unsuccessfully to peer out of the steamed-up shop windows and then glanced at her watch: 7:26.
She still had a few minutes until her appointment, so she took the opportunity to hurry over to the mirror and check her hair and make-up for what seemed like the fiftieth time. Everything was in place as it had been the other forty-nine times she’d checked. Her chestnut hair was perfectly twisted into a neat chignon, her make-up tasteful and light, and her skirt and blouse tight enough to accentuate her curves and ample bosom, but businesslike enough to get away with at the shop.
She smoothed down her skirt and said to herself, “It’s just another ordinary client. It’s only Byron De Brek.”
Even as she said those words she knew she was lying and laughed internally at the absurdity of putting the words ordinary and Byron De Brek in the same sentence. Ms. De Brek was anything but ordinary.
Even before Amelia had seen Byron in the flesh, when she’d worked downstairs in the cutting and assembling room, she had heard many hushed whispers about their very important client. The staff had said all sorts of things about the mysterious woman and she couldn’t imagine why one person would merit such persistent gossip.
Then six months ago when Amelia was promoted to work on the shop floor, measuring and making sales with Uncle Jaunty, the Grenville half of Grenville and Thrang, she got her first glimpse and immediately understood.
Byron was the most perfect example of dapper butch that she had ever seen, both handsome and beautiful, and she had lit a smouldering fire inside Amelia from that first look. Amelia had only seen her three times in those six months and never spoken to her—no one really did. Byron was only ever measured and attended to by her uncle, and mostly after work hours, but that first look was enough to fuel her fierce imagination.
Amelia looked around the tailor’s shop to double-check everything was in order. The shop was furnished in dark varnished wood and green leather upholstery, somewhat like a room in a gentlemen’s club or a country house. One of the master cutters had once said to her that the shop looked and smelt like it had been steeped for years in malt whisky and cigar smoke, and that was a perfect way to describe it. In the past a woman would never have been allowed on the shop floor, far less to purchase a suit. Now here she was, a woman, about to assist another woman in buying not only a suit but a wardrobe of suits. How times had changed.
At exactly seven thirty she heard a car come to a stop outside, and Amelia’s stomach started to do flips. She tried to breathe deeply to calm her heart and to remember the advice Uncle Jaunty had given her, about the differences in measuring for a woman.
When he had told her that Byron De Brek was coming in, she was excited enough, but when he said he was giving her the job of attending to Ms. De Brek, she was both nervous and elated. Uncle Jaunty was scheduled for surgery at the same time that Byron would be in the country. She’d assumed one of the older tailors would get the job, but he had given her the opportunity and here she was, about to meet the renowned scion of the De Brek international banking group.
The bell on the door chimed as it was opened, and the noise of car engines and the sloshing of wheels going through puddles filled the room. The first person she saw was a chauffeur holding an umbrella at the door, and then she saw her stride confidently through the door.
Wow.
She had seen many good-looking men in here in the course of her work, but none had worn a suit as well as Byron De Brek. Today she wore a dark grey three-piece suit, with a matching silk tie held with a gold tiepin, and an intensely red handkerchief flourished in her top pocket.
The door was shut by the chauffeur, who remained outside, and Byron stood a few feet away with an impassive look of a poker player. Amelia felt her whole body caressed by Byron’s eyes.
Finally after long moments of silence, Byron said in a cultured low voice, “Miss Honey, I presume?”
Amelia tried to make herself speak but when she opened her mouth nothing came out. Eventually she spluttered, “Honey, Miss Honey—I mean, Amelia Honey, yes. At your service, Ms. De Brek.”
That response cracked Byron’s impassive restraint, and the corners of her mouth rose into an amused smile. “Well Honey, Miss Honey, I’m pleased to meet you. I’ve seen you in the shop of course, but we’ve never been introduced.”
“No, we’ve never been introduced, no.” God, she sounded like a gibbering fool. Pull yourself together.
“Won’t you come in and take a seat, Ms. De Brek, and we can look at fabrics.” Amelia led her to the green leather armchairs in the consulting area.
“Byron. I prefer to be called Byron.”
Amelia jumped in fright. Byron’s voice was right behind her when she had thought she was much further away.
“Please sit down, Byron.”
Byron sat, crossed her legs, and clasped her hands in front of her. “What have you got for me, Miss Honey?”
What did she have? Byron’s presence was making her head and body go haywire. Byron was dangerous and intimidating, not in a way that made Amelia fear her, but in a way that made her wonder what was coming next, as her heart thudded wildly.
“Miss Honey?”
“Oh yes, sorry. I’ll get the fabric books. Would you like a drink? Uncle Jaunty says you always share a glass of whisky. He left me your favourite brand.”
Byron looked at the large Rolex on her wrist and said, “Yes, I’ll have one. Will you join me?”
Amelia couldn’t stand whisky—even the smell made her nauseous—but she found herself
saying, “I’d love to, thank you.”
She hurried over to the back wall, pulled out a few suitable fabric books, and put them on the oak table in the seating area, then quickly went into the small back room behind the counter where they kept a fridge with bottles of water, and tea and coffee facilities, to provide customer refreshments.
Uncle Jaunty had left what he said was Byron’s favourite malt whisky under the counter. As she poured two glasses she saw the shake in her hand. She put down the bottle, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.
“Be professional. She’s a customer,” Amelia told herself.
She had built up the mystery and attractiveness of Byron in her mind so much that she’d expected the reality to be so much more mundane, but when she had looked into those cool steady eyes out there, she knew it wasn’t true.
Determined to show professionalism from now on, Amelia popped ice into both glasses and walked out onto the shop floor. With as much confidence as she could muster, she placed a glass in front of Byron.
As she bent over, she was sure Byron’s eyes took in her exposed cleavage, and her nipples hardened in response.
“Thank you, Miss Honey.”
Amelia quickly sat down and took out her notepad and pencil. Byron lifted the whisky and swirled the liquid around the glass.
“Are you not drinking?” Byron asked.
“Of course.” She lifted the glass and hesitated with the rim at her lips as the horrid smell hit her nostrils.
“Why are you drinking something you don’t like, Miss Honey?” Byron said.
Amelia’s head shot up in surprise. “How did you—?”
Byron took a sip of her drink and said, “I’m a businesswoman, Miss Honey, a very good businesswoman, and I can read people. I can read what people want before they know it themselves.”
The very thought that Byron might know what was inside her head made Amelia’s skin tingle with excitement and shame. She shouldn’t be feeling these things, shouldn’t be having these thoughts. They were wrong.
“You’re right, I don’t like it.” She put the glass down and pushed it away.
“If you are going to serve me, Miss Honey, you will need to be honest. I don’t like to hear anything but the absolute truth. Are we quite clear?”
The word serve was tinged with all sorts of sexual connotations in Amelia’s mind. She could see herself crawling across the wooden floor to kneel by Byron’s feet. “Will I serve you, Byron?”
She could hear her own breathing growing shallower as she awaited her answer. “That is something I still have to decide. I’m very private, Miss Honey. That’s why I’ve only ever allowed Mr. Grenville to measure me. I’m only in the country for two weeks, so when I heard he was unavailable I was in a bit of a position.”
“Do you have something important coming up—I mean, that you need the wardrobe for so quickly?”
Byron sat forward, put her glass down, and straightened her tie. “I do have some favourite suits, but I like to refresh my wardrobe at least three times a year. When you attend as many business meetings and events as I do, you always have to look—”
“The perfect dapper butch?”
Byron laughed softly. “I invented dapper, Miss Honey. Do you have many other female clients here?”
“A few, none as dapper as you of course.”
“Naturally,” Byron replied with a ghost of a smile.
“It’s a growing industry.” Amelia began to relax as they were talking about her favourite subject. “But tailors like us are operating in a luxury niche market, and some women find this old-fashioned elitist world a bit intimidating. Not everyone has your confidence.”
“Quite.”
“So can I show you some fabrics? I’m well qualified, I can assure you. I might be young but—”
“You’re well qualified. Four years studying tailoring at the London School of Fashion, then an apprenticeship under your uncle at Grenville and Thrang. I know all about you, Miss Honey. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked your uncle to arrange this appointment.”
Amelia couldn’t believe it. Byron had arranged this appointment? “Why? I thought my uncle gave me this account.”
Byron must have realized how her remark had sounded and reached over to cover Amelia’s hand with her own. “Don’t get me wrong, he has full confidence in you.”
The touch of Byron’s hand sent warmth up Amelia’s and all over her body. “I’m glad to hear it.”
“He just didn’t expect me to ask for anyone else, but I’ve noticed you when I’ve been in before, Miss Honey.”
“You have?”
“Oh yes. I suspect there are few who wouldn’t notice you,” Byron husked.
Amelia gulped hard. “Um…should we pick a fabric now?”
Byron quickly looked at her watch. “No, tomorrow. I’m pressed for time tonight. I just wanted to check if we were a good fit.”
“If I could serve you?”
Byron stood and brushed down her suit jacket. “That’s right, Miss Honey, and I think you fit the bill quite nicely.”
Amelia followed her to the door and struggled to find something intelligent to say in reply. She searched her mind, and blurted out, “My mother.”
Byron turned on her heel and raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Excuse me?”
I’m a complete idiot, Amelia thought. “My mother used to give me whisky on cotton wool for a toothache—that’s why I hate it, even the smell. It makes me think of pain.”
“Oh, I see. Well, pain isn’t always a bad thing, if dispensed in the correct manner.” Byron took a pair of leather gloves out of her pocket and pulled them on slowly. “What drink do you like?”
“I don’t drink much. Sparkling wine mostly, but sparkling rosé is my favourite.”
Byron looked at her for a few moments and then stroked a gloved finger down her cheek. “You have beautiful hair. You should wear it down more. Now I must be going. I’ll be here tomorrow at the same time, and you can put your tape measure to work then.”
“Byron? You said you know what people want before they do.”
“Yes. Why?”
Amelia had no idea why she was asking this question, but she couldn’t stop herself. “Can you tell me what I want?”
An enigmatic smile spread across Byron’s face. “Yes, but that’s for another day. Anticipation is part of the pleasure. Goodnight, Miss Honey.”
And with that she was gone and straight into her Daimler parked outside.
Amelia let out a breath she had been holding since Byron had arrived. What had just happened? “I have never had such a bizarre appointment in my life.”
There was one thing for sure. Amelia couldn’t wait for tomorrow.
*
The next evening Amelia paced the floor willing the clock on the wall to seven thirty. She nervously twisted a strand of her hair, which she had worn down today. That morning as she was getting ready for work, she had remembered what Byron had said about leaving her hair loose, and she didn’t hesitate to do so.
Amelia jumped when she saw car lights through the shop window. “She’s here. Okay, okay, act normally.” She hurried over to the shirt displays.
The door opened. Byron walked in and stole the breath in Amelia’s lungs.
“You really did invent dapper.”
“I’m sorry? Did you say something, Miss Honey?” Byron said.
“Nothing at all. Please come in.” She just about got away with that one slip, but it had been close.
Today Byron was in a grey tweed suit with navy tie, and a navy and white polka dot handkerchief. She truly was the personification of dapper.
Byron walked over to the seating area and placed a leather case with a gold lock on the table. “I brought you something. Sit down before we start.”
Amelia was meant to be the professional, the one running the appointment, but as soon as Byron stepped into the room, the air charged with her calm authority.
Amelia sat as she was direc
ted. Byron pulled off her gloves and said, without looking up, “You wore your hair down. I’m very pleased.”
Amelia did a little happy dance inside and then chastised herself at the same time. She shouldn’t be happy for simply following instructions from some stranger, and yet, she was.
Byron opened the clasp on the black box and inside was a bottle of champagne in a cooler, with two champagne glasses.
“This is for you and me to share. Bollinger Rosé.”
“You remembered.”
Byron eased off the cork expertly and filled the two flutes. “I remember everything about you, Miss Honey.”
That statement awed her. Some would say it was just a line, but Amelia could tell that was not Byron’s style. She was black and white. Clear and concise.
She took her glass and Byron held up her own in a toast. “Let’s drink to new beginnings.”
Amelia took a sip of the cold liquid and spluttered a little when the bubbles tickled her nose. Before she had time to think, Byron wiped the wine from her chin and held it to Amelia’s lips.
“Lick it all up, Miss Honey.”
Oh God. I must be dreaming. I’m living in my fantasy and I’m going to wake up.
When she hesitated, Byron reiterated, “Lick.”
Amelia’s lips were sucking the champagne off her finger in a second, and Byron pulled it away with a pop. “Good girl.” Byron sat and crossed her legs. “Now there’s something I’ve been wondering.”
“Oh? What can I tell you?”
“Why did you choose gentlemen’s tailoring over dressmaking at fashion school? Was it because of your uncle?”
Amelia took a long sip of the delicious champagne. “Oh no. I never spent any time with my uncle until a few years ago. My parents never allowed me to visit with Uncle Jaunty and his partner.”
