by Bloom, Anna
“I left some folded on the Ottoman chest next to your bedroom door.”
I have no idea what an Ottoman chest is but I’m not going to say that. I give her a wave and walk towards the door. This is great, I haven’t even managed breakfast and I’m already exhausted and mentally battered.
“Oh, Faith. If you won’t be having Laura, then I guess you should know you’ve got a function this evening on behalf of the Faircloughs.”
“What? Where? More to the point, why?”
She shrugs. “I don’t know the details. I guess Laura would have told you. And why? Because that’s what Faircloughs are expected to do.”
“Well that’s just fucking shit.”
If she’s shocked by my language, she doesn’t let it show. What a professional housekeeper she is.
* * *
“What’s up with you?” Gerard finds me in the library on campus, not that I am looking at anything useful. My body is on campus, my mind is engaged in all out warfare with Jennifer and Connie Fairclough.
“Gah, Fairclough drama.”
Gerard slides into a seat and rubs his beard. “You look like you need a coffee.”
“I do, desperately. I just haven’t been able to lay my hands on one all damn day.”
“Well that sucks.” He pulls the book in front of me over and raises an eyebrow. “I doubt this will help your black mood.”
“I’m not in a black mood. I’m just realising that every single day is going to be a battle. First we get moved to that awful museum of a house.”
“You didn’t tell me that.” Gerard interrupts, “I only saw you yesterday; why did you not tell me?”
“Well, we had other things on our mind, and I thought I was handling it. This morning, I find out she’s hiring me staff—a personal assistant for God's sake—and I’ve got a function to attend tonight on my own. I mean what is this shit? How is this happening?” I take a sip of water but it’s lacking a considerable punch. “Does she actually think she’s the queen?”
“Better than the queen.” Gerard smiles. “But it’s not Jennifer, not really; it’s Connie. You know that. She’s the puppeteer and everyone is dancing along at her whim.”
“Exactly how old is she and when is she going to die?”
Gerard snorts. Good someone finds this amusing. “She’s a mutant and going to live forever.”
“Great.”
“You seem really out of sorts, Faith.” He leans closer and for a moment I think he’s going to reach out and hold my hand. Please don’t do that.
“I’m tired. Everything is so complicated. I guess I thought if I went to the police and told them about Aiden it would make me feel free, that I could let the past go; but more shit just keeps landing my way. Dan isn’t talking to me, and yesterday I had to ask my oldest friend to come to London for the day to help me move and I barely got the chance to speak to her. I’m supposed to be doing a TV show, but I don’t even know if people want to see me on telly, or even bloody watch it; and Eli is in court dealing with a horrific case and he’s wondering why I won’t let him help with mine.” A shudder runs over my skin and I have to clamp my mouth down to stop from being sick.
“Faith. You’ve got to fight harder.”
“Maybe I’m tired of fighting.”
“The opposite of fighting is running, and I think you told Eli you weren’t going to do that again.”
“He told you that?” I raise my eyebrow. That doesn’t sound like him.
Gerard shakes his head. “No.” He points to the gold and diamonds on my finger. “This did.”
The gravel drive of Bowsley crunches under the tyres of the MG and before I’ve even switched off the engine, Jennings is opening the door. He’s the epitome of professionalism, but even he can’t hide his surprise at finding me rock up at five on a Tuesday afternoon. It’s a long way to drive to say something to someone’s face.
“Good afternoon, Faith. Are you here to see Jennifer?”
I swallow hard but square my shoulders. “No, I’m here to see Connie actually.”
I think I’ve lost my brain. I must have, but I’m committed now, and I can’t turn around—basically I can’t turn around and run because I know the bitch will be watching me through a window like the goddamn psycho that she is.
“Come in and wait in the drawing room and I shall tell her you’re here.”
“I forgot my calling card. I assume that won’t be a problem.”
Jennings’ lips twitch. “That will be fine, Miss Hitchin.”
He nods his head as he leaves me in the cold drawing room. Do they not heat the rooms in this place? I never spent much time in here when I stayed over the summer. I spent most of my time in the kitchen where the atmosphere was a darn sight more welcoming. The decor is shades of green, with sage being the most dominant, offset with a flare of damson. It’s actually a good combination. Better log that in my knowledge box in case I ever need it.
I’m studying a landscape on the wall which seems to be by Paul Cezanne, telling myself it must be a copy and not an original, when the temperature in the room drops by a further few degrees and I know the wicked witch has arrived.
“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Her voice could honestly cut glass. I glance up at the chandelier to check it’s not about to come down on my head. “He stayed as a guest here once.”
“Really? Did he play croquet with Virginia Woolf out on the lawn?”
Her lips press into a tight-lipped smile. “How can I help you, Faith?”
I don’t even allow myself to drag in a deep lungful of air because I know she will be watching. “I’m here to tell you to back off. I know you think you will make me crumble and run if you put enough pressure on me, but it’s not going to happen.” Now I can breathe. “Not now, and not ever.”
She claps her hands together. “Darling, I don’t know what you are talking about. I am merely the old grandmother living out her twilight years in the old family home.”
Really?
“Cut the crap, Connie. You know, I’ve lived through a lot, shouldered a lot of pain and I’ve got through it. Nothing you do will make me fall.”
I’ve said too much. Her smile is icy, her gaze as hard as diamonds.
“Oh, I know. That’s why I don’t need to do anything. Eventually you will stumble and then Elijah will see you for what you are.”
“And what’s that?”
“Not the person he should be with.”
“Rubbish, this is the twenty-first century; you are still living in the eighteenth.”
“I’m living in whatever time the Faircloughs need to be in, and so shall you.”
“Bollocks, and no. Just no, Connie. I’m not interested, and neither is Elijah. You will back off and let us live our lives the way we want.”
“Or?”
“Or maybe you will be losing another heir.”
Her face pales a little. “Elijah would never leave this family or his responsibilities. He understands well enough his role.”
“Maybe losing Peter has changed that.” I smirk. “Or maybe finding me has.”
She doesn’t say anything further.
“So tonight, I won’t be at the function you’ve organised. I will pick the events I attend and ones I believe are of benefit to Elijah and I. And…” This is the big one, I want this more than I want her off my back. “Please know I will be including Jeremy in all things I organise.”
Her mouth flaps open and I take her silent shock as an opportunity to give her a cheery wave and stalk out of the room.
With my back as straight as a rod, I make my way to the large door and down the steps to the MG. I don’t need to hang around and I know Bowsley will never be a place I’m welcome. Jennings is by the MG, his face lit with amusement. Was he eavesdropping?
“Come back again soon.” He opens the door for me.
“I can’t guarantee it.”
Ten
I’m sat in what I believe is called the sitting room, but w
hat I like to call the lounge when the door opens on Friday evening. My entire body relaxes with the sound of the key in the door and the thud of Eli’s leather bag landing on the floor.
“Eight o’clock? What is this apparition I’m seeing?” I stretch out on the sofa and point my toes and wait for him to walk in.
When he does, his eyes fall to my legs, to the swirl of ink and flashes of pale skin. One of his shirts is unbuttoned down my chest and my knickers are extra small. “Well if I’d known I’d be coming home to this, I would have left an hour ago.”
“You can always come home early to this.” I’m desperate for him. Our time together this week has been snatched and brief and I want to start the weekend off on the right note. Just us. Alone.
His steps are quick as he crosses the room, dropping to his knees in front of the sofa; his hands rest on my thighs, warm despite the chill outside. Leaning forward, he kisses my lips and my hands automatically find their way into his hair. His tongue is all mint and fresh as it slides into my mouth with bold strokes. My body flickers with heat, warming and liquifying with the intensity of his kiss. He breaks away, his eyes burning. “What’s for dinner?”
With a smile I stretch back on the sofa and lift my hands above my head. His gaze lingers on the trail of exposed skin between the two sides of the unbuttoned shirt, briefly landing on the glass heart I had created just for him. His hands settle on my knees pulling me down, so I slide further along the cushion of the sofa.
“I’m suddenly ravenous.” His voice does that low rumble that makes my knickers damp.
Reaching up from his knees, he plants a kiss on my mouth and then slowly trails his lips down my throat, along the valley of my breasts, across the glass heart and down to my belly button. I know where he’s heading, and I want it so bad. I shift my hips so he can pull off my knickers and then wait for his hands. They slide under my arse, lifting me slightly off the sofa and his lips skim across my mound. He inhales and sighs before his tongue flicks out and steadily runs across my clit. Arching, I lift myself higher and his tongue runs back, slow and steady. Oh God, that’s delicious. I moan and reach for his hair. I want more.
Torturously slow, he keeps licking but what I want is his teeth and for his tongue to do that thing where it circles and dives and drives me crazy. When he pulls away, I groan in frustration. “Miss Hitchin, were you sitting here undressed just so I’d do this to you?”
Gah, his voice.
“Maybe.” I push my hips higher, but he goes back to teasing with light skims of his lips.
“Have you been thinking about it all day?”
This is torment. “All fucking day.” His sweeps hard again, and I gasp.
I’m pretty close to begging but I don’t need to. His mouth lands on me hard, his teeth surrounding my clit as he sucks it into his mouth. Uncontrollable shivers flood my skin. Two fingers slide deep within me as his mouth continues its assault: sucking, rolling, pulling until I’m clawing the sofa, my hips lifting up and down, smashing myself closer to his face.
“Fuck, Elijah!” I screech as he sucks extra hard and then slips his tongue down to take the place of his fingers, flicking it inside me.
That’s it, I’m done. My orgasm is hard, fast, and consuming. It washes over me in endless waves as his tongue still presses into deep places and his thumb pushes against the puckered space of my arse. When my shuddering subsides, he keeps his mouth still on my core, not letting up for one moment as he strips off his shirt and unbuckles his belt. Pulling me further off the edge of the sofa, he raises up and meets my gaze, smirking when he sees the state I’m in. Then he pushes inside me and I groan so loud it echoes around the whole house. Every nerve ending is heightened and I fling my hands back in ecstasy. He fills me deep, pushing in hard, his hands skimming along my exposed breasts, his fingers running circles around my pebbled nipples. His rhythm is steady and deep, his hips circling as he takes me as far as he can. He moans and shudders and it makes another wave build up from my toes and I widen my legs to let him even closer.
“God, Faith.” His fingers claw at my skin, his pace relentless. I give in, unable to hold my orgasm back. “Scream my name,” he whispers, and I do, pulling him over the edge with me.
He chuckles as he collapses on top of me and I kiss the top of his head.
“What?” I can’t catch my breath.
“I promise I can make it longer than three minutes.”
I giggle and wiggle back properly onto the sofa, pulling him after me. “I’m not complaining, you can take me to the big O twice in minutes any time you like.”
He pulls me close. “Any time, but is there any chance of dinner first? I’m starving.”
I lift an eyebrow. “But you just ate so well.”
“You dirty little minx.”
“Why aren’t you eating?” He looks pointedly at my salad while I grimace at it with unveiled distaste.
“I just don’t fancy it. Is yours okay?”
“Delicious, can I just say you are mighty skilled at opening a bag of salad and chopping up tomatoes.”
“Just be glad there was a bag of salad to open. Miss Beesley ordered in a shop for us.”
He chews on his salad and watches me. I stick a fork into a lamb's leaf just so he won’t moan. “How are you getting on?”
“Fine, I think.” I chew endlessly. How long does it take for one piece of lettuce to disappear? “She seems a bit unsure. I guess after having such an unusual arrangement with Peter it must be odd for her to try to fit in with me here. I think we will be okay.”
Smiling, he reaches for my hand and squeezes my fingers tight. “What else did you do? I can see you’ve left the packing boxes for us to tackle together.”
I snort and stick my tongue out. “I am not your bitch. We can do jobs like that together.”
Laughing, he holds his hands up in surrender. “Noted.” He pretends to write. “Faith is not my bitch.”
“Anyway, I went to uni, died of boredom in the library trying to get to grips with some utterly unnecessary theory, and then I drove all the way to Bowsley to have a little chat with your grandmother.”
His mouth falls open and I laugh.
“You did what?”
“I went to tell the wicked witch to back off. She tried to hire me a PA and send me to a function tonight.”
“What?”
“I know, right? I told her I couldn’t possibly have time to go. I was waiting for her grandson to fuck me senseless on her sofa instead.”
Eli chokes on the salad he’s chewing.
“Well, okay, I didn’t say that, but I told her we were a team and that we would choose the things we would do for the family. Then I told her I would be including Jeremy in all our plans we make.”
“Wow. Makes my day in court look utterly lame.”
“How was court?”
He blows out a deep breath of air. “Let’s just say coming home to find you on the sofa like that was the highlight of my day.”
“Glad to be of service.”
“Glad you got serviced.”
We chuckle, but I know his gaze is landing on my untouched plate. “Faith, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, don’t worry about me. Now, let’s go to bed, we’ve got a busy day tomorrow unpacking boxes, choosing paint, and then we have Jeremy coming for dinner.”
He scowls.
“What?”
“That interferes with all my plans.”
I get up from the table and put the plates on the side. I’ll have to make sure I get up extra early to clean them up tomorrow. I told Miss Beesley we wouldn’t need her at the weekend, but she insisted on coming in for a couple of hours. “What were your plans?”
“Well, we still have a lot of rooms to christen.” Rolling my eyes, I hold my hand out to him and he stands alongside me, leaning in and planting a swift kiss on the edge of my mouth. “I love this, being with you. It doesn’t matter where we are.”
“And I just love you.”
I lead him up to bed where he makes me scream his name all over again and I fall asleep in his arms, wrapped tight like a spoon, knowing it will never end.
* * *
Most of the boxes are unpacked, but the belongings of the Mews come nowhere close to filling Chesham Place.
Eli folds his arms across his chest. “We will have to buy more stuff. Shall we pick up all your things from your old place?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Well, that will fill up another fifth of a room, and anyway, no. Tabitha will need that stuff if she stays.”
The blues land on my face. “What’s going on?”
“Lewis is shutting her out, but I’m not surprised.”
“You predicted that, didn’t you?” He watches me closely.
“Jeez, I’m not some relationship guru.” Chuckling, I point between the two of us. “First time rodeo, remember?”
“All the firsts.” His voice dips low. He really needs to stop that, it’s not playing fair.
“All of them.” I nod my agreement and it seems to make him visibly relax.
Stepping closer, he pulls me into his arms, wrapping them tight around me, and I breathe in his intoxicating scent, leaning into him. “Have you thought about where you want to work?”
“What do you mean?” I glance up and kiss his jaw.
“Well, you’ll need a studio. You’re still going to be producing your own work aren’t you, as well as doing the show for your degree?”
My heart sinks to the soles of my feet. “Yeah, I guess.”
His fingers lift my chin, his questioning glance unavoidable. “Talk.”
“There is nothing to talk about.”
“I think there is.”
I push out of his arms. “Just drop it, please.”
“Fine.” He holds his hands up. “Fine, but eventually you will need a place to create; it will drive you crazy otherwise.”
“Is that how you feel on a daily basis while you are doing your law thing and not painting?”
