All I Want Is You (24 page)

He was tying his tie, and how I loved to watch him getting dressed. I was sitting up in his bed, wearing his silk dressing gown and still warm from his morning lovemaking. He still bound my wrists, he still blindfolded me before we were intimate, which I secretly hated, but now that he was up and preparing for his day, I was allowed to feast my eyes on him.

I rose from the pillows and tiptoed over to him; he caught sight of me in the mirror and smiled as I wrapped my arms round him from behind and leaned my cheek against his broad back, feeling the muscular warmth of
him through his crisp shirt. Shopping? ‘I’d rather stay here and wait in bed for you,’ I teased. ‘Do you always have so many meetings?’

He turned round to hold me, pressing his lips to my forehead. ‘It’s what happens when you’re a duke.’

‘Do you enjoy them?’

‘They bore me extremely,’ he answered with a light smile.

But I knew he took his duties seriously, despite what he’d said. I went back to sit cross-legged on the big bed and cupped my chin in my hand, watching him as he shrugged on his beautifully tailored dark coat. ‘Is the old Duchess still trying to prove you’re not the heir?’ I asked, curious.

He gave me his grave smile as he casually ran a silver-backed brush through his thick brown hair. ‘I believe it’s her life’s ambition.’

‘They used to call her the old witch, you know – all the staff below stairs.’

‘Appropriate,’ he grinned. ‘She’s been heard to say she can die happy if she can only get rid of me, so let’s hope her spells don’t work. Stop worrying, though, sweetheart. I’m enjoying the contest thoroughly. And most of all – ’ he swung me into his arms – ‘I’m enjoying
you.
’ Softly he whispered, ‘
Jazz baby, you drive me wild.
’I was breathless with desire and sheer joy.

Apart from our hours in bed together, I was happiest in the evenings after dinner, when Ash was home and it was just the two of us in his beautiful library. He would study the latest newspapers or write letters, while I
would perhaps choose a record to put on his gramophone in there, then curl up with one of the many wonderful poetry books he had on his shelves. But often, while I was reading, I would look up at him, and sometimes he would catch my eye and smile.

‘Little scholar,’ he would tease.

Sometimes he would tell me just a little about what he was doing, and I loved that because it meant I had more idea of his responsibilities, and of what went on in his busy life. For example, one night he was writing a letter in a foreign language; I noticed it as I was passing his desk to choose another book.

He must have seen my wondering expression, because he put his pen aside and drew me onto his lap. ‘It’s in French,’ he explained. ‘I used to be fluent because of my mother, of course. But I’m a little out of practice these days. I have a ward in Paris; she’s my mother’s brother’s granddaughter. Both her parents have died, and legally she’s in my care.’

‘Even though she lives in France?’

‘Even though she lives in France. You see, I’m her nearest living relative.’ He eased me from his lap, murmuring, ‘And you’re a minx, to distract me so. Back to your books.’ He let his hand drift over my hip. ‘Later, I’ll be able to give you
all
my attention.’

I fluttered my eyelashes at him, my blood tingling in anticipation, but I obediently returned to my book by the fire, though I still watched him writing his letters at his desk, seeing how his dark hair fell in that endearing way over his forehead. Every so often he looked up from his work to smile at me, and my heart turned over.

But it distressed me so much still that when we were in bed together and making love, he would not let me see him or touch him. He was tender with me, he whispered endearments that made my blood tingle, but still he bound me and blindfolded me and, though his lovemaking enthralled me, sometimes I was almost frightened at the near savagery of his possession of me.

But always the surging of bliss that engulfed me at my climax was so intense as to make me think I might die of it, and when at last we lay sated in one another’s arms in the warm darkness, I pondered on his brave, lonely life, my Ash; the only son to a couple who were so indifferent to their child that he spent his boyhood in unloved solitude.

So I resolved not to ask him any more about his obsessive need not to be watched or touched during intimacy. But I did ask some other questions.

‘Who was the first girl you ever slept with, Ash?’ We were in bed one night; we’d made love earlier, and I was in the shirt I’d adopted as my own, while he wore some charcoal-grey silk pyjamas that clung enticingly to the sleek length of his body.

His mouth twisted in a grin. ‘
Slept with
wouldn’t quite be correct. She was a governess, as it happens.’

‘A governess!’ I exclaimed.

‘A very… experienced governess.’

Leaning on my elbow so my face was just above his, I caressed the dark stubble of his jawline, because I knew his rules and now I could touch him again. ‘Young? Old?’ I tried to sound nonchalant.

‘She was twenty-six and knew a lot of tricks,’ he breathed, trying to catch my fingertip with his lips.

‘And you, Ash?’

His eyes glinted with mischief. ‘I was fourteen.’

‘
Fourteen!
So she was twelve years older than you!’This time I couldn’t help but sound scandalised, and he laughed at me.

‘Yes.’ He caught my finger at last with his hand and kissed it. ‘After that one disastrous summer at Belfield Hall, I always spent the holidays with a schoolfriend of mine whose father was a marquis. My friend had a younger sister, and her governess – whose name, I remember, was Rosa – took it upon herself to… enlarge my education.’

I wanted to ask,
Did you let her see you? Did you let her touch you when you were in bed with her?
But he hated it if I raised that subject, so I tried to look severe. ‘Any more governesses since then – Your Grace?’

‘Chorus girls now take precedence,’ he said lightly.

You’ll realise that I had no other man to compare him with, but I knew that he must be incredibly virile, incredibly skilled to give me such intense pleasure. The night before, he’d kept me waiting for my release; I’d been sobbing aloud in pleasure and desperation, straining at my bound wrists, but each time I was on the brink he would pull out of me and say, ‘Patience, Sophie.’

In the end, he’d driven into me with such fierce, tender passion that I’d climaxed over and over again. I was melting, I was overflowing with loving him, and I even dared to think that perhaps he felt some emotion for me also. One April night, when there was warmth
enough still for us to sit out on the private terrace at the rear of this beautiful mansion and gaze up at the stars, he suddenly reached for my hand and held it to his lips.

‘You think you know me,’ he said. ‘You don’t at all. But I want you to realise that I need you, Sophie. I need you with me, right now.’

‘For as long as you want me, Ash,’ I whispered, ‘I’m here for you.’

Even in the extremity of his pleasure he took care not to get me pregnant. Sometimes he would pull out of me to spill his seed and, though I couldn’t see, I loved to feel the silky fluid spurt over my breasts while he groaned out his desire. Sometimes he used a sheath, so I could sense him pulsing deep inside me with each heavy burst of semen. Always he blindfolded and bound me with such care, tying my wrists to the bedposts or behind my back.

One night I impulsively knelt on the floor before him, when I was bound and blindfolded, and I took his erection in my mouth. ‘Sophie.’ He was standing; he put his hand to the top of my head. ‘Sophie, you don’t have to…’

‘I want to,’ I said simply. ‘I want to.’

I heard him hiss out air between his teeth as I stroked my tongue along his strongly veined, pulsing member. I was a little afraid – of doing it wrong, of hurting him even, and he was so thick, so powerful. But he guided my movements, he soothed me with murmurs of approval, he stroked my sleek hair. Remembering Beatrice’s avid face as she leaned over her American, I sheathed my teeth with my lips and began to slide up
and down, swirling my tongue around the tip of his phallus, and I glowed with pleasure when he reached forward with a sigh and stroked my cheek, encouraging me. ‘So good, Sophie. So good.’

I felt I was adoring him like this, my beautiful scarred man, and when he suddenly went still, his powerful body tight with tension, I felt that tension too. Then his hips began to pump strongly into my mouth, so I drew him as far in as I could, sucking hard. The sudden flood of salty ejaculate took me by surprise, but I let it spurt freely and I swallowed, I licked him adoringly.

Then he’d untied my hands and drawn me, still blindfolded, onto his lap. He’d told me he couldn’t ever offer me love, but I still knew that I would take anything.

Then he’d made love to me. Always he roused me to such heights that I was delirious with need. Each time, when he drove into me at last, I would think,
Now. Now is a time I will remember always.

My powerful, beautiful man, pleasuring me until the world tilted above and around me and the stars were flying and whirling in the sky as astronomers tell us they do; spinning, spinning always away from us.

Even while wrapped in my blissful idyll, I began to realise that Ash was more preoccupied than usual and his business advisers called frequently at the house. ‘It’s the coal mines again,’ he told me as we prepared for bed.

I was already in my dressing gown and brushing my hair. I turned to him questioningly.

‘The government, in its generosity,’ he went on, ‘has passed all the coalfields back to their former owners, but
that’s chiefly because the pits are making huge losses. During the war, coal was taken out with no thought to the future, no investment in safety or new machinery. And now the export market has all but vanished.’

I put down my hairbrush carefully. ‘What will you do, Ash?’

‘I can tell you what many owners are doing – either shutting their pits down or slashing the miners’ pay.’ I said nothing; he was gazing at me with that glint of iron determination I knew so well. ‘I’m different, Sophie. I’m going to invest. I think those mines have a future – though I can’t do anything for a while because the miners are going on a nationwide strike.’

I knew all this troubled him, but he said no more.

The next evening James drove us out to dine, at a restaurant in Kensington that was far from his usual Mayfair milieu. I guessed Ash chose it because he didn’t want us to be the subject of public speculation, and that was a small sadness that I tried to push aside, but my spirits lightened anyway as soon as the jazz trio there began to play. They were good. Already some couples were on the small dance floor, and my feet were tapping.

‘Let’s show them what you can do,’ Ash said, once we’d finished our main course. His eyes sparkled. ‘A shame to waste your training. Let’s dance.’

He led me towards the music. As I should have guessed, he was a marvellous dancer, not showy but naturally graceful.
He wasn’t ashamed of me.
I loved being with him. I felt my happiness glowing through me.

But then a party of men and women came noisily into
the restaurant and started pushing their way towards the best tables, including ours. Our plates had been cleared but our glasses, half full with the mineral water we’d both chosen to drink, were still there. From where we danced I saw one of the newcomers move those glasses brusquely aside. ‘We’ll take this table,’ he ordered the waiter.

I recognised his voice then, and with a sinking heart I realised it was Lord Sydhurst, the arrogant government minister who’d visited Belfield Hall and was friendly with Lady Beatrice. ‘Please, can we go?’ I asked Ash quickly. I was afraid Lord Sydhurst would recognise me as Beatrice’s maid.

Ash was steely-eyed. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘Not until Sydhurst’s friends have removed themselves from our table.’

So I wasn’t the only one to know Lord Sydhurst. As Ash marched towards him, Sydhurst looked up quickly; instantly I realised that the two men hated one another. Ash said, ‘We’ll have our table back, Sydhurst.’

‘Belfield.’ Lord Sydhurst’s lip curled. ‘Was this your place? Of course, if I’d known…’

‘If you’d known I was here, you’d never have set foot in this restaurant, I hope.’ Ash was already pulling out my chair for me.

Lord Sydhurst let his glance flicker casually over me, then moved his companions to another part of the room, but his pale eyes were full of loathing. Apprehension prickled down my spine. I touched Ash’s hand and said, ‘I’m really quite ready to go now.’

Ash had made himself comfortable in his chair. ‘Well,
I’m not. Finish your water and we’ll have coffee as well. Take no notice of him.’

But I could see Lord Sydhurst still watching me and I had a terrible feeling that recognition was beginning to dawn in his eyes. He waited for the band to finish its number, then he leaned back in his chair.

‘Good God,’ he drawled loudly so everyone could hear. ‘Just fancy. I knew I’d seen her somewhere. The little floozy Belfield’s with is a maid, a common housemaid—’

He didn’t get any further because Ash was on him, hauling him out of his chair and shoving him against the wall. James was there too, almost instantly; I’d realised long ago that Ash’s loyal chauffeur hardly let his master out of his sight whenever we were out anywhere, but was always at a discreet distance in case he was needed.

He was needed. Sydhurst was struggling in Ash’s strong grip, but all his half-drunk friends were about to join in. ‘Take Sophie outside,’ Ash ordered James over his shoulder. James hurried me to the car and Ash followed soon afterwards – had he hit Sydhurst? I wondered desperately. Whatever had happened, I guessed he wouldn’t tell me. Instead he sat in the back and put his arm round my shoulders. ‘Drive on, James.’ I could feel how very tense he was as the big Daimler moved away, but he was still gentle as he cupped my face and turned it to his. ‘So you know Lord Sydhurst, Sophie?’

I nodded – I think I was shivering. ‘He… he visited Belfield Hall a few times, when Lady Beatrice was there. Ash, I’m so sorry—’