Lord and Master (22 page)

‘I also think,' she said quietly, ‘that the coming year is the time to make changes, if you're going to do it. So often when companies make major structural moves like Mr Lundgren has proposed, it's because their business is at risk and their hand has been forced. That clearly isn't the case for Arborage. You would be making these changes from a position of strength, and everyone would know it.'

There was a brief, rather loaded silence in the room. Provoked by the Marquess, she'd said more than she intended to. Placing his cup on the silver tray she was carrying, Luna cast a worried glance at Stefan, who was absolutely no help, looking at her, as he was, like he wanted to take her there and then. She carried the tray out of the room, not daring to look at Lady Wellstone for fear she had genuinely overstepped the mark. She was deeply relieved, therefore, when she heard the Marchioness begin to laugh.

‘Touché, dear girl, touché,' the Marquess called after her.

Soon after, the Marquess left the office to return to the family's private quarters, looking depleted, as though he had used up all his inner resources for the day. Stefan and the Marchioness continued talking for a few minutes, whereupon Stefan said his goodbyes and sauntered out to Luna's desk. Luna stood and glanced towards her Ladyship's open door, then gestured towards the black box on her desk and mouthed, ‘Thank you.'

He came at her in a rush, moving so fast she found herself backed up against the wall behind her desk. Placing his hand behind her head, he dug his fingers into her bun, angling her head so he could lower his nose to her earlobe. ‘You're very welcome,' he whispered.

And then he was gone.

‘Come on, Lou, keep up,' Jem shouted, skating ahead of Luna on the Christmas market's ice rink.

Jem executed a lovely little spin in the middle of the rink and skated back to Luna, taking her hands, leading her along the ice. Her tiny friend was wearing a little skating skirt, woolly tights and a multi-coloured jumper and looked frankly adorable, with her pink cheeks and flaming red hair. Luna, meanwhile, had slipped on some leggings underneath her work skirt, and her University of Manchester sweatshirt over her blouse, and was feeling multi-layered and ungainly by comparison.

Luna hadn't heard from her boss since she and Lord Wellstone left for the Royal Marsden that morning. With a little pang of guilt, it occurred to her that she might have missed her mobile ringing over the music playing in the market, so she held up a hand to Jem and grabbed the padded railing at the side of the rink, extracting her phone from her coat pocket. Nothing from the Marchioness, but a missed call from Stefan.

‘I reckon I have about three more passes round the rink left in me,' she shouted to Jem. ‘But only if you skate with me.' At which Jem swooshed back to her, stopping herself with a sideways slide that showered Luna with ice.

‘Bloody show-off,' Luna groused, until Jem put her arm around her waist and took her arm. ‘Oh, but you do make me feel like a lady.'

‘Come on, my lovely ice maiden,' Jem grinned, guiding Luna along.

‘Don't you start,' Luna warned, trying to match her glides to Jem's. ‘I swear the old man was just using me to have a dig at the Marchioness.'

‘Well, you can be a little…chilly when you want to,' Jem ventured, before coming to a sudden halt and lifting her arm. ‘Stefan! Hi!' Luna looked up to see Stefan, dressed in a camel hair coat and scarf, standing watching them at the opposite side of the rink. Jem immediately abandoned her and went skating off in his direction. Luna put her hands on her hips in disgust, only to suddenly feel her legs slipping out from under her. Next thing she knew she was on her bum on the ice, two five-year-olds offering her their hands – to Stefan and Jem's abundant amusement. Her humiliation complete, Luna skated without further mishap to the exit. By the time she'd gotten her boots off, sitting on a bench, Stefan was gone and Jem was skating excitedly in her direction.

‘He wants us to go for hot chocolate with him, says he'll meet us in your office,' she reported. ‘He's so lovely, Luna. This has been the best day! I'll just do one more turn round the ice.' And she was off, building up speed, then turning around on her back leg and executing a little jump, and Luna was laughing and clapping and thinking to herself that Jem was right, it was a good day.

When they approached the office shortly thereafter, Jem with her skates over her shoulder, holding Luna's arm, Luna could hear Stefan talking and thought for a moment that Lord and Lady Wellstone had returned. But when they entered the door she saw it was Isabelle, caught, if Luna was not mistaken, in mid-flirt with her cousin. The Marquess's younger daughter looked amazing in an immaculate, figure-hugging white cashmere dress, her hair as ever looking salon fresh, her heavily bejewelled hand resting on Stefan's arm.

Luna was suddenly acutely conscious of her sweatshirt, decidedly damp bum, and her own hair, which had begun slipping out of its bun the minute she pulled her knitted hat off. Years of professional habit came to bear, and she was on the verge of apologising for the intrusion when Jem placed a firm hand on her back, pushed her aside and cried, ‘Bella!' launching herself around Isabelle's neck. ‘It has been too long, really it has,' she said fondly, holding Isabelle away from her and looking her up and down. ‘You look
amazing
. You do remember me, don't you? Jemima, from St Catherine's?'

‘Oh, yes of course,' Isabelle said faintly, looking down at her dress for signs of damage.

Trying very hard not to laugh, Luna looked at Stefan and explained, ‘Jem, Isabelle and I went to the same grammar school in Chieveley.'

‘Ah, I see,' Stefan said, adding, ‘A school clearly known for the beauty of its student population.'

‘Oh, you charmer,' Jem said, hitting Stefan hard in the shoulder. Isabelle, meanwhile, was looking between the two of them, trying to ascertain how and why Jemima had come to know her cousin. Really, Luna thought, Jem was a proper little stirrer, God love her.

‘I was wondering, Luna,' Stefan said, eying up her sweatshirt and hair in a decidedly suggestive manner, ‘if I could print something off to leave for the Marquess. I've sent it to your email if I could just…'

‘Help yourself. You remember the password?'

‘I do,' he said, heading towards her desk. Isabelle was looking speculatively at Luna, doubtless wondering how it was that Stefan's relationship with her had come to be on an I-know-her-computer-password basis. Luna could swear she saw the cogs in Isabelle's mind working, steam coming from her ears.

‘Speaking of my father, I was really looking for him,' she said to Luna, tapping her foot lightly on the floor. Reminding Luna of what her role here was.

‘I'm afraid he's out for the day with your mother, but I—'

‘Where are they exactly?' Isabelle demanded.

To which Luna simply said, ‘I expect them back by early evening. But you're welcome to ring them yourself.'

‘Could I have a hand?' Stefan said to Luna. And right on cue, Jem launched into a full-blown charm offensive, taking Isabelle's arm and enquiring sweetly, ‘So, do you see any St Catherine's girls these days?'

Luna came to stand next to Stefan, who was sat in her chair – a sight she, with eye-rolling inevitability, found completely arousing. She could see he'd already pulled up his document and was ready to send it to print. Screwing up her mouth at his fairly obvious ploy, she reached over him for her mouse, whilst he simultaneously murmured, ‘I've been trying to get you on the phone.'

‘Yes,' she said quietly. ‘Shall I ring you tonight?'

‘That wasn't what I had in mind,' he said, reaching a surreptitious hand under her sweatshirt.

‘You're going to have to stop,' she whispered, clicking print. His hand was untucking her blouse from her skirt, sliding up her stomach.

‘Or what? You'll sic Jem on me?' he enquired silkily, tweaking a nipple. At that, Luna stood bolt upright and Stefan, ever up for a challenge, stood too, bumping into her and clasping her waist in a show of apology. She hopped backwards as if he'd scalded her, then gestured to Jem.

‘Hot chocolate?' she said.

‘Yes, let's go!' Jem gave Isabelle one last fond embrace. ‘It's been lovely seeing you. We really must stay in touch.' And then she and Luna were on their way down the hall, clutching each other's hands like proverbial schoolgirls, abandoning Stefan to Isabelle's tender mercies.

Luna received a tetchy text from him later that evening saying that he'd been roped into drinks with her, Florian and the Marquess, who returned with the Marchioness in the early evening, having dined in London.
I blame you for this,
he'd written.
And Jem.

*

The following day passed quietly enough in the office. The Marquess didn't make another appearance and, although Luna gave her every opportunity to do so, the Marchioness chose to share no details of how the previous day's appointments had gone. She seemed pensive, however, and ill-disposed to concentrate on work. Yet again she asked Luna to clear her diary, spending most of the day alone in her office. Luna could see, however, that she'd put in a private appointment at the very end of the day, and she was cagey about it when questioned.

‘Yes, his name is Cartwright. He's doing a little work for me,' she said tersely, volunteering nothing more.

Mr Cartwright turned out to be a fairly non-descript man of indeterminate age, with light brown hair that was receding in front. His eyes, Luna noted as she met him at the front portico, were like pebbles. There was something flat and lustreless about them that she found vaguely disturbing. And he did nothing to allay her concerns, exchanging barely three words with her as she led him to the Marchioness's office.

Sitting at her desk, Luna wondered if he had anything to do with the Marquess's illness. He certainly didn't look like a doctor. She wished for the umpteenth time that Lady Wellstone's door was less thick. They were talking so softly she could scarcely hear a thing.

By the time he left at just gone six, the Marchioness was hurrying to get upstairs and prepare for that night's dinner party.

‘I wonder if you could show Mr Cartwright out by the staff entrance, Luna,' she said as she exited the office.

Again, conversation was thin on the ground as Luna led their visitor towards the rear of the west wing.

‘Do you have a long trip home after this?' she asked politely.

‘Not long, no.'

‘And…your meeting with the Marchioness, it went well I hope?'

‘Yes.'

Like pulling teeth, this one. She was more than a little relieved when she'd shown him out. Rather than go back through the staff entrance, she decided to take the path around the edge of the house, arriving at the portico at the same time as Helen drove up in her Mercedes with husband Mark and daughters Tilly and Rachel. Carbon copies of their mother, down to their devoted love of horses. Luna had paused on the steps to say hello, exchanging a few pleasantries with the girls, when Stefan emerged from the darkness, approaching on foot from the Dower House.

‘Good evening, cousin, Mark. Girls,' he said, nodding to them. Rachel and Tilly appeared on the verge of nervous collapse, giggling to each other and looking up at him until Helen held out her hands to them and the family proceeded into the house. Apparently, Luna noted with some amusement, his effect on women extended to the prepubescent.

She herself stayed where she was on the top step of the portico, facing out onto the lawn. Pausing beside her on his way up the steps, close enough for her to feel the heat emanating from him, Stefan said softly, ‘If I didn't know better, Miss Gregory, I'd say you were avoiding me,' and continued into the house. She waited a full three minutes before she went in herself, chafing her freezing hands together.

Luna spent most of the evening in front of the fire in her sitting room, reading a biography of Georgiana, Duchess of Devonshire. She eventually checked her watch at just after ten, and pondered going to bed. Stretching her legs out on the settee, she yawned and wriggled a little bit, enjoying the feeling of the silk nightgown Nancy had given her for Christmas last year. She'd donned it on a whim earlier, after shaving and exfoliating her legs, just to feel their smoothness against the silk.

She was a little edgy, truth be told. Or, if truth was really what she was telling, a little sex deprived. Funny how a body soon got used to regular attention, regular congress with another body, and missed it when it was gone. But not completely gone, and that was clearly part of the problem. She thought of Stefan downstairs with the family, a mere floor away from her. She imagined she could feel his presence in the house, and her nipples actually tightened against the lace in the nightgown's bodice in response.

She reread the same page of her book for the third time, then put it down, vaguely disgusted with herself. She stood up and adjusted the screen around the fireplace, closing the flue a little. She paced the rug for a minute. It was too much, this, this…lack of control.

Did the knock on the door surprise her? No, not completely, but still she jumped, the hair on her bare arms rising. She went to open it and there he was, leaning against the doorframe, wool coat and scarf over his arm. She looked past him out into the hallway and he sighed irritably, placing his palm on her bare chest and pushing her into the room.

‘Did you…?' she began.

‘No,' he said, rolling his eyes. ‘I finished my meal with the family, then said, “Excuse me while I go upstairs and see to Miss Gregory.”'

Frowning, she replied, ‘It's all very well for you to joke, but I have my job to consider. Besides, we have an agreement.'

‘No, we don't. We had a conversation on the plane where you suggested we see each other twice a month. I expressed my doubts about your plan, you insisted, and then changed the subject. That doesn't constitute an agreement, Luna.'

Shutting the door behind him, Stefan walked to the sofa and deposited his coat. ‘I don't recall inviting you in,' Luna said, placing her hands on her hips.

‘And I don't recall agreeing to a situation where I am less than a mile away from you, sleeping alone in my bed while you sleep alone here in your…cloister. I don't recall agreeing to sit in a meeting with the Marquess with a raging hard-on my girlfriend has created and has no intention of dealing with.'

‘You…' Luna began, closing her eyes briefly at the mental image that conjured up, before continuing quietly, ‘you said you wouldn't have time for me, and I am trying my very best to be accommodating.'

‘No, you are wilfully misinterpreting me. So let me be clear. When I am at the Dower House, I want you in my bed. When I am at my apartment in London, I want you in my bed.'

These last words conjured up another, unwelcome image of Stefan and Miss Party Supply, causing Luna to say contemptuously, ‘So I'm supposed to make myself available to you at your convenience, whenever you happen to be around.'

‘Yes.'

‘And when you're not, I can just lump it.'

‘Just like I'll have to lump it, yes.'

‘And if I'm not interested in that kind of arrangement?'

‘Oh, but I think you are, Luna,' he said, approaching and circling her. ‘For here you stand, dressed in what can only be your best nightgown, perfume freshly applied. I'm willing to bet you shaved your legs tonight – shall I check?' he said, running his hand over her silk-clad bottom. ‘And why would you do that if you weren't thinking of me, one floor away from you. So close and yet so far…'