Dirty Aristocrat: British Billionaire Bad Boy Romance (4 page)

Praying for my fun loving, whore of a dick.

She was wearing a lime green dress. It wasn’t tight, or short, or revealing, but it made me actually crave her body. The desire to have her, open her silky legs, and get my dick inside her was so strong I wanted to pick her up like a Neanderthal, throw her over my shoulder and carry her off to my cave. In fact, I hadn’t had a hard-on like that since I was a teenager.

Then Robert looked at me with shining eyes and proudly introduced me to her. She was his fucking wife! My stepmother.

The revelation was a punch in the gut. I had to fight not to let my jealously show. Fuck, I was insanely jealous. I thought of his frail body over hers, and I wanted to throw up.

I turned to her and … oh, butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She smiled innocently at me with those wide blue eyes and I knew then.

This one’s not figuring to leave your ass and take half.

This one’s gonna stick around until you fall on your ass and take it all.

A year later he asked me if I would take care of her after him.

‘Just protect her until she’s twenty-one,’ he pleaded.

I said, ‘No. Ask some other fool,’ and walked out.

But you know what? I was fucking dying to do it. Even the idea of him asking someone else made me feel sick to my stomach. But I couldn’t just give in. I had to prove to myself and him that I wasn’t soft on her. 

I wanted the old man to beg me. And I wanted to agree reluctantly. Let her understand that she was
never
going to twist me around her little finger like she had done to him. I guess Robert knew me very well. He was a crafty old bugger after all. He played my little game and eventually I did the right thing.

I promised to take care of her after he was gone. The responsibility sat on my chest for a while, then without me realizing it seeped into my heart. I had taken her under my wing and though I hated to admit it, I liked it. I wanted to be her protector.

I put the brush back on the dresser and the doorbell rang. I went to answer it.

‘Wow! You’re pretty unrecognizable in a suit,’ Chloe drawled.

I let my eyes wander down her body. She definitely looked the part. Perfectly cut black dress, skin-tone court shoes, black pearls and scarlet lips. ‘And you look like you buy your tampons from Gucci,’ I replied.

‘What makes you think I don’t?’ she countered.

I looked her in the eye. ‘You won’t think because I asked you to a funeral that we’ve got something going, will you?’

‘Of course not. Actually, I thought you had a funerals fetish and I might come in handy.’

I smiled and she smiled back.

‘Do we have time for a quickie?’ she asked, cupping my crotch.

‘Does a dog need to be taught to fuck?’ I asked, and pulling her in, tore her panties off, slung on a condom, and fucked her right there in the corridor.

‘What, I wonder, would all the proper Lords and Ladies say if they ever met Ivan the Terrible?’ Chloe purred. 

I didn’t bother to respond. I just leaned my forearms against the wall, my dick still deep inside her, and felt glad I was taking her with me. Anytime I felt like my dick growing hard for Tawny Maxwell, I would just drag Chloe into the nearest closet and fuck the shit out of her. Besides, it would tell Tawny Maxwell not to bother going ahead with any poor-little-rich-widow act she might have planned. 

In time I’ll fuck Tawny, of course. That was always the grand plan, but it would have to be on my terms. She would be nothing but a toy. My toy. One of my many toys. Eventually when I got tired of her, I would walk away.

I was not making the mistake Robert made.

I was not falling for her.

No. No. Fucking no.

Never.

No woman would ever make me stay.

Tawny Maxwell

The day dawned, freezing cold and white.

I stood in front of the mirror in full black: felt hat; knee length, two-piece suit; tights and shoes. My nearly waist-length, straight hair neatly knotted at the nape of my neck.

Yet, I did not look very funereal.

Black simply accentuated the smooth alabaster of my skin, and made not only the blue of my eyes dazzle like the brightest sapphires, but my blonde hair shine like spun gold.

I went back into the walk-in closet and stood looking around it. At the white carpet, the lovely French oil painting of a young ballet dancer, the velour tailor’s dummy, the pure white doors and drawers that moved or swiveled noiselessly to expose the expensive designer clothes, bags, shoes, belts, scarves, hats, and accessories.

This was my favorite place in that whole house. Sometimes I came in here and sat for hours. No matter what problems I had, just being in here on my own calmed me. This was my zen space. Maybe it was because I still couldn’t believe that this closet was almost as big as our entire trailer back home in Tennessee. I looked around longingly. How I wished I could simply hide in here amongst my sweet smelling clothes for the next few days.

But it was not to be.

Today had to be faced.

I keyed in the safe’s code, opened the heavy door, and selected a slim velvet box from inside. I lifted the lid and held up the large teardrop sapphire pendant necklace lying inside. I looked at it and felt no emotion. I could still remember gasping with shock when I first saw it. I had never seen anything so fabulously beautiful. Even my untrained eye could tell that it must have cost Robert a small fortune.

Two point five million pounds, actually.

I could still remember that day like it happened yesterday. It was my eighteenth birthday. The weather was bad and we had decided to stay in. Just the two of us. In those days he was still well enough to come downstairs so we sat in the blue drawing room by the big fire. Him in his big armchair and me curled up at his feet on the carpet.

Oh, we had so much to talk about then. He had so much knowledge and I was like a sponge. Soaking everything up. I was his Eliza Dolittle. I arrived at this house a teenager bringing with me all my trailer trash talk. Patiently, slowly, day by day, he had polished away all the rough edges. 

On that day he had leaned back in his chair and watched me with indulgent eyes as if I was a particularly exuberant puppy.

‘Oh my little Tawny, if only you had come into my life sooner,’ he whispered.

‘I’m here now,’ I told him.

That was when he pulled the box out of his dressing gown pocket. I started crying with joy and sadness. Even then we already knew his time was short. Then he cried and, later, when we were both drunk on champagne vodkas, he insisted I must wear it at his funeral.

With a sigh I fixed the necklace around my neck. The metal was cold. I turned around and looked at the mirror. Against the pallor of my skin it glowed like blue fire. I stared at my reflection and heard his raspy voice again.

‘It’s going to be all old money, so venerable, so impeccable, so I want you to blow their silly socks off. Don’t hold a dreary wake for me. Throw a party. Serve the most expensive champagne. Hire musicians, dancers and fire-eaters. Make an inappropriate toast to me. Celebrate. But whatever you do don’t try to please those painted peacocks. They’ll despise you for it.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘You will be richer than most of them. Let them bloody well try to please you.’

‘Won’t they just hate me all the more?’ I asked.

‘So be it,’ he said cryptically.

I frowned, confused. ‘Why? Why make them hate me more?’

His eyes gleamed with unholy light and I got a glimpse of the cutthroat businessman he must have been before he became sick and weak.

‘Because a greater prize than my money waits for you, my darling.’

No matter how much I asked he would not explain what he meant. ‘Trust this old man,’ he said.

As I stood in front of the mirror, the memory of that night was so clear I could almost smell the burning logs, see the wicked gleam that shone in his cunning eyes, and hear the rich timbre of his voice. I touched my hat and his voice filled my head.

‘A good hat is a thing of beauty, but worn at the right angle it is a work of art.’

Of their own accord my hands moved to tilt the hat to a rakish angle.

I smiled at the effect. ‘You were right, Robert. A small tilt makes all the difference.’ 

Without warning, pain like a stone wedged in my chest. Oh, Robert. I will never see your kind, clever face again. Suddenly the cocoon of protective numbness was ripped from around me and I felt as if my world was spinning out of control. Oh my God! All those people waiting for me and every single one of them bearing hostility and envy in their hearts. I felt as nervous as a long-tail cat in a room full of rocking chairs. I placed my palm on my midriff and took deep breaths.

You need to be one hundred percent, Tawny. It’s an elite club you’ve wandered into. You can’t let our side down
.

I looked into the mirror, my eyes were wide and panicked.
No, this won’t do
. I forced myself to think of my mother.

‘Oh, Mama. I’m afraid,’ I whispered.

The last thing she told me before she died floated into my head. ‘
Ain’t nothing to be afraid of, honey. Take a deep breath and count to what you are. A ten.’

I started to count. There was a discreet knock on the door and I whirled around and walked quickly into my bedroom. ‘Come in,’ I called.

The housekeeper stood holding the door handle. ‘The car is here. Are you ready, Mam?’ she asked.

Oh, how I miss being back in warmth of the Southern states again. Everyone here was just so damn polite and so hidden. There were layers and layers of mannerisms to trip on and show yourself up as the foreigner, the person who did not belong.

‘Yes,’ I told her nervously.

‘Good. It’s getting late and the car is waiting downstairs.’

‘Thank you, Mary.’

She nodded and closed the door softly.

I went to the dresser and picked up a framed photograph of Robert and me. My arms were thrown around him. The sun was shining and we were both laughing. It was taken during my first summer in Barrington Manor. I didn’t know he was ill then. He did though. My heart felt like it was in a vise. I put the photograph down, slipped into a thick woolen coat, and pulled on my black gloves.
Deep breath,
I told myself and went down the curving stairs and out through the great doors.

Outside it had stopped snowing, and there was neither wind nor cloud. Just sub-zero temperatures and everything covered in a pristine layer of white. Even the leaf stems were white and sharp. Winter was always my favorite time at Barrington Manor. I looked around at the still wonderland with a kind of dull pleasure. I recognized its beauty even though I was too heavy hearted to actually appreciate it.

Still, how bizarre! All
this now belonged to
me
.

The chauffeur opened the back door of the black Rolls Royce. I walked up to the car and with a grateful smile in his direction, slipped into it. It was warm inside the car. I breathed in the apple scented air-freshener and arranged my skirt over my legs. Then I leaned back and calmly stared out of the window at the passing scenery. My mind was mercifully blank. I would make it through this ordeal. I would wear my brave face. No one would ever know what I was really feeling.

Let them think I was a cold bitch.

CHAPTER 3

Tawny Maxwell

A
s soon as we reached the church I spotted my stepchildren.

Robert’s oldest child, Rosalind, looked at me. Her eyes were shining with malice and hatred. She was the most dangerous and most vindictive of his children. At twenty-nine she was a tall, dark-haired, plain woman who had unfortunately inherited Robert’s big nose and strong jaw. She was married to a spineless man who hardly spoke at all and had two young children I had never met.

The middle child, Bianca, was much prettier since most of her genetic identity came from her mother. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for me she was not the sharpest pencil. She was engaged to a well-known footballer who was standing beside her looking rather ill at ease. She was what my grandma would have called an undercover hater. She flashed me a fake smile before turning back to her fiancé and leaning her fair head dramatically on his shoulder.

The youngest was Robert’s only son, Dorian. He was the best looking of the three. He had a full head of straight, dirty blond hair, smoldering blue eyes, and dimples when he smiled. He had charm and confidence, but underneath it lurked something dark. Much darker. In truth I was very wary of him. Slowly, he winked at me.

It was so insolent, so inappropriate, and so disrespectful, I felt something crumple up and die inside me. Robert was wrong. I couldn’t handle these people. Not in a million years. Not alone, anyway. They were a totally different species than me. They were devious and cunning and false.

My shocked gaze ricocheted away from Dorian and fell upon Ivan. He stood head and shoulders above everyone else. He was wearing a dark coat and his hair was slightly disheveled from the wind.