Chandelier (Tarnished Crowns Trilogy Book 1) Page 18

“You’re moping.”

  I turn the page of a book I’m barely reading. When I can focus, if that ever happens again, I’ll have to go back and reread, but I’m not doing that in front of Elise.

  “I’m not moping.” I was actually pre-occupied with how my father had been this morning, but Elise isn’t privy to any details.

  “Does this have something to do with your hot bodyguard?”

  I shake my head and look at the letters on the page.

  “You two were steaming freaky when we were in Antigua.”

  “There’s nothing going on with me and Ben.” Truth. I haven’t seen him since Edinburgh. He’s doing his usual run and avoid tactic.

  She shakes her head slowly and smirks. “If it makes you feel better, I wouldn’t say no to that.”

  Somewhere there will be a by-law about members of the royal family being allowed to commit murder in exceptional circumstances. This could be an exceptional circumstance.

  “I’m not sleeping with Ben.”

  “No, you’re pretending to read a book.” She leaves her seat and strides over to me, pulling the book from my hands. “Blair, you’ve been in a black dog of a mood for days. What’s the matter?”

  I look at her and see the girl who was my best friend, my confidante. The keeper of my secrets. Some of them, anyway.

  “I thought he slept with someone else. I think I hurt him when he realised that.” The words choke in my throat and I don’t know if it’s to do with Ben or my father. Both men in my life are there by threads, tangled fragile threads.

  “He’s a man. He probably was sleeping with someone else and you just caught him out.”

  There’s a level of cynicism I hope I never reach.

  “I don’t think that was the case.” And I don’t. All I’ve heard from him are the security details for the events and dinners I’ve been attending. Nothing else. He’s become my heart-shaped ghost.

  Her gaze is disbelieving.

  “Is he good in bed?”

  I start to smile.

  “Does he fuck like an animal? He’s all man. Can’t say I haven’t wondered what it’d be like to be under him, because I bet he never lets you on top.”

  I tie his hands to the bedstead and he laughs, trying pathetically to pull out of them. His eyes are shining and I can tell he’s desperate to be able to touch me.

  “Have you ever had this done before?”

  “Done what? A bit of silk and a cock ring? Never.”

  He’s lying. Too relaxed.

  I rise on my knees about him, trail my nails down his chest towards his hard cock and then graze the tip. He shudders.

  “I might keep you here all week.”

  “I might let you.” His eyes are heavy and dark.

  He watches as I lower my head, licking a dark nipple, kissing and nipping his flesh. He tastes salty, of him and I trail my tongue down his body, letting my breasts graze his skin.

  Before I get to his cock I kneel up again, cupping my breasts and squeezing my nipples into hard peaks.

  Ben groans.

  I drop a hand to between my legs and stroke a finger over my clit, feeling the wetness that’s gathered.

  My finger is glistening with my arousal when I offer it to him, stroking it along his lips like it’s balm.

  He bites. Sucks.

  I take my hand back, tease his cock, tighten the ring. He’s engorged and huge, probably in some pain. I bow down, letting my hair tickle his stomach, seeing his taut abs tense.

  “Blair.” My name is a prayer on his lips.

  The first taste is always the sweetest. I lick the tip, then swipe my tongue around the tip, looking up at him. He’s pulling on the binds around his wrists, desperate to take hold of my head and regain control.

  I relax my throat and take him into my mouth, swallowing and sucking and breathing, bringing him closer and closer until he’s nearly there.

  Then I stop. I sit back and hear him groan.

  “Please don’t stop.”

  “But stopping makes it all the sweeter…”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  Elise’s eyes brighten. She wants the gossip and earlier, when we were younger, I’d have told her. But that trust is no longer there.

  “How are things with Lennox?”

  She smiles, but there’s no dreamy look. “Hard work.”

  “Is it worth it?”

  Her legs are tucked into her chest and she holds them into her. “Blair, I’ve been in love with your brother since we were fourteen and he helped me find my way out of the maze.”

  Her words freeze me. I had no idea that anyone other than Ben and I went in there. As far as I knew, Lennox would’ve preferred it be turned into an area for outside functions with a neatly manicured lawn or when he was younger, a skateboard park.

  “I don’t want him to break your heart.”

  “What makes you think I won’t break his?”

  My book is well and truly forgotten. “Elise, He’s never stayed faithful to any woman.”

  “But he needs a wife.”

  “He can be king without a queen.”

  Her face pales. “But he won’t. He gets how to play it, Blair. He knows that better trade deals will bring more into the Scottish economy. We’re lost without England…”

  “And stop there. I hear enough politics from Lennox and my father.”

  She shakes her head. “Just because you don’t understand.”

  I start to laugh, knowing that if I don’t, laughter will be anger instead. “I grew up in this house. I learned the jargon before I finished our reading scheme. Don’t tell me I don’t understand something that you have no clue about.

  She doesn’t answer back.

  “I’m sorry.” I shouldn’t be apologising, not when I meant every word.

  “I just want to be part of something, Blair. Part of something where people will remember my name.”

  “Then do something to earn it. Trying to dig your claws into Lennox might not be all you hope it will.” Because he’ll never love you back.

  “Then we’re both hopeless cases. Me in love with a king who won’t settle and you in love with the hired help.”

  “That’s very poetic.”

  “You didn’t deny you’re in love with Ben.”

  “I have no idea what I feel for him. Apart from that I miss him.”

  And Isaac.

  I head to the stables when Elise leaves for the day. She does still have her job, as much as she doesn’t want – or really need one – and she has to be in Glasgow in the morning. Summer has paused itself, and we seem to be having an early taste of autumn with rains and grey skies. I like this weather. It feels normal with its lack of colour. I need to feel non-descript, just like the rain.

  Somehow I know that Ben is in the stables even before I get there. The air feels too still, as if the particles are waiting for the show to begin. I’ve learned over the last few days that I don’t like to be ignored or avoided and I know that’s been Ben’s game.

  His horse is in the stable, poking his head over as I pass. I look in and see Ben grooming him, his face all stony concentration.

  I wait.

  He’ll know I’m there. He’ll have sensed it too. And I’m in no rush. Maybe I’ve done enough rushing in.

  “If you’ve got something to say, that spit it out before you choke on it.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks.

  “I was hoping you had something to say.”

  “Everything I need to pass on I can do in an email. Or letter. Or via Franklyn.”

  “But not to me in person?”

  “That was pretty much summed up.”

  I nod. I don’t cry easily. I keep things in nice neat tidy boxes and act appropriately in front of other people. Right now I want to kick and scream and sob because the fire inside me is burning too hot.

  “If I made a mistake, I’m sorry. I saw you with a woman – I didn’t even know you were going to be in Edinburgh.” It’s starting
to rain, coming down hard, hitting my skin and making the thin material of my shirt transparent.

  Ben doesn’t even look at me.

  “Apology not necessary.”

  I should walk away. I don’t need to be here. Every sinew is inert, incapable of moving.

  “It is. I’m not saying I over reacted, but I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.”

  “There’s nothing to trust. We’ve just been fucking. Not like it’s going to go anywhere.”

  I think my heart fractures.

  “Do you want it to go somewhere?” Because I do.

  He’s the son of a groundsman. I’m the daughter of a king. In some rule book, we’re not allowed. I should be with someone who can enhance our unstable country, enrich the people.

  Ben turns to look at me. He’s tired, his stubble longer than I’ve ever seen it.

  “No.”

  It’s one word. I could ask why. I could demand an explanation of how he can fuck me so well and then discard me like an old Christmas card after twelfth night.

  I don’t.

  I walk away, carrying a tattered heart.

  My skirt and blouse are suitably respectable and even my mother makes a comment that I look like a repressed secretary. I’ve gone as far as to wear glasses even though I don’t need them, and my hair is tied up in a thick ponytail rather than lose.

  I don’t want to be here; in fact, I’d rather be anywhere else, but there’s nowhere else to be.

  “Thank you for meeting me.” William Goldsmith is ten minutes late to our ‘date’. He sent an apology to the restaurant, where I was seated in a private room, being offered a glass of red wine that was from a vintage brought in especially, so I was told.

  Business has kept him late. I didn’t believe him. He was beaming a signal that he was a busy man, setting himself up as someone too important to be on time.

  I sit back down after receiving the required air kisses and take a sip of my wine, cursing my brother.

  We struck a deal: I’d have dinner with the Prime Minister and he’d take over my duties as patron of a society for retired golfers, or so we nicknamed them. It was a group full of lecherous old men who donated a great deal in order to get their status.

  My dinner companion would probably join them in the future.

  “How’s the wine?”

  “It’s good.” I could give him an analysis of the different flavours, but I’d save that for if conversation really disintegrated. “You chose well.”

  My mother’s words repeat in my head. Go along with it; take the knowledge.

  “Thank you. I enjoy learning about wine. And drinking it. How’ve you spent your day?”

  We’re in London. I’ve spent the day as a tourist, hiding in plain sight with two security guards, one female, both my age, looking like friends out for a day. The trip was for one reason only and it’s unsettled me, like the loch on a stormy day.

  “We went to St Paul’s and London Zoo. I haven’t been to either before.”

  He smiles. “I’m glad you got to see something new. You had no engagements?”

  “Today was a personal visit. A free day.”

  He gives me a slight nod. “What did you think of the two?”

  “Both excellent in different ways.”

  We’re both silent, a hard, stony silence.

  “This wine is exceptional.” It was, no lie.

  “I’m glad you like it. It’s a personal favourite. I spent part of one summer wine tasting in Bordeaux and had a few cases of this particular label brought back. I enjoy French wine.” The sommelier tops up his glass and then mine.

  I’ve already asked them to keep it full, so it makes it look as if I’m drinking plenty, which I think is William’s aim. Loosen my tongue, maybe my morals.

  Both are still tied around Ben.

  And Isaac.

  “Spent a couple of weeks in South Africa two years ago. Part of it was spent at a vineyard there with Michael Newiss. Have you come across him?” I swirl the wine around in my glass, noting the legs it leaves.

  Goldsmith shakes his head. “No. I don’t believe I have. Is he the owner?”

  “He’s a wine critic, although he writes under three pseudonyms. We were both staying at this particular vineyard but we ended up touring several others together. I learned a lot about what I was drinking.”

  “Oh.” His expression is pleasant. It’s the same look I’ve seen in photographs in the media when he’s met small children or the elderly and is trying to look highly interested in what they’re doing. “I haven’t spent much time in South Africa. I did go on safari there.”

  I sense he’s hunted there too and I don’t want to know about that. Please don’t tell me.

  “I donate to the breeding programs and wildlife rescues over there.”

  “You don’t hunt?”

  “No. Not for me.”

  “How about your brother?”

  I shake my head. “Lennox is vegetarian. The next time you see him at a meal, you’ll notice. If it’s at the castle his food is always served differently to keep it away from meat. If he could, he’d have the whole place on a plant-based diet.”

  Goldsmith laughs as if that’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

  “I would never have thought that the future King of Scotland didn’t enjoy a bit of wild boar! Tell me what else there is to know about your brother? How did you get on as children?”

  It’s a question I’ve been asked many times, the standard answer well practiced. But I’m not sure why Goldsmith is asking me this. If he – or his team – have done their research, they’ll know the answer. He could be an unprepared, unoriginal idiot, but you can’t take the highest level of power in the land and be that, unless you’re a puppet.

  “Like an ordinary brother and sister. Our parents sheltered us from as much as they could so we could pretend to be ‘normal’, but things changed when Lennox was about thirteen and we realised he was going to be king one day.” It’s more than I’d usually give. Tales of us play fighting and him hiding my collection of toy horses were the usual anecdotes.

  “How did they change?”

  “He had to develop superior complex and I became his first subject. In his eyes, anyway.”

  Goldsmith’s eyes soften. “You’re tough.”

  “I grew up with a boy who is going to be king. You learn to battle with an ego. Not that Lennox is a horrible person, but he has to have unwavering self-belief because of who he is.” It’s the most genuine I’ve been with Goldsmith, choosing which bones to bare.

  “Do you defend him often?”

  “He’s my brother.”

  My loyalty is being tested. How far would I go for Lennox? I force myself to relax, sip my wine. Not to overanalyse.

  “Do you have any siblings?”

  Goldsmith smiles, takes a larger gulp of wine. “Not that I know of.”

  He’s lying.

  “Only child then?”

  “Very much so. I think that Lennox and I have something in common; my father always wanted me to reclaim our throne, so to speak. His ambitions were for me to go into politics.”

  “What would you have chosen to do then?”

  There’s a laugh, it’s almost sarcastic. “Politics. I maybe had an ambition of being a motor racing driver when I was eight or so, but I was always into being the class representative and student council rep. What about you?”

  “A jockey. Or horse trainer.”

  He nods. Not really interested, I can tell.

  “Do you enjoy sport?” I’m struggling here.

  So’s he.

  “Some. I play rugby sometimes and I’ve watched various events. Fortunately, I get tickets to some really decent events. I have seats at the New York Open Final if you’d like to join me?” He leans forward as if he’s just discovered the cure for ageing, the lightbulb almost visible above his head.

  “You know, it’s something I’d love to see as it’s usually my mother who goes, but I
’m struggling for any free time this month and I don’t think I’d be able to reschedule.”

  He nods, although it’s a put down.

  “Even for a couple of nights to see the finals? I can introduce you to some of the players. It would be great to give you that experience.”

  Invisible insects crawl across my skin.

  “I can check.” I force a smile. “If I can, I will. I’d love to watch the tennis in New York.”

  “With me?”

  I clawed at my imagination for what my mother would say. I don’t want to give him even a sniff of false hope, but other than a straight forward refusal, there’s nothing I don’t think he’d interpret.

  “It would be good to see solidarity between our two countries at something like that, for sure. I’m sure my mother would appreciate it too.”

  His eyes flicker with something, irritation maybe.

  “I was hoping we could turn it into more of a date, so maybe it’s a little too soon to meet the parents?” His grin is wide. Forced.

  There’s a flick of hair and the waitress comes to take our orders. I choose before Goldsmith can offer to order for me, something I hate.

  “I can recommend the fillet.” He eyes me from over the menu.

  “Thank you. I’m in the mood for something more creative though. If I come here again, I’ll be sure to check out the fillet though.”

  His smile is approving.

  The conversation doesn’t flow easily. I go through the usually topics, neatly avoiding anything controversial or where I’m back into a corner, needing to reveal too much of what I don’t want to say.

  “How’s your boyfriend, by the way? I assume he knows you’re here with me.”

  The question comes from nowhere.

  I have no idea what Goldsmith might know. Isaac is his advisor, not my ally. I take a larger sip of wine than I have been doing. I should never have kissed Isaac. I should never have let him see beneath that unpolished crown I wear and pretend is brighter than it is.

  “We’re not seeing each other at the moment.”

  Goldsmith looks behind me at something I’m not sure of. He pushes his fingers through his fine hair. “Lucky for me.”

  I don’t think I’m his type.

  Mainly because I’m not a mirror.