Goods and Chattels

There is the A list, and then there’s the REALLY important people – the ones who make it possible for there to be an A list. At every premiere, every opening, there are the stars who everyone knows, and then there are the people who are famous simply for being there – the financial backers, the power behind the smiles. Not for them the flashing Versace gowns held together with safety pins and will-power, not for them borrowed jewels. No, these people wear tastefully elegant, deceptively simple clothes, and the jewels belong to them. They probably belonged to their grandmothers, too.

Photographers don’t beg them for full-face smiles and journalists don’t shove microphones in their faces, but they are known to everyone. If they weren’t there, it would be noticed.

Which was why Lady Caroline Winthrop was, once more, walking towards her limousine, a set smile on her lovely face, a teardrop diamond nestling on her very impressive and tastefully displayed bosom. Her husband, the craggily handsome Lord Robert, was one step behind her, smiling proudly at his much younger wife, as he always did, engaging in friendly, if stilted conversation with those who waited behind the velvet ropes at the premiere of the biggest movie of the year.

“How does it feel to know that your investment is already safe on the first night of the movie’s release, Lady Caroline?” called out one of the journalists. The movie stars would be a long time in coming out and Lady Caroline was always polite, as well as being very easy on the eye.

“A weight off my mind,” she responded straight-faced. “Robert and I won’t have to worry about where the next meal is coming from.” There was a loud ripple of laughter. Sir Robert looked at her and shook his head, a tolerant smile on his face. She didn’t often mingle with the crowd, but whenever she answered questions, she always amused him with her adroitness. Even with generations of good breeding behind her, she’d always had the common touch.

A long black limousine purred into the curb at the end of the red carpet and a liveried chauffeur climbed out and walked around to open the doors. With another small smile for the crowd, Lady Caroline moved on, effortlessly managing her insanely high-heeled sandals and her flowing, ankle-length dress. Just as she reached the curb however, the toe of her sandal caught in a loose thread on the carpet, and she almost pitched forward. She was saved by the quick reflexes and strong hand of the chauffeur, who reached out and caught her forearm, steadying her and helping her as she stepped wordlessly into the limo.

“Thank you, André,” said Lord Robert. The chauffeur nodded, closed the door behind him, and went back round to climb into the car.

Lady Caroline settled into her seat, slipped her shoes off and put her head back with a sigh.

“Worn out, Carrie?” asked her husband. She smiled.

“A little,” she said. “Four nights out in a row is tiring.”
”Poor darling,” said the other occupant of the car. Caroline turned her head to smile at him too. He was a smaller man, almost identical in height to herself. He provided a very interesting contrast to her husband. Robert was dark haired, blue-eyed and fifty, with a rangy build and a gentle, good-natured smile that belied his business acumen and judgement. Jon, on the other hand, was blonde, green-eyed and, by anyone’s standards, outrageously beautiful. His eyes were large and almond-shaped, matching the cat-like grace of his every movement, and his well-toned body was sleek and strong. His collar-length hair was shaggy and golden, his skin smooth and polished, and his smile could melt a glacier.

“You’re just jealous,” Caroline said. Jon smiled, showing a row of perfect, even white teeth.

“You betcha, pet,” he said. “Mmm, you smell nice. I do like that perfume.”
”You should. You bought it,” she pointed out.
”I have such exquisite taste,” he agreed. He crossed one ankle over the other, stretching his long, dark jeans-clad legs out. “Did you miss me, darling?”
”Of course,” replied Robert. “Every minute without you and all that.”
”Oh, you don’t mean that,” pouted Jon, knowing that he did.

“And how have you occupied yourself in our absence?” Caroline asked him.

“Oh, this and that,” he said. “André and I have been having a scintillating conversation, haven’t we, André?”

The chauffeur looked in his mirror and nodded politely.

“As always, Mr Henderson,” he said, his French accent apparent in every word.

“As always,” Jon repeated. He sighed. “That’s the most words he’s said to me all night, I swear. Honestly, I don’t know why we employ such gorgeous men if they won’t even talk to me, Robbie.” Robert smiled.

“I’ll talk to you, Jonnie,” he said. “Come and sit by me.” Jon unfolded himself from the seat and moved over, almost throwing himself onto the seat beside Robert, who immediately put his arm around him.

“She does look delightful tonight, doesn’t she?” Robert said conversationally. Jon nodded.

“Of course,” he said. “I do think that dark blue colour looks lovely on her. It’s almost as dark as her eyes, and it’s got that lovely bodice to showcase her tits.” Caroline cleared her throat. A mild blue gaze and wicked cats eyes met hers.
”I am here, you know?” she pointed out.

“Well of course you are, pet,” Jon said. “Who on earth would we be discussing if you weren’t?” He leaned across and lifted the diamond drop out from where it was trapped in her cleavage, resettling it.

“Don’t want it bruising you,” he said. He smoothed his fingers over the exposed parts of her breasts. “Such soft skin. And such a lot of it.” She slapped lightly at his fingers and he settled back with an impish smile.

“So, how was the premiere?” he asked.
”Boring,” Caroline replied.
”Now pet,” her husband said. “All of those movie stars were there.” Caroline raised her eyebrows at him. Robert smiled.

“You’re right,” he said. “It was boring, Jon.”

“Ah the jaded tastes of the wealthy,” Jon said. “Who’d have thought you’d be bored after only three years, Carrie? Remember how wide-eyed and wondrous you were when you first came to us?”

”Barely,” Caroline replied honestly. She’d come from a rich family herself, well, they had been rich until the disaster, but they’d never been members of the circles Sir Robert Winthrop frequented and Jon Henderson lived on the edge of. When her father had killed himself after losing all of his inherited riches on some extremely ill-advised financial deals, it had seemed like a very glamorous lifeline when Sir Robert had made his proposition to her. Marriage. A marriage in name only, as it turned out, but a way to ensure that her family was supported and protected – her fragile, temperamental mother, her clever little brother and David, her elder brother, so much like their father in so many ways…unfortunately.

Was it really three years? Three years of wealth, of privilege at a level that defied description. Three years of companionship and a distant sort of friendship with the much older, fatherly Robert and the mischievous, teasing Jon, whose idea it had been for her to be given “the gig” as he referred to the marriage. The press had loved it. The marriage of the lovely twenty-two year old Caroline Carter-Winehoff to Sir Robert Winthrop, one of the most eligible bachelors in the world, had made every magazine in the west.

Yes, there had been rumours that Robert was not interested in women, despite the succession of models and actresses he’d squired over the years, but this, his marriage to Caroline, put an end to those rumours. Why would someone as beautiful as she, already rich (his generous bequest had kept the news of her father’s losses out of the news, and his suicide had been “adjusted” to a heart attack), marry a man more than twenty-five years her senior if she were not in love with him?

Three years. Caroline looked out through the tinted glass of the limousine as the scenery became familiar. They didn’t spend a lot of time at the town house, but she knew the neighbourhood, the huge houses, the massive fences and gates that protected them. Tomorrow, they’d be back at the estate, secluded in the acres of well-tended grounds, insulated from the world. Tomorrow, Jon would emerge once more from the shadows and take his place beside Robert and she would be allowed again to retreat to her books and her paintings. She couldn’t wait. Apart from the various charitable activities Robert and Jon insisted she take part in, her time would be her own.

The car pulled up outside the house in a sweeping arc that followed the line of the driveway. André got out and opened the door. Jon sprang out and ran lightly up the stairs. Robert followed more sedately, then Caroline, who took the chauffeur’s hand to help steady her on the heels she’d slipped her feet back into. Much practised in the move, she slid her fingers from his impersonal grasp – or tried to. His hand closed over hers as Robert walked up the stairs, his long coat falling elegantly to his knees at the back. Caroline looked down at her hand, then up at André. In the darkness, she couldn’t see his eyes, but she knew they were blue. Jon only ever selected two types of men to work for them – blonde and beautiful or dark with blue eyes.

“Ah. They haven’t told you yet,” André said. Caroline tugged at her fingers and he released them.

“Told me what?” she asked frostily. “And to whom are you referring?”
”No-one,” he said quickly, quietly. “My mistake, madame.” He backed off, but not before he put one long, gloved finger to his lips. Silence, secret, what did he mean? Caroline’s smooth brow furrowed into a frown. Then she exhaled impatiently and walked away from him. What a strange man.

………………..

Two days later, Caroline woke in her four poster bed, rolled over and enjoyed the view through one of the three bay windows her suite boasted. A small fountain, flowering shrubs, fragrant herbs and elegant statuary populated her private garden and courtyard, and she could look at it from her pillows. She stretched her arms above her head, then climbed out from under the covers and made her way over to her bathroom.

When she came out, breakfast was already set out for her on the small table near the second of the bay windows. Toast triangles, a light, smoked salmon omelette, and freshly squeezed orange juice were arranged on a linen table cloth with a matching napkin. The material was dark blue, selected by Jon especially for her. He always said that it was her eyes that had drawn him to her, those and her cap of sleek, shiny black hair. He joked that her lush, slim body obviously held no appeal for him, but that it filled out evening wear nicely – a prerequisite of the gig. It was no secret that it was Jon who had selected her as Robert’s wife. He took credit for it constantly. Caroline settled down to eat her breakfast.

The previous two days had been heavenly. No charity meetings, no lunches with the charity ladies, singly in small groups or en masse…nothing to do but read and paint. She saw Robert only at lunch and dinner, and even then he was sometimes too busy to take a break. Jon was a more frequent visitor, popping in to see her in her little studio, to admire her landscapes and to offer suggestions on colours and strokes which, given that he had no talent whatsoever, she happily ignored. Casually elegant in jeans, a button-up linen shirt pushed up to the elbows, he could lounge in her studio for hours quite comfortably, reading one of her books, making occasional comments, but generally not bothering her at all. Occasionally, she painted him too. Very few artists had ever been privileged to have a model as beautiful as Jon, and he was always more than willing to pose.

Caroline dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. She hadn’t finished the meal, but she’d had enough of it. It was time to shower and change for the day. As she stood up, smoothing her silk, floor-length nightgown, the door burst open.

“Oh good, you’re up!” Jon said. “Good morning, pet. How are you?”
”Annoyed that you still haven’t learned how to knock,” she responded, but she didn’t demur when he drew her into his arms for a hug and a quick kiss on each cheek. It was always a bit of a surprise to realise how small Jon was. Without her heels, Caroline was eye to eye with him and she was only five foot six.

“Come,” he said, capturing her hand. “Robbie and I need to talk to you, and I’m so excited I can’t wait.”

“I need to shower first,” Caroline pointed out.

“No no no no no,” Jon insisted. “Talk first, shower later. Come on.” He was dragging her with him as he headed for the door. “I simply can’t wait.”

”You’re overdoing the gay bit, Jon,” she said. He turned back and gave her the smile that blinded people who weren’t used to it.

“I am?” he asked. She nodded.

“Okay,” he said, letting his voice drop a few notes. Around Robert, Jon always seemed more gay than at other times, and he could modify his behaviour as he wished. Caroline found it endearing sometimes and annoying at others, because it was obviously put on. She had taken to pointing it out to him lately, and with his customary good will, he always took it as friendly advice.

“Come on,” he said again, tugging her hand. Caroline gave up. Her silk nightgown was all-covering, and heaven knows, neither Robert nor Jon were going to be leering at her.

“All right,” she said, although she clearly hadn’t had a choice. He already had her outside the room and walking down the corridor to the suite he shared with Robert. Two more floors loomed above them, each with the same railed corridors running around them, the central core left open to the light that poured in through the peaked glass roof and gave life to the magnificent garden that flourished at the ground floor. Birds flew among the plants, which included full-sized trees and rare varieties of orchids. Two men worked full time on the indoor garden.

“Ah, here you are,” Robert said, looking up as they came in. He wore a maroon dressing gown. Jon’s was green, only a shade darker than his eyes, but it was an exact match for Robert’s in style. Still holding Caroline’s hand he led her over to one of the two big sofas that formed the conversation pit in the sitting room in the suite.

“What’s this all about?” Caroline asked, sinking into the cushions.

“Well,” Robert said. “Jon, do you want to tell her?”
”No,” Jon said. “I want you to tell her, Robbie. After all, you ARE the husband.” Who he was implying was the wife was anyone’s guess.

“All right then,” Robert said. “Carrie pet, Jon and I have decided that we’d like to become grandparents.” Caroline waited for more words, but none came. Then she looked at Jon and then back at Robert.

“I see that you don’t quite understand,” Robert smiled.

“You see correctly,” Caroline replied. She liked Robert, but she wasn’t totally comfortable with him. He was so much older than her, so sophisticated and intelligent. She spent much less time with him than she did with Jon. Jon sighed.

“You know that Robbie and I consider you to be our adopted daughter,” he said. Caroline shook her head and looked at the ceiling. Jon was five years older than her.

“I know that you harbour that delusion,” she said, but her smile took the sting from the words.

“It’s really very close to the truth for me, pet,” Robert reproved gently. She nodded apologetically.
”I know, Robert,” she said, reaching out to pat his knee. “I just can’t quite see Jon as my parent.”
”I don’t see why not,” Jon pouted. “I’ve been positively paternal – and occasionally maternal towards you ever since you arrived.”

“Regardless of that,” Robert went on, smiling fondly at Jon. “The point is that we’ve decided we would like to have a baby around the place. And since you, my dear, are of the perfect age and will be an absolutely wonderful mother, we’ve agreed that you should have the child.”
”It was obvious, really,” Jon added. “And it’s been three years since the wonder wedding, so it’s time the two of you were seen to produce a little bundle of joy.” Caroline was looking from one to the other as if she were at a tennis match that was being played by two insane players.

“But I don’t want to have a baby,” she said.

“Of course you do,” Jon corrected her. “You just haven’t thought about it yet.”
”I haven’t had time to think about it,” she said. “But even if I had. No. I really don’t want to have a baby.” Jon’s face fell, but that didn’t bother her too much. He wore his emotions like clothes, and he changed them even more often. They meant little with him, because he was such a good actor. Robert’s expression though…that worried her.

“Robert, I really…” she began.
”We have thought about this,” he interrupted her. “It’s not a whim, pet. We discussed it for some time, and we agreed that it would be a splendid idea in terms of the validity of the marriage. In addition, it’s the only chance Jon and I are ever going to have to play a part in raising a baby.” Caroline’s stomach was knotting. He was serious. When Robert was serious, he did not change his mind.

“We could adopt?” she suggested.

“So last year,” Jon said. “All of the actors do that. Real people don’t.”

“People like us generally don’t,” Robert added. It was a tennis match, Caroline decided. Only what they were batting back and forth was her future, her life.

“I…”
”It’s decided,” Robert said firmly. He smiled broadly. “You’ll love it, Carrie.” Caroline felt as if she’d been punched. Sucker punched. Robert was never so tasteless as to hold the fate of her family over her when he made decrees. He didn’t have to. She knew that her brother David continued to make reckless business decisions that kept the family on the constant edge of ruin. She knew that the slightest hint that the family home was going to have to be sold to meet debts would tip her mother over the edge. She had to hold on until James was old enough to take the reins and edge David out. Just another ten years or so. Hardly any time at all. She swallowed.

“Are you going to provide the sperm?” she asked.
”Ick!” Jon shuddered. “I don’t think so. It all seems very tacky to me.”

“No,” Robert answered more sedately.

“No turkey baster for our baby,” Jon said.

“So…a sperm donor?” Caroline couldn’t believe she was asking this. She hated the thought of what would be involved in any medical procedure of that nature. She did her best to avoid going to the doctor for any of the necessary female procedures. Jon had bullied her into going the last time, had threatened to tell Robert if she didn’t go.

“Well, in a manner of speaking,” Robert said. He smiled at Jon, showing that there was a shared secret between them. Jon laughed.

“In a traditional manner of speaking,” Jon modified. Caroline waited. Eventually they’d tire of the secret and tell her.

“We’ve decided to arrange for someone of similar colouring and build to myself to father the baby,” Robert said.
”And we’ve selected him,” Jon said. “You’re going to love this, Carrie.” Caroline’s heart was pounding.
”You want me to actually have sex with someone?” she asked.
”Briiiing! Stop the show, ladies and gentlemen, we have a winner!” Jon said. “You’ve got it, pet. We’ve hired a stud for you.”

“But…” Caroline had slept with one man in her life. He had been her university professor, erudite, articulate and effusive in his praise of her art history assignments. She had expected him to be skilled and gentle in bed. Instead, he had been fumbling, rough and fast. She hadn’t been sorry to not extend her experience. In fact, it had been one of the real benefits of her marriage to Robert that she didn’t have to do it at all.

She changed what she was about to say.

“Who?” she asked. Robert opened his mouth to answer, but Jon held his hand up.

“Guess,” he said. Caroline narrowed her dark blue eyes at him. This was hardly the time for twenty questions.

“Please, just tell me,” she said quietly. Jon sighed.

“You’re no fun,” he complained. “You tell her, Robert.”

“André DuPre,” Robert said, with an impeccable French accent.

“André Du….André?” Caroline worked through that and realised who he was talking about. “The chauffeur?” She remembered his words from the night of the premiere. “They haven’t told you yet.”

“The chauffeur,” Jon beamed. “How “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” can you get? I would have liked one of the gardeners for you, but really, André is the same height as Robert, he’s dark-haired, he has blue eyes, he’s got a clean bill of health, and he’s drop dead gorgeous, Carrie. He’s just perfect.”

“He’s a chauffeur,” was all Caroline could manage.

“Don’t be a snob, dear,” Robert reproved. Caroline’s mouth was open but no words were coming out. She wasn’t a snob, she was thinking. She was shy, she tended to not make friends easily because of the way she’d been raised, because of the secret she lived now with Robert and Jon, but she wasn’t a snob. Well, not really. Not in ways that mattered.

“He knows about this,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Obviously, he knew.

“Yes,” Robert said. “We spoke to him about it a few days ago. We gave him some time to think about it.”
”And surprise, surprise, last night, he agreed,” Jon said. “I was all for waking you then, but Robbie wouldn’t let me.”
”It could wait,” Robert said. Caroline agreed inwardly. It could have waited a long time.

“So…what arrangements have you made with him?” she asked. Dear heaven, this couldn’t be happening. This morning she’d woken at peace with the world, looking forward to reading and painting. Now, she was being expected to copulate with a servant and produce a “grandchild” for Robert and Jon. What had gone wrong in her world?

“We’ve contracted him for two years,” Robert said matter-of-factly. “He will endeavour to have intercourse with you a minimum of twice a day until he impregnates you. If, heaven forbid, you have a miscarriage or there is any problem, he will provide a similar service until there is a successful issue.”

“Twice a day,” Caroline repeated flatly.

“For two years,” Jon added sweetly. “You lucky girl.” Caroline was fighting the urge to burst into tears, something she never, ever did. She swallowed again.

“And if I become pregnant quickly?” she asked.

“He is still paid for the two years,” Robert said. “We do understand that these things can take some time, however, so we won’t be pushy or impatient if it takes that long.”
”And if it’s not successful at all?” she asked. She kept referring to it as “it”. That was more impersonal. That didn’t involve her getting into bed with the chauffeur.

“Well,” Robert looked grave, perhaps a little sad. “In that case, we may have to review the current arrangement.” Caroline was stunned. She looked at Jon again. He shrugged.

“Regretfully, of course,” he said. “But we really do want a baby, Carrie. We need one.”
”I’m sure there’ll be no problems, pet,” Robert assured her kindly. This time he reached out and patted her hand. His hand was soft and incredibly smooth. Sometimes it seemed as if he didn’t even have fingerprints. It wouldn’t have surprised Caroline.

“So – are you excited?” Jon asked. He obviously was.
”I’m… surprised,” Caroline said, picking her words carefully. “When is this…arrangement supposed to begin?”
”Tonight,” Robert said. “You can go down to André’s little house. That will make it a bit easier, a bit more private for you. He’ll be expecting you at eight-thirty.”

“Oh,” Caroline managed. Tonight? She could feel that the blood had drained from her face.

“You don’t have your period do you?” Jon asked suddenly. Robert looked away as if the subject were distasteful.

“No, of course you don’t,” Jon went on, smiling. “I remember your last little bout of PMS. That was a couple of weeks ago, so it should be clear sailing at the moment.” Caroline closed her eyes to hide the glare she dearly wanted to direct at him.

“Well, we’ll let you process all of that in your own little way now,” Robert said. It was a dismissal. Caroline stood up, her legs shaky.

“No doubt you have some painting to do, pet,” he added kindly. “Off you go.” Jon sprang out of the sofa and threw his arms around her before she could leave.

“I’m so excited!” he said unnecessarily. Then he whispered in her ear. “Give it time, Carrie. You’ll be happy about it, too.” No she wouldn’t, she thought to herself as she left. She most certainly would not.

……………………………..

If it were possible for a day to drag and race at the same time, that day did it. Whenever Caroline thought about “the arrangement” as she had it labelled in her head, time stopped and she wallowed for endless minutes in disbelief and something approaching despair. But whenever she looked at the clock, the hands had raced around, slicing more time out of the day, dragging her inexorably towards 8.30.

Jon came in to talk to her after lunch. She’d been avoiding him all day.

“What’s the problem?” he demanded. Caroline, an empty brush in her hand, rounded on him.

“The problem is that I don’t want to have a baby,” she said tersely. “And the other problem is that I have no desire to sleep with a man I hardly know.”
”André is a hunk,” Jon pointed out.

“That’s as may be,” she said. “I’m sure he is, because you wouldn’t have selected him for the job unless he was. Selection Criterion 1 is ‘must have an accent’. Selection Criterion 2 is ‘must be a hunk’, so yes, of course he’s a hunk.” She was aware that she was sounding a little hysterical, but she couldn’t seem to control it.

“So?” Jon asked.

“So I don’t want to go to bed with him!” she pointed out. “You don’t just go to bed with people you don’t know.”
”I do,” Jon responded artlessly. “Well, I did, before Robbie.” She knew he wasn’t just making that up. He’d told her snippets about his promiscuous past. Jon liked sex. He liked it when people appreciated his looks and treated him well.

“Well that’s you,” Caroline countered. “Not me. Jon, I’ve only slept with one man.’
”Well it’s high time that you had another,” Jon said. “Don’t fight it, Carrie. It’s going to happen, and you’re only going to make it worse for yourself if you obsess, darling.” He stood up from the chair he’d been draped over and pulled her to his chest for a tight, smothering hug.

“Just think,” he said. “A little, dark-haired baby with your beautiful face. It’s going to be wonderful.” Caroline closed her eyes and buried her face against him. Just for a minute, she let herself slip into oblivion. And then it was over and the day continued.

She ate dinner in her room. She could not bring herself to face either Jon or Robert over the meal, knowing that she was very shortly going to be walking down the path that led from the house to the first of the cottages occupied by the servants. André’s was the closest because he had to be handy when they needed a car. She knew which one it was – it was the white one with the red roof. It had a small garden at the front. André had inherited it from the previous chauffeur, who had tended it carefully. Daniel had left when he returned to his country – one of the Baltic States, she thought. She glanced at the clock. It was five past eight. Time to get ready.

But what did one do to ready oneself for something like this? Shower? Spray on perfume? Roll in anti-bacterial cream? Put on a full suit of armour? Caroline went into the bathroom and washed her face. That would do. She looked in the mirror. Jon said she was beautiful. So did everyone else, so it was probably true. Her eyes were big, with long lashes, her mouth was curved in the perfect cupid’s bow, and was naturally red and full-lipped. Her nose was small, straight and elegant, and her cheekbones high and patrician. Her mother was beautiful at fifty, and Caroline would be, too.

She turned her head, still looking at herself out of the side of her eye. Her neck was slender and long, her shoulders among her best features. She often bared them in evening gowns. Her breasts were large, her waist small, her hips flared, but not in a way that indicated excess weight. And her legs, although she couldn’t see them in the mirror, were slim and well-shaped. The perfect trophy wife for Sir Robert Winthrop. And now, the perfect brood mare.

Caroline was surprised when she came out of the bathroom to see that it was twenty-five past eight. She must have been daydreaming. She looked at her gold Cartier watch to confirm that yes, it was indeed, twenty-five past eight. Time to go. Time to…well, it was best not to think about what else it was time for. Taking a deep breath, she crossed the carpeted floor to the door, opened it, and stepped out.

…………………….

The path was paved and it curved through trees and shrubs until it reached the edge of the hill that marked the start of the servant’s accommodation. Eight steps led down to another path, which had tributaries that flowed to each of the cottages. Most of them were occupied by two men rather than one, but André lived by himself. Only men were hired for the estate now. There had been women in the past, but there had been that unfortunate incident with the Philippino maid who had decided to try to extract money from her employers. She hadn’t been too smart. Of all things, she tried to convince Robert that Jon had made sexual advances to her.

Jon and Caroline had both been vastly amused by this, but Robert had taken a very dim view of it, and not only were Rose’s services dispensed with, but also those of the other two women in the house. Women were not to be trusted, according to Robert. Apart from his pet Carrie, of course.

His pet Carrie stood at the simple entranceway to the small cottage at the head of the path. There was a lit carriage-lamp to the left of the door, and several moths appeared to be trying to commit suicide on it. She sympathised. She raised her hand to knock, but as she did, the door opened and the space was filled with a tall, dark-haired man.

“Come in,” André said. “Please.”

He stood back to allow her to enter. He was wearing jeans, she noticed. And a t-shirt, a white t-shirt. She’d never seen him in anything other than the chauffeur’s livery, the black pants and jacket with silver buttons, the black cap, the black glossy shoes. He was bare-foot now.

“Would you like to sit down?” he asked, indicating a sofa chair, one of two in the room. They were covered in a floral cloth fabric, she noticed inconsequentially.

“No,” she said.
”Please,” he said again, his accent strong on that word. “I think it would be best if we sat down and talked.” Well, she supposed he had a point there. She sat down, her knees together and turned slightly to one side of her feet, which were also together, neatly placed flat on the floor. Her grey skirt skimmed to mid-calf and her pale pink blouse buttoned up high to her throat.

André sat down in the other chair, his big frame filling it. He waited for a few seconds, but Caroline had nothing to say.

“I need to know whether you are in agreement with this arrangement,” he said. She noted that he was using the same term to describe it – “arrangement” was probably as good as term as anyone was going to come up with, other than “debacle”, she supposed.

“No, I’m not,” she said. André leaned forward, his forearms on his knees.

“You are not?” he asked. She shook her head.

“I don’t want to have a baby,” she said. He shrugged. That was a Gallic shrug, she supposed. After all, he was Gallic. How very typical of him.

“So we don’t do it,” he said. “Will I tell Sir Robert, or will you? He will not mind?” He dropped his “h” consistently, she noticed, and he ran some syllables together every now and then. Still, his English was very good – much better than her French.

“There is no point in telling him,” she said. “Yes, he will mind. Sir Robert is quite determined that this is going to happen.” André looked confused.

“So…?” he asked, his hands out, palm up.

“So, we need to let him think that it is happening,” she said simply. It had just occurred to her. It was easy. She was going to have to work something out for two years from now, but in the meantime, this was the sensible option. No-one would be hurt.

“No,” André said. He was shaking his head to strengthen the point. Caroline looked across at him.

“What do you mean, no?” she asked.
”No, I will not take the man’s money and not do what I am being paid to do,” he said. “If we are not going to be doing this, then I will tell him and that will be the end of it.”
”You mustn’t,” Caroline quelled her momentary panic and concentrated her energies on being persuasive. “Sir Robert is not someone who changes his mind. He’s decided that we are going to be doing…going to be producing a baby, and he will not shift from that decision. You will be paid for two years, and you won’t need to do anything. It’s that easy.”

“No it isn’t,” André said stubbornly. “I do not take a person’s money if I am not earning it. Perhaps…” He hesitated. “P’raps” was how he pronounced that, but with that unusual “r”. It was a nice accent. Odd that she’d never really noticed it all that much before.

“Perhaps,” he said again, looking straight into her face with a clear-eyed gaze. “You would prefer they hired another man for this?” Caroline took her time in answering.
”No,” she finally responded. “I don’t want any man hired to do this, to be honest.”
”Why not?” André asked.

”This isn’t obvious to you?” Caroline asked, disbelieving. “You actually think I like the idea of having to go to bed with a man I hardly know in order to breed a child? I can’t believe that you don’t find the arrangement distasteful.”
”Ah, but I am a man,” André pointed out the obvious. And then he smiled, a slow, killer smile that involved every part of his full, wide lips. “And not too many men would find the situation distasteful when there is an opportunity to make love with a beautiful woman.”

“Well I…well thank you, but…” Caroline was floundering. André stepped in.

“As I see it, we have two choices,” he said. “Either we let Sir Robert know that we are not going to comply with his wishes...”
”That’s not possible,” Caroline interrupted. He had only ever mentioned it once, and even then not as a threat, but she knew that Robert would not countenance any disobedience from her. The punishment would be divorce, and under the terms of the prenuptial agreement she’d signed, she would get nothing. Her family would be destitute and so would she. She wasn’t sure which thought worried her most.

“As you say,” André continued with a nod. “In which case, the only other choice is that we comply with his wishes and set about making a baby.” And the way he said it made it perfectly clear that he was not corruptible, not persuadable, and was just as fixed in his opinion as Robert.

“This is unbelievable,” Caroline said softly.
”I agree,” André said, but he didn’t sound upset about it. “Caroline…may I call you Caroline?”
”Under the circumstances, yes,” she said, with what could only be described as poor grace.
”Caroline, I will not hurt you,” he said. “I promise you that. I will even make sure that the act itself is not unpleasant for you.” Caroline blushed and hated herself for it.

“I don’t see how you can make a promise like that,” she said sincerely. André smiled and stood up.

“Would you like a cup of coffee?” Caroline looked up at that, straight into his face. Jon was right. He was a hunk. He was much better looking than Robert, even taking into account the age difference. André looked to be in his mid-thirties, and his face was unlined, his skin smooth and unmarked, his hair curling and full. It skimmed his collar. Caroline had thought it was inappropriate in a chauffeur, but Jon had liked it, so André had not been directed to cut it.

“No,” she managed. He shrugged again.
”Maybe after,” he said, and Caroline’s stomach did a somersault. After. After sex? She nodded anyway.

“Would you like to go into the bathroom to undress?” he asked. “There is a robe in there that you can put on.”
”No,” she said. “I’m not going to undress. Well, I’ll take my underwear, well, some of my underwear off, naturally, but I don’t see any need to undress.”
”But yes,” André nodded his head. “There is a need. You will have to undress.”
”Why?” Caroline demanded. André put his head on one side to think about it.

“Two reasons,” he eventually said. “The first is that in order for me to make the experience as pleasurable as possible for you, I need to be able to touch your body. The second is that in order for it to be as pleasurable as possible for me, I will need to see you naked.”

“Well that isn’t going to happen,” Caroline insisted. André looked down at her.

“Then it seems that I must go and see Sir Robert after all,” he said. Caroline’s mouth opened.

“Oh come on,” she said. “Be reasonable. Look at it from my perspective. I’m being forced into a humiliating situation, having to sleep with a serv…a chauff…a man I hardly know, and you’re making it worse.” André looked unmoved and unimpressed.

“Look at it from my perspective,” he said. “I am being paid to make love to you twice a day, and for whatever reason, you are agreeing to be part of this. If you are going to be part of this, then you are going to have to comply with my requirements, or it is not going to happen and I will have to let Sir Robert know that you did not find it possible to go ahead with the arrangement.”

“That’s not fair,” Caroline said. Another shrug.
”It’s the way it is,” he said. “When people make love, one of them is usually in charge. It appears that for us, that will be me. It will be easier if you don’t fight me, Caroline. Believe me, I will look after you. The bathroom is over there.”

It was almost an out of body experience for Caroline, taking her clothes off in the small bathroom. The feel of her soles on the cheap tiles after she’d taken her sandals off, the sight of her silk blouse draped over a cane clothes hamper – these were not feelings and sights that fitted with her view of her life. And the glimpse she caught of herself in the small mirror above the sink was of a stranger – a pale, anxious-looking stranger. The robe was multi-coloured silk and was much too large for her. It was obviously his. It felt slippery and soft against her bare skin, and she belted it tightly. Then, head up, heart in her mouth, she opened the door and stepped out.

He’d turned most of the lights off. Only the bedside lamp was on now. It could be seen from the bathroom door, as could everything else in the cottage. Apart from the bathroom, all of the rest was one open room. The kitchen over there, the living area denoted by the placement of the chairs right in front of her, the bedroom over to the left, with a free-standing closet, a chest of drawers, a tall lamp and a bed. She looked away quickly from the bed. André stood up from the sofa chair she’d been sitting in before.

“You were not long,” he said. He walked towards her. “Are you all right, Caroline? You look pale.”

“No, I’m not all right,” she replied. “But it doesn’t appear that I have any choice on what’s happening, so I’ll have to cope, won’t I?” Any hope she had of shaming him into letting her return to her plan of just removing the necessary underwear failed.
”Yes,” he said. “I guess you will. So, do you want me to take that robe off you, or will you do it yourself?”
”Here?” she asked. It was at least ten steps to the bed, maybe more. André smiled, amusement in his eyes.

“Yes, here,” he said. “It is as good a place as any for disrobing, yes?” Caroline exhaled loudly. Then she put her hands on the belt, undid it, and without giving herself time to think, let the heavy robe slide off her shoulders and fall to the floor.

She didn’t look at him as she did it, she looked at the ceiling, but his audible indrawn breath drew her eyes to his face. He was transfixed.

“Mon Dieu,” he said reverently. “You are perfect.” Caroline’s hands fluttered at her sides. She wasn’t going to be silly and try to cover herself. There was no point, and she’d just look stupid. She looked away from him again, up to the ceiling again. Fascinating ceiling – low and white, very plain, very ordinary. She jumped as his hand touched her shoulder, slid slowly down her arm.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Caroline, look at me.” She thought about refusing to, but it seemed childish. She looked at him. Her eyes slid away again, but she made them focus back on his face. She could feel her breasts moving as she breathed in and out – deep breaths in and out.

“You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” André said. “And I find almost all women attractive. Your skin is so soft, so white, and your body is just…amazing.” He made the classic hourglass shape with his hands. “Your curves are…and your breasts are magnificent. Wait, just stand there.” Caroline’s cheeks were flushed. Did he have to be so talkative? And graphic? And what was he doing now? He walked around her and stood looking at her from behind. He murmured something in French.

“Perfect,” he said again. “Come. Let us begin.”

If there had been a sense of unreality in the bathroom, it was nothing compared to what she felt walking nude across the floor to the bed, to what she felt lying down once he’d pulled the covers back. His sheets were cotton and cool under her skin. She wriggled into the middle of the bed, concentrating on the ceiling again. The bed moved as he sat down beside her.

“Caroline,” he said, drawing her attention to his face. His gaze moved down over her, to her pink-tipped breasts and lower, then back up. “Is there anything you really don’t want me to do?”

“Everything,” she said quickly. He gave a soft shout of laughter.

“That much I know already,” he assured her. “I am asking for specifics.” She thought quickly. She could think of lots of things, she just didn’t want to say them. Besides, he was undoubtedly planning to just climb on board, go to town and get off again, so there wasn’t any point in giving him ideas about other things, was there? A thought popped into her mind. She’d read somewhere that prostitutes didn’t let their customers kiss them on the mouths. It gave them distance, it protected them in some way.

“Don’t kiss me on the mouth,” she said. André looked taken aback for a second or two. Then he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he said. “Anything else?” Caroline thought about it. Nothing else sprang to mind that she was prepared to discuss.

“No,” she said. His dark eyebrows lifted.

“That’s encouraging,” he said. “Very well, then.” His right hand lifted off the bed and settled on her stomach, making her jump. As much to stall as for anything else, she spoke.

“You still have your clothes on,” she said. André looked down at his t-shirt and jeans.

“I do,” he said.
”Aren’t you going to take them off?” she asked. His smile was snail-slow in coming.

“No,” he said. “I will just unzip my pants and push them down a little.”

“That’s hardly fair,” Caroline pointed out. His smile broadened, but he quelled it.

“This way should be easier,” he said. “At least at first.” His hand was moving on her, in slow circles on her stomach. “You are shaking,” he observed. Before she could respond to that, his hand slid up and cupped one of her breasts. She caught her breath.

“Ssssh,” he soothed. “How lovely you are. Look. You overflow my hand, and I have big hands, no?” She didn’t feel the need to look as he softly manipulated her breast. She caught her breath again as he traced a fingertip around and over her nipple. André shifted his weight on the bed. Since she wasn’t looking at him, was deliberately not looking at him, it was a shock when she felt the brush of his hair on her skin. And then his lips touched her neck and she gasped.

“Ssssh,” he said again. “Be still, Caroline. I won’t hurt you.” He didn’t hurt her. He touched her, he stroked her, he kissed her breasts and murmured endearments that she didn’t understand while he explored her and investigated her. When he slid his hands down her body, down over her hips and then in again, she felt moved to protest.

“Can’t you just…get on with it?” she asked. This was all so unbearably intimate. She wanted to squirm with the embarrassment of it all.

“No, I can’t just get on with it,” he replied, exasperation and amusement in his tone in equal parts. “That’s not how it’s done.” It was how it had been done the only other time she’d done it, Caroline mused. Odd that she was now thinking about that Professor almost with fondness. André was prying her thighs apart. Well, here it came, she guessed. Any minute now, he’d be inside her, on top of her, panting and gasping and sweating and collapsing. Any time now.

“Soft fur,” André said, tickling at her pubic hair with his fingertip.

“I don’t have fur,” Caroline protested immediately. She reached down and tried to brush his hand away. He refused to move it. Instead, he laughed again. A soft, deep laugh.

“A nice little patch of fur,” he teased. “And here…all silky and hot, and just a little damp. Breathe, Caroline. Don’t forget to breathe.” How could she breathe when he had his hand between her legs? When he was opening her up with long fingers that searched and touched and stroked places they had no business being anywhere near? She wriggled uncomfortably. What he was doing felt strange. Very strange. Not at all like those few times when she’d touched herself there. Then, it had felt sort of nice, but nothing special. She’d always given up, figured that it was yet another of those things that was exaggerated out of all proportion in books.

But what André was doing to her didn’t feel nice. It felt odd – squirmy and wriggly and not unpleasant, but definitely uncomfortable. She wanted to move away and move closer to his hand at the same time.

“Could you…could you stop that, please?” she asked. He looked up the length of her body slowly until he met her eyes.

“Why?” he asked. His voice was deep and the look in his eyes was knowing.

“I don’t like it,” she said. He smiled again, stroked some more.

“Your body tells me that you do,” he said. “Your nipples are hard, and down here,” he moved his fingers to leave her in no doubt as to where “down here” was, “is hot and getting wetter by the second. I think perhaps you are just not used to it, Caroline.”

She arched against his hand as he found a particularly sensitive spot. She decided it was time for honesty.
”No,” she admitted. “I’m not. I’ve only done this once before and it wasn’t very…involved. Could you… please, could you stop that?”
”Not yet,” he said. “Lie back, Caroline, just lie back and enjoy. I’m not going to stop until I’m finished, so you may as well stop fighting it and let yourself go.” Before she could formulate a response to that, he shifted again, leaned down, and took one of her nipples into his mouth, at first just enveloping it in warmth. Caroline shuddered and again arched, this time up into his mouth. And then he began to suck on her, the tug in her breast driving her mad, its counterpoint low in her belly confusing and alarming her. His fingers continued their wicked work, and one of them, his thumb, she thought, was searching now, rubbing gently and…Caroline caught her breath in a loud gasp again.

“Easy,” André said against her breast. “Easy, Caroline.”
”I’m not a horse,” she said through gritted teeth. She felt his lips move into a smile against her breast.

When he moved his mouth to her other breast, he used his spare hand to continue stroking the wet nipple he’d abandoned. And still his other hand played at her, strummed her while she heated and shuddered and almost sobbed out each breath, lost to the sensations and not at all sure what was happening to her and whether it was normal. When the tingling sensation started, the clenching, tickling, uncomfortable sensation that just seemed to build and build and lift her hips up of their own accord, she clutched at his wrist in something like panic, but he didn’t stop, and neither could she. She heard herself make gasping, tiny cries as her hips pulsed up off the mattress, driving her hard against his fingers. André eased his mouth away from her breast to watch her, to watch her face and her body as the shudders passed.

“You like?” he asked as she came back to earth.

“Ohhh,” Caroline said. He smiled.
”Now you are ready,” he said. With that, he reached out and flicked the bedside lamp off – using the hand he’d been stroking her nipple with, she noted with a sort of fuzzy objectivity. The other hand was still between her legs, cupping her. And then it was gone, and in the darkness she heard his zipper, felt him shifting his clothing and then shifting himself, parting her legs and settling his weight between them.

“Watching you come has made me so hard,” he whispered. He tested her with his fingers again, and then, lifting her hips to him, he positioned himself and slid into her, slowly, filling her carefully, reawakening all of the nerve endings that had just come screaming to life. And Caroline found herself opening her legs wider to accommodate him, lifting her bottom higher to take more of him. And then she was full.

“Ohhh,” she said again.
”Not too uncomfortable?” he asked, his voice tight.
”No,” she said honestly. Amazingly enough, after the tension and release, it felt good. His weight hovering over the top of her, his presence inside her, it was all unbelievable, and unbelievably humiliating if she allowed herself to think about it, but on a physical level…it felt wonderful.

“We go slow to start,” he said. “If I can.”

Caroline lay still, her arms out to her sides, and let him do it. He obviously knew what he was doing, and she just as obviously didn’t, so it made sense to just not get in his way. That was her thinking, anyway. And it held right up until he started to thrust harder into her, driving her up the bed a little more with each hip movement until she had to take hold of his t-shirt-covered shoulders and grip them. And then, for some reason, she had to bring her legs up and around him. There was no apparent purpose behind this, but her legs just moved up on their own and wrapped around him, resting on the folds of the jeans pulled down below his backside.

André slowed, then went to move back from her. He gave a short, soft laugh.

“Loosen your grip with your legs, Caroline,” he said. Embarrassed, she did it, sliding them right down off him.

“No, leave them there if you like, but just give me room to move,” he said. She left them down. He moved up from her, still inside her, still sliding his hips towards her and away, but he gave himself room to slip a hand between their bodies, searching down into hot wetness where they were joined …searching and stroking. Caroline’s hips came up, hard, in an attempt to trap his hand, jam it and crush it between their bodies.

“No,” she said. “Don’t do that.”
”Relax,” he said, trying not to laugh, or to wince at the clamp she’d put on his hand. He moved his own hips back further. “Put your bottom back down on the bed, Caroline.” Not wanting to, but feeling silly about it, she did it, then caught her breath as that hand started again.

“Let it build again,” he whispered. “Don’t fight it.” And so she didn’t, if only because she didn’t know how. And when the pressure came again, more intense this time because he was hard inside her, filling her at the same time as his fingers tormented her, she caught her breath and arched helplessly, crying out as she came for the second time that night - the second time in her life. Her pulsing grip finished him, and he surged into her, hard, fast and strong. And then sank, momentarily drained, on top of her.

Caroline lay still, not knowing whether to be exhilarated or mortified. She’d just had sex with the chauffeur. Against most of her terms of reference, that was impossible. But there it was. It had happened. And even more incomprehensible was that fact that she had enjoyed it. It had been amazing. Uncomfortable and undignified, but absolutely amazing. And now, he was weighing a ton on her.

“Umm…André?” she asked. He said nothing. She tried again.

“André, you’re very heavy,” she said. He murmured something and then felt for and found the bed with his hands. He pushed his torso up off her, but when she went to roll away, he stopped her.

“No,” he said. “Just keep still for a little longer, Caroline.” He reached out carefully and flicked the bedside lamp on again, to her discomfort. Her arm went across her breasts instinctively. Given the fact that he’d been all over them, this was no doubt pointless, but it wasn’t something she thought about. He pulled back from her, she felt his body leave hers in a rush, and then he was lifting her hips up off the bed with his hands.

“What are you doing?” she asked, reaching down to cover herself. He was looking at her – actually looking between her legs.

“Seeing how much semen is lost from you,” he said matter-of-factly. “A lot, it seems. When you consider that there is usually only about a tablespoon each time, there appears to be a lot wasted. Hmmm. I will think about this.”
”You do that,” she said, getting her hand between her legs and covering herself, grimacing when she felt the wet mess that was there. “In the meantime, could I please have some clothes?” He sat up, turning away from her to rearrange his clothes. His zip sounded as it was done up.

“Why?” he asked, smiling. “We are going to do this again tonight, remember?”

He relented and fetched the robe for her, and she put it on before she went into the bathroom to clean up. When she came out, coffee was brewing. It smelt heavenly. Unfortunately, André was there and she had to face him, had to look at him knowing what they’d just done – what he’d just done to her, if she was honest.

“You are all right?” he asked solicitously. She’d been in the bathroom a long time.

“I’m fine,” she said tersely.

“Good,” he said. “How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” she said. “And strong.” He poured it, walked around the kitchen table, a cup in each hand, gave one to her and then sat down on one of the sofa chairs again.

“Please,” he said, indicating the other chair with a wave of his hand. Caroline sat.

“Well, it is done,” he said, stating the obvious as far as she was concerned. “We have made a start.”

“Yes, only two years minus one day to go,” she said levelly. The physical euphoria had passed. Now, she was back to the humiliation and annoyance of it all.

“Oh, it will not take two years, I think,” André said, leaning back in his chair. “There are some things we will do to make it more likely that you will be pregnant quickly. Not that I am in any hurry, you understand?” There was a smile playing over his lips and in his eyes. Caroline chose to ignore that.

“What sorts of things?” she asked.
”Well, I have read that when a woman orgasms, her cervix opens more, allowing easier access for the sperm,” he said matter-of-factly. “So we will make sure you always orgasm. I would have wanted to do this anyway, but now we will make sure.” Caroline took refuge in her coffee.

“I see,” she said. André’s smile flashed out, the full smile this time.

“This is not a bad thing, Caroline,” he pointed out. “You did not seem to dislike that part of it just now.” He glanced over to the bed. Caroline’s eyes followed his, then looked away again, fast. She’d been spread on that bed, naked under his hands, his eyes, his body. And she would be again, soon. She didn’t want to think about it.

“That part was…nice,” she said lamely. His smile stayed in place.

“Nice?” he queried. The smile faded. “And yet, I got the feeling that you have not experienced that very often before. You seemed somewhat…unsure. Am I wrong?”

“You don’t need to know that sort of thing,” she said primly. He shrugged. There was silence while they drank their coffee. It stretched out and became uncomfortable for Caroline. She felt the need to fill it.

“What reason did Robert give you for this arrangement?” she asked. André drained his coffee cup and put it down on the floor beside his chair.

“He said that he cannot father a child, but does not want the world to know that,” he explained. “And that it would have implications in terms of the succession for his title and so on.”
”Oh,” Caroline said.
”But I am fairly confident that I know what the real reason is,” André went on, startling her. Caroline painted her face expressionless.

“That is the real reason,” she said. Loyalty ran deep in her. André sighed.

“Why do people like you think that servants are deaf and blind?” he asked. “I see them sitting together in the car, their arms around each other. I hear them talk. They call each other endearments, but all Sir Robert calls you is “Carrie” or “pet”. What does it matter to me if they are gay? Either way, whichever reason is true, I get paid for doing something I am going to enjoy. A lot.” A smile tugged at one corner of his lips as she shifted uncomfortably, resettling the robe over her legs.

He was right, of course. It would have been obvious to anyone who saw them together when they were relaxed. And Jon had decided that André was trustworthy, so there was really no point in maintaining the pretence around him.

“It would cause problems with the title,” she said, repeating his earlier words. “And Robert has never wanted the world to know his sexual preferences.”
”What right does anyone have to know?” André responded. “What a person does in his or her bedroom is up to them, as long as they don’t hurt anyone else.”
”I agree,” she said. “But not everyone is as tolerant in the business community and in the old money circles Robert comes from.”

“C’est la vie,” André said. “But – enough on what other people do in their bedrooms. If either of us is to get any sleep tonight, we should concentrate on what we are going to do here, in this bedroom.” Caroline’s breath left her.

He laughed.

“Come,” he said. “It is not so bad, is it?” She didn’t say anything. No, the “act” itself wasn’t, but the lead-up, the being naked in front of him, the emotions, the situation itself….yes, they were bad.

“Come,” he said again, but this time he beckoned her with his fingers. “Come here to me.” Resentful at being called like an animal, Caroline nevertheless straightened her shoulders and stood up, covering the three steps between them in stiff-backed discomfort.

“I will take that,” he said, prying the almost empty coffee cup from her hand and putting it down beside his own. “Come closer.” He caught her hand and eased her towards him, parting his legs so that she was standing between his knees. “Now,” he said. “Let me see you again.” He didn’t wait for her this time. He just unbelted the robe and let it fall open. Caroline forced her arms to stay at her sides and looked pointedly over his head.

One long finger settled on the hollow at the base of her throat and then moved down, edging the sides of the robe further apart as it went. It travelled down between her breasts, down lower, dipping into her navel and then down over the subtle curve of her belly and lower still. As it tangled in the dark curls at the apex of her thighs, Caroline stiffened.

“Nice fur,” he said softly, mischief in his voice. His hands moved up and the robe slid off her shoulders to the floor. She stood naked in front of him again. This time, he ran his hands over her, cupping and stroking her, branding her with the warmth, the possession of his touch.

“Turn around,” he said, his hands on her hips already turning her. Her back to him, she gritted her teeth as his hands moved down her back, following the line of her spine, into the curve above her buttocks and then down over them, squeezing gently, trailing fingertips around the lines that framed them and split them. She tightened the muscles there, and he stroked until she loosened them again.

“And around again,” he ordered, softly, firmly. This time as she turned, he drew her closer still, his hands on her waist, and she gasped as his mouth settled once more on one nipple, his lips teasing dryly at it, worrying the hard, sensitive little point until she tried to pull back from him. Then he opened his mouth and sucked on her again, and her hips went liquid and her legs went weak.

When he stood, much, much later, he put his hands behind her thighs and lifted her so that her legs went around him, her sensitive skin abraded by the denim of his jeans. Her arms went around his neck to stop herself from falling, and he hoisted her higher, still kissing her breasts as he walked to the bed. And then he put her down, opened her legs wide, and moved in between them again, his hand travelling to the button at his waistband.

………

He walked her to the house, even though she assured him there was no need. She wanted to put distance between them, something she was sure he was well aware of, and was just being deliberately difficult about. She was dressed again, of course, and that was good. That was very good. But his presence beside her was uncomfortable, a solid, large reminder of what they’d done, of how they’d done it. The door, wooden and baronial, loomed in front of them.

“Good night, Caroline,” André said. He lifted one of her hands and touched his lips to her fingers. Then, without another word, he turned and left her.