Dirty Aristocrat: British Billionaire Bad Boy Romance (2 page)

I released her leg, and with a satisfied smirk she pulled her dress over her dripping bits. She’d had her fun and now it was my turn. I dragged her off the dance floor towards the men’s toilets. Unlike her I like a bit of privacy when I get my rocks off.

Here I wasn’t Lord Ivan De Greystoke. Here I was Ivan the Terrible. 

Tawny Maxwell

Barrington Manor, Bedfordshire

‘Whatever you do, don’t
ever
trust them. Not one of them,’ Robert whispered. His voice was so faint I had to strain to catch it.

‘I won’t,’ I said softly.

‘They are my own flesh and blood so they are dangerous in a way you will never understand. Never let your guard down.’

‘OK,’ I agreed immediately. I just wanted him to stop talking about his children. These last precious minutes I didn’t want to waste on them.

He shook his head unhappily. ‘No, you don’t understand. You can never let your guard down for even an instant. Never.’

‘All right I won’t,’ I said in a placating voice.

‘I will be a very sad spirit if you do.’

‘I won’t,’ I cried passionately and reached for his hand. The contrast between our hands couldn’t be greater. Mine was smooth and soft and his was gnarled and full of green veins, the skin waxy and liver spotted. His nails were the color of polished ivory. The hand of a sixty-year old dying man. I lifted it to my lips and kissed it tenderly.

His eyes glowed briefly in his wasted, sunken face. ‘How I love you, my darling Tawny,’ he murmured.

‘I love you. I love you. I love you,’ I cried desperately. I felt frightened. I didn’t want to lose him. The world stretched out as a cruel and lonely place without him.

‘Keep our secret and they cannot touch you,’ he said calmly.

‘I won’t tell anyone,’ I promised.

‘No one,’ he insisted.

‘No one,’ I agreed, shaking my head.

He sighed. ‘It’s nearly time.’

‘Don’t say that,’ I urged even though I knew he was right.

His eyes moved to the window. ‘Ah,’ he sighed softly. ‘You’ve come.’

My gaze swung to the window. It was closed. The heavy drapes pulled shut. Goose pimples ran up my arms. ‘Don’t go yet. Please,’ I begged.

 He dragged his gaze reluctantly from the window. His thin pale lips rose at the edges as he drew in a rattling breath. ‘I’ve got to go. I’ve got to pay my dues. I haven’t been a good man.’

‘Just wait a while.’

‘You have your whole life ahead of you.’

He turned his unnaturally bright eyes away from me. Looking straight ahead, and with a violent shudder, he left this world.

For a few seconds I simply stared at him. Appropriately, outside the January wind howled and dashed itself into the shutters. I knew the servants were waiting downstairs. Everyone was waiting for me to go down and give them the bad news. Then I leaned forward and put my cheek on his still, bony chest. He smelled strongly of medicine. I closed my eyes tightly. Why did you have to die and leave me to the wolves?

In that moment I felt so close to him I wished this time would not end. I wished I could lie on his chest, safe and closeted away from the real world. I heard the clock ticking. The fire in the massive hearth cracked and spat. Somewhere a pipe creaked.

I placed my chin on his chest and turned to look at him one last time. He appeared to be sleeping. Peaceful, at any rate. I stroked the thin strands of white hair lying across his pinkish white scalp. I let my finger run down his prominent nose and it shocked me how quickly the tip of his nose had lost warmth. Soon all of him will be stone cold.

I wondered whom he had seen at the window. Who had come to take him to his reckoning?

My sorrow was so complete I could put my fingertips into it and feel the edges. Smooth. Without corners. Without sharpness. I had no tears. I knew he was dying two hours before. Strange because it had seemed as if he had taken a turn for the better. He seemed stronger, his cheeks pink, his eyes brilliant bright and when he smiled it seemed as if he was lit from within. He seemed so much stronger. I asked him if he wanted to eat.

‘Milk. I’ll have a glass of milk,’ he said decisively.

But after I called for milk and it was brought to him he smiled and refused it. ‘Isn’t this wonderful?’ he asked. ‘I feel so good.’

At that moment I knew. Even so it was incomprehensible that he was really gone. I never wanted to believe it.

‘In the end you wanted to go, didn’t you?’

There was no answer.

‘It’s OK. I know you were tired. It was only me holding you back. You go on ahead. Find a place for me.’

He lay as still as a corpse. Oh god! I already missed him so much.

‘I understand you can’t talk. But you can hear me. When it is my turn I want you to come and get me. I’ll be expecting you to come in through the window. Go in peace now. All will be well. They will never know the truth. I will never tell them. To the day you come back to collect me.’

I opened up my nail kit and began to do his nails. With gentle care I filed and polished the yellowed nails.

‘There you go. That will last you forever. No one will ever be able to say I did not do a good job.’

Then I began to cry, not loud ugly sobs, but a quiet weeping. I didn’t want the servants to hear. To come rushing in or call the doctor waiting downstairs to come in and pronounce him dead. I knew what waited for me outside this room. Another hour … or two won’t make a difference. This was my time. My final hour with my husband.

The time before I became the hated gold digger.

Ivan De Greystoke

Mayfair, London

I closed the door and turned to her. She was looking up at me with a secret little smile. As if she knew something I didn’t. Quite frankly, I profoundly disliked girls who played these kinds of mind games.

‘Can I take your coat?’ I offered, shrugging out of my leather jacket and throwing it onto a chair nearby.

She turned away and stood quietly with her back to me. Her accent and her manner were all reminiscent of someone from a much higher class than the people who frequented The Dirty Aristocrat.  Perhaps it was that disconnect, that thread hanging loose from the sweater that made me bring her home with me. I helped her out of her coat and tossed it on top of mine.

‘Want a drink?’ I asked walking into the hallway.

‘Screwdriver, heavy on the screw.’

I turned to face her. Her expression was bland and yet there was something about her. Something I couldn’t place my finger on. She was sexually aggressive in a fake way. I understood Kitty. You got what you saw. I didn’t understand this one. ‘What did you say your name was again?’

She smiled. ‘Chloe.’

‘Right,’ I said and carried on walking towards the bar. I poured myself a large cognac.

‘Did you fuck the slut in the red dress in the toilets?’

I let the fiery liquid run down my throat. ‘Yup.’

‘Was she any good?’

I looked at her curiously. ‘Why did you come back with me?’

‘I liked what you did to her on the dance floor.’

Somehow that was not the end of the story. ‘And?’

She bit her bottom lip. ‘My mother knows yours.’

My mouth tightened. Ah, the loose thread waiting to ruin the entire sweater. ‘Look, I went to The Dirty Aristocrat for a mindless fuck and I brought you back here for more of the same. If you’re looking for a relationship I’m not the guy for you.’

‘You’re exactly the guy for me. Wouldn’t you like a hot little cocksucker to finish the night with?’

I smiled, my cock twitching. ‘Yes, I could do with a hot little cocksucker.’

‘Then you won’t find a better one this side of the Atlantic,’ she said huskily.

I threw my drink down my throat and said, ‘What are you waiting for then?’

The hot little cocksucker got on all fours and fucking
crawled
towards me. When she reached me she rose to her knees, unzipped my jeans, and with her mouth stretched wide around my cock she began to swallow it like she was starving.  

Tawny Maxwell

Barrington Manor, Bedfordshire

It must have been hours before I finally raised my head from his body and looked around me. The fire had become embers, and there was no warmth left in him. A light pinkish-brown mucous was coming from his nose. I scrunched a bit of tissue and gently inserted it into his nostrils.

‘You’re free now,’ I whispered.

There was no answer.

Time to go find the good doctor. Time to start the whole merry-go-round. I straightened my back and walked down the great staircase with its blue runner carpet. On the walls were priceless paintings. I found the doctor sitting in the Yellow Room reading a book. It was a grand room with several sets of superb hand-painted Oriental wallpaper depicting stunning artwork of idyllic scenes from everyday life in ancient China.

‘He’s gone,’ I said, and it surprised me how perfectly calm my voice was. Inside I felt as brittle as glass.

Dr. Jensen’s eyes flashed dislike. He had always distrusted me.  His absolute loyalty to Robert meant I would always be the enemy. He would never allow me to administer any medicine. Always it was him or the nurse who did it. Everything was kept in a locked cupboard. As if they were afraid I would hurry him to his death. They had no idea.

If only they knew my secret. But they will never know. I will never tell.

Wordlessly, he ground his cigar into the side of the ashtray and, snapping up his little black bag, left the room. I hugged myself and thought of him entering the room, checking for signs of life in Robert’s still form. The room felt cold. I looked at the goblet of brandy he had left half-drunk and I wished for a drink, but I needed all my wits about me.

I stood by the window staring out at the darkness until Dr. Jensen’s image appeared on the glass beside me.

‘He’s stone cold,’ he accused.

The cold hostility was like a slap in my face. He would never have spoken to me like that while Robert was alive. I reacted in the only way I knew how. Aggressively. Not the way Robert had taught me, but how my mother had fought all her wars.

‘What do you expect? He
is
dead,’ I said.

His eyes were narrowed and suspicious. ‘How long ago since he died?’

‘He went ages ago.’

He shook his head disapprovingly. ‘You don’t do yourself any favors.’

I turned around and looked at him challengingly. ‘Would you pity me if I cried?’

‘I wouldn’t waste my pity on you. You got exactly what you wanted. It’s all yours now. Congratulations,’ he sneered.

A bead of cold sweat raced down my spine. I never wanted it. My dream was completely different. It was small and sweet and wonderfully ordinary. ‘It’s not all mine. Robert had three children.’

His smile was cold and his voice stabbed. ‘Come, come, Mrs. Maxwell, let’s not play childish games. I think we both know how this cookie will crumble. You worked bloody hard for it and now you get the lion’s share.’

I took a deep breath. This was just the beginning. Everyone was going to say this and if they did not, they were going to think it. I might as well get used to it. ‘Robert was no one’s fool. He did exactly what he wanted at all times.’