Dirty Aristocrat: British Billionaire Bad Boy Romance (22 page)

‘That’s your engagement ring,’ he said flatly.

I looked at the ring. It was a baguette cut diamond ring, the biggest, showiest one I had ever seen.

I looked up at him. ‘It’s … big,’ I murmured.

He shrugged. ‘The bigger it is, the easier they will believe the lie.’

‘It feels so strange to be marrying you.’

‘It’s just an arrangement, Tawny.’

‘I know, I know,’ I said quickly.

‘Is there anyone from America you want to invite to our wedding? I can fly them over.’

I shook my head.

He frowned. ‘Your grandparents?’

I looked down at the huge ring on my finger. ‘They died in a car crash when I was fourteen.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s all right. It was a long time ago. It actually feels like another lifetime.’

‘No cousins, uncles or aunties?’ he asked.

I looked him right in the eye. ‘No, they all dropped away when my mother became a stripper.’

Then he said the most beautiful thing. ‘How I wish I could have met your mother,’ he said softly and sincerely.

My eyes welled up with tears. When I blinked to clear them away they rolled down my cheeks.

He wiped them away with his thumbs. ‘Do you have a photograph of her?’

Unable to speak, I nodded.

‘Can I see it?’

I nodded again and, uncrossing my legs, got off the bed and went to my phone. I came back to the bed and showed her to him.

He looked at her photograph carefully before raising his eyes to me. ‘You look just like her.’

I sniffed. ‘You really think so?’

He smiled. ‘Yeah. Like an angel. When angels take their clothes off they make rainbows in men’s hearts.’

I stared at him. ‘Why Ivan, I didn’t think you had it in you. You’re a poet.’

He laughed and, imitating my accent, said, ‘Honey, I am many things, but I ain’t no poet.’

CHAPTER 25

Tawny Maxwell

N
othing suited Ivan’s mother less than the nickname Bobo. She had straight black hair like him and the same sensual lips, but her eyes were dark chocolate and her skin was carefully preserved and tended to, and despite her penchant for sun and heat, kept a delicate share of pale. She was wearing a grey turtle-neck jumper, a knee-length pencil line black skirt, and a pair of black kitten-heeled court shoes.

She stood up to receive me and it was immediately obvious that she must have been a great beauty once. Even now she was attractive, elegant and as narrow-hipped as a snake. Robert once told me that when he met her she was a drop-dead beauty. He called her a free spirit who could never be tamed by a mere man.

Her marvelously painted eyes watched me with vivid interest.

‘Hello, Tawny,’ she greeted. As I had expected, her voice was cultured and clear.

‘Hello Ma’am.’ I realized that I had unconsciously scrubbed the Southern twang out of my voice.

She smiled charmingly. ‘Do sit down,’ she invited, and vaguely gestured towards the sofa next to the one she had been sitting on.

‘Thank you,’ I said in my normal voice and perched at the end of the sofa.

She rang a bell and a woman in a black dress with a white apron appeared at the door.

‘You may serve tea now, Betty,’ she said.

The woman nodded and disappeared.

She sat on the sofa diagonal to me and crossed her smooth legs. ‘So you are about to marry my son.’

I smiled. ‘It would seem so.

‘Yes, I can see how my son would adore you, but you don’t seem to be Robert’s type,’ she observed shrewdly.

‘Well, I must have been. He married me,’ I said coolly.
You were right Robert
. Still she ain’t gettin’ no secrets from me.

‘Well,’ she exhaled. ‘He must have changed a great deal since I knew him.’

‘He always said wonderful things about you.’

‘Did he? He was a sly devil.’

I smiled. ‘Yes Ma’am, he was that, but he changed a lot in the last years of his life.’

‘I didn’t go to his funeral,’ she admitted softly.

I gave a little shrug. Looking out of the window at the rolling green landscape I remembered Robert. ‘I know. We played him Gustav Mahler’s Adagietto, 5th symphony.’

‘Yes, I remember now he told me he wanted me to play it for him at his funeral.’

An awkward silence descended on us. I brought my gaze back to her. ‘It doesn’t matter that you didn’t go. He knew you wouldn’t.’

She tried to frown but the Botox wouldn’t allow it. ‘Really?’

‘In fact, he said, if you came he would be disappointed.’

Her eyes were alive with curiosity. ‘Why?’

‘Because it would mean life had finally beaten you into doing things you did not want to do. He admired you for being, in his words, wildly and fiercely independent.’

She took a deep breath. ‘Are you in love with my son?’ she asked archly.

I bit my lower lip. She was far too intelligent for me to lie to her. ‘I hope you won’t think me rude if I don’t answer that question. I find it almost impossible to talk about my private life with someone I have just met.’

She leaned back and regarded me with a frown. ‘So you’re not in love with Ivan and yet you are marrying him. My son is no fool. Why would he marry you? Is it to protect you?’

‘You’ll just have to ask him that. I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to say.’

‘I wondered about you. Everybody said you were a gold digger, but you’re not, are you?’

‘What makes you say that?’

She smiled. ‘Because, my dear, I’m a gold digger and you’re nothing like me.’

My mouth dropped open.

She lifted one elegant shoulder and dropped it. ‘It’s not a secret. I married Ivan’s father for his title, but he was an impoverished Lord other than this place, which had been heavily mortgaged. He was, what is that charming saying you Americans have for a person who has nothing?’

‘Doesn’t have a pot to piss in?’ I said.

She smiled. ‘No, I was thinking of something else, but that will do. I left him shortly after I conceived Ivan. I always wanted my child to have a title. They’re so useful. Then I married Robert for his money, but he was … too headstrong and too selfish. Too much like me, I guess. I divorced him and married my current husband who is perfect.’

 I stared at her, stupefied by her honesty. She was an awe-inspiring woman. The way she totally owned all her actions was impressive and empowering. She knew what she wanted and went out and got it, and in return for her unflinching honesty she seemed well adjusted and totally at ease with all her decisions. 

Betty came in with another girl carrying silver trays filled with a teapot, cups, and a three tier cake stand loaded with finger sandwiches and cakes.

Ivan’s mother picked up the pot of tea and began to pour it into two cups. Then she looked at me inquiringly.

‘Milk and two cubes,’ I told her.

She added the milk and sugar and passed the cup and saucer to me. Her hands were rock steady.

‘Thank you,’ I said, and took them with a smile of thanks.

She helped herself to a finger sandwich. ‘Cucumber. My favorite,’ she said.

I reached out, took one, and bit into it.

She put the plate down. ‘It’s nothing like Southern food, is it?’

‘No. If we see something we like we immediately smother it in cheese and fry it.’

She makes a comical face. ‘I had Country ham once with a gravy made of black coffee called red eye gravy, cat-head biscuits and melon. It was rather delicious, but very filling.’

‘My granddaddy used to say that Southern food always got him so full he felt like he was fifteen months pregnant. He swore he even got contractions.’

She laughed and so did I. I liked her.

She raised her cup, took a dainty sip, and put it back on the saucer. Then she regarded me, her smile quite genuine and totally harmless. ‘So,’ she said softly. ‘You’re in love with my son.’

The cucumber sandwich in my mouth felt like a lump of clay. Heat rushed up my throat and into my cheeks. I swallowed and looked at her pleadingly. ‘Yes, but please don’t tell him.’

She laughed. ‘I won’t. He is perfectly capable of running his own life.’

‘Thank you,’ I said gratefully.

She smiled mischievously. ‘You will be good for my son. It’s about time he had a real woman in his bed instead of one those vapid creatures he is so fond of picking up in all those strange clubs he frequents.’

After our tea, I asked her if she wouldn’t mind if I wandered around the grounds. Her eyes crinkled at the corners.

‘My dear, you don’t need permission to walk these grounds. Tomorrow you will be the mistress of Foxgrove Hall.’

‘Thank you,’ I said.

‘I am returning to London in the next half hour to catch up with some old friends, so I will see you at the registry office tomorrow.’

I nodded. ‘Thank you. I’m glad I met you,’ I said sincerely.

‘By the way, while it’s true that it is not often my son comes up with a good idea, you really should start calling me Bobo.’

‘It doesn’t suit you.’

She smiled warmly. ‘That’s where you’re wrong, dear child. It’s the perfect camouflage. Ivan’s father came up with it. Bobo. Doesn’t it make you immediately think of a brainless Duchess or a soft toy?’

I grinned at her, liking her even more. ‘See you tomorrow, Bobo.’

‘Until then,’ she said.

I knew Ivan was busy working in the library and I didn’t want to disturb him, so I went out through the conservatory and walked out past the formal gardens towards a wooded area. I took a narrow path until I came upon a breathtaking landscape. It was filled with tall straight pine trees. Their barks were covered with dark green ivy. I had never seen such a thing before. It was an amazing sight. Like being in a fairytale.

For a long time, I stood staring at the enchanted scene until a couple of rabbits caught my attention. They were brown with white on the undersides of their tails and they chased each other until they disappeared in some undergrowth. Still smiling, I moved on and followed a little stream. A couple of ducks were sitting on the bank and I was struck by the unspoilt beauty and wonderful silence around me. I sat on a rock and stared into the water. I heard a sound and turned. Ivan was a few feet away.

‘Hey,’ he drawled.

‘Hey yourself,’ I said, my heartbeat quickening at the sight of him. How on earth did he manage to look sexy in rubber galoshes? I wished I had worn a pair too, seeing that I had completely ruined my shoes in the mud on the pathway.

He walked towards me. ‘Peaceful here, isn’t it?’

‘Beautiful,’ I said quietly.

He stood a foot away from me and looked deeply into my eyes.

I blushed. ‘Has your mother gone?’ I asked to cover my awkwardness.

‘Yes,’ he said shortly.

I licked my lips nervously. ‘I like her.’

‘Apparently the feeling is mutual.’

His closeness and that intense look in his eyes were doing strange things to me.

‘She was nothing like I thought,’ I prattled on.

‘She’s like no one else.’

‘You’re a bit like her, aren’t you?’

‘Maybe. It’s getting cold. We should be getting back,’ he said, taking my hand. Holding hands, we began to walk back to the house. I stole a glance at him and there was a slight frown on his closed, preoccupied face.

‘If it wasn’t love, it was an addiction …

never a pair of lips made me come back so many times for a kiss.’

                                                                   - German Renko

CHAPTER 26

Lord Greystoke

I
walked into the drawing room and halted when I saw her lying on the sofa. I stopped to drink in the moment. She lay perfectly still, anticipation swimming in her eyes. In the soft light she looked every bit the peach that I was going to consume and devour. It was going to be another long, long night and I was in no hurry to show her just how bad a bad boy could be!

‘Got a present for you,’ I said softly and walked towards her.

Her eyes shifted down to the box in my hand. A slow smile lit up her gorgeous face. She sat up and carefully put her knees together. She was a sweet thing, after all. Imagine trying to keep her knees together while I was around. 

I held the box out to her.

‘Thank you,’ she said formally and took it from me.

‘My pleasure.’

She lifted the lid. ‘You bought me shoes,’ she exclaimed, pulling a hot-pink, six-inch-heel shoe from the tissue in the box.

‘They’re not just any shoes. They’re for fucking in,’ I told her.

She blushed a pretty rose. ‘As long as I don’t have to walk anywhere in them.’

‘Only as far as my dick, darlin.’

She swallowed hard and squeaked, ‘I’m sure I’ll be able to manage that.’

I made it over to the drinks trolley and poured myself a very large shot from the whiskey decanter. I turned around and took a sip. The burn was good. It was going to be a good night. I could feel it in my throbbing cock.

‘Go on. Let’s see what they look like on,’ I urged.

She raised her eyebrows. Saying nothing, she put the box on the floor and took the shoes out. They were gaudy things. The way shoes for fucking in should be.