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‘I would like to say that means a lot to me, Mercy, but it doesn’t. Arabella only wants one thing—well, two things if you count money in the equation.’ I stepped even closer.
‘Sir, then perhaps you should find someone who wants you for who you are.’
Jasper’s expression turned bitter. ‘And who would that be?’
By this time, I was standing so close to him that I could smell the spicy cologne he used and the sweat from his recent ride. I felt the urge to kiss him engulf me, and my feeling of love and compassion rose so quickly and strongly I was powerless to quell it.
As if he sensed what I was about to do, Jasper looked up, and our eyes locked. I read fear in their depths as he saw at close range my pockmarked face and all that meant to him. But he didn’t tell me to go. I tentatively reached down and touched his hand lightly. His skin was soft and smooth. He quivered but didn’t pull away.
‘Someone who knows you, sir,’ I whispered. ‘Someone who ... knows.’
‘What do you mean “knows”?’ he breathed and grasped the whip more tightly in his other hand. ‘Knows what exactly?’
I backed away. ‘I ... Forgive me, sir. I spoke out of turn. I’ll go now.’
But before I could leave, Jasper was out of the chair and rifling through the coats in the armoire. There was silence, and then he slammed the door. I almost jumped out of my skin. Fury had replaced fear in his eyes, and his lip curled in a snarl. ‘Where is it? I know you have it, pox witch! I’ve caught you loitering around in here before, remember?’
I tried to tell myself fear was the catalyst to his outburst, but my heart stung at his name-calling. I backed away slowly, and he came towards me with his whip in his hand.
‘Sir, I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Sir sir sir,’ he mimicked. ‘Always playing the innocent, aren’t you? Well, perhaps I should teach you not to take things that aren’t yours.’
I gulped. He sounded serious. Without waiting to hear another word, I wheeled around and fled the room. The last thing I heard as I headed for the stairs was Jasper screaming obscenities and mercilessly pounding the wall with his fist.
Chapter 15
There was nothing for it but to wear the same dress again on Wednesday. I had no time to go shopping, and it was the only sexy outfit I had. Plus I needed both nights to prepare my mind and body for ‘the date’. On Monday night, I did a YouTube course in beginner’s French because I knew Jeremy was fluent. I had some rudimentary knowledge from school, but I needed a refresher. Did I think he was going to expect me to converse in French? No. But I wanted to show I could parley-voo if required or at least nod my understanding. Then of course, there was the usual body prep, but forgoing the oily face mask (there was no way I wanted another repeat of Krakatoa).
While waxing my bikini line on Tuesday night, however, I wondered why I was bothering with that level of detail. I seriously doubted that anything sexual would be taking place even if Jeremy had been ogling me. There’s always Thomas, I thought. He’d appreciate it. But despite enjoying Thomas’s enthusiastic endeavours in the bedroom to get me up to speed, I wasn’t sure if continuing our arrangement was a good idea. What if this date went well, and Jeremy and I started seeing each other outside of work on a regular basis? Being involved sexually with another guy would massively complicate things. But I enjoyed Thomas’s company outside of the bedroom too. Perhaps he’d be amenable to being friends.
An image of him kissing my cheek and giving me that look swam into my mind as I ripped off the hardened wax with a grimace—somehow, I didn’t think Thomas would like playing second fiddle to Jeremy.
By Wednesday afternoon, not surprisingly, I was a bundle of nerves and seriously considering popping to the nearest bar for a neat whisky shot or two.
Becca was giving me suspicious looks because of what I was wearing. ‘Why are you so dressed up again?’ she asked.
‘I’m going to the opera with my mother. She’s been visiting from London for a few days,’ I said with conviction.
‘Ah, I see.’ Becca knew from my mother’s previous expeditions to Oxford that she could be exacting. Luckily, she didn’t ask me what opera we were seeing as I had no idea what was on.
Speaking of my mother, her Saturday night invite loomed in the distance—the night where I would have to spend an awkward evening in the company of my sister and my ex, pretending I was over their betrayal. Maybe if Jeremy was starting to think of me in a romantic sense, he wouldn’t mind accompanying me to London. The look on my sister’s face when I turned up with him in tow would be sweet karma indeed.
Unfortunately, sweet karma didn’t extend to the weather. Grey clouds gathered and the sky darkened outside my office window. Jeremy had confirmed that he’d meet me outside after work and we’d walk there. But as the afternoon progressed and translucent droplets ran down the windowpane, I worried he might decide it was all too hard and call it off. Silence ensued, and I waited on tenterhooks, my armpits wet with anxiety.
Just as I was about to lose my mind, he messaged, saying he’d pick me up out front and we’d drive to the restaurant. The tightness in my gut eased. He was a pro at this; all I had to do was relax and enjoy his company, along with some excellent French food and wine. There was nothing to tie myself in knots about.
It was raining heavily when I opened the main door of the building and poked my head out. There was no sign of Jeremy’s car, and I didn’t want to stand out in this without an umbrella. Unless he was parked farther along and I couldn’t see him? Shit.
Unbuckling my trench, I held it over my head and tottered down the puddle-strewn path to the front gate. No car. I didn’t have his mobile number, so I couldn’t text him. After an indeterminable wait under a dripping tree, his black MINI Cooper pulled up with a flourish next to the waterlogged kerb; and I jumped back, narrowly missing getting splashed from head to foot. The passenger door sprung open, and I collapsed inside, bundling my coat in front of me. But it effectively sent a rivulet of water all down my stockings. I banged the door shut, muttering an expletive.
‘Hi,’ said Jeremy, sounding amused. A quick glance over and I saw he was unruffled in a black raincoat with the collar turned up, his hair slightly damp. A grin on his handsome face. The space suddenly seemed too small for the both of us, and I found it hard to breathe. Was there a phobia for being in a car with a searingly hot guy?
‘Bit wet out there, huh? Would you like a towel?’
‘Yes, please,’ I squeaked, feeling drips wandering down my neck and wondering about the state of my mascara.
‘Sorry I took so long. There was a queue in the parking lot. Excuse me.’ Jeremy reached in front of me to open the passenger glovebox, his arm briefly brushing mine, and handed me a small folded blue hand towel. It smelt of old perfume. Did his dates use it to dry off if they got too hot and sweaty in his presence? I dabbed it perfunctorily on my décolletage and placed it to one side. I’d sort myself out once we got to the bistro.
