Maureen Child - One Night - Sensual Bargains

My heart ached for the ten-year-old boy who’d been abandoned by his mother. Even though both my parents had died, I never had any doubt of their love for me. My heart twisted. And then I suddenly felt furious. “Your parents were selfish.”

His expression froze. Turning away, he threw himself into in an overstuffed chintz chair in front of the fire. “I was fine.”

I sank into the matching chair on the other side of the tea table. “Fine? To run off and leave you? Abandon you with a mean, neglectful father?”

“Well.” He gave me a wry smile. “I do wish Mum had told me the truth from the start. The day she left for Buenos Aires, she cried and said she was breaking up with Dad, not me. She promised she’d always be my mother and that the two of us would still be a family.” He looked away. “But within a year, her letters and calls began to dwindle. She stopped asking me to Argentina for Christmas. Not that Dad would have let me....”

“He wanted to spend Christmas with you?”

Edward shook his head. “He went to Mustique at Christmas with his mistress du jour . He just hated Mum and didn’t want to do anything nice for her. It wasn’t just that. Antonio didn’t want me at his house, really. He just wanted Mum.”

“That must have been hard....”

He shrugged. “When I was fourteen, Mum had a new baby. She was so busy, and so far away. She quit phoning, or sending letters. It was easier just to leave me behind.” He barked out a laugh. “It all happened long ago. But I wish Mum had told me from the beginning how it would be.” He looked out toward the lead-paned windows, bright with afternoon sunlight. “Rather than letting me wait. Letting me hope.”

“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, despising all the selfish adults who’d hurt him as a child. “Who took care of you?”

“The household staff. Mrs. MacWhirter, mostly. The gardener, too. But not for long. At twelve I went to boarding school.”

“Twelve?” I sputtered.

“It was good for me. Built character and all that.” He sighed. “I used to get homesick for Cornwall. I’d daydream about hitchhiking back here so the old gardener could take me out fishing. He also taught me how to catch a ball, tie a reef knot. Old Gavin was great.”

“You called him Old—to his face?”

“Everyone did. To distinguish him from his son. Young Gavin.” He sighed. “But his children had grown and moved away to find jobs, and Old Gavin missed his grandchildren. I promised if he’d just wait, when I grew up I’d create a factory near Penryth Hall that built things for adventures, so there’d be plenty of jobs for everyone. All he had to do was stay.”

“ Things for adventures? ” I queried.

“Blow darts and slingshots and canoes. Come on, I was ten.”

“Did you ever do it? Create the factory?”

“No.” He looked away. “Old Gavin emigrated to Canada, to be with his daughter. A few months after that, I was at boarding school. He didn’t keep his promise. I don’t have to keep mine.”

“Oh, Edward...” I tried to reach for his hand. But he wouldn’t accept either my hand or my sympathy.

“It’s fine,” he said roughly. “I was lucky. I’ve learned not to count on people. Or make promises I can’t keep.”

Mrs. MacWhirter came bustling noisily into the room, followed by a maid, both of them carrying trays. As they set down china cups and napkins and solid silver utensils, Edward smiled at the housekeeper. I realized that the older woman, gruff as she could be, was the closest to family he had. She poured Edward’s black tea and my coffee, set down our plates and left us.

I looked down hungrily at my breakfast, with eggs, toast, beans and grilled tomato, and a type of bacon that tasted like ham. I loved it all. I slathered the buttered toast with marmalade, then took a delicious crunchy bite. We ate in silence, sitting together near the fire. Then our eyes met.

“I don’t blame you for never wanting to depend on anyone,” I said softly. “Why would you? People lie, or love someone else, or move to Canada. People leave you, even if they don’t want to. Even if they love you.” I paused. “People die.”

For a moment, the only sound was the crackling of the fire. He stared at me. “You’re not going to argue with me?”

I shook my head.

“I’m surprised,” he said gruffly, watching me. “Most women accuse me of having no heart.”

I thought of my kindhearted father, a professor, who’d died suddenly in an accident when I was in third grade, and my mother, who’d filled my life with roses and sunshine before her long, agonizing decline. They’d never have chosen to leave me, or each other. But they’d had no choice. In spite of their fervent promises. “Maybe you’re right,” I said in a small voice, looking down at my plate. “Maybe promises are worthless. All we have is today.”

His hand took mine across the table.

“But if we live today right,” he said quietly, “it’s enough.”

The air between us suddenly electrified, and my hand trembled beneath his. Slowly, he started to lean across the tea table....

Mrs. MacWhirter coughed from the doorway, and Edward and I pulled away, blushing like teenagers who’d just been caught kissing.

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, sir,” she said, “but I wanted you to know I’m getting ready to leave. The rest of the staff has already gone.”

“Fine.” Edward cleared his throat. “Good. I hope you have a nice holiday.”

“Yes, indeed, sir,” Mrs. MacWhirter said warmly. “The staff wanted me to thank you for the extra large Christmas bonus this year. You’re always so generous, but this one topped it all. I nearly fell over when I opened the card. Sophie said she’s going to surprise her boyfriend and take him to the Seychelles for Christmas. I’m going to get my sister that new roof, and I’ll still have some left to put by. Thank you.”

“It’s the least you all deserve for putting up with me,” Edward said. “Especially over the last few months. I haven’t always made it easy.”

Her lips lifted into a smile. “You haven’t been so very bad as all that. Considering all you’ve been through...” She hesitated. “I needn’t go to Scotland for Christmas, you know. I could stay over the holiday, if you think you might need me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said sharply. “You’ve been talking about visiting your sister for months. You get the week off, as always.”

“But in your current state...who will take care of you?”

“Miss Maywood.”

She eyed me dubiously. “What about in the kitchen?”

“In the kitchen,” he said gravely, “as in all areas.”

He didn’t meet my eye, and a good thing too, since I could barely keep from laughing.

“In that case...I’m off.” Mrs. MacWhirter looked relieved. “Happy Christmas, Mr. St. Cyr, Miss Maywood. Take good care of him,” she added with a beady glint in her eye.

“I will,” I murmured, feeling new appreciation for her, now that I knew she’d been caring for Edward since he was a child.

And I kept my promise, all right. I took very good care of Edward over Christmas week. Just as he took very good care of me. We huddled in the warmest rooms of Penryth Hall, lighting a fire with a Yule log, and watched the snow rise in the chilly wind outside.

We had sex for Christmas. Sex for Boxing Day. Sex for New Year’s Eve. In between, we had champagne, opened Christmas crackers, wore paper crowns and gobbled up a Christmas goose we’d prepared ourselves—Edward actually knew how to cook, somewhat to my surprise—and a great deal of trifle.

I’m not going to lie. It was a very naked week. Alone just the two of us, we barely bothered with clothes. Edward said it was more efficient that way, plus he just liked the look of me. We lit fires in every room, in every possible way.