“A financially embarrassed Earl—at least as far as the estate goes. I have my own income, of course, but it’s nowhere near enough to save Arden Hall.”
“It’s that bad? Really?”
He doesn’t reply for a moment, his eyes sliding away as though he’s wondering if he should change the subject. But then he looks back. “It’s that bad. And it’s my fault. After Martin, after all those wedding guests milling around the grounds, I shut up the estate and refused all paying visitors and tours for three years. It was foolish, and I regret it now, but I just couldn’t stand the thought of all those gossips wandering through, speculating in my own damned house about…well, everything.”
“That’s pretty understandable,” I say softly.
“Perhaps, but it was also selfish. By the time my estate manager convinced me that wehadto re-open to public visits, we were well into the red.”
“You must be under a lot of stress,” I say, starting to make some connections now. “Why haven’t you told me about this before?”
He shakes his head, trying to find an answer. “I suppose because it’smyproblem to solve. I sold off some of the paintings and antiques to raise funds, but that’s hardly an ongoing solution. There are scores of people who rely on their jobs at the estate, and due to my bruised pride, my wounded ego,theirlivelihoods are endangered.” He puts the risotto down, his jaw clenching. “So you see, I have to make it up to them.”
“What happens if…” I wince. Probably asking for the worst-case scenario right now isn’t helpful. But Elliot just draws a deep breath.
“I could sell, but it would probably get turned into some ghastly bed and breakfast. Or there are various heritage organizations to which I could surrender the estate. I would ask that the current employees be guaranteed jobs. But it would still be very difficult formeto give it up. The memories—” He breaks off.
I take his hand in mine and wish like hell I’d made a different decision about wearing the mask. I consider ripping it off, but I hesitate.
We are still in a masquerade, and I need to remember that.
“Are your parents…?”
“Both gone. They died not long after the wedding-that-wasn’t, one after the other. I have a younger brother, but he lives in France, and we’re not close. He hasn’t been back to Arden Hall for years, and wouldn’t mourn it. Still, I’d hate to think that after all these centuries, it’smymismanagement of the estate that leads to it passing out of the family.”
“I’m so sorry,” I tell him, still thinking over how traumatic it must have been to get left at the altar, then have his parents pass away, andthenface the possibility of losing his family home. “I wish—I wish I could do something to help.”
He gives me a warm smile, though I can see the fate of Arden Hall is still playing on his mind. “But youarehelping, Oliver. If I can get this piece finished, impress these Hollywood types enough for them to go ahead and commission an entire score, that would raise enough money to stave off the more immediate wolves from the door. And now that you’re with me, Iwillbe able to complete it.” He raises my hand to his lips and kisses along my knuckles. “But enough of my troubles. You seem to have had a difficult day of your own. I’d ask if you wanted to talk about it but, well…that might be outside the scope of our arrangement.”
I’m really starting to hate our arrangement. I hate that it’s a wall between us, keeping the personal separate from our play. Idowant to talk about work, to spill out everything that’s been happening, how stressed I am, how overwhelmed I’m feeling at work but still desperate to make sure the meeting goes well, still desperate to get that promotion, to getahead.
Elliot has opened up tome, but something still holds me back. I summon up a smirk. “You know, youcouldhelp by fucking my brains out.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “I’d be delighted to fuck your brains out, Oliver.”
I’mthe one who ends up shocked. Hearing my phrase coming out of his mouth in that gorgeous accent… “Really?” I squeak.
“Really. I’ve been waiting all night for you to ask.”
Oh, man. I’m going to be useless at work tomorrow, but I don’t even care.
CHAPTER29
Oliver
Ifully expected Elliot to just pound me into the mattress, but I forgot: the guy’s anartist. From his music, through punishment and discipline, andnaturallyin sex, he prefers to take his time. So instead of lubing me up and going to town, he pulls me out of the bed completely.
“I’ve wanted to do this since the first moment I saw that glorious ass of yours, Oliver,” he says conversationally, leading me over to the piano again. I have no idea what he’s thinking as he pulls the bench further out and sits down on it, arranging his thighs well apart, shifting until he’s seated in a way that seems to meet his approval.
He looks over and hitches one eyebrow at me as though it’s obvious what he wants me to do, and then—suddenly—itis.
I grin. “Ah. You like the classics.”
“What tipped you off?” He crooks a finger at me. “Hurry up, please Oliver. We don’t have all night. I want to allow you at least afewhours of sleep.”
My dick is definitely into it, heavy and swinging as I walk the last few feet between us and lay myself over Elliot’s lap. His hands are warm and firm as he pulls me into the correct placement, and I try to let him arrange me however he likes. “Really,” he sighs, “it’s a wonder we haven’t done this already. You give so much cheek, spankingyoursseems like the obvious option. Perhaps we should have a session each night, instead of waiting for Sundays.”
I wriggle around as my dick thickens against his thigh, trying to give it some room. “That…would work for me,” I force out. “Oh, my God,” slips out involuntarily, as Elliot’s palm runs from the nape of my neck, down my spine, and over the swell of my butt. His fingers twist between my tight thighs until I can feel them tickling my balls, stroking into my crack.
