“Do youwantto have sex some day?” I said.
“Oh yes,” he said, smiling, chest heaving. That was a good start.
“Would you like to have sex withmesome day?”
William nodded, enthusiastically. “If you wouldn’t mind. I mean, if it’s not too much trouble.”
I had ached to feel that close to William. I still ached for it. But breaking in a virgin? It wasn’t something that had ever been on my to-do list. I always preferred my men incredibly experienced. This was William, though. A beautiful gentle giant of a man. A huge-hearted, genuine, deep-feeling man. He’d as good as told me he’d been saving himself for the right person. He’d just told me that person was me.
“I would be honoured,” I said, leaning in to kiss him.
He kissed me, hungrily, gratefully. “Thank you,” he said.
Behind us, the kettle began to whistle.
“Is it OK if it’s not tonight?”
I nodded. “Of course. You let me know when you’re ready.”
“Thank you. I’m… really full of lemon tart.”
The rest of the week went in much the same pattern. Breakfast together, a day spent working on our various projects, dinner prepared by Bramley in the dining room, and then an evening alone together in the folly. It was the closest thing I’d experienced to domesticity in my whole life. The only thorn was the constant telephone calls from a very persistent journalist fromThe Bulletin, but we left Bramley to deal with those.
Chapter 34
William
It was Friday morning, the day before the village fair and a hundred and forty-eight days before Halloween. I was in the kitchen, raiding the pantry for ginger nut biscuits, when Buckford Hall’s doorbell rang. I looked at my watch. The fellow from Wetherby’s Auction House had arrived very early.
“Bramley!” I hollered, before remembering my faithful chief operating officer was busy with the team from the internet company, getting Buckford Hall fully Wi-Fi’ed. I was going to have to pull on my big boy pants and answer my own door. Still, we all had to make sacrifices if we were going to save the estate. I dashed through the house to the front door—stopping to check my hair in the mirror and brush a few biscuit crumbs off my crisp white shirt. Thanks to Bramley, who was thrilled with my new-found sartorial professionalism, my shirt and my tan chinos were freshly pressed, my Chelsea boots were nicely polished, and the simple rust-brown tie that was trying to throttle me to death was tied in a perfect double Windsor. I had drawn the line at the tweed blazer Bramley had suggested. The tie was enough. I smiled at my reflection, sucked the biscuit out of my teeth, and opened the front door.
“Lord Buckford?” an amiable but scruffy chap standing at the top of my stairs said.
“’Tis I,” I said, and I have no idea why. I’d never answered my own door before. “You must be the fellow from Wetherby’s. Call me William.”
“Wetherby’s?”
“The auction house?”
I extended my hand, and he shook it.
“Yes, of course. Call me Gary,” he said, and he hooked a thumb over his shoulder to where his colleague was snapping photos of the house. “This is Astrid. She’s here to do the photographs.”
“For the catalogue? Come in, come in. Shall we start in the West Drawing Room?”
“We’ll start wherever you like, William,” Gary said, pulling a notepad from his satchel. “You’re in charge. I’ll make a few notes as we go.”
I marched them into the middle of the drawing room and pointed at the paintings on the wall.
“I thought the Stubbs, the two Reynolds could go.”
“The Stubbsandthe two Reynolds, you say?”
“Yes, I thought that should raise a bit.”
Gary spun around to face me, his expression suggesting I was mad.
“I know, it’s a shame to get rid of the Stubbs. She’s a beautiful buckskin mare.” I pointed to the picture by the door we’d come through. “But we’ve still got the John Boultbee over there. He was local, so it would be more of a shame to part with that one.”
