CHAPTER THREE
He’d thought late nights were a thing of the past. A glance at the library clock told him otherwise. The weight around his heart told him why.
After an early dinner, Ros had retreated to her rooms to call Simon and share the news about the wedding venue, leaving Guy to his own devices. Or, given the cognac glass and the cigar resting in the ashtray on the table beside him, more like his own vices.
Not for the first time that evening, his thoughts were revolving around Maddie Scott. What was it about her that was so enthralling? Physically, she was attractive—shapely, the kind of body he’d like to hold close on a dance floor. Or see laid out in his playroom upstairs, so he could watch those pretty cocoa-brown eyes glisten with tears.
That weight around his heart, though… As it increased once again, he finally acknowledged its true identity—guilt. The thoughts he’d been entertaining about Maddie were nothing short of a betrayal of Liz. Even after all these years, his heart remained hers, locked in an impenetrable icy shield, guarded against even the minutest possibility of his giving it to someone else.
Yet even as he acknowledged that guilt, he was still drawn to the woman he’d met just a few short hours ago. In a flash, his imagination slipped its leash, painting a seductive scene of the two of them together.
First of all, he’d weave her glorious hair into a short, tight braid, to protect it from being snagged by whatever implement he chose to use on her. He’d take his time with the task too, to turn it into a sweet torture all on its own. The thought of her naked and bound to his St. Andrew’s Cross had him more aroused than he’d been since Liz. For that alone, he should probably be horse-whipped through the nearest village.
As a sadist and usually the one to be found wielding the whip, that would give him no pleasure whatsoever.
Maddie Scott, on the other hand, would give him pleasure. So maybe she did wear her make-up a little too heavy for his liking. What did it matter? There might be a sexist expectation that women in the hospitality industry should be made up like catwalk models, but it wasn’t a deal-breaker.
Shit. Why the fuck was he thinking in terms of deal-breakers? What deal? There was no deal, not the one between a Dom and a sub, and certainly not the one between a sadist and a masochist. Christ, a woman like Maddie would run a mile if he revealed even one-tenth of his true nature to her.
Besides, even if that were feasible, it would be a betrayal of his Elizabeth.
But what if he were to talk to Liz, and tell her about Maddie?
Was that asking permission? Perhaps. If things had been different, if he hadn’t been such a self-obsessed arse, he might have seen the telltale signs. He might even have avoided making the mistakes in the first place. Over the years, he’d tried not to dwell on the might-have-beens, but some days were more difficult than others. Liz had been to him what Simon was to Ros—if he was honest with himself, she still was. Or had been, until he’d walked into Maddie Scott’s office and his world had turned upside down.
All he knew was he wanted a chance to see if there could be anything between him and Ms. Scott, to see if she could melt the ice protecting his heart and make him feel again.
And if that meant seeking closure on his relationship with Liz Barton, then so be it.
>>><<<
Over a decade old now, the grave was still in immaculate condition, as it had been the last time he’d visited it. Before he’d left the country after her funeral, he’d taken steps to ensure it would always be well cared for.
On one knee on the damp grass, Guy arranged the bouquet—cream lilies, purple gentians and lilac roses, according to the florist—at the foot of the headstone. She’d always loved those colours. Her joy when he’d given her flowers had always been wholehearted. He should have done it more often.
With his fingertips, he traced the outline of her name, etched in black on the light-grey granite. Her name, the year of her birth, the year of her death. No Beloved wife. She should have been. He should have given her that, as he should have done so many other things. Why the hell hadn’t he defied his orders and told her?
How many times had he asked himself that over the years, and how many times had he got a satisfactory answer?
Never.
Guy frowned. He’d always—always—experienced guilt settling like a boulder in his chest when he’d come here before, but this time it was different. He took a slow, deep breath, testing this new lightness of spirit. It felt… odd. He didn’t quite know what to make of it.
“Well, here I am, Liz. Back again.”
Like a bad penny, he’d turned up once a month for most of the last decade. Once his undercover assignment had ended, only duty had kept him away the handful of times he’d missed. Liz had been his world, until that bloody mission had come between them. When word of her death had reached him, he’d moved heaven and earth to get back for her funeral.
They’d tried to stop him attending—especially William Matthews, the snivelling bastard. And while they might have scared her friends away, they hadn’t succeeded in deterring him. He remembered it as if it were yesterday. He’d stood just here while the minister droned meaningless words over her grave as the snow fell. When the words were done, Guy had been left alone with his grief.
For years he’d believed he’d left his heart in that hole with Liz. Now he wasn’t so sure, hence his second visit of the month.
“So, my strategy to get Ros and Simon together worked, but here I am, hoist with my own petard, to paraphrase the Bard. Here’s the thing, Liz. I met someone. Her name’s Madeleine Scott… Maddie. She’s the events manager at one of the hotels Ros and I visited, looking for a wedding venue. And I like her.”
Quite what he’d expected, Guy wasn’t so sure. He didn’t believe in an afterlife, or signs from beyond the grave, so what the hell did he think this was going to accomplish?
“Sometimes all you need is someone to listen. This place is full of good listeners.”
Guy stood and pivoted in the direction of the voice. An elderly man was leaning on a hoe, his demeanour relaxed as he studied the scene in front of him.
“I guess it is. You take care of all the graves?”
“I do.” He pushed his cap back. “There’s a few of us that does.”
Guy glanced down at Liz’s plot. “Thanks for looking after this one.”
“She someone special to you?”
“Very special.” He hadn’t known how special until it was too late.
“You meant same to ’er?”
Had he? She’d made him feel that way. “I think so—I hope so.”
The old man gave a thoughtful nod, as if weighing up the exchange. “She’s been gone a while. You told ’er anything like that before, ’bout meeting another woman?”
“Never.” Heaven only knew why he was confiding in a stranger like this, but instinct told Guy to run with it. “There’s never been anyone to tell her about.”
And there hadn’t been, not once—not that he’d been looking. Though he’d played at Aegis over the years, it hadn’t been with any of the available subs. He’d played the role of Top to submissives whose Doms lacked the sadistic streak they’d sometimes needed. Sexual release was an itch he’d scratched himself, and hell, at his age, it was a lot less significant than it used to be.
Until he’d laid eyes on Maddie Scott. Thanks to her, he felt fifteen years younger, and he was nurturing fantasies about having her scratch that itch with him.
“Seems to me she’d give you ’er blessing, if that’s what you’re looking for. If she loved you like you loved ’er, she’d not be after dragging you into that grave with ’er, no matter what. I got work to do, so you think on it. You’ll see I’m right.”
And with that, the old man ambled off.
He was right, of course. Liz had never dragged Guy into her grave—he’d gone willingly, fuelled by enough guilt to last for years. That damn mission. If it hadn’t been for that…
Things happen for a reason, or so they said. Coincidence had played no small part in bringing Maddie into his life. Simon’s trip taking him out of the country, Ros’ choice of venues, the planner reporting sick the day they went to the hotel—all played their part. Perhaps the universe—or that higher power he didn’t believe in—was trying to tell him something. After all, hadn’t his unplanned visit to the cemetery taken place at the precise time the old man was pottering around in the vicinity of Liz’s grave?
Guy crouched in front of the headstone again. As he scanned the words one more time, a sense of calm and acceptance came over him. She really was gone, and he could never bring her back. And somehow, through talking to the old man, maybe even through meeting Maddie, he finally understood.
His fingertips transferred a kiss to her name. As they tracked the carving for what he sensed might be the last time, he could almost hear her whispering to him.
Enough. There’s only room for one in this grave, and I’m not moving. It’s time for you to stop living in the past. Go and live your life, Fawkes.
“Thank you, Liz,” he murmured. “For everything.”
>>><<<
“Oh good grief! Are you sure?”
Ros’ words stopped him dead in his tracks. After a strenuous workout in the gym, Guy had wandered into the kitchen in search of coffee and cake. What he found was his niece with her phone welded to her ear, alongside his cook, who had frozen like a statue in the middle of pummelling a mountain of bread dough. They were apparently awaiting a response to Ros’ question.
“What—”
“Shush!” Della turned on him with a ferocious glare.
Guy raised his hands in surrender. He knew better than to argue with the woman who kept him fed and watered to a standard the gods would envy. He turned his attention to Ros—or at least, her end of the conversation.
“That’s amazing. I’ll check my email immediately, and once I’ve run it by Simon, I’ll be in touch. Thank you so much, Maddie. I’ll speak to you soon. Bye.”
“Maddie? From the hotel? What did she want?” Guy tried to make the enquiry sound casual.
“Yes, Maddie from the hotel.” Ros slipped her phone into the pocket of her jeans. The smile she then bestowed on all of them made Guy wonder if all her Christmases and birthdays had come at once. Especially when she hurtled across the kitchen and flung her arms around his neck, the way she used to when she was a kid.
“Hey, what’s all this about?” Guy wrapped his arms around her and lowered her to the floor. “What’s happened?”
“I know I shouldn’t be so happy, because it’s really sad for someone else, but it’s just amazing.”
“So you said,” Guy observed. “Are you going to tell us, or make us spend the afternoon guessing?”
Ros punched his arm. “Of course I’m going to tell you. They’ve had a cancellation—three months from now. The couple have changed their minds about getting married, and Maddie’s given us first refusal. She’s emailing the offer to me. I need to talk to Simon!”
“Then go and talk to him, but check his schedule first. And don’t forget Brussels is an hour ahead,” Guy shouted after her as she ran out of the kitchen. He shook his head. “That woman.”
“She’s in love, Sir Guy.” Della looked at him as if he were the village idiot.
“I know, and no one’s happier than me to see it. But three months? Is it possible to organise a wedding in three months?”
“If I recall, sir, the law allows you to do it in twenty-eight days, if you can get the right people together in the right place at the right time.”
“You’re an expert, then?”
“No, but my cousin was last year. She looked into all the legal requirements. Don’t remember much about what she said, but I do remember that.”
Guy inclined his head. “I bow to your superior knowledge. So three months should be a walk in the park, then.”
“In theory, yes, but in practice, it could be a little problematic. If you’ll excuse me, sir?”
“Of course.” Guy grabbed both ends of the small towel still draped around his neck. “Has Ros left any chocolate cake for me?”
With a disgruntled frown creasing her brow, Della gave an indignant huff and resumed her kneading. “There’s plenty left, sir. She hasn’t had so much as a sniff at it since she got back.”
Guy recognised the wounded tone. A touchy subject, then. “You know what brides are like, trying to get into the dress they ordered three sizes too small in anticipation of losing the weight before the wedding. In the meantime, though, I don’t have to get into a wedding dress, so I’ll happily take a slice off your hands.”
About an hour later, his job-related research in the study was interrupted by his niece bounding in, looking fit to burst with joy. Guy set his book aside and braced himself for Ros landing on the sofa beside him. “I take it you have good news?”
Her grin reminded him of the second Christmas morning they’d shared at Stonehaven. He’d dragged her out of bed, every inch the grumbling teenager, and hauled her down to the stables to introduce her to her Christmas present. The transformation as she’d stroked the neck of the horse she’d named Fleming—after her favourite author—had been both a miracle and her Christmas gift to him.
“The best. Simon’s completely on board with bringing our plans forward, and I’ve already contacted Maddie to let her know. I can’t believe it. Three months. Oh good grief, there’s so much to do! What if the registrar’s not available?”
“Try to think positive. The cancellation was for the whole event, not just the venue—the registrar must have been booked, so probably has an opening now. I suggest you call and make the necessary appointments, then you can relax, have a drink, and enjoy the calm before the storm.”
“I guess you’re right. I’ll print the contract, ready for Simon to sign when he gets back tomorrow. The sooner I can get it back to Maddie, the better.”
“Just as well he’s returning early. Why don’t I drop the contract off for you, then you two can make a start on organising everything else?”
The words escaped his out-of-control mouth before he could stop them. Did he have to sound as eager as a hormonal teenage boy to speak to Maddie Scott again?
Probably, since he was eager to do a lot more than simply speak to her. Ever since his visit to Liz’s grave, a feeling of being on the verge of something life-changing had shadowed his every thought. He had no doubt it was connected with the events manager. Never one to act on emotion rather than logic, the situation he now found himself in was… unusual.
For him, at any rate. Plenty of people his age discovered a new lease on life, new beginnings and new relationships. He’d never considered himself likely to be one of them. He’d used up all his luck in love when he found Liz, and luck like that didn’t strike twice in a lifetime. His needs, when it came to relationships were too… specialised.
What if he could set those needs aside, though? Could he do it for a woman like Maddie?
There was only one way to find out.