The Burlington Manor Affair

He did want to sort out the best long-term plan as possible for the manor, even if that meant selling to a stranger. Right at that moment he wasn’t sure buying the house was right for Carmen. The thought of her living up here alone was too weird. Time would tell.

However, what surprised him most of all was the fact that he wasn’t averse to the feeling of responsibility that was building in him. He’d assumed it would happen but that it would feel like a burden, the old issue of mortmain. He’d assumed that he’d want to get the hell out once he’d spent some time with the lovely Carmen—the woman who’d haunted his thoughts and dreams for all those years in between. But it seemed the connection he had to the old place wasn’t tainted with mortmain, after all.

The house was his leverage to get to Carmen, he reminded himself, that was all.

* * *

CARMEN INHALED DEEPLY, snuggled deeper into the pillows and then remembered where she was. Sitting up with a jolt, she peered around Rex’s room. He was nowhere to be seen. Waking up in Rex’s bed was disorienting enough without waking up there alone.

Carmen took a moment to run through what had happened, to assure herself it wasn’t some weird, lurid dream. It was surreal, though.

Sex, with Rex? I really did it, after all this time.

Slumping back on the pillows she tried to take stock, walking through what had happened in her mind. Her body was quick to reassure her it had really happened, her libido stirring.

Somehow, she’d given in to his deal. It hadn’t been something she intended to do, nor had she envisioned it panning out the way it had. Even though she’d given in to that age-old desire, she’d assumed it would be a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am shag, an event that would put an end to her stupid crush. However, she’d been shocked by Rex—his intense masculine persona and his powers of seduction. Christ, he was good. His dominance had triggered a wild streak in her, and it had taken her completely by surprise. Did I really do those things?

She had. She’d lifted her skirt, she’d stripped at his command, she’d handed over her stockings so he could tie her up with them, making her his—no matter what.

Fevered by the truth, the actualization of such a long-held fantasy, she rolled facedown on his pillows, inhaling his scent. Her body rocked against the surface of the bed. Rex, oh, Rex.

A sound from beyond the room broke her reverie. She shifted and sat bolt upright on the edge of the bed. Glancing at the clock on the dresser, she saw that it had just gone seven. It could be Mrs. Summerfield, the cook, arriving. It could also be Rex returning from wherever he’d disappeared off to. The last thing she wanted was him returning to find her there, languishing on his sheets while she retraced memories of the night before. That would be too compromising. Rising quickly from the bed, she pulled her clothes on and escaped the room without being seen.

Back in her own room, she showered and dressed. Then she ruffled her bedding because it occurred to her that if she didn’t the staff would know they’d slept together. She wasn’t sure she wanted anyone to know. It’d be over soon. The last thing she wanted was speculation in the meantime. That’s when the reality of the situation rushed back in. Doubts quickly began to gather.

What the hell am I doing? As much as she wanted the manor, she didn’t want to sell herself to own the house.

She would pay him. However, if she insisted on paying him now, he could walk away. Even though she knew it was dangerous and that she was running the risk of getting too involved, she wanted her four weekends with Rex. The night before was like nothing she’d ever experienced. To carry on with it was dangerous, an arrangement that was fraught with pitfalls. She also had to suffer his overinflated ego, but she wanted more of him.

The fact was she’d given in to his demands now, but she’d enjoyed it. When their agreement came to an end she would pay him, then she wouldn’t feel sullied. She couldn’t live with herself if she accepted fifty percent of the manor for a few bouts of hot sex. It was the only way to handle it, but she had to keep it to herself. Let him believe that he was in charge and getting what he wanted. She’d get what she wanted, too, and in a professional manner that she would be able to live with after the event.

Somewhat more at ease with herself, she plugged in her hair dryer and set about preparing herself for a day at the manor. There was a lot she wanted to check, and plans to be made. Then she saw Rex, and those plans drifted away. Standing in the bay window, deep in thought, she caught sight of him jogging around the lakeside path.

Carmen lowered the hair dryer, and stared.

It was little wonder she’d given in to him so quickly. The man was more handsome than ever, his maturity adding a new level of attraction to an already gorgeous-looking male specimen. And as he’d said, the seed had been planted a long time ago. However, the events of the night before had compromised her immensely and that annoyed her. In business it was important to keep the upper hand, and she was the one with the massive personal investment here. Rex didn’t give a toss about the place. He’d used the old flame between them to upset the balance of power, to manipulate her, and now, somehow, he was in control. Because of that he was able to instigate this curious deal where she exchanged herself for rights to his share of the property. There was no denying it had been satisfying, but the days and weekends ahead were now filled with uncertainty. Could she even trust him to stick to his own terms? What exactly did he expect?

Everything and anything, h

e’d said.

She switched off the hair dryer. When she went to unplug it, her hand shook. Taking a deep breath, she told herself to shape up. She had to make him stick to the terms, absolutely. And she had to push him to make it legal as quickly as possible, at which point she’d pay him. She wanted it on a contract—it was the only way to herd him into it—and she would get his signature even if she had to write it with her own blood.

At the dresser, she rooted about in her makeup bag and applied a little lipstick and minimal foundation, nothing fancy. Then she left the safety of her room and made her way downstairs.

The staircase was one of her favorite features, curving as it did in a huge crescent into the center of the hallway. She trailed her fingers down the polished banister, and at the bottom paused before she left the plush carpeting of the staircase and walked across the marble tiles in the entrance hall. Turning back on herself, she headed into the kitchen.

“Mrs. Summerfield.” Carmen was delighted when she saw the familiar figure of the cook standing by the sink filling the kettle.

The woman turned and put down the kettle, stepping over quickly to meet Carmen halfway across the kitchen. They embraced. Carmen had always got on well with Mrs. Amery and Mrs. Summerfield, but it was the cook who she was closest to. They’d exchanged cards and gifts by post each Christmas since Carmen had moved away, and seeing her brought a badly needed sense of contentment to Carmen’s troubled spirit.

“You look more lovely than ever,” the older woman commented as she looked Carmen over. “If a bit too thin,” she added, gently squeezing Carmen’s upper arm.

Carmen chuckled. Mrs. Summerfield had always used that line on her. “So you say, but according to the guidelines I could do with losing a few pounds.”

“Guidelines, what nonsense. Now, would you like to have breakfast in the dining room?”

“No, I’ll take breakfast in here, as usual.”