Dirty Aristocrat: British Billionaire Bad Boy Romance (17 page)

‘Do you come here often?’ I asked.

He leaned back and put his wonderfully shaped hands on the table. ‘Sometimes. The food is generally superb.’

A sommelier appeared with a bottle of wine. After the usual fluffing around that they inevitably do in fancy restaurants, he poured it out into our glasses.

‘To our wedding,’ Ivan said, holding his glass aloft.

‘To our wedding,’ I echoed and took a sip. It was dry with subtle tones that I was too nervous to note.

Another waiter came to the table. He placed a plate with a selection of canapés in the middle of the table and started to explain what they were, but his accent was so thick I only picked up random words, tomato, snow crab puree, caramelized onion …’

Satisfied that he had done his job, he bowed from the neck and made himself scarce.

I leaned forward, my hand accidentally pushed one of the knives: it clattered onto the glass-like floor. Without music the noise of its landing was exaggerated and heads turned in our direction. I felt myself flush.

‘Sorry,’ I apologized awkwardly, and I was about to bend and pick up the knife when he leaned forward and caught my hand.

‘For what?’ he asked, a frown making his eyebrows come together in a straight line. A waiter was already picking the knife up.

‘For being so clumsy,’ I said, winching inwardly.

‘Social etiquette is how the moronic silence the intelligent. What does it matter if you drop your knife, or eat with the wrong fork? Don’t ever apologize for such things again.’

I stared at him. How wonderful to be born in a class where you don’t have to emulate anyone. Anything you do is seen as wonderful simply because of your bloodline.

As if he had read my mind he said, ‘I was very rebellious when I was growing up and I hated being a Lord. My heroes were all anti-establishment figures. To my mother’s horror I put up a massive poster of Gandhi in my room. She thought he was a ridiculous, half-naked fakir, but I admired him because he refused to allow anyone to make him feel he was less because of his color, descent, or traditions. I loved that he came to England to meet his colonial masters dressed in rags.’

He flashed a cheeky smile. ‘I can imagine how infuriating it must have been for them.’

‘You said you hated it when you were young. So you don’t hate it anymore.’

‘Well, I acted up a lot when I was a kid. I did the most outrageous things, but no matter what I did, I was always forgiven because of who I was. And in the end I thought if people were going to be stupid enough to put me on a pedestal simply because of an unearned title, who was I to pull myself off it? I milked it for all it was worth.’

I laughed.

‘What’s funny?’ he asked.

‘It’s funny how you and I are from the exact opposite ends of the spectrum. When I first came to this country I tried, without much success, to fit into the very society that you tried without much success to escape from.’

He looked at me. ‘Don’t let anyone change you, Tawny. You were always beautiful. There was not one thing about you that needed to be changed.’

I looked carefully at him to see if he was taking the piss out of me, but he was sincere.

‘I thought you didn’t like country bumpkins,’ I said lightly.

He grinned. ‘What are you talking about? I adore country bumpkins. I secretly even like that twangy American accent that you arrived with.’

‘I can still talk like that,’ I said, returning to my old way of talking and letting go of everything Robert had taught me. It felt good to talk like that again. When I first came I didn’t want to be the one with the funny accent. I wanted to belong so I tried to change to suit my environment, but maybe I didn’t need anybody’s approval anymore.

I could talk like them, I just didn’t want to anymore.

‘That’s more like the glorious Tawny I first met,’ he said and grinned at me. An open boyish grin that took my breath away. Wow! It hit me then, that despite all my efforts to keep him at arms length, I was crazy about this guy. I always had been. From the first moment I laid eyes on him I wanted him, but he had always looked at me with such cold, disapproving eyes. I was forced to hide my feelings even from myself. I did not hate him. Far from it.

His eyes narrowed. ‘What?’

I shook my head and reached for my wine glass. ‘Nothing.’

‘Sure?’

‘Yes,’ I said. No way was I telling him that he was my man crush. I leaned forward. ‘What would happen if we left now?’

‘We’d be still hungry?’ he said, one eyebrow raised.

‘No, I mean if we left this place and went and got a juicy cheeseburger instead.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘You want a cheeseburger?’

‘With fries.’

He clasped his hands and stared at me. ‘With fries,’ he echoed.

‘And two strips of bacon.’

He shook his head. ‘Right now?’

‘Yeah. I haven’t had one in ages. Robert could never eat burgers, what with his diet being so restricted, so I never did either.’

He lifted his hand. A waiter came. ‘Bill please,’ he said, not taking his eyes off me.

‘Is something wrong, Sir?’ the waiter asked worriedly.

‘Nothing’s wrong. We have to be somewhere else.’

He hurried away. The manager came. His brow was creased and he seemed extremely concerned. ‘Is something amiss, Lord Greystoke?’

Ivan did not even spare him a glance. ‘Not at all. We just remembered that we have to be elsewhere. If you would be kind enough to bring the bill.’

‘No, no, Lord Greystoke! We couldn’t possibly charge you. You haven’t had a bite to eat. The wine will be compliments of the house.’

God! Rich people sure got away with murder.

Ivan dropped a wad of fifty-pound notes on the pristine tablecloth and escorted me out of that august establishment.

CHAPTER 20

Tawny Maxwell

W
e stopped in front of the cutest little white American restaurant in Mayfair. Chuck’s Diner had a white and red sign that read, Bringing New York to London. Decorated like a steakhouse it had dark-wood paneling, inviting red booths, a bar counter running the length of the restaurant, and chatty staff that practically sat down to eat with us.

Ivan ordered the two hundred and fifty gram fillet and I very nearly had the four hundred gram rib-eye, but in the end I had the Chuck’s Hefty Hamburger with an extra side of fries.

The salad arrived and while Ivan drizzled dressing onto it, I observed his movements with fascination. The more time I spent with him, the more interested in him I became. I liked watching him perform even the most mundane action and I wanted to do more than just watch him.

I wanted to touch.

As Chloe had pointed out, he was someone so out of my league that even contemplating such an idea was playing with fire. I was bound to get hurt.

Fortunately, before I could become too morose, my burger arrived and it was something else. Nearly as big as the dinner plate and dripping with melted cheese, bacon grease, and beef juice, it looked and smelt like the food from my childhood.

I grinned at Ivan. ‘Now that’s what I call a burger.’

‘Bon appétit,’ he said mildly, picking up his steak knife and fork.

I picked up my burger in my hands and took a really big bite. ‘Mmmm,’ I said, and rolled my eyes like I was eating ambrosia.

Ivan stared at me. ‘That good?’

I nodded enthusiastically since my cheeks were so stuffed talking was not possible. 

‘Good. I’m glad you’re enjoying it,’ he said and cut and speared with his fork what my granddaddy used to call a civilized bite.

I swallowed my food. ‘You don’t know what you’re missing. This is so good it practically dissolves on your tongue.’

‘I don’t think I’ve quite seen a woman enjoy her food this much,’ he said with a chuckle.

‘Where I come from they say, fries before guys,’ I said, as I used two thick, golden, salty fries to soak up the excess juices from the meat on the plate and put them into my mouth. I half-closed my eyes and fluttered them as fast as I could, as if I was in the throes of ecstasy.

‘Give me one of those damn fries,’ Ivan said and, reaching over, grabbed one.

I watched him put it into his mouth and chew thoughtfully.

‘Isn’t it brilliant?’ I asked, picking the dripping burger up in my hands.

‘Yeah, it is good,’ he conceded.

I widened my eyes. ‘Good? It’s freaking wicked.’

 I took another hefty bite. Ketchup ran down my finger and I licked it.

He stared at me.

‘Sorry,’ I said with a grin.

He shook his head. ‘Don’t be sorry. You look cute when you’re stuffing your face, besides, it’s a pleasure to see you truly enjoying something. You’re normally so ready to fly into a rage anybody would think you’ve a fucking cactus up your ass.’

‘Why, Lord Greystoke, I could have said exactly the same thing about you,’ I said.

‘So you’re a Southern girl. I don’t have much to do with the South. Where exactly are you from?’ he asked flashing one of those smiles that made my stomach go funny and made me glad I was sitting down.

‘Tennessee. I’m from a little town close to the border of Virginia.’

‘What was it like?’

‘Oh, parochial. Our nightclub only opened on the weekends.’ I wiped my lips.

‘Keep me away from there,’ he said, with mock horror in is voice.

‘No, you’d hate it,’ I agreed.

‘So tell me something about you?’ he invited, slipping a piece of potato into his mouth.

‘Like what?’

He pretended to consider. ‘Hmm … start with your weaknesses.’

I grinned. ‘The only real weakness I have is cowboys.’

‘Get me a hat and I can ride longer and harder than any cowboy.’

I laughed. A funny little flutter in my stomach.

He took a gulp of beer straight from his beer bottle and eyed me seriously. ‘What do you love, Tawny?’

I said the first thing that came into my head. ‘Horses, turtles, my shoes, oh, oh and I really love Christmas. Well, I suppose everybody does.’ I poured ketchup on the side of my plate.

He smiled. ‘Not me.’

My mouth dropped open. I had never met anyone who did not like Christmas. ‘Why? What’s not to like?’

He made a face. ‘The presents, the stupid decorations, the Christmas jingles, the dry turkey. Ugh. Everything. What do you like about it?’

‘The presents, the stupid decorations, the Christmas jingles, the dry turkey. Everything.’

‘Every Christmas I’d disappear off to Barbados or somewhere they don’t make such a fuss.’

‘Didn’t you even enjoy it as a child?’ I asked curiously.

‘No.’

‘Unbelievable. Christmas was such a special time when I was a child. My mama and I used to drive down to my grandma and granddaddy’s. It was so wonderful. We used to eat until we couldn’t move. Then we’d sit in front of the TV and slowly my granddaddy would start farting. I can still remember the horrible smell of his sprout farts mixing with the Christmas candles. Then mama and I would giggle when my grandma brought out the air freshener can and started blasting the room.’

He chuckled. ‘Well, if you want to celebrate Christmas when we are married, you can.’

I dipped a chip into the pool of ketchup at the side of my plate. ‘I was going to ask you, where will we live after we’re married?’

‘Well, for the first few months we’ll keep the present arrangement going, and then if you prefer living in the country you can move to Foxgrove Hall.’

‘What about Barrington House? Will I ever go back there again?’

His face hardened. ‘I’m afraid you won’t be able to live there for some time. I wouldn’t feel safe with you being so far away.’

We had apple pie and ice cream for dessert. The crust was golden and crunched satisfyingly when my spoon sliced through it. I put it into my mouth and Ivan was sitting back looking at me.

‘Good?’ he asked.

‘Almost as good as my grandma’s,’ I said.

He looked at me curiously. ‘Robert told me you have no one.’

I put my spoon down, suddenly wary. ‘Yeah. That’s me. Little orphan Tawny.’

‘What happened to your parents?’

I took a deep breath. I was getting into dangerous territory here
. No, lies, Tawny. You don’t have to reveal the truth but no lies.
‘My father left before I was born and my mother died when I was seventeen.’

‘Robert also said that your mother passed away before you came to England.’

I sobered up. ‘Yeah, my mother died.’

‘You miss her very much, don’t you?’

I looked up at him and took a deep breath. A lump was forming in my throat. ‘Every day.’

His expression was serious. ‘I’m sorry, Tawny.’

‘Yeah, me too.’

‘What was she like?’ he asked softly.

‘When I was growing up my mama was amazing. She had read Paper Moon when she was a young girl and the main character’s mother used to paint her nails, and while they were drying she spread her fingers out and waltzed around the room. My mama was so impressed by that, that she used to copy the action. If I close my eyes now I can see her floating about our trailer to Celine Dion’s
It’s All Coming Back To Me Now
.’