The Limbo of Luxury (3 page)

The door of her room opened and a woman of late middle age entered, clothes draped over her arm and carrying a tray of broth, bread and tea. She was dressed in a plain black dress that fell to the floor, and a white apron. Her grey hair was tied back in a bun. Riane thought she’d stepped back in time for a moment.

‘Here you go, missy.’ She set the tray down on the table by the fire. ‘I’m Marge,’ she informed Riane, warmly. ‘Anything you need, just ask me.’

‘Thank you
so
much, Marge, I’m Riane.’ She accepted the dry robe and pyjamas from the maid, and quickly changed. ‘I’m
so, so
sorry to have dragged you from your bed.’

‘Ah, fiddlesticks.’ Marge waved off the apology. ‘It wasn’t me beaten about by a storm last night and besides, I’ve been up for hours.’ She set to work stripping the bed.

Eccentric as she obviously was, Riane liked Marge from the outset. ‘So you take care of Marcus?’ She made conversation as she changed her clothes.

‘Aye. I’ve been taking care of both the masters since they were born. They are my life’s work.’ She had the smile of a proud mother upon her face.

‘Marcus has been too kind,’ Riane offered her assessment. ‘He is a great credit to you.’

‘Aye,’ Marge agreed, but as she fluffed the pillows of the bed, the smile slipped from her face. ‘I thought I’d lost him once … he went missing at sea.’ The maid shook her head, as if casting off the memory. ‘A terrible business that followed.’ She seemed disinclined to say more, but she had Riane curious now.

‘It must have been terrible for you,’ Riane sympathised, as she finished her quick change of clothes.

‘Oh, it wasn’t me it was terrible for.’ Marge brushed aside her own feelings and wandered over to talk more intimately with Riane. ‘Marcus was engaged at that time and believing that her intended had been killed, she married another. Marcus found his way home to us the very day of the wedding.’

Riane gasped as she heard the story, remembering the wild ramblings of the waif in her dream. ‘Please don’t say she killed herself rather than stay married to another man.’

Marge’s eyes opened wide and both women were startled by a knock on the door.

Marcus entered, his hands coming to rest on his hips when he saw the petrified look on their faces. ‘Sorry ladies, I didn’t mean to give you a fright. What have you two been discussing?’ His lighthearted tone carried a good deal of accusation.

‘Just girls’ talk.’ Marge winked at Riane. ‘Nothing that would interest you.’ Marge returned to her duty and finished making the bed before taking her leave.

Riane could feel the warm broth trickling down her insides and still she shivered with cold. ‘I just can’t seem to shake this frosty feeling.’ She did her best not to stutter as she spoke.

‘Well, that’s why they call it a chill.’ Marcus sat down behind her on the floor, and wrapping his arms and legs about her, hugged her tight.

‘Mmmm,’ she sighed, as she experienced the heat his body radiated, and there wasn’t anything sexual about the pleasure the body contact brought her. ‘You’re
so
warm,’ She turned and snuggled in. ‘Sorry,’ she apologised, realising how fresh she must seem, ‘you don’t mind if I just use you as a hot water bottle for a while, do you?’

‘Not at all,’ he encouraged, ‘use away.’

He sat and held her for what seemed an endless time. ‘That’s so much better.’ She dragged herself away from his embrace, feeling she’d imposed on him long enough. Huddled so close together as they were, Riane felt sure any other male would have taken advantage; the fact that Marcus hadn’t, had Riane a little confused. Maybe she’d misread his kindness and he wasn’t really attracted to her at all.

Once she found the courage to look him in the eye, the desire she saw there overwhelmed her and a moment later they were locked in a kiss, more meaningful than any encounter in her past.

‘Christ, I’m so sorry.’ Marcus was on his feet apologising, before Riane had even realised their lips had parted. ‘Here you are unwell, and I …’ He waved his arms about, annoyed at himself. ‘The last thing I want is for you to feel obliged to me. What I mean to say is —’

‘Obliged to you!’ Riane laughed off his fear. ‘I’ve been trying to figure how to work my way into your life since the second I met you. And my conviction had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that you saved my life,’ she said bluntly to set the record straight. ‘Although the fact does obviously work to your favour, making you close to a prince in my eyes … but, what I am trying to say is,’ she took a deep breath, having gone so far out on a limb that she figured she might as well go all the way, ‘if you have the desire to warm these bones, they would dearly love to be warmed by you.’

With a tender smile of acceptance, Marcus picked Riane up and carried her to the bed, and robe and all he bundled her into the covers. ‘I make a great electric blanket, too,’ he commented as he climbed in beside her.

Riane was surprised when he didn’t disrobe. Instead, Marcus wrapped her up in his arms, stroked her hair and they just lay there, content to be still.

The warmth was utter bliss and working her hands into Marcus’ robe, Riane discovered a smooth chest as warm as a sun-baked stone. Her hands must have been freezing and yet he didn’t wince. ‘I’ve fallen under your spell, Marcus MacCloud,’ she yawned, as a deep sensation of comfort and safety sedated her. ‘Do with me what you will.’ Her body sank into a closer union with his and she drifted contentedly back off to sleep.

No nightmares were looming over Riane as she woke, just dreams of grand parties and intimate encounters by the fireplace. She was still curled up alongside her full-length body warmer, who had kept her snug as a bug during her relaxed slumber. Looking up, Riane discovered that Marcus was awake and wide-eyed. ‘Good morning,’ she smiled, elated by her circumstances. ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting long.’

He shook his head slowly, with a smile of contentment gracing his face. ‘Just a couple of hours.’

‘A couple of hours!’ Riane raised herself from him, embarrassed. ‘You could have slipped away, or woken me, honestly.’

‘I though you might be alarmed if you woke and found me absent,’ Marcus justified and he was right, she would have been.

Riane’s heart melted down into her stomach. ‘I think that’s the sweetest thing a guy has ever done for me.’ She moved to kiss his cheek, whereby Marcus turned his head and bequeathed a deeper reward. By the time their lips parted Riane was ready to strip off and see if she couldn’t detain Marcus in her bed for the rest of the day.

‘If what you say is true,’ he rose and clambered out of the covers, ‘then I ought to fare well.’

What do you mean, ought to?
Riane thought as she watched Marcus pull his robe tight around himself and find his slippers. ‘I suppose you have work to do.’ She did her best not to sound disappointed by his sudden departure.

‘No, no,’ he assured her, as he rose from pulling on his slippers. ‘I’m going to chase up breakfast … or perhaps lunch,’ he decided as he considered the hour. ‘Won’t be long.’

As they’d slept late, it was well into the afternoon by the time Riane and Marcus had eaten, changed and begun a grand tour of the house.

The place was absolutely steeped in history: the walls were covered with the portraits of the great-great relatives of the family that spanned over four centuries. Priceless works of art, tapestries, suits of armour, ancient weaponry and antique treasures from abroad embellished every exquisite room in the manor. Marcus had a plentiful supply of historic tales to tell about royal visits and harbouring spies and rebels.

‘Do you have any ghosts?’ Riane asked, as they descended the main staircase into the grand hall, which opened on to the entrance foyer.

‘Every square inch of Scotland has a ghost,’ he replied, ‘and we’ve our fair share. Although,’ Marcus raised a finger to stress the point, ‘ours are all very congenial.’

‘Wow,’ Riane said, emphatically, ‘even the ghosts are hospitable.’ She was not spooked by Marcus’s claim, as she’d been by the old men’s tales at the pub, and she figured it must be all in the delivery. She didn’t find the house at all foreboding; in fact, just the opposite was true. ‘It’s all just beautiful, Marcus. You must be extremely proud.’

At that moment the front door burst open and in walked a dashing young gent dressed to the nines for a seventeenth-century engagement — white wig and all. In behind him came four young women, all dressed in ballgowns from differing periods of history. It was like something straight out of a delightful dream.

‘Jasper?’ Riane uttered aside to Marcus.

‘Got it in one,’ he confirmed, making greater haste down the stairs.

‘Ah … here he is, girls.’ Jasper spotted his brother and so headed his way. ‘But, hold everything, what have we here?’ Jasper sidestepped his brother and moved to meet Riane at the base of the stairway. ‘This is most unlike you, Marcus.’ Jasper shot a mischievously delighted look back at his brother, before kissing Riane’s hand. ‘Jasper MacCloud at your service, lovely lady.’ He took off his hat, which sported a huge feather, and then bowed low before her.

This one had the look of the devil in his lovely, bright baby blues, and whereas Marcus was tall and ruggedly handsome, Jasper was shorter, well-built and downright gorgeous to look at.

‘I’m charmed,’ Riane admitted, unable to contain her amused chuckles.

‘So what’s with the fancy dress?’ Marcus interrupted his brother’s routine.

‘Oh,’ Jasper gazed down at himself, ‘my other suit was at the cleaners.’ He chuckled at his own joke, which Riane found amusing, but Marcus rolled his eyes in mock despair. ‘No seriously … the girls thought we’d have a “come as your favourite ancestor party” this evening, and you’re both cordially invited.’ His cheeky smile drifted toward Riane.

‘That’s very kind.’ Riane didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. ‘But I’m afraid my ballgown is at the cleaners.’

Jasper burst into laughter, finding her comeback amusing. ‘Not to worry. My girls will fix you up, won’t you, ladies?’ He waved them all over to join the conversation. ‘This is Arabella, Rochelle, Marion and Velvet.’ He finished the introductions with a good serve of enthusiasm.

‘I believe we can accommodate her, my lord.’ Velvet smiled, resting her head on Jasper’s shoulder, whilst the other three girls hung off him as well.

‘So, what do you say?’ Jasper put it to Riane, who in turn looked to Marcus, standing back out of the way of all the fabric.

‘Could be fun,’ he pondered aloud, noticing that his house guest clearly wanted to become part of Jasper’s fairytale charade.

A huge smile swept Riane’s face. ‘We accept,’ she was delighted to announce, and Jasper and his harem all cheered the resolution.

Marion, the strawberry-blonde with hair down to her knees, who was the very image of a Celtic princess, toyed with Riane’s hair. Meanwhile, Rochelle, the pouting brunette, did marvellous things with make-up. Velvet entered the room bearing a huge bundle, consisting of a dress and myriad accessories, slung over her shoulder.

‘Are we ready for me?’ Velvet queried, unloading her spoils on to the bed.

Velvet was Negro, full of grace, with long, wild, curly hair, and had a powerful presence. Her lovely, large eyes were slightly slanted and fiery brown in colour. Tall and slender, she was taller than the other girls, who all stood above six feet tall and thus towered over Jasper. The younger lord was only about five and a half feet in height, which also made him much shorter than Marcus.

‘Juuuust about,’ Rochelle replied, adding the last few touches to Riane’s orange-frosted lips.

‘Thanks for doing this,’ Riane said, as soon as she was freed from Rochelle’s attentions.

‘Think nothing of it,’ Marion insisted. ‘It’s fun to have someone new to toy with.’

‘Beats the hell out of playing with ourselves,’ Velvet gibed, and the other two girls agreed.

‘You’re all so beautiful, you don’t need any work,’ Riane said. ‘Me, I need
work
.’

‘Not much,’ Rochelle advised, directing Riane’s eyes to her reflection in the mirror.

The face of an angel stared her back and the transformation was so miraculous that she gasped.

All the frosty autumn colours that Rochelle had used put a soft focus on Riane’s features; it was a look she would never have dreamed would suit her so well. Her deep auburn hair had been piled into a bun laced with pearls, and perfect ringlets fell about her face and shoulders.

‘Oh yeah, you’re as ugly as sin,’ Velvet scoffed, waving their stunned subject forth. ‘Come on, Cinderella, time to get dressed for the ball.’

Riane was left completely naked as her wrap was removed from her body, but in this particular group of women it didn’t make her feel even slightly uncomfortable. A black corset was strapped on first and then black stockings attached. Velvet carefully laid out the bulky petticoat so that Riane could step into it, whereupon all three women helped her hoist up the massive garment and strap it on. The women assisted the evening gown, of midnight blue velvet, to slip over the hairdo, and then helped Riane slide her arms into the sleeves, tight to the arm and ending in a point at her middle finger.

‘Whoa, it’s heavy,’ Riane commented, as she took on the great weight.

‘It won’t feel so bad once we get you done up the front,’ Velvet assured her, and she began lacing the gown together with professional speed and confidence.

‘Um …’ Riane hesitated to mention the oversight. ‘No undies?’

All three girls smiled mischievously and shook their heads in the negative.

‘Perhaps we misconstrued the way you were eyeing off Master Marcus?’ Velvet queried suggestively.

‘No,’ Riane admitted, ‘you read me right, all right.’

The women were inspired to learn this, and snuggled in closer to Riane for some intimate girl’s talk.

‘Then definitely remain as you are,’ Rochelle, who had an amazing French accent and looked like a young Sophia Loren, advised, ‘and when he is holding you in his arms tonight, take hold of his hand and guide it underneath your skirts, up between your bare —’