Her Master's Servant (Lord and Master Book 2) (22 page)

The table broke up after that, Nancy coming to sit next to Luna while the men gathered around Rod to look at something
Remainers
-related on his tablet. Jem and Kayla, in the meantime, ordered two more drinks and did a very bad job of pretending they were discussing anything but the conversation that had just occurred. Which Luna knew better than to ask Nancy about.

She and Stefan left soon after, Luna giving every single member of their party a parting kiss on the lips and Stefan stopping at the restaurant’s front desk to pay the bill. ‘You don’t need to do that,’ she said, secretly loving him for it.

‘No, no,’ he insisted. ‘That brunch was worth the price of admission.’

They had to run to catch the next ferry, so Luna didn’t get a chance to question him till they were sat on the upper observation deck.

‘Right, what was
that
all about?’ she asked.

Stefan brushed an imaginary piece of dust off his shoulder. ‘If you must know, we were discussing cunnilingus.’

‘Jesus wept!’ Luna exclaimed. ‘They really are
too bad.
I can’t think of a less appropriate brunch conversation.’ She hesitated. ‘Hold on, was Robert saying…?’

Stefan met her eyes and nodded solemnly.

‘Oh, come
on.
’

‘Apparently his ethnic heritage precludes providing this service to Nancy,’ Stefan said, starting to laugh.

‘What did you—? How did you get this out of him?’ Luna said in amazement. ‘Nancy hasn’t said
anything
to me about it.’

‘I’d imagine not.’

They sat in silence for a few moments.

Then, ‘She should break up with him.’

‘
Absolute
she should.’

At that moment, Luna’s phone vibrated and Stefan’s rang simultaneously. ‘Hello, Jem,’ he answered as Luna looked down to see a three word text from Kayla:
Oh. My. DAYS.

‘You are most welcome, Jem,’ Stefan was saying sweetly. ‘Would you like to speak to Luna?’ He handed the phone to her, but by the time she held it up to her ear Rod had clearly grabbed Jem’s away from her. ‘I’m not kidding, mate,’ he was saying. ‘We didn’t even make it out of the hotel. Straight to the front desk, straight up to a room and—’

‘That’s good to hear, Rod,’ Luna said, resting her free hand on Stefan’s knee.

‘Oh, hullo, Luna. That was some brunch, eh?’ He passed the phone back to Jem, and the two women spent another five minutes trading statements of incredulity, each suggesting that the other should really have a word with Nancy, tell her she could do better. ‘Or maybe you should get Stefan to talk to her,’ Jem ventured.

Or maybe not, Luna thought.

‘So, I take it this is not the first outing with your friends where the subject of sex has come up,’ Stefan said a few minutes later, as their boat passed under Tower Bridge.

‘Ha. I’m afraid not. You’d better get used to it,’ Luna replied, continuing, ‘but the girls all think you’re God in that regard, so…’

If she’d expected him to preen and say something humorous, she was in for a surprise, for all he did was cock his head at her, like he didn’t quite understand.

‘I mean, not that I talk about our… what we do, with them. Not in any detail,’ Luna stumbled on. ‘But, well, your reputation goes before you… and you’re so much more experienced than I am…’ She stuttered to a halt as his quizzical look turned into a frown.

‘I see,’ he said, a clear and pointed edge to his voice. ‘You’re saying they think,
you
think, I’m some kind of lothario, working my magic on you?’

‘I meant it as a compliment,’ Luna replied earnestly, squeezing his knee. She cleared her throat, mightily mortified by the turn this conversation had taken. ‘You’re the most skilled partner I’ve ever had,’ she whispered. ‘You don’t need me to tell you that.’

He smiled a little at that, and she thought that was the end of it. But he was quiet for the rest of the boat trip back to Bankside and as they walked hand-in-hand back to his apartment. They were just approaching the Millennium Bridge when he stopped abruptly, pulling her around to face him.

‘Do you know what I think?’ he said, looking up at the sky and shaking his head. ‘And I see already the look you will give me when I say this, like, “Oh, Stefan, you must not talk of these things.”’ He paused, daring her to interrupt, and Luna inwardly winced that he had her so bang to rights.

Running a hand through his hair, he went on, ‘I remember the first few times you and I made love, what it was like for me, being with you. Unlike anything else, any
one
else, I had ever experienced.’ He gave a rueful laugh. ‘I was literally doing times tables, humming the
Match of the Day
song in my head, visualising road kill to keep from coming too soon. Like some kind of teenage boy.
Still
, sometimes, it’s like this for me with you. Like I have lost control of my body – lost myself in you.’

He placed his hands on her shoulders. ‘Here is what I believe: I believe that I am that lucky one in ten thousand men who has found his physical match. Found the body that is perfect for him; that is meant to be with his. And I believe, I
hope
, that you feel the same.’

‘I do,’ Luna said swiftly, leaving no room for doubt or misinterpretation. For emphasis, she leaned into him, placing her hand on his stomach. ‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been flippant about it.’

She left the apartment at 2pm, slipping an envelope containing some very brief instructions, plus an address and time, into his hand and saying, ‘I’ll see you later.’

Their weekend in the Highlands had provided the inspiration for this, her final birthday gift to Stefan. Luna meant it when she told him he was the most skilled lover she’d ever had, and she wanted to thrill him the way he’d thrilled her at the lodge. The only problem was… she wasn’t Stefan. She didn’t have his sexual confidence or, indeed, his winning way with ropes and knots. She was, however, very good at making lists and checking them off, so she approached this challenge like the world-class personal assistant she was.

Step 1

Book luxurious, discreet hotel.

She arrived at their hotel at just gone 2.30, entering via the blink-and-you’d-miss-it, ultra-unobtrusive entrance on a side street in Soho. The hotel’s small reception area was flanked by a wood panelled seating area upholstered in a combination of leather, velvet and floral linen, and it smelled divine, like jasmine and cedar and roses combined. There were candles everywhere – on the tables, in alcoves, in the chandeliers – none of them lit now, but Luna silently revelled in anticipation of what it would look like that night, when she brought him back here.

Check.

Step 2

Conduct necessary preparatory work. Leave nothing to chance.

She went up to their room to drop off her backpack, opening the door to find a massive, antique wooden spindle bed bedecked in an immaculate white Egyptian cotton quilt and no less than eight pillows of assorted size and density. At the foot of the bed were two comfortable armchairs and a table with a jasmine plant on it. The floor of the room was covered in a gorgeous, oversized boucle coir carpet, with a small tiled section in the corner on which sat a sumptuous freestanding bath.

It was all Luna could do not to immediately jump into the bath and start using each and every complimentary toiletry at her disposal. Instead, she unpacked her bag, hanging up her dress for the evening and carefully taking inventory of the other items she’d brought.

As an afterthought, she stopped by reception on the way out and rather cheekily requested that they loan her ‘some of those delicious smelling candles of yours. Maybe five. Or ten?’ And was gratified when the man behind the desk, who also smelled very nice, offered to have them brought up to her room.

Check.

Step 3

Undergo rigorous self-improvement process.

‘I don’t want to look like a geisha,’ Luna warned the girl in Selfridges’ beauty hall as she wielded a brush next to Luna’s cheek. ‘It needs to be subtle.’

The girl, who was wearing a face full of expensive war paint herself, nodded seriously and kept brushing, and Luna knew a moment’s trepidation, wondering if she’d have time to remove it all if, as she feared, this didn’t go to plan.

Her hair, which she’d had done at one of the numerous blow-dry bars that had sprung up on and around Oxford Street, was currently covered in a scarf, with only a few glossy waves visible, trailing down her back. Knowing there was no chance she’d manage to avoid smudging her toes and fingernails, she had also paid over the odds for a gel manicure and pedicure. Clear polish on the hands, blood red on the toes.

And on the lips, she’d been insistent on that. Fortunately, the make-up girl was familiar with Kayla’s guiding make-up maxim: dark lipstick + heavy eye makeup = prostitute. ‘I’m just going to work on your lashes,’ the girl said, frowning with concentration as she finished threading Luna’s eyebrows. ‘Anything else would be overkill with your eyes.’

When she finished, spinning Luna’s chair back toward the lighted mirror for the big reveal, Luna regretted ever doubting her. The girl had made her look… beautiful. Blending foundation to perfectly match Luna’s skin tone, covering it with a light coat of mineral powder that made it appear luminous – flawless. Shaping and subtly darkening her brows, somehow managing to make her lashes look both incredibly long and natural at the same time. And her blood red lips, they were a triumph.

So much so that Luna promptly bought the lipstick and another £80 worth of products, tipping generously and pausing briefly so the girl, whose card she took away to share with Jem and Kay, could take photos of her to post on Instagram.

Check.

Step 4

Choose venue with care.

Where to go when you wanted to surprise your boyfriend? The one who lived in London, who was independently wealthy and a reformed womaniser? Who’d probably been everywhere that was worth going, beautiful women spread out like a shimmering, perfumed carpet before him?

In the end, Luna plumped for a bar she’d been to a few times with Kayla and some of her thespian friends, Manna and Quail. Styled in the fashion of an American speakeasy, it was all dark wood and modal jazz. Kayla liked it because of its house rules, which banned men pestering women; Kay always preferred to be the chaser rather than the chased, so the vibe here was perfect for her.

It also made killer cocktails, with a particularly fine line in the old standards. The bartender didn’t bat an eyelash when Luna walked in at 9pm and ordered a gimlet.

‘Vodka or gin?’ he asked.

‘Gin, please,’ Luna replied, sitting on a bar stool and crossing her legs. Her outfit had been the final step in her preparations for the evening, requiring a visit to the storage facility where she’d sent most of her possessions after leaving Arborage in January. She needed her Miami things; clothes from her two-year assignment working for a hotel magnate with somewhat idiosyncratic views on uniforms for his staff. All black, all the time, with LBDs the preferred option for his female employees.

The best and most expensive of Luna’s LBDs, reserved for special occasions, was what her boss referred to as ‘that bandage dress of yours’ – an extremely body-con, halter-neck Hervé Leger dress. One she normally might be reluctant to wear here in the UK, but, having yet to regain all the weight she’d lost in Shetland, decided to risk. She would also normally have worn it with a pair of plain sling-back heels. Yet here she sat, sporting her gladiator sandals with the five-inch heels and crisscrossing leather straps that ran up to her knees. The ‘fuck me’ sandals Stefan had so admired when the two of them were together on Miami Beach.

The bartender delivered her gimlet in a martini glass garnished with a slice of lime and Luna tried to focus on emptying her mind. Inspired by the bar’s house rules, her instructions to Stefan had been to behave as if they’d never met; with the aim to thrill, she thought he might enjoy being on the receiving end of a little chasing from her.

‘I say, you look very familiar,’ an uber-posh male voice pronounced behind her. ‘Have we met?’ So much for the house rules, Luna thought with a frown. She twisted around in her bar chair to find a tall, thin young man with flushed cheeks studying her with interest.

‘
I
know,’ he said, snapping the fingers of one hand, sloshing his drink in the other. ‘You’re that delicious selkie I stumbled upon during Isabelle’s house party last year.’ Luna’s heart sank. Yes, she remembered it: a pair of toffs appearing in the doorway of her attic bathroom at Arborage, catching her in the tub.

‘Fully attired now, I see,’ Posh Boy said, making sad, regretful eyes at her. Luna smiled a tepid smile as he grabbed the arm of a chubby companion next to him. ‘I say, Ned, do you recognise this Amazonian beauty?’ Ned professed mystification, so Posh Boy added helpfully, ‘Try to imagine her without clothes.’

That did the trick. Ned yelped in recognition, ‘The water nymph!’

‘The very same!’ Posh Boy jubilated, noting as an aside to Luna, ‘D’you know, if old Ned here hadn’t been with me that night, I’d have chalked the whole thing up to the absinthe. Some kind of heavenly apparition…’ His eyes wandered briefly, focusing on something behind her. Heart thumping ominously, Luna turned to see Isabelle Wellstone swishing her way from across the bar, looking immaculate and fragrant and
perfect
, as ever.

Jesus wept. This night was not turning out at all as Luna intended.

Isabelle was accompanied by a lanky woman with blushing cheeks; a foil, Luna thought to herself, somewhat uncharitably. Luna hopped off her barstool like it was on fire, ready to make her excuses and run. Unfortunately, there was no escaping Posh Boy, who insisted on making introductions. Himself, Tarquin; his sister, Lilith. Plus the aforementioned Ned.

‘And this is—’ he cut himself short and wagged a finger at Isabelle. ‘But of course, you two must know each other well.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say well,’ Isabelle disagreed, running a jewellery-laden hand through her blond tresses. ‘Luna is an ex-employee of my mother’s.’ She let that linger, allowing the words she didn’t say to lend colour and weight to the ones she did. Lilith quickly picked up on the non-verbal cues Isabelle was sending her way, scrutinising Luna’s outfit with a flat, openly critical stare. In a painful flash, Luna foresaw how this encounter was going to go, the two men making oblivious small talk while their dates cut daggers into her with their eyes. Suddenly her outfit, her make-up, the venue…
everything
about tonight felt like a horrible mistake. Praying like she’d never prayed before for a way out of this, Luna glanced haplessly toward the door.

Where her saviour had just entered, the crowd parting before him just like it always did.

Wearing his navy suit teamed with a light pink dress shirt she hadn’t seen before and, sweet Lord, loved him in, Stefan strolled toward the bar, trying his best not to look at her, following her instructions to the letter. With some difficulty, Luna managed to catch his eye and give what she hoped was a desperate ‘abort abort abort’ face. Bless him, he quickly made his way over, to be greeted by squeals of delight from Lilith and Isabelle.

‘
Darling
!’ Isabelle cried as he approached. ‘What are you doing here?’

She was poised to throw herself upon him, but Stefan chose to ignore her advance, slipping an arm around Luna’s waist and saying, ‘Sorry I’m late,
älskling
.’ And nuzzling her cheek.

The opening trumpet strains of Miles Davis’s ‘Round Midnight’ began to play, soundtrack to the slow, portentous fading of Isabelle’s smile. She looked from Luna to Stefan and back, her eyes remaining on Luna as Stefan planted his hand firmly on her waist and launched into a full scale charm offensive, chatting with Tarquin and Ned, shining the light of his powerful charisma on Lilith. Standing quietly beside him, Luna barely registered the conversation, enduring a glare from Isabelle that was equal parts cold calculation and pure, unbridled hatred. How she wished, then, that she could just crawl into Stefan’s suit pocket and disappear.

‘It’s your birthday? Mine too!’ Stefan exclaimed to Lilith with exaggerated enthusiasm. ‘We must celebrate.’ He turned to the bartender, ordered a bottle of the house’s best champagne, and pulled Luna a little closer to him.

‘You must forgive Luna and me,’ he said apologetically. ‘We have dinner reservations across town.’ He leant forward and kissed Isabelle, and Lilith too, giving Ned and Tarquin both a sly
this girl’s a keeper
wink. And then they were off, Stefan’s arm around her, her strides matching his. Out of the door, onto the pavement, out of eyeshot. Whereupon Luna threw her arms around his neck and said fervently, ‘You are the best boyfriend in the entire world.’

Chuckling and sliding a quick hand down to her bum, Stefan asked, ‘Did I do right? The champagne wasn’t over the top, was it?’

‘It completely was and I don’t care,’ Luna replied, pulling her head back to gaze at him adoringly. ‘I’m not kidding, before you got there the four of them were looking at me like I was a high class call girl.’

‘Whereas now you look like—’

‘A high class call girl with a paying customer?’ she suggested, bursting into semi-hysterical laughter.

‘You look incredible,’ Stefan disagreed. ‘Not at all like a prostitute. I’m sure Tarquin was thinking, “I have chosen the wrong woman here.”’

‘Oh, shut up.’ Luna gave him a little shove on the shoulder. Deflating a little, she gestured back toward the bar. ‘Maybe we should abandon this whole thing? Do it another time?’

‘No way!’ Stefan protested. ‘With you wearing my favourite sandals and looking like you do? No. I want my full birthday surprise. We will improvise.’ With that, he pulled out his phone and got to work, contacting Dumbarton House, the private club where he and Nancy were members, quickly arranging for Luna to be added to the night’s guest list. ‘Go to the members’ bar in back. I’ll give you a ten-minute head start,’ he instructed.

So off she went around the block to yet another discreet entrance, up the stairs of a converted Georgian terrace to a reception desk where she was given an embossed card to present at the members’ bar. Walking through the main restaurant, which was full to bursting, Luna experienced another moment’s doubt, but thankfully the members’ bar was less crowded. And the bartender there also knew how to make a mean gimlet, his containing a delicate, curled piece of lime peel.

Unfortunately, there was no rule against men chatting women up here at Dumbarton House, and after a few sips of her gimlet a thirty-something charmer in a shiny suit sidled up to where she was standing, resting an elbow on the bar and looking her over like she was a new sports car.

‘Dirty martini,’ he said to the bartender without taking his eyes off Luna. ‘And for the lady?’

Luna lifted her full glass and gave a slight shake of her head, noting Stefan’s approach on the other side of the man.

‘Don’t tell me you’re here by yourself, an exotic creature like you,’ the charmer drawled. ‘Or rather, do.’

Here at last was a situation Luna felt confident in handling. Meeting the charmer’s eyes, she tilted her head to one side unsmilingly.

‘Ah, the quiet type,’ he tried again. ‘I like quiet women.’

‘Do you,’ she said coldly. At last the charmer felt the chill, and slunk away to drink his dirty martini alone.