Sweet Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 2) Page 9

  As he leaves, Jason actually stops in front of me to say stiffly, ‘I’m sorry we seem to have started off on the wrong foot Ms. Shackleford, but my father would like you to know that you and your friends are welcome to stay here for as long as you like.’ He pauses and glances over towards Kit with a peculiar regret in his eyes, before continuing quietly, ‘I hope everything works out for you Victory; however, I’d be very grateful if you’d try not to kill my grandmother while I’m gone…’

  The afternoon seems to go on forever. No further information has been released since the headlines of this morning, so the various TV channels have taken to rehashing all the lurid details of our last brush with notoriety, complete with lots of gorgeous studio shots of Noah and Gaynor Andrews and equally hideous, (though thankfully grainy) pictures of me, which worryingly seem to have been mostly taken whilst I was in my tatty old dressing gown. Maybe the swanky new gates at the Admiralty are not quite as foolproof as we thought…

  Kit, Freddy and Mabel keep wanting to talk about my relationship with Noah, with my two friends firmly of the opinion that I should hang on to him until I’m prized off with a claw hammer and Mabel helpfully adding that I should stick to him like shit to a shovel… Aileen keeps coming in with a never ending stream of coffee and shortbread - mainly I think so she can keep abreast of the most exciting affair to hit Bloodstone Tower since the Lady’s kinsmen were thrown out of the window. I’m tempted to tell her to just sit down and join in the discussion, but since I can’t really understand anything she says, I decide it will only complicate the situation. Of old Mrs. Buchannan there is no sign – I don’t know whether to be relieved or concerned…

  After two hours of my friends’ well meaning advice, I’m ready to throw myself into the loch. I remind them all, sparing an apologetic look towards Mabel, that my father is alleged to have murdered a prostitute (not that that’s better or worse than murdering anyone else – but it has to be said, it provides a much juicier story given the fact that he’d been in a brothel to actually commit the heinous crime…) My nerves are now wound up tighter than a monkey’s nuts, as my father would say. I keep trying to work out what time Noah is likely to get here and every time Dotty cocks her head on one side to listen, my heart judders and I just want to be sick. In the end, I jump up with the mumbled excuse that Noah may be trying to call me, which is perfectly true. As I’m leaving the room with the two dogs in tow (Pickles appears determined not to let me out of his sight), Freddy calls my name. I look back at his uncharacteristically serious face. ‘If he hurts you Tory, he’ll have me to answer to.’ I picture the two of them, Noah and Freddy, squaring up to each other and almost feel like smiling, although I’m sure, from his earnest expression, that that wasn’t Freddy’s intention. ‘He won’t hurt me Freddy,’ I say softly, ‘It’s much more likely to be the other way round…’

  It’s another hour and a half before I actually receive a text from Noah to tell me his cab’s about twenty minutes away. I resist the urge to ask if the taxi’s taken him the scenic route – maybe via The Shetland Isles – seeing as it’s taken so long, but I don’t think this is the right time for sarcasm. So I fiddle with my phone a bit and in the end just text back some kisses.

  My nerves are now going into overdrive. I look down at myself for the first time since my undignified start to the day and suddenly realize I’m not exactly looking my best. Baggy shirt, jeans and trainers – not exactly sex on legs. Things must be bad if Freddy’s passed over the opportunity to make a bitchy comment about my chosen attire. Still, looking good is not the objective here – making Noah see sense is, and when he sees me for the first time in weeks looking like this, he might just wonder what on earth all the fuss was about. I just wish I could stop the ache in my heart at the thought of him not loving me anymore.

  I’m listening for the noise of a car, so in the end I completely miss Noah’s arrival on foot. Dotty’s the first to spot him standing in the shadows of an overgrown azalea bush and abandons her sniffing to dash up to him barking joyfully, closely followed by Pickles, trailing behind her at a more sedate pace. Rooted to the spot, heart threatening to burst out of my chest, I gaze at him helplessly, as always, completely blindsided anew by his sheer masculine beauty. He bends down to fuss the two dogs gamboling around him enthusiastically, then straightens up to regard me steadily, silently. After a couple of seconds, he begins moving slowly, almost predatorily, in my direction, and before I can stop myself I take an involuntary step backwards, intimidated by the intensity of his gaze. But despite my nervousness, every part of me is springing to vibrant life as he walks determinedly towards me and when he finally halts, a couple of feet away, it’s me who takes the final two steps with an incoherent whisper, the longing and need to be in his arms pushing everything else aside. Without taking his eyes off my face, Noah drops his bag, and raises his hand to gently stroke my wet cheek. Up until now, I have no idea I’ve been crying. With a groan, he yanks me against his chest, his mouth opening hungrily against mine. As if in a dream, I feel his hands sliding over my back and hips, pulling me to him as if he’s trying to absorb my body into his. Incredibly a shudder runs through his tall frame as with a small whimper I completely surrender and arch into him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

  Lost in a world of hunger and need, I almost stagger when Noah abruptly tears his mouth away from mine and stares down at me in silence. His shoulders are heaving as though he’s been running and his incredible blue eyes are heavy and slumberous with desire. For me. I lean forward and press myself against him, not yet ready to face what I know is coming, but he holds me back and gently disengages my arms from around his neck. ‘We need to talk,’ he murmurs raggedly at my whispered protest. His face is determined despite the hoarseness of his voice and, eventually, with a small sigh, I rest my head against his chest briefly before pulling away. Gathering my wits together, I take refuge in small talk as he picks up his bag. ‘Where’s the taxi?’ I ask for something to say.

  ‘I got out of the cab a mile or so down the road. I didn’t want him to see my destination just in case he recognized me.’

  ‘Do you think he did?’ My voice is high-pitched with sudden alarm until Noah shakes his head. ‘I be an actor Tory,’ he responds with a very credible Irish accent, ‘Sure people see what tey be wantin’ ta see.’ He completes the transformation with a cap and sunglasses, previously lying discarded in the top of the bag, and I can’t help but laugh, easing the tension. ‘Come on then Paddy, let me show you Bloodstone Tower.’

  In the end it’s another twenty minutes before we go inside. Noah is completely fascinated by the tower and insists on exploring right around the outside before venturing in to the Great Hall. The dogs are happy to oblige, and of course, I’m more than happy to put off our “talk” and simply enjoy the bittersweet feeling of watching Noah’s characteristic, almost boyish, enthusiasm for anything new and interesting. By the time we get to the inside, it’s nearly six o’clock and the Great Hall is empty, late afternoon sunlight streaming in a myriad of colours through the mullioned windows. ‘Wow,’ is his only comment as he stares around. I smile, watching his beautiful animated face, determined to commit this moment to memory, whatever happens after.

  ‘Bloody uncanny. It’s just like Braveheart. All you need is a skirt and you’d be Mel Gibson.’ Freddy’s droll comment is made from the depths of one of the sofas fronting the huge fireplace. I was wrong, the room isn’t empty – I can only blame Dotty’s failure to spot the fact on her complete infatuation with Noah. Just like her owner.

  Laughing good naturedly, Noah strides towards Freddy with no hesitation. ‘Hey buddy, how’s it going? Good to see you again, just wish it was in happier circumstances. Thanks a bunch for taking care of Tory.’ They shake hands just as Aileen comes in to join the party. On seeing Noah, she stops flustered, and hurriedly wipes her hands on her floury apron, all the while staring with her mouth open and closing like a fish.

  ‘Noah, this is Aileen. She’s b
een doing a fabulous job of looking after us over the last couple of days.’ I watch fascinated as Noah does that thing he does – the slow, unbelievably sexy smile that starts around his eyes. By the time he’s finished, Aileen has gone a delightful shade of pink and is standing stock still, gazing at the actor while muttering, ‘Keep the heid Aileen, keep the heid.’ Noah looks at me and I shrug – he’s the expert on accents, not me…

  Luckily at that moment Dotty makes up for her earlier slip by barking, seconds before the door to the upstairs is pushed open by Kit. ‘Noah!’ she says simply, and I wonder if I’m the only one who can hear the relief in her voice. She hurries across the room and gives him a hug, this time leaving no doubt to everyone present of her delight at seeing him. I’m beginning to realize that I’m really not going to get any support at all in my attempts to distance myself from Noah. Feeling suddenly heartsick, I start walking towards the staircase. ‘If you’ll come with me, I’ll show you our room.’ I’m aware that my voice is a bit sharp, almost petulant, but I stifle the urge to look back. I really don’t want to see them all rolling their eyes at my juvenile behaviour.

  I hear Noah’s footsteps behind me as I open the door to the dark stone stairs winding to the upper levels, but I don’t look at him, just leave him to follow. Dotty manages to slip through the door just before it closes behind him and dashes upwards to lead the way. Once in our room, the little dog launches herself on to the bed, and looks back at Noah, tail wagging happily. God, I so want to do the same… Instead, I walk over to the window and rest my head on the cool glass. ‘Well, I’m obviously staying the night. That’s something at least,’ Noah says drily, ‘And there’s no sofa.’ The last is said softly, intimately and the insinuation in his words sends shockwaves of dizzying emotions racing through me. Taking a deep breath, I force the traitorous sensations down and turn round to face him. ‘You were right, we do have to talk.’ My voice is shaking. I know what I have to do, but it’s so hard to say the words – I don’t think self sacrifice agrees with me. Noah simply stands and watches me, arms folded, expression blank. ‘Noah, I..’

  ‘Stop.’ His interruption is sudden and harsh, causing me to flinch slightly. Although almost imperceptible, he sees my reaction and softens his tone. ‘I know I said we need to talk, but let’s have this one night together Tory. Tomorrow we can discuss the fallout from the allegations against your father. Just one night – can we do that?’

  ‘No,’ I want to scream at him, ‘We can’t. One night’s not enough, it will never be enough.’ Instead, I blink back threatened tears, and, swallowing back the lump in my throat, I finally nod my head, not trusting myself to speak. Sensing my turmoil, he walks over to me silently, and gently folds me into his arms. I stiffen for a second, then relax against his hard warmth. The smell of soap and cloves that is pure Noah enfolds me, promising a safe haven filled with love and laughter, and even though I know it’s a fantasy, I finally let myself go.

  By the time I finish crying, Noah’s shirt front is completely soaked. At some point he guides me towards the bed, lying down on it and gathering my unresisting body tightly against his chest. As my storm of sobbing finally begins to abate, I become aware of his hand gently stroking my hair. Hiccupping slightly, I lift my head from his chest and look up. ‘I’m so sorry,’ I whisper, sniffing, ‘You know I’m not normally this pathetic, it’s just…’ My voice dries up as he brushes his lips against my temple. ‘You don’t have to apologize to me Tory,’ he murmurs huskily, ‘I love you and I’ll never willingly leave you.’ Heart thudding, I open my mouth to respond, but he gently places his finger over my lips. ‘Tomorrow,’ he says firmly, ‘Now try to get some sleep before dinner, you’ve got a long night ahead of you.’ I laugh softly at his mock lascivious tone. As I drift off to sleep, the last thing I feel is Dotty, determinedly squeezing herself between the two of us and resting her head on Noah’s chest, sighing contentedly.

  They always say that dogs take after their owners…

  Chapter Eleven

  We all gather in the Great Hall at seven thirty and against all odds, dinner is great fun. As the wine flows, Noah is on top form, telling everyone about the monsters in his new movie. ‘So, are they like sort of furry Aliens?’ asks Freddy, ‘You know, like the twenty foot dentally challenged uglies in the Sigourney Weaver movie - but with hair?’

  ‘You mean like the abdominal snowman?’ pipes up Mabel helpfully, looking around us in bewilderment when we all fall about laughing.

  ‘James Cameron’s not the director is he?’ Freddy continues excitedly when the giggles have subsided. Noah shakes his head with a smile, ‘No, and neither is Ridley Scott before you ask. The director of Nocturne is a new guy on the block. This movie could pretty much make or break him.’ Listening to Noah’s animated voice discussing his new movie simply highlights just how much he loves what he does, and watching the others respond to his undeniable charisma slowly strengthens my resolve. I will not be responsible for taking all of that away from him. All I need to do is to convince him I’m right. Tomorrow…

  After dinner, Noah and I leave the others playing cards to take the dogs for a walk. Freddy’s enthusiastic suggestion that we could all do with some fresh air is ruthlessly stamped on by Kit’s foot – literally, and I smile at her gratefully before following Noah out of the door. The last thing I hear before the door shuts behind us is, ‘Bloody hell Freddy, you really are a complete plonker sometimes,’ and I laugh softly, causing Noah to turn back with raised eyebrows. ‘It’s nothing,’ I murmur, waving him on, ‘Just Kit and Freddy having a slight disagreement.’

  The evening is balmy and warm, only the gentle splash of waves breaking against the shore interrupting the stillness. The midges have turned in for the night and the sky is completely clear and full of stars. I take Noah’s hand to guide him and silently we wander down to the edge of the loch. As we reach the shore, the landscape opens to reveal the shadowy outlines of the mountains rising up on the other side and I hear Noah’s indrawn breath. ‘Beautiful isn’t it?’ I whisper, reluctant to break the quiet. I can just about make out his answering nod as he lets go of my hand to move closer and wrap his arm around my shoulders. We walk in companionable silence along the loch side as Dotty and Pickles sniff at the ground and take it in turns to chase invisible rabbits. After a few minutes we arrive at the small landing on the side of the loch, and in unspoken agreement, sit down side by side on the rickety bench. Resting my head on Noah’s shoulder, I wonder if I’ll ever again experience this sense of belonging I have when I’m with him. After a few seconds I feel his head turn towards me and gently kiss the top of my head. When I look up, the midnight intensity of his eyes holds me spellbound, until he finally bends his head, lips finding mine in a feather light touch. The shock of the contact is electrifying and the kiss quickly turns into something deeper as I open my mouth under his. ‘I need to take you to bed,’ he whispers huskily after long minutes, unless you want me to take you right here.’ A knot of pure, sensation slams into the pit of my stomach at the thought of making love to Noah under the stars. Luckily, Dotty chooses that moment to jump up between us and I laugh shakily before saying, ‘Probably better to choose the bed…’

  It’s five am and I’m lying awake listening to Noah’s level breathing next to me. Looking over at his peaceful sleeping face, I trace its contours with my eyes, committing every feature to memory.

  When we returned to the bedroom last night Noah undressed me, slowly taking one item of clothing off at a time. At first I was self conscious, but his fingers brooked no interference as they searched, stroked, caressed, and everywhere they touched, his lips and tongue followed, until I was almost mindless with need. Then trembling, I’d returned the favour, tracing the hard planes of his chest and finally touching the smooth rigid heat of him until, groaning, he’d pushed me back onto the bed, where at long last we were skin to skin, his body hot and heavy, a seductive weight that tormented and teased, until he finally relented and took us both to obli
vion.

  Leaning up on one elbow, I watch him sleep and feel my love for him well up until it almost overwhelms me. How on earth am I going to be able to let him go? With a small sigh, almost a sob, I turn away from him, intending to get out of bed to fetch Dotty who’s spent the night with Kit.

  Suddenly a hand clamps on my arm, halting my movement and pulling me backwards. With a small scream, I find myself suddenly wedged under a solid muscled chest. ‘Where do you think you’re going Victory Shackleford,’ he murmurs silkily in between placing small feather light kisses onto my neck. Gasping, I instinctively arch myself up to get closer as he trails the kisses to the side of my mouth. ‘Nowhere,’ I just have time to whisper, before his mouth closes hungrily over mine and we push the world away for a little while longer.

  ‘You know we can’t keep avoiding the subject,’ I force myself to say to him later after we’re both able to think clearly again. My head is resting on his chest, my hand idly tracing a figure of eight through the smattering of dark hair. The abrupt comment stills his hand, up to now busy stroking softly, comfortingly up and down my back. Then he sighs. ‘Okay,’ he says flatly, ‘You start.’

  I so do not want this conversation, but then I recall his animation during the banter at dinner last night. Taking a deep breath, I try to find the right words. ‘Noah, I…’ then my throat dries up and my mind goes into a complete fug. ‘Yep, that’s my name,’ he responds drily when I fail to continue. Lifting my head, I shoot him an irritated look. ‘You’re really not making this easy for me,’ I grouch.

  ‘So what would you have me do?’ he retorts back, ‘Just pack up and walk away? That’s not who I am Tory, you know that. I love you, and believe it or not, that means something. We – or rather I – allowed the press to get between us last time and I don’t intend to make the same mistake again.’ His voice is calm and controlled but there’s an underlying steel beneath, warning me not to push this. But I have to. I’d rather walk away now than watch him fall slowly out of love with me over the coming weeks and months.