Bought By The Billionaire novel Chapter 38

After long moments, the layers of silk, gauze and lace encasing me are pulled back and I emerge from my dim white tent, blinking a little in the sudden explosion of light. My Master eases me upright, turns me to face him, lifts me and carries me through to the bedroom, where he deposits me gently on the bed.

As he unknots his tie, stripping off his shirt, he smiles down at me. “Don’t worry. I wasn’t about to ravish you again just yet.”

“Of course not, Master. We’ll give it five minutes or so shall we?”

He chuckles as he lies down next to me, his head cradled in the crook of my neck. “Of course, yes. Foolish of me. Five minutes.”

His arms lock loosely around me. “I Love You, Elizabeth Haswell.”

“And I Love You too, Master.”

*****

“So where are we going?” I am excited. My Master, my new husband, has kept me in the dark as to where we will spend our honeymoon.

“You’ll see.” He sounds, and looks, smug, refusing to say another word on the subject. But, besides smug, he looks wonderful, wearing the plain white linen shirt and black jeans that suit him so well. The white of the shirt sets off his tan and the tightly fitting jeans enhance his…. figure.

I am demurely dressed in a white blouse, navy blue, knee length, skirt, and court shoes.

I try a different angle. “How long will we be away for?”

My billionaire Master has responsibilities and a heavy work schedule. I wonder if our ‘honeymoon’ is destined to be a long weekend only.

The car turns off the main highway. So, we are not going to the airport. Fantasies of sun-kissed beaches and blue seas fade away.

Instead, we follow narrow roads, away from the city entirely, up towards the mountains. After an hour or so, we turn in to a vast gateway, framed with intricate wrought iron rails and stone lions. A long drive curves ahead of us, set within close-clipped lawns. Beech, oak and chestnuts dot the landscape and, way down the hill; is that a lake?

“Oh, it’s lovely Richard? Is this the hotel where we’re staying?”

His smug-ometer is going off the scale. “It’s not a hotel. There’s just us.”

“Just us?”

“Well, I brought in a few people to cook and clean for us. Ross insisted on being one of them.” He tips his head towards our driver, whose grin I can see, even though the back of his head. “But apart from that, yes, just us.” He raises an eyebrow. “You did want us to be private for our honeymoon, didn’t you?”

I start to speak, but the house comes into view.

It is a small mansion, Georgian I think, and graciously designed. Tall windows frame a door set into a deep porch. Half a dozen steps lead up to the entrance. A carriage circle fronts the facade.

It must have cost a fortune to hire this place.

“Oh Richard. It’s beautiful. I love it. And yes, of course I wanted us to be ‘private’.”

The car pulls up onto the gravelled drive. Ross starts to unload our luggage. My Master steps out, walks around the car and opens my door, proffering his arm. “Would you like to accompany me inside Mrs Haswell?”

‘Mrs Haswell’. It brings tears to my eyes, the words still too new for the shine to have worn away.

We step into an elegant hall. Beautifully patterned rugs overlay a gorgeous parquet floor. A chandelier above us is paired to a companion that beckons up a long, curved stairway. To my left, I see a sunlit drawing room. To my right is a dining room, laid out for dinner with candelabras and fresh flowers on a long mahogany table.

It is a house from dreams.

Speechless, I simply stand there, staring.

“Don’t you like it?” My Master has a worried tinge to his voice.

“How could I not like it Mas…. Richard?” I am conscious of Ross in the background. Whilst we are in public, my husband is ‘Richard’. In private, he is ‘Master’. “It’s just beautiful.”

He leads me upstairs. “I chose a bedroom for us, overlooking the lake.” he says. “But we can always change it, if you prefer another one.”

The bedroom is sumptuous and the views are to die for. A huge bed takes centre stage in the room. Sunshine slants over red satin covers, scattered with white rose petals. An ice bucket sits on a small side-table, chilling a bottle.