Milo...England

        By Pattie Lawler

 

            It took no convincing for Albany to agree to join him in England. Milo was prepared with arguments of flight length, oxygen deprivation and the likelihood that even more germs to assault her, but Albany weakly nodded at his initial question. This, he discovered, was almost as worrisome as the thought of her demanding to be returned to Jersey City. He bent and met her eyes.

            “You’re really not well, are you?”

            She nodded again. “I’m really not. Two hours in a plane I think I can manage. More than that, and I’m going to need some serious drugs.”

            Stepping closer, he pressed his cheek to her forehead. “You’re hot.” He gently hugged her. “We don’t have to go.”

            “I know. But I want to.”

            So they left.

            As promised, a private jet was waiting for them, and while Milo and du Montefort finalized details of the transaction and acquisition, Albany curled into a seat and slept. A few minutes later, the pilot approached them.

            “I’m sorry, Mr. Scarlet, but if we want to go, it has to be now. There’s a freak snow storm blanketing London, and they’re closing the airports. If we don’t get in the air within ten minutes, we’ll be grounded.”

            du Montefort offered his hand. “I will talk to you soon, my friend. Get home safely, and take care of Miss Wendel.”

 

            Heathrow almost didn’t let them land, but less than three hours from Paris, they were in a rental car heading for Nottinghamshire.

            Albany was fascinated by the weather as they joined the logjam on the A1. “I’ve never seen snow in England.”

            Scowling at the creeping cars, Milo nodded. “Neither has anyone else, it seems. Two flakes, and they panic.”

            “Spoken like a true New Yorker,” she laughed. “Where are you from? I don’t even know.”

            “Born and raised in Manhattan,” he replied with a grin. “You couldn’t tell by my non-accent? And you?”

            “I’m a Jersey girl. Born in Morristown, raised in Plainfield and moved to Jersey City as soon as I could.”

            “Parents? Mine are both dead, and my younger sister, Elizabeth, Fanny’s mother, died when Fan was three. She’s been with me ever since.”

            “I’m sorry, for all involved. But Fanny seems perfectly adjusted and sincerely attached to you. She said you home educate her, that’s commendable.”

            “And mercenary. I don’t want to send her to boarding school, but my lifestyle, as you know, isn’t conducive to any kind of school. So I drag the poor thing with me everywhere and teach her as I go.”

            “And the clothing?”

            He grinned. “That’s my fault. I commented once, while watching a movie,” he made a ‘long suffering’ face which Albany giggled at, “that I thought lace on a woman was very appealing. Romantic, I might have said, I don’t know. Well! That was enough for Fan. She spent the next week revamping her wardrobe.”

            “I think we should be glad you didn’t say you liked latex and spandex. I noticed a lot of silk and lace in the suitcase she packed.”

            His smile grew. “Really? She said she’d shopped with me in mind.”

            “That explains the palate, it’s predominantly scarlet.” Albany shook her head. “Not a color I can pull off. I tend toward blues.”

            “And very becoming they are on you.”

            “Thank you, sir. And my last question on the subject is why Fanny and not Fran?”

            “She thought it sounded too old-lady-ish.” He grew quiet, distracted it seemed by the traffic, and craned his neck in an attempt to see around the clustering cars.

            “Where are we going?”

            His usual smile crept back into place and he spared her a glance. “You’re not ready for this.”

            She cocked her head.

            “My ancestral seat.”

            Albany’s laughter quickly devolved into coughing, and Milo uncapped her water bottle. “Can you believe it?” She shook her head, taking the bottle as he nodded in reply. “It’s in Nottinghamshire.”

            She sobered, turning toward him. “Not...Will Scarlet?”

            His grin was infectious. “The very same. Of course, the name Scarlet wasn’t his real name; he’d changed it from Gamwell, back in the day. And, when he tired of being one of the Merry Men, he put out a rumor of fleeing to Cornwall, set himself up in business, built Owswell Magnum and raised a family.”

            “Milo! That’s incredible!”

            “I know, I know! And what’s even sillier is, it’s mine now! I’m currently the last of the Scarlets.”

            “But the upkeep!”

            “Like Fan, I’m a professional heir. While the collection business keeps me in penthouses, the real money is all invested.”

            The car slowed to a stop, and he twisted to face her. “How are you feeling?”

            “Aside from cold? Alright.”

            Milo glanced at the dashboard, though he already knew that the heat was on high, and he was sweltering. Thoughts of retrograde fever made him reach for his phone and call Joe. After listening for several minutes, he slid the phone closed.

            “She says there’s a massive pileup ahead. They really don’t know how to drive in the snow over here.” Putting the window down, for the relief of both his curiosity and lungs, he leaned out. “I can see an exit. We’ll get off and see if we can’t find a pub or a B&B...something. We’ll hit up some house if we have to.”

            Albany chuckled. “Why so desperate?”

            He felt on the verge of anger as he closed the window. “Because you’re running a fever, Albany. It’s got to be ninety degrees in this car, and you’re cold. I’m more than a little worried about you.”

            Cowed by his tone, she whispered, “Thank you.”

            He sighed, hanging on the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. I’m not mad at you, or anything, I’m just worried. And if we get stuck out here, it’s only going to get worse.”

            “Thank you,” she repeated, taking his hand from where it lay, limp on the wheel.

            He felt her draw the glove back and place a kiss on the back of his wrist. Looking at her bowed head, the temperature of the car became unbearable. His free hand gripped the wheel and with a hard twist, he yanked the car onto the shoulder. As he did, his phone was back in his hand.

            “Beslow Abbey?” He replied to whatever Joe was telling him. “Yeah, it’s this exit.”

 

            “There was supposed to be a catered affair at the abbey tomorrow,” he explained as the car fishtailed to a halt at the end of the ramp. “Because of the weather, it’s been postponed. So there’s some food, the power’s on and so is the heat. Joe’ll get the National Trust to disarm the alarm for us.”

            “The National Trust’s on the payroll?”

            “We do favors for one another.”

            Albany nodded. “They’ll let us stay the night?”

            “So long as they can bill us for anything that’s missing.”

           

            The abbey was a rambling set of buildings with few lights on. Snow was gathering in mounting drifts as Milo forced the sedan down the sweep and parked before the door.

            “Doubtless all this will be gone by lunch tomorrow,” he said with a grin, leaning toward her. “Wait here, please, until I’m sure we can get in.” Black Berry in hand, he ran to the door.           Once inside he busied himself with turning on lights and locating the thermostat.

            “Milo?”

            “In here!” He hurried back, surprised that she hadn’t waited.

            The foyer was empty.

            “Albany?” He opened the door, looking out, and saw her wave to him from the passenger seat. “Wow,” he murmured, waving back. “Who knew?”

            The abbey was haunted.

            What to do?

Closing the door behind him, he hurried back to the car.

            “How is it?” Albany asked as he sank into the warm interior.

            “Haunted.”

            “Seriously?”

            He nodded. “How do you feel about that?”

            She took a deep breath that ended in a wheezing cough and apologized when she regained control. “If you think it’s alright, I trust you. And besides,” now she leaned into him, a wry smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, “you should see your eyes. You’re just dying to get back in there. We can stay.”

            “You’re sure?”

            “I trust you, Milo.”

 

            He carried the luggage in, and when everything was placed in the kitchen, the kettle on and the heat up, he went to collect her.

            “Someone called my name,” he explained as he guided her from the car.

            “Smart ghost.”

            He paused. “Hmm. Good point. And I called out to you, thinking it was you, so it knows your name too.”

            “She knows, be nice.” Albany stood in the foyer, looking around. “Have you been here before?”

            Her hand in his, he led her to the warm kitchen. “Yes. We’re less than an hour from home—”

            Albany jerked with surprise. “Do you want to just keep going?”

            Closing the door upon the abbey, he gently pushed her against the nearest wall. “What I want,” he murmured in her ear, “I’m afraid I can’t have.”

            He heard her breath catch, watched as she began to pant and he leaned down, pressing his mouth to her throat. She was soft padding as he molded his body along hers, and she sighed his name. It was encouragement enough and kisses gave way to grazing her skin with his teeth. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons of his coat, and he hastened to help her.

            “I want,” she began, but his teeth closed on her earlobe and she gasped. He moved closer, until she was completely flush to the wall, his body pinning her in place.

            “You want?” he breathed against her skin.

            “I want...when we’re together...” He pulled his coat off, throwing it aside. Her hands slipped into his jacket, splayed across his chest “I want...oh, Milo...” her words trailed away as she became engrossed in stroking him. He leaned back, giving her room to explore, but when he reached for her, she stopped him. “I want,” she repeated, her hazel eyes meeting his, “when we’re together, to be the one to remove your gloves...please.”

            He smiled, holding his hands up. “With pleasure. And will you grant me a wish in return?”

            She nodded as the first glove slipped off, and she kissed his palm.

            “I have a question I want to ask, it’s really stupid I know, trust me, but I would like you to not laugh.”

            Albany paused, looking up at him, her expression quizzical.  

            “I can’t ask you now, but should I ask…”

            She nodded. “You have your reason, I understand and I promise to not laugh.” She bent to kiss his palm again.

In awe of this simple acceptance, Milo watched her, his heart swollen in his chest. raging desire barely in check, as she turned her attention to the second glove. Her kisses were cool on his hot skin, and when her hands left his, he reached for his original goal and raked his fingers through her hair. Then gaped at her. Her hands hadn’t been idle and, teasing him from the folds of her coat, he saw the scarlet silk of her blouse was unbuttoned to below the matching lace bra. Reason departed as he caught her in his arms and pulled her tight to his body. She moved against him, her arms across his back as he bent her back, his mouth closed on hers. Tongues tangled, and her fingers wound through his hair, pulling it free.

He wanted to be gentle, knowing she was unwell, but as she writhed in his arms, he felt himself slipping. Her soft pleading didn’t help matters.

“Please,” Albany gasped as he abandoned her lips and kissed a path down her throat. “Milo…please, touch me, Milo.”

Supporting her with one arm, he ran a finger under the lace of her bra. Her gasping became a cry of delight as he reached in, kneading her flesh. She pulled his hips forward, grinding against him. And he met her, rubbing his erection against her stomach.

He dropped his forehead onto her shoulder and whispered the question that plagued him.

“What?” Her hands restlessly drew him closer, winding in his clothes, his hair.

“Will you, Albany, will you…spread your legs for me?”

            He felt her head drop back as she moaned his name and the sudden rush of frigid air as she disappeared.

 

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