A/N: New chapter here and Shadowsamurai83 says I'm evil. I don't know how that idea came about, but I'll let you all be the judge of that. So, enjoy, but heed to previous warnings - I'm careful here.
Nobody Move - part III
Grace was of two minds about the upcoming weekend. Her wayward emotions and her even more uncontrollable body were betraying her, making this weekend a lot more than it should be.
So, she would spend it pretending to be married to a colleague. So, to keep up appearances they'd have to share a room, possibly share a bed. And, to convince people, they'd have to touch and behave like they were happily married.
It was part of the job, right?
It didn't really matter that the colleague to whom she was pretending to be married to was a very handsome man to which she was unfortunately very attracted and who could, if he wanted to, make her feel and act very much like a teenager.
Her own feelings and wishes had nothing to do with the job at hand and it would be a smart move to forget about her fantasies, which unfortunately had increased since the party, images of that same man in a tuxedo not altogether helpful to push away her attraction to him.
As she was closing her suitcase, Grace contemplated that it might not have been her most intelligent act to go out and splurge her money on more evening gowns. Despite the fact that the invitation required such a wardrobe, she needn't have bought this kind of dress. It might not be an appropriate style for a woman her age, too tight and too revealing, but it had felt good to wear it, she had felt great when she saw herself in the mirror and.... There was this little devil on her shoulder that encouraged her to wear it simply for the reactions.
His reaction, mostly.
Her behaviour and thoughts were not altogether professional and she could only hope it wouldn't come back to haunt her.
They had closed shop early today and she awaited Boyd any minute to pick her up and drive into the countryside. Sir Miles' proposed "luxurious weekend with a twist" didn't sound half bad, she had said it before, but Grace wondered what the twist might be.
Sir Miles' interest in her person and in them as a couple had been a little disconcerting, but that could all be projection from her side. Boyd's constant complaints about their target's idiosyncrasies were beginning to cloud her professional judgement. Shaking her head, Grace attempted to focus her thoughts away from too close a connection to Boyd, and instead moved in front of the mirror to take a last look at her appearance.
She could only hope that she'd pass as a publisher of understated but considerable success.
As the door bell rang, loud and impatient, Grace sighed loudly, steeling herself for her twisted weekend with a grumpy fake husband.
"Boyd, just stop it for a minute!" Grace groaned as they passed the last junction for Reading. They had been on the road for a little over an hour and all her companion had done was complain. He was never the most agreeable of people, especially when things didn't go his way, but sometimes even her patience was tried.
"I just don't see what we can possibly discover. All we do there is waste our time."
"You said that before, Boyd and I've understood it," she announced exasperatedly. "We are going there on order and we have a role to play."
The man only grunted derisively in reply.
Though it was difficult with the shape of the seat, Grace turned slightly to face him. "Peter, you need to calm down and focus. Whatever the reason behind this is, we have to get through an entire weekend, two and a half days, of it. During that time, I need to be sure that you'll do your part." Now being very earnest, she placed her hand on his arm. "Can I trust you on this, Boyd?"
He gave her a look, half annoyed, half sincere. His voice, however, was full of conviction. "You can trust me, Grace. You know that."
"Yes. Yes, I know," she replied equally seriously. The old mischief sparked quickly again, though. "The real question is: can you trust yourself?"
"What?"
"You know, a whole weekend of hobnobbing with high society, do you think you can keep your outbreaks of contempt to a minimum?" she explained, a smirk spreading over her face.
"Grace."
"And even more importantly, do you think you can trust me to behave?"
"Grace!"
Her laughter rang out in the car as she settled comfortably back into the seat. As comfortable as possible, of course.
"I'm calling in regards to my request for the material to be delivered on Saturday night. Can I be assured that it will be delivered at exactly 5 pm on Saturday? All sizes I required? The accessories? Shoes? Hats?"
The person on the other line confirmed the requests.
"Good. And the other requirements I've made?"
A longer silence ensued as the person on the other end elaborated.
"Very well. If the performance meets with my approval, I'll be signing a hefty bonus for you."
The partner seemed to thank profusely, annoying his caller. "It will all depend on the quality of the performance! This party has to be a success at any cost! I will hold you responsible for it."
They'd reached Swindon where they needed to get off of the M4 and go further into the country. She was glad they were using GPS since she doubted Boyd was still capable of finding their way, despite his protestations.
Her cheeky question had silenced him for several minutes. In fact, it had been so quiet in the car that she had become worried. A Boyd in stunned silence didn't fit her picture of the world. It took him a while and a coffee break before he spoke again and even then he sounded ...unsure, for the lack of a better word.
The conversation had been stilted then, the case not offering much to talk about and every other topic out of bounds. Grace almost regretted her words from earlier. If they couldn't talk, much less joke, this weekend would be hardly bearable.
Just a few minutes before their destination, shed had enough and gently placed her hand on his arm again. "Boyd...."
She was ready to apologize, just to rebuild some sort of equilibrium between them, but his question interrupted her apology.
"I stand no chance this weekend, do I?"
Tilting her head, she gave him a confused frown. "Pardon?"
"Between those airheads on the guest list, the mental host, and you, I'll stand no chance, do I? If they won't drive me crazy, you will."
Grace drew in a deep breath, insult making her blood boil, but then she saw the corners of his mouth twitch and relaxed back into, admittedly fake, nonchalance. "You can bet on it!"
"Think that's funny, huh?"
"Yes, of course." When he didn't reply, she shook her head. "Come on, Boyd, where's your sense of adventure? Your sense of fun? Spencer told us everything about Rockton's estate. It's a legend of luxury and extravagance. Think of it like visiting an amusement park."
Boyd snorted. "I don't see any fun in that. Amusement parks - that's queuing for hours just to get on some ride that gives you a heart attack if nothing else. Where is the fun in that?"
"It's the rush! The adrenaline! It's like...." Before she could continue, Grace stopped herself, a blush quickly covering her face.
The unfinished sentence hung in the air, the unspoken word gaining volume with every second. Next to her, Boyd smirked, amused by her discomfort. His mind was running wild, the adolescent part of it finding a myriad of vivid images and quite a few involving the flexibility of their car seats. The mischievous part of him, however, couldn't resist to tease her further. A little bit of a dangerous game, but he just couldn't pass up the chance. "Like?"
It was a good thing that they had to stop at the gate of Rockton's estate, because Grace turned her head to stare at him from the corner of her eyes. He could feel her gaze on him as if it burned his skin, it its intensity forcing him to look at her as well. She didn't need to answer his cheeky question, their visual connection transported the meaning without effort.
The idea of sharing a room, possibly even a bed, suddenly took on a whole new dimension and Boyd wasn't so sure he could deal with the ramifications.
As expected, they were greeted by a butler. The mansion itself dated back to the Georgian era, well-preserved but showing some neglect. Grace didn't doubt that this appearance was intentional. It was two-storied and grand in size. Many rooms for many guests it seemed.
The butler himself seemed to look at the newcomers with disdain, raising Boyd's hackles quickly. It was with some effort that he controlled himself and retained a facade of polite disinterest. To help the act along, he looked around the grand entry hall, noting the layout and the decoration. He wasn't much of an architecture buff and had even less of an interest for interior design, but the wealth of the owner was screaming in their faces, even if they had tried to ignore it. The same went for Rockton's eccentricity.
To Boyd it all looked over the top, overdone, over-everything, and it made his skin crawl.
Grace, on the other hand, stared at her surroundings with wide-eyed wonder. There was a glimmer in her eyes as she took in their environment. "Marvellous," she whispered.
"If you like this style," Boyd replied quietly, offering her his arm to follow the butler.
"Oh, I do," she replied with something akin to childish delight. "I'm still trying to find a name for the style though. It's certainly...eclectic."
"Sir Miles wished to display all great periods of art in his home, madam," the butler mentioned solemnly. "He says that one should not be forced to give preference to just one artistic achievement, as it dishonours all the others."
"Yes, we can see that." Grace shook her head in delight as they passed by a door that displayed every detail of Empire-architecture. "It has a bit of a tour-de-force through art history, though," she continued, gesturing to a door on the other side of the upstairs hallway that was decorated with original Arab intarsia work.
The butler nodded, while Boyd gave her a look that teetered between incredulousness and admiration.
"Boyd," she whispered secretively, leaning into him for good measure. Drawn by her slightly dreamy smile, he leaned in as well, his mouth suddenly close to hers, creating a moment of intimacy that was theirs alone.
"Yes?" he whispered back.
"Enjoy it," Grace all but mouthed, her breath whispering over his skin, causing a tremor to rush through him.
They stopped, caught in the moment, standing flush against each other and their eyes locked. His hand found hers, his fingers moving slightly against her palm, and he could feel her shiver against him. His other hand came up to trace along her jaw line. Looking into her eyes, he found a storm of emotions stirring in their depth, felt the answering heat coil tightly in his gut. For a moment, he was sure he could name the exact colour of her eyes, know every secret that she hid behind them, and he leaned forward unconsciously, felt her move in as well.
"Pardon, sir. Madam," the butler interrupted, making them both jump apart in shock. "If you are ready...."
Boyd half-turned towards the other man, ready to yell at him for interrupting. Or thank him, he wasn't sure. Grace's hand, still entwined with his, squeezed, however, and he kept silent. Good thing, everybody thought they were married, otherwise he'd never live down this lapse in professional behaviour.
He could see Grace's magnificent blush though and inwardly, he couldn't help but smile.
"We are," he said, cursing the croak that was his voice.
"Very well."
They needed a few moments to recover as they moved further down the hallway, passing by more doors in varied styles from different architectural periods.
"Is it only the doors that are decorated so ornately," Boyd asked as they passed a door of black lacquer work on one side and of lavish rococo on the other side, "or do the rooms follow the same style?"
"Sir Miles believes in doing things all the way," the butler replied, his voice not losing its solemnity for a moment. "Every suite in the house follows the decoration of its entrance. Every detail was chosen with utmost care to represent its era."
Boyd nodded, filing the information away for later investigation.
Grace, on the other hand, stopped in mid-step and turned for a calculating look at the doors they had passed. "Interesting," she mumbled to herself. At Boyd's questioningly raised eyebrow, she shook her head. "I'll tell you later."
At last, the butler stopped in front of a door. The concrete making up the frame was partially plated with marble tiles, while the door as such was made from sturdy wood.
"Sir, madam," the butler said, as he opened the door and led them inside. "This is the Imperial Roman suite. Sir Miles especially wished for you to be accommodated in this abode. He thinks you will appreciate the hypocaust and the bath, and therefore enjoy your stay immensely. A maid will bring your suitcases in a few minutes." Gesturing grandly around the room, he continued, "All amenities are at your disposal and if you wish for anything, please do not hesitate to use the bell on the side table. Introductions and dinner are scheduled for 7 sharp. Please, make yourself comfortable."
Before either Boyd or Grace could say anything, the man was gone, leaving two shocked people to take in their overwhelming surroundings.
For a few minutes, silence reigned, before Boyd ground out, "Grace, is this twilight zone?"
Thank you for reading. Comments would be greatly appreciated.
