2: She arrives

Esteemed businessman Marsden Archer seks a strong, healthy and fertile woman to provide him an heir. Send a mail to this address.

*Skye*

 As the buss rumbles over the old road, I fold the advert I had clipped from the newspaper and slip it back in my wallet. I look out on the countryside passing by, the weather is rather bleak, but still less bleak than my life. I mean agreeing to marry an old man that is known to be crazy kinda says it all.

 My life is in ruins and I am penniless with nowhere to go.

 But marrying Mr Archer suits my plans perfectly. Archer manor is big and lays on a huge ground. Mr Archer never leaves, and people rarely visit. And best of all, no one will look for me there. And if they do I will be someone rich with a Well know name and a family behind me.

 Archer has sent money for my journey, but to hide best as possible I have taken the greyhound. And from the station I Got a lift from a farmer. The big burly man is kind enough to leave me be and has promised to deliver me by the manor. Hopefully he will forget ever seeing me.

 I slip my hand into my handbag and find a peppermint sweet, popping it into my mouth. I have been travelling for what feels like forever and I am tired and hungry, but complaining won’t really help me. It is better to just get on with this, no matter how unpleasant it might seem … and I have a feeling that today can get somewhat unpleasant. But I have to hold my head high and push through, proving to MrArcher that he made a wise choice.

 We come around a curve and I see Archer manor, tome, at least, it has a looming quality to it. Something haunting. I chill rolls down my spine. If I had another choice … only I don’t …

 With my marriage to a man like Archer I will be part of the upper class. I will be someone important, and have respect simply from his name and the connection. And the child I give him will be safe too. 

 No one will hurt the child. No one will dare hurt me.

 Ever again.

 *Ben*

 I am standing by an upstairs window, looking out on the driveway. I swallow a laugh as I take in the scenario down there. She arrived in a pickup with a fat local farmer for christs sake. Can this be any more of a farce ?

 From here I can’t really see her clearly. She seems small in stature, quite petite but with a bit of curves. She is dressed in black, which seems to not be a good sign for the future of the marriage.

 A silly and very big black hat is covering her head, with a veil before her face. Was she widoved Yesterday or something ? She could have dark hair, but it is hard to tell.

 The farmer seems to struggle with getting a large trunk pulled from the back of the car. He sets it at her feet and tips his cap before climbing back inside and driving off.

 She looks around like she expects servants to come running to her aid. Then she marches towards the front steps.

 I quickly run down the stairs, two steps at a time. I have to put an end to this before it goes any further.

 A hard knock on the door is ringing through the grand hall when I reach the bottom of the steps. She seems like a woman who knows what she wants.

 I swing open the door, looking down on her. As she lifts her veil I find myself staring into Big eyes in a very unusual shade I have never seen before. 

 The colour reminds me of the most expensive whiskey, so full of temptation, utterly intoxicating and capable of bringing a man to his ruin.

 “I am getting married to Mr Archer today”. Her voice is slightly throaty, in a way that makes parts of the south of my belly button come to immediate attention. Okay so instead of going to town to find a woman for my father I should probably consider finding one for myself. I have clearly gone too long without female company if the sound of her voice is enough to spark a reaction. “Please go get my trunk”.

 I straighten up in my full height, which has me towering over her. “You assume I'm a valet ?”

 Her eyes run over me slowly, which makes my skin tingle and tighten, as if it was her fingers, not her eyes. When she is done she turns up her pert little nose. “Butler … valet, no real difference. My trunk needs to be brought i side, so please do it”.

 “You also assume the master of this home, after taking one look at you, still wants to marry you ?”

 “I have a signed contract. He will marry me or it will be rather expensive”.

 My father had mentioned something about that. Clearly I have failed to realise how much trouble my father could get himself into from his rooms with a computer. And here I assumed he was playing solitaire and watching porn, when not looking out the window for my mother’s ghost.

 “Dearest Skye”. My father comes striding past me, grabbing her hand and kissing it, somehow pulling her around me into the hallway. “I am so happy to see you”.

 Slowly lowering herself very gracefully into a deep old fashioned southern curtsy, she sends my father a smile like he is the answer to all her prayers and every girlish fantasy she has ever had. “Mr Archer, Marsden … I am so very happy to finally be here”.

 I narrow my eyes. Why on God’s green Earth would anyone be happy for what awaits her ? But still, her voice is absolutely honest, as far as I can hear. She could of course just be an exceptional actress.

 “Ben, go get her trunk, then come join us in the parlor”.

 Great, my father seems absolutely besotted. This is so not good, not good at all for my hope of stopping this. “Actually I think I will just join you now. The trunk is safe, no one around to steal it and I am not missing out on this … conversation”.

 “You seem rather nosy for a servant”. She says in a tone like she already believes herself the lady of the house.

 “I would be, if I was a servant that is. As I am soon to be your step son I better introduce myself, Killian Benjamin Archer, at your service”. I make a sweeping bow with a slightly mocking smile to fit. This woman is either just as crazy as my father, or wanting to take advantage of his failing mind.

 My money is on the last option. There is something intelligent in those eyes, a sharpness that worries me. I do not trust them, or her, at all.

 She offers me a curtsy too, but for me there is no smile, no emotions at all actually. It kinda fascinates me how fast she can pull up her facade. She clearly is smart, she has already realised I am a treat to her plans.

 

 “It’s a pleasure … may I call you Killian”.

 “Please say Ben, everyone calls me that”. I say before thinking.

 But I very much doubt this will be a pleasure.

 “Come on my dear, this way. We still have a little time to get to know one another before the ceremony”. My father leads her into the parlour, helping her down on a plush chair in front of the fireplace. A cloud of dust rises as she settles on the plump cushion. I think I need a word with the housekeeper.

 My father takes the opposite chair and I perch on the edge of the couch, where I have a good view of her. She really is very young, early twenties, no older than twenty-five tops. Her simple dress looks well made and rather new, there is no fading or fraying.

 She lifts her hand to remove her hat and her breasts naturally lifts as well. They look the perfect size to fill my hand. Just like her waist looks the perfect size for my hands to close around and pull her into me. Why the hell am I even thinking about those things ? It is irrelevant.

 She lifts the hat from her head and my breath hitches. Her hair is a fiery red that matches the flames in the fireplace with their brilliance. Its lock seems thick, heavy and in danger of tumbling free. I can’t help wondering how many pins I would have to remove to make that happen. I am sure it can’t be more than two, maybe three.

 I move a bit to ease the uncomfortable feeling of my body acting like I have not seen a woman for years. . I put my arm up on the back of the couch, trying to look much more nonchalant than I feel. I do not care about the shade of her hair, her stunning eyes or enticing figure. I also do not care about those full plump lips painted in the shade of rubies.

 I care for her motives … Why on Earth is a woman as young and attractive as her willing to marry my father ? She must have no problem catching a Young man's attention. She easily draws attention. What is she trying to gain that she can’t get elsewhere ? Money ?

 “So, my dear …”. My father leans slightly forward.

 “Here you are”. Mrs Barny says cheerfully and she enters the room, carrying a tray of tea. By now her hair is more white than black, and it is pulled back in her usual tight bun. “Tea and freshly baked cookies”. She sets the tray down and looks curiously at Skye. “She is awfully young sir”.

 “An old woman is not going to give me an heir, is she now Mrs Barny ?”

 “Well I suppose that is correct”. The elderly woman smiles warmly. “Welcome to Archer manor Mrs Sinclair. Would you care for a cup of tea ?”

 “Thank you, but please let me handle the pouring”.

 “Oh sure”. Mrs Barny looks almost disappointed, but I am rather sure it is more because she now lacks a reason to stay around and listen to gossip.

 “Thank you Mrs Barny”. My father says gently.

 With a teatrical sigh she turns to leave. I stop her by holding out my hand. “Could I please have the keys, Mrs Barny ?”

 She instantly covers the ring, securing them to the belt at her amble waist, with an expression like I asked her to hand me a national treasure. “They are my responsibility”.

 “I feel I will get a need for them. I promise I will give them back to you later”. My need relates to how this conversation will go.

 With a rather donkey-like expression, she hands me the keys, then she walks out with her indigestion rolling off her in waves. I am not even sure why she watches those as I lion protecting its prey. It is mostly for show anyway. It might be because it shows that she is special, as the senior housekeeper. A job she has risen to as the rest of the house staff had left for greener … or less haunted pastures.

 I turn my attention back to Mrs Sinclair, and watch with fascination when she slowly peels off her black gloves, with motions like she is revealing a secret. It feels like I am hypnotized by her soft skin being revealed. It is not often you see a woman wearing gloves these days.

 I find myself fighting the vision of those small, perfect, silken soft looking hands sliding leisurely over my bare chest. Then she folds her hands in her lap, like she is totally unaware how her actions can affect a man. I would bet half my heritage that she knows excatly what she is doing.

 “How do you prefer your tea, my dear Marsden ?”

 Her sensual voice slides down my spins and settles in my groin. Oh damn it. She sounds like a woman who was just thoroughly satisfied.

 “A lot of sugar my dear, if you could be so sweet”.

 I watch as she pours, then adds several sugar cubes and stirs. Then she offers the teacup with a sweet smile to my father. He smiles back, like he is actually happy with what she offers, in fact he hates tea.

 “And how do you like your tea, master Archer ?”

 “Surely as my mother to be, you should call me Ben”.

 Her eyes lock into mine, her gaze as sharp as a razor's edge. Oh Lord, she is willing to slice me to ribbons. I would love to see her try. “I am not your mother just yet, Master Archer, am I ? How have I offended you ?”

 I lean forward, my elbows resting on my knees. “I am simply trying to determine why a woman as young and lovely as you is willing to spread her legs to a man like my father”.

 “Ben”. My father roars. “That is more than enough, get out … Now”.

 “Oh it is quite alright my dear”. She says calmly, never removing her challenging gaze from mine, not even flinching or blushing … hell not even arching one of those perfectly dream eyebrows at me. “I can’t really see how this is your business …”.

 “You are telling me you look forward to this shriveled old man crawling atop you ?” Okay I might be trying to shock her into a reaction.

 This time one eyebrow lifts slightly. “Who says he will be on top of me ? We might be standing or I could be on my knees. Or he could take me upside down. But I assure you he will not be shriveled”.

 Her damn whiskey coloured eyes slowly slide down to my lap and I curse my damn cock for its betrayal. With scary details pictures of me and her in every one of those positions had flashes through my mind. I have gone so darn hard that I couldn’t possibly get up and leave even if I wanted to.

 And I have no doubt she knows.

 “Tea, my dear”. She says.

 “No … thanks”. The words come out all strangled. It seems like every part of my body is intent on betraying me.

 Her perfectly drawn lips turn into a smug and rather triumphant smile. Then she turns to my father. “Would you like a cookie Marsden ?”

 Despite the innocence of her current words, all I want to do right now is to pull her into me and claim her mouth to see if it tastes as tart as it sounds.