Chapter 19
Petey
Ididn’t dream of ginger Scotsmen. I dreamt of William.
Wild, vivid dreams. His red boxer shorts transformed into a tiny red satin kilt that didn’t cover him completely, and he breathlessly whispered oaths of devotion into my ears.
When I woke at midday, flagpole rigid, drowning in sweat, William was—thank God—nowhere to be found.
There was a note on the kitchenette: Meet me at the stables whenever you’re ready. No hurry. Wear these. WW.
I picked up the garment underneath the note. “Yoga pants?”
I stood under the shower for what seemed like an age, still hard as an iron girder.
It had been three weeks since I’d had sex—my longest drought since first year uni.
I was missing London. I was missing the clubs of Vauxhall.
But I was here to work, not get distracted by hot aristocrats, so I couldn’t go riding in this state.
Certainly not in yoga pants. I closed my eyes, and William was there.
Behind me, inside me, here in the shower.
He might have rejected me in real life, but here in my imagination the sexiest, most confusing man I had ever met was all mine.
When it finally erupted, my load shot a tile right off the wall.
William was standing in the stable yard between two already saddled horses, dressed in his riding gear.
He looked like a horsey Tom of Finland. Seeing him, I suddenly felt quite nervous.
Why did he want to spend the day with me at all?
It wasn’t like he was interested in me. William bobbed his head.
“Good morning, my liege. My word, don’t you look splendid.”
I spun around, letting him appreciate the full ensemble.
“I hope you don’t mind, I stole one of your tops.” I’d found a light blue linen shirt in William’s closet and tied the shirt fronts together into a knot—showing off all the goods, front and back, in the yoga pants.
William’s face went as red as a postman’s sack.
“Not at all. You look… splendid,” he said, again. Was he permanently awkward? Was that the problem? Because honestly, he wasn’t giving me disinterested vibes.
I said good morning to Achilles, and then William introduced me to a dappled grey pony called Pat.
“You named your horses Achilles and Patroclus? I knew you were a book nerd, but this is too cute for words.”
William laughed. “Actually, this is Patrick Swayze. Mum named him. Mostly so she could tell her friends she spent all morning riding Patrick Swayze. It’s a joke that works well for women of a certain age.
” William tapped Achilles’s saddlebag. “I hope you’re hungry, Bramley’s packed one hell of a picnic. ”
After a quick lesson, we rode across Home Field, side by side—me wriggling in the saddle, trying to get comfortable, trying not to look like a massive tit.
“This was the site of the Battle of Buckford Field in 1485,” William said, starting his tour. I tried to look impressed. “When I was a kid, you could still find arrowheads. It’s all been gone over by metal detectorists now. Haven’t found one in years.”
William rode ahead to open Hill Gate, and I watched as his magnificent arse bounced up and down, rising in and out of the saddle. It was going to be a long day.
In the oak woods, the temperature dropped ten degrees.
The ancient trees had huge gnarled trunks and fat sprawling branches hung with moss.
The air was busy with the sound of bird call.
We picked through the uneven ground and overgrown trees for a while until William said it was time to dismount.
He grabbed the saddlebag, took my hand—sending my heart into fits—and told me to close my eyes.
“Are you crazy? I’ll break an ankle.”
“Good point,” he said, and crouched down. “Hop on.”
“What?”
“I’ll give you a lift. Close your eyes. I want this to be a surprise.”
I mean, come on, how romantic was this? And this was the man who wouldn’t even kiss me? How was I supposed to interpret these signals?
I put my legs either side of William’s back and leant down into him.
“Put your arms around my neck.”
“This is ridiculous,” I said, but I was loving every second of it.
“Tighter. Now squeeze your legs around me.”
I sank into William’s back. The warmth of his body radiated into mine, like he was charging my battery. Then I felt his weight shift, and he stood like it was no effort at all. He handed me the saddlebag.
“Close your eyes. Hold on tight.”
I didn’t need telling twice.
William marched through the forest like a machine.
I felt like Katharine Hepburn being carried across the river by Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen.
I could feel every muscle in William’s chest, his back, his arms, his shoulders, flexing beneath me.
Our bodies were pressed together, the heat quickly turning the clothes between us damp with sweat.
I held my face close to William’s neck and breathed in the heady mix of shampoo and horse and leather.
If I hadn’t knocked one out in the shower that morning, I’d have destroyed a perfectly good pair of yoga pants and, quite possibly, have blown William’s back out.
A waft of an unfamiliar perfume found my nostrils, and a few moments later, William stopped.
“OK, open your eyes.”
I blinked, readjusting to the light.
“Oh my God. It’s… beautiful.”
The entire forest floor was a sea of purple.
“They’re English bluebells,” William said. “They flower late here. Something to do with the hills. A microclimate or frost pocket or something. My father could have told you. Mind where you step.”
I unwrapped my legs and slid to the ground. “I wish I had my phone. Why didn’t you say? I could have brought a camera.”
William shook his head. “This place should feed your soul, not your Instagram account.”
“Does Indira know about this?”
“That’s the whole point. This might be the latest-flowering bluebell wood in the entire Midlands. That’s what makes it special. But it’s also a secret. That’s what makes it magical.”
I wanted to bawl him out for holding back on something that would look so great on screen, but it was hard to argue with him when he was showing me something so sacred to him.
William laid a blanket down on a large mossy rock overlooking the mauve carpet of flowers, and we ate lunch. Bramley had packed enough sandwiches, apples, hard-boiled eggs, biscuits, and tea for six people. Which was just as well because, as it turned out, William ate enough for five.
“Posh Spice and a red telephone box,” William said, passing me a sandwich.
I stared at it, confused. “No offence to Bramley, but I’d prefer egg and cress.”
William laughed. “Write me a link.”
I loved that William had remembered. I took a bite of what turned out to be cheese and tomato.
“Got it.” I cleared my throat. “Posh Spice there, looking fabulous as always. How does she do it? Now, if I’d been married to a man as hot as David Beckham since the nineties, I’d certainly have a clapped-out red box.
And mine wouldn’t be the only one. A new report has revealed the parlous state of London’s iconic red telephone boxes. William Winters filed this report.”
William rolled back on the rug, clapping, trying not to choke on his sandwich.
“That is an incredible talent. They should give you your own show.”
My tummy fluttered, a tingling pulse of heat radiating up through my body.
“That’s the plan,” I said.
“Really?” William looked genuinely excited for me, so I explained my deal with Indira.
“All I have to do now is come up with my big idea. One good enough to impress the toughest woman in television.”
“What’s your best idea so far?”
“Himbos on Horseback.”
William raised an eyebrow. “It could do with some workshopping. How long do you have to come up with an actual workable, non-offensive, Indira Murray–shattering original idea for this show?”
I sucked air in through my teeth. “Two weeks.”
“Two weeks?”
“I have to present it once filming completes.”
“Well,” William said, slapping his hands on his thighs. “We’ve got some work to do.”
“We?”
“I’m your liege man. I swore an oath. We’re in this together.”
William’s eyes were absolutely sincere, and something inside me crumbled.
I’d called him a himbo to his face. Yet he was showing the kind of unconditional belief in my dreams I normally only got from my gran and from the Brent Boys.
Who was this incredible, ridiculous, rugby-playing, fantasy-reading, honour-obsessed man who apparently didn’t want me for my body but seemed to want to be around me for… well… me?
“So, tell me,” William said, a while later. “Do you think there will be a second season of The Love Manor?” He was clumsily picking the shell off an egg.
“Wondering if you pledged fealty to me for no good reason, are you?” I nudged him playfully with my shoulder. “It’s too late now, you’ve said the words.”
He smiled, but the smile didn’t seem to reach his eyes.
“I wondered, in your professional opinion. You’re halfway through filming. Is it any good?”
I tried to weigh up what he really wanted to know.
“If you’re worried The Love Manor is going to trash Buckford Hall’s reputation, the time to think about that was before you signed on the dotted line.”
“But if there was a second season, would Indira really film it somewhere else?”
I waved a hand. “That’s what she’s saying. But if we do our jobs well and don’t stoke any more revolutions, uprisings, or a peasant’s revolt, I’m sure she’d prefer to come back here.”
William flicked some eggshell from his finger onto the dirt and held the naked egg up to his face, inspecting it. “If it did come back, would, you know, the same crew return?”
“Worried Derek might seek revenge for his broken arm?” I nudged him again, and the great bulk of William’s body swayed away from me, then towards me, then settled back in place.
“Would you come back?” He turned to face me, his eyes burning with sincerity. My heart stopped. This was the question he wanted an answer to.
“Would you want me to come back?”
A short huff of air accompanied William’s smirk.
“Of course.”
He jostled his shoulder into mine, sending me swaying in the other direction.
I nudged back into him on the recoil and let my shoulder rest against his.
He didn’t pull away, so I stayed there, the heat of his thick bicep burning into my arm.
Our eyes were locked together. The sea of bluebells, the hum of the bumblebees, the cool soft light of the ancient forest—the producer in me was screaming This is the perfect place for the most magical first kiss ever.
But the boy inside me was too scared to go for it, in case William pulled away.
So I didn’t. However, in that moment, I realised if coming back in a year’s time was what it would take to earn William’s kiss, then I would be back.
It was one more excellent reason to make sure The Love Manor was a success.
“Then yes, of course I’d come back.”
William grinned like an idiot. “Good.” Then he popped the entire boiled egg in his mouth. “Thaa maygths me tho hhhhhappy.”