The sun set over the garden as she toasted them, and a little while later, she quietly took her glass and left the room, with a discreet look at Simon. Her own quarters were at the back of the house, and when she had important guests, she let them use the parlor as well as the upstairs bedrooms. There were two, with a large Victorian bath connecting them, and beautiful canopied beds she had had sent over from England.
“Come and look.” Simon was telling Zoya all about it, and Zoya looked hesitant.
“Won't she mind, Simon?” She was still trying to figure out where Mrs. Whitman had gone. She had been gone for ages, but it was so cozy sitting in the cheerful living room drinking sherry with him that Zoya didn't mind. But she felt strange going upstairs without an invitation.
“Don't be silly. I know this place like my own home.” He took her hand, and led her upstairs to the pretty bedrooms, and Zoya smiled when she saw them. The lights were turned on, and the beds were turned down, as though she were expecting guests at any moment. But the rooms were obviously unoccupied, and as Zoya turned to go back downstairs, Simon pulled her into his arms with a deep laugh, and kissed her full on the lips. She was breathless when he let go of her, and her hair looked sexy and disheveled. And then, with a teasing look, he pulled her onto the bed with him, and Zoya gave a gasp as she tried to escape his caresses.
“Simon! What will Mrs. Whitman think! Stop that! … we'll get the bed all messed up! … Simon! …”
But he was laughing at her as he sat back under the huge canopy and laughed. “I certainly hope so.”
“Simon! Will you get up?” She was laughing at him too. He looked perfectly comfortable as he sat fully dressed on the bed in one of Mrs. Whitman's two guest rooms.
“I will not”
“You're drunk!” But he'd hardly had a thing to drink all day, except for her very proper little sherry, and he hadn't had enough to make him drunk. But it was obvious that he was enjoying himself immensely. And then with a long arm, he reached out and pulled Zoya toward him.
“I'm not drunk. But you were right this morning, when you said you'd been abducted. I thought it might do you good to get away for a day or two, my love. So here we are, safely tucked into my secret hideaway.” He planted a kiss on her open lips and then smiled at her as she stared at him. “Consider yourself abducted.” He looked immensely pleased with himself as Zoya stared at him in amazement.
“Are you serious? We're staying here?”
“I am, and we are. In fact,” he looked faintly embarrassed for the first time, “I took the liberty of bringing a few things I thought you might need.” He looked sheepish and Zoya grinned at him in wonder.
“Simon, you are extraordinary!” She bounced onto the bed next to him like a child and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him. As it turned out, he had bought her a beautiful satin nightgown and peignoir, matching slippers, and had bought all sorts of creams and lotions and bath oils that he had thought might please her, along with two shades of lipstick, a new toothbrush, and the brand of toothpaste he had previously observed in her bathroom. He had packed it all in a small suitcase, which he brought upstairs to her a few moments later, and set it down in the bedroom next door to his own, as she proceeded to go through it with little gurgles of delight, and then she suddenly turned to him. “What will Mrs. Whitman think of our staying here, Simon? She knows we're not married.” And she had seemed so terribly proper, although Simon knew she was far less stuffy than she looked, and had a terrific sense of humor. Besides which, it was difficult to resist two people as obviously in love as they were.
“What can she possibly think, Zoya? We have separate bedrooms.” Zoya nodded, and went back to unpacking the treasures Simon had bought her, and was touched to discover a huge bottle of her favorite perfume.
“Good lord, Simon, is there anything you didn't think of?”
“I certainly hope not.” He put his arms around her again, and then went to bring the rest of their sandwiches upstairs to their rooms with another glass of sherry. He had offered to take her out to dinner, but Zoya had insisted that she wasn't hungry.
“I'd love that.” He lit a fire in his room, and they sat cozily in front of it, eating watercress sandwiches and Mrs. Whitman's delicate little English biscuits, which she said were exactly like the ones her grandmother used to have for her when she was a child in Russia. “This is perfect, darling, isn't it?” She leaned over and kissed him again, and he looked at her contentedly. She was everything he had always wanted.
