by Susan Lodge
Henry rolls his eyes but looks pleased. A terrible thought enters my head, and I frown at him. “You haven’t paid him for the evening have you?”
“No—well not much,” he teases as he takes Lyn’s arm and whisks her back onto the dance floor. Henry can’t dance that well either, but he can get away with it as he is an attractive specimen and those watching him are not watching him for his dance moves.
I gaze around the ballroom. It is filling up, but the Regency theme seems to be waning. Restrictive bits of costumes are being discarded. Posture is slipping, and someone is setting up the disco.
The man in the nude breeches is staring at me again. Has he a problem? I’m not the sort to be intimidated, so I wander over to get a better look at him. As I approach, he raises one of those Regency quizzing glass items that consist of a lens on a stick. With a slouchy stance that is slightly offensive in this gathering, he inspects me up and down. Finally his gaze rests on my breasts. I wonder if they look bigger through that thing.
He has that insidious smirk on his face again, and my temper rises. I pick up a plate from the buffet table, choose a sandwich, and turn to him.
“Did you get a good view, or are you looking for something particular—your manners perhaps.”
He lurks behind the quizzing glass for a few seconds then lowers it, revealing a pair of lazy brown eyes.
“Just keeping an eye on the occupants, whilst entering into the spirit of the occasion. I’m helping out with the security for the evening.”
“Security!” I scoff. “Does that thing have night vision?”
“What’s it to you, Miss Bennet? You’re not hiding anything dangerous under those skirts are you?”
Miss Bennet! I wonder for a moment what Elizabeth would have replied to such a question. Finally I curl my lip. “And I suppose you think you look like Colin Firth in those strange coloured breeches.”
“Who?” he replies, taking a bite from his sandwich.
“Darcy,” I snap.
“Oh.” He stops chewing and grins. “Do you really think so?”
I consider his thick golden mane of hair that sticks out at all angles over the high collar of his coat.
“No! Actually, I think you look more like his horse.”
“Oh dear! Really, Miss Bennet, you are forward.”
He winks at me and then looks down at his tightly clad assets. “Thank you for the compliment.”
My jaw drops but I cannot think of a suitable reply. I roll my eyes and walk away. It is the best put down I can think of for the moment.
From the other side of the room, I cannot resist a look back at the infuriating man. A blonde with a Regency Bo Peep like bonnet has engaged him in conversation. He has stopped smirking, and I wonder if they are arguing. She gives him a Co-op bag from which he pulls out a white period shirt. Why didn’t he dress properly in the first place?
Nick is gracefully striding back with our drinks. I notice a couple of women at the bar turn and follow his progress with hungry eyes. Yes, isn’t he. I smile their way as he eases into the chair next to me and hands me a highly decorative drink.
“Now Shona, tell me all about yourself? Do you have a boyfriend or husband?”
“No,” I say with a grin. And if there were, they would have instantly dissolved in a pool of denial.
“Excellent!” The cobalt eyes darken as he raises his glass.
I take a steadying sip of my drink. It is good punch, the sort that shoots bravery straight to your veins. Just what I need!
Two hours later, we are out on the balcony. The music has gone smoochy, and I’ve learned several things about Nick—so far all good. He works in marketing, spends a lot of time in the States, and is presently involved in promoting a software product due to be rolled out later this year. He has a good sense of humour, and there is chemistry between us that keeps my insides creating exothermic reactions every time he looks at me. It is breathtakingly blissful and slightly exhausting. He met Henry at the golf club where he was entertaining some clients. When Henry discovered Nick was on his own for the weekend, he suggested Nick join them for tonight’s event.
The Regency ball finally winds up, and Nick and I wander out to the reception area. I have no idea what is to happen next. I can’t drive home as the punch was far punchier then I realized. Lyn and Henry are staying the night, and I have to reconsider the room Lyn has booked for me. Even though I told her I was not going to stay. But of course she knows me better than I know myself and worked out before I even arrived that I wouldn’t be fit to drive back home.
I know Nick has mentioned he has to get back to London tonight, but he seems in no rush to leave. He’s taken my cloakroom ticket and gone to retrieve my holdall and coat from the cloakroom. I turn towards the reception desk to confirm the reservation Lyn has made for me and collect a key.
I sign in and then look up to find the man with the buff breeches leaning on the edge of the desk watching me. He’s now wearing a parka which thankfully reaches his knees.
“So you are staying the night,” he says. The smirk still hovers on his lips, but his gaze is constantly sweeping the foyer. For some reason, the words make me shiver.
“Why is that any of your business?” I remember our last exchange and feel the need to keep the upper hand this time.
“I thought you would have gone, as there haven’t been any fights or duels to avert.”
“I’ve been checking out the other event.” He nods to the door to the right.
“The eightieth birthday party?” I ask, with a smirk of my own. “How many machine guns have you wrestled from under the skirts of Sid’s guests?”
“You have a sarcastic tongue, Miss Bennet. These senior parties can become very wild.”
“I’m not Miss Bennet. I am someone far less well-bred—so don’t push your luck.”
“I know. You are Shona.”
What! How and why has he found out my name?
Before I can ask, there is an eruption of drunken merriment as five of Sid’s guests try to leave through the revolving door, all at the same time. The scene looks brutal, especially with the walking frame wedged in an unnatural pose in the centre of the crush. After two revolutions, three partygoers topple out the same side as they entered, while one, not so able, takes another spin and exits out into the night. The fifth goes around again.
With remarkable speed, the security man leaves my side and launches himself into the fray. He extracts the walking frame with one hand and the petite elderly blond with the other. She magically, or possibly wine induced, finds an inner strength and throws her arms around her rescuer’s neck, encouraging him into a salsa. The dance lasts only a few seconds before he attaches her back to the walking frame. A minibus arrives, and a young, responsible looking woman takes control and ushers the elderly rioters in to their transport.
When he finally returns to my side, his golden mane has flopped over one eye where his dance partner had run her hands through it.
“I think I went to the wrong event?” I giggle.
“As I said—wild, Shona.” He pushes his hair back and props an arm up against the wall.
My eyes narrow, and my heartbeat speeds up to double time. “How do you know my name?”
“It’s on the card.”
I look down at the paper cover my key card is inserted into. My name is scrawled on the front. That is the second time he has made me feel hot and foolish this evening. I want to slap him.
I decide to ignore the security idiot and turn to search for Nick. He is coming towards me, holding my belongings over one arm. The other he offers to me.
“I will escort you to your room and make sure you are safely installed before I leave.”
I just love his Regency manners.
Out of the corner of my ey
e, I see security is heading back to the events room. The man is really beginning to spook me, and I gladly accept Nick’s arm as he steers me towards the lifts.
We are outside my hotel room which is situated at the end of a corridor on the third floor. Nick takes the key card, opens the door, and then smiles down at me.
“Thanks for a lovely evening, Shona.”
“It certainly has been. The Regency ball didn’t turn out to be the trial I thought it would be,” I say, wondering if he really intends to leave. Should I invite him in? I have my rules—no sex on the first date. I hate rules. But to spend the night with someone you have only known for a few hours seems a bit of a sluttish thing to do. I don’t want to appear easy and eager even if, as far as tonight is concerned, it is true.
I stop thinking altogether as he leans down and lands a soft kiss on my lips. He pauses and looks into my eyes, seeking approval, and then his lips are back. This time they linger and explore. Clearly he is in no hurry to leave, and I’m in no hurry to release him. He trails a delicious line of kisses down the curve of my neck and then draws back. There is a hungry look in his eyes, and my unprincipled body is aching with the need to satisfy it. His hands travel from my waist down the curve of my hips, moulding my body to his. He is backing me slowly into the room. Or is it me pulling him? I’m not sure.
My brain shouts out no; everything else clenches in anticipation. The promise of a night of unbridled passion is clearly for the taking. I hear him emit a low desperate groan.
“I don’t think I can bear this much longer,” he whispers in my ear.
Oh! I cannot hide my surprise and disappointment; but then relief dawns as he yanks off his neck cloth. “Being a Regency gent is fraught with restrictions,” he says, before he gathers me back.
Now he is all tongue, hands, and hardness. Something is pulsating against my skin, and I hear him groan again. He releases me, takes a step back, and extracts his mobile from his pocket. Frowning he glances at the screen.
“Excuse me a moment.”
He stands in the doorway reading a message. His frown deepens and is accompanied by an impatient sigh as he types a reply. When he finally looks back at me, the passion in the cobalt eyes has turned to regret, and I know my moral decision has been made for me. Bugger!
“Sorry, Shona, I have to go. Something has come up and I need to get hold of a few people before my breakfast meeting.”
Breakfast meeting. It is one o’clock on a Sunday morning.
To my embarrassment, he senses my frustration and then adds to it by flashing that ever so sexy grin.
“I would really like to stay and take some time to know you better. But right now I am on an incredible tight deadline—and there are some pleasures in life that shouldn’t be rushed.”
He pulls me close and gives me a short, sweet, goodbye sort of kiss. My insides slouch in disappointment, but I remain smiling.
“I really have enjoyed myself, Nick.”
“Me too.” He traces a finger down my cheek and pushes a lock of hair back behind my ear.
“Let me have your number. I will ring you,” he says.
Will you?
I rattle off my number and watch him punch it in to his mobile. One last devastating smile and he is gone. Perhaps he was the ghost from Regency past.
I’m too tired to work out if I will ever hear from him again. I can’t bear to dwell on the negative probability, but he didn’t leave me his number. My bubble of romantic ecstasy slowly deflates. I peel off my Regency dress and head for the shower.
Wrapped in the comfort of the luxury hotel bathrobe, I emerge a few minutes later and examine the mini bar. There is a sharp rap at the door. My heart leaps for a moment until I hear, “Room service, madam.”
Cautiously I open the door and am presented with a bunch of long stemmed red roses by a grinning porter. He hands me a small envelope and then to my surprise, he scoots off quickly. Obviously he was already handsomely tipped for his late night errand. I lay down the flowers and rip open the note.
Missing you already. Nick.
How did he manage to get flowers in the middle of the night? I grin stupidly and turn the card over. He has written his mobile number and his office number. My phone jingles with an incoming text—it’s him. I giggle as I read it. Sleep well. I will take you out to dinner next week. He has added a heart and a row of kisses. My bubble of joy re-inflates with a whoosh!
Nick is propped on one elbow looking down at me. One long fingered hand trails tantalizingly from the curve of my waist down to my thigh and back again. My body is melting in anticipation. One of my bunny slippers is peeking over his naked shoulder giving me a glassy wink. My eyes fly open. Damn—what was that? I flip the light on wondering what jolted me from my dream.
There it is again—a rattling noise—from the door. I jump out of bed, wrap the hotel robe around me, and walk up the recess area to examine the door. I reach towards the handle to test that I am secure but it turns easily, releasing the door. The hairs are standing up on the back of my neck. Did I forget to lock it? How stupid! I peek down the hallway; it is deserted although the door opposite is ajar. There is no sound now except for my heavy breathing. Shivering, I scoot the three steps to the door opposite and put my ear to it. It swings opens a little further under the pressure of my touch.
I have the curiosity of a cat and always wanted to be a detective. So whilst my head tells me to get back inside the safety of my room, my inquisitive streak takes control of my hand and it pushes the door a little more. I sense something is not right. I take a couple of steps forward and peer inside. The room is lit by two table lamps and appears to be empty.
The layout is different from mine. There is a seating area with two doors leading off either side of the room. Both are shut. I’m not brave enough to go further inside but have a reluctance to leave. My eyes roam around the room again as they become accustomed to the dim light. My heart stops as I catch sight of a figure stretched out on the settee and a familiar parka lying on the floor. Golden hair is splayed against the pink upholstery, and the man’s face is smeared with blood. My feet are stuck to the floor in terror. Someone has murdered the security man in the buff breeches.
I stand and shiver for several seconds before my brain begins to function again. Dashing back to my room, I snatch up the phone.
“Reception,” a tired voice answers.
“This is room 218. There is a body in the room opposite me. I think he has been in a fight.”
“You mean a dead body or a drunken body?”
I stare at the receiver in disbelief. “Dead! I think. I didn’t check.”
“It’s one of those nights, madam. I suspect it is a guest sleeping it off. I will get someone with you as soon as possible.” The line goes dead. Unbelievable! I slam the receiver down and take a few deep breaths.
Dead body or drunken body. I feel this stupid need to go back and check.
I creep back in to the room and look down at him; he is very still. I lean in closer trying to detect any sign of life. He doesn’t smell of alcohol. Is he breathing?
Suddenly he lurches up and lets out a yell as we grapple together in a tangle of arms.
I yell back and struggle to free myself, but he has hold of the lapels of my bathrobe. I topple to the floor, and he follows me down.
I am now crushed beneath him as he manoeuvres his body to sit astride my waist; then his right arm pulls back and I brace for impact. His fist thankfully stops inches from my nose. I hold my breath as I watch his eyes change from fury to surprise.
“What the—!” he says.
I shove his thighs in an attempt to push him off, but his hold is secure. His arms are muscled, and he is far stronger than I would have anticipated. His brown eyes go through a series of emotions before the smirk finally returns and his
grip relaxes. Sensing this, I try again to push him off without success.
“Why, Miss Bennet. What are you doing sneaking up on me? Did you want another peek at my breeches? You only had to ask.” He slowly gets up and offers me a hand. I want to bite it off.
I struggle up on my own, tightening my robe.
“Sneaking up—are you mad? What planet do you come from? I thought you had been murdered.”
He frowns. “Did you? Why?”
“You have blood on your face.”
He wanders over to look in the mirror on the far wall. I watch as he rubs off some of the dried blood.
“Must be from this.” He holds up his right hand where a blood-stained tissue is wrapped around the middle finger. “I got it from a broken glass. My face must have been lying on my hand.”
I narrow my eyes at him in fury. “Were you trying to get into my room just now?”
He raises his eyebrows. “Certainly not, Miss Bennet. I would wait for an invite.”
“I have called security.”
“Oh? Why?”
“I just told you. I thought someone was trying to get into my room. Oh, yes! And I thought you were dead.”
A mobile buzzes on the table, and he picks it up.
“Yes,” he says. He doesn’t take his eyes off me whilst listening to the caller. “Okay. I’ll take care of it. I’m on the spot with the lady now. No, there is no body—yeah—she probably had the punch—too much alcohol.” He snaps the phone off.
Too much alcohol! I really wish someone had murdered him.
I turn to go but stop in my tracks as one of the interior doors click open. From the rush of steam that escapes, I deduce it is the bathroom. Out steps Bo Peep, pink and luscious swathed in a hotel bathrobe identical to mine. Her bonnet has been replaced by a towel around her head.
