Page 34 of Some Like It Wild
When he had finally dozed off, his fitful sleep had been haunted by images of Pamela reaching for him, her eyes misty with longing, her lips moist and tender from his kisses. Those enticing dreams were just as quickly replaced by shadowy nightmares where her desperate hands sought to shove him away. Where he ignored her frightened eyes and hoarse pleas and roughly took his pleasure in every manner imaginable without giving a single thought to hers.
When dawn had finally arrived, he had fallen into a sleep as dark and dreamless as death. Which made it doubly hard to awaken to such a merry sound.
He rolled out of the bed, stretching and yawning like a great cat. He slipped on his trousers and padded into the dressing room to find Brodie splashing about in a long copper tub. Tendrils of steam wafted from the water as Brodie reached around to scrub his back with a long-handled brush, still humming beneath his breath.
Connor cleared his throat.
Brodie swung around to beam at him, lacking the good grace to look guilty. “And a good morn to ye, lad! I hope ye don’t mind, but as yer valet, I took the liberty o’ ringin’ for yer bath.”
“Mybath?” Connor repeated pointedly.
Brodie dropped the brush in the water and rubbed a ball of soap beneath his hairy underarm, lathering enthusiastically. “Aye, and you’ll be welcome to it, as soon as I’m done.”
As Brodie ducked his entire head beneath the water to rinse the soap from his braids, Connor eyed the layer of scum on its surface and briefly considered holding him under until the bubbles stopped surfacing. But he couldn’t figure out where he would hide the body.
He was gazing thoughtfully at the window seat, trying to judge its width and length, when Brodie reappeared, shaking water from his eyes like a wet spaniel.
Connor sniffed, noticing the succulent aroma of bacon hanging in the air for the first time. His stomach rumbled. Last night at supper he had discovered it was nearly impossible for a man to fill his belly when forced to use a tiny fork for every bite.
It didn’t take him long to spot the tray resting on Brodie’s cot—the tray stacked with empty china plates. Gazing at the scattered crumbs, he sighed. “I see you also took the liberty of ringing for my breakfast.”
“Aye, and I must say it was quite tasty! Though the rasher of bacon was a wee bit overdone. I thought I might have a chat with the cook today.” Brodie waggled his copper eyebrows at him. “I hear she’s not married and might be in the market for a husband.”
“I hear she weighs fifteen stone and can twist a chicken’s head off with her bare hands.”
Brodie’s grin turned into a leer. “I always did love a lass with a strong grip.”
Connor clenched and unclenched his fists, fighting the urge to demonstrate the impressive strength of his own grip by fastening his hands around his friend’s throat and squeezing the life out of him.
Before Connor had time to avert his eyes, Brodie rose from the bath. The sight of his hairy, dripping body displayed in all of its naked glory effectively spoiled Connor’s appetite. The serpent tattooed on Brodie’s massive deltoid seemed to be winking at him.
“Would ye mind handin’ me that towel, laddie?”
“Oh, not at all,” Connor replied, snatching up the linen bath sheet draped over a nearby stool and tossing it directly over Brodie’s head. “Is there anything else I can do you for you while I’m here? Polish your boots? Starch your shirt? Braid your back hair?”
Brodie tugged the towel off his head and rubbed it over the curling hair that furred his massive chest. “Well, now that ye mention it, I could use some help trimmin’ me toenails before they send up yer tailor. The puir fellow’s already been waitin’ for an hour, but this one toenail has been rubbin’ against the top o’ me boot for—”
Connor would never learn how long the pesky toenail had been plaguing Brodie because at that precise moment he grabbed Brodie’s arm and hauled him right out of the tub. He dragged him across the bedchamber with Brodie sputtering, swearing and dripping all the way. Connor threw open the door, shoved him into the corridor, then slammed the door in his ruddy face.
As Connor leaned against the door, blockading it with his body, he heard a maidservant’s shrill scream and a loud crash, followed by Brodie’s jovial, “Why, hullo there, lass! Would ye like to see my snake dance?”
Connor shook his head, hoping for the poor maidservant’s sake that Brodie was talking about the serpent tattooed on his upper arm.
“Now don’t go runnin’ away like that, lass! I do believe I’m goin’ to need a bigger towel!”
Connor quickly discovered that one of the benefits of being a marquess was that you were allowed—and perhaps even encouraged—to keep people waiting. He rang for a fresh bath and breakfast before informing a footman to send up the tailor.
He also discovered that having his bath and breakfast pilfered by the most shamelessly incompetent valet in all of England was the least of the indignities he would be forced to endure that day. The tailor spent hours poking and prodding him and showing him bolt after bolt of fabric, all of which looked identical to him. While the man chattered on and on about the benefits of nankeen over merino—names like Byron and Beau Brummel tripping from his nimble tongue—his assistant climbed all over Connor with a measuring tape, cooing in admiration over the breadth of his shoulders and the circumference of his forearms.
When the assistant dropped to one knee at Connor’s feet and pressed the tape to his inner thigh, rolling his eyes in near ecstasy, Connor decided he’d had quite enough of being jabbed with pins and groped by strangers for one day.
Gripping both the tailor and his assistant by their high starched collars, he ushered them toward the door.
“But, my lord,” the tailor protested in dismay, his skinny arms filled with bolts of cloth, “how are we to carry on? We haven’t even decided between the superfine and the kerseymere yet!”
“Surprise me,” Connor snapped. “Or better yet—I’ll take them all. Just send the bill to the du—to my father.”
Pleasure suffused the tailor’s long face. “Oh, yes, my lord! It would be my great honor to—”
