Page 46 of Some Like It Wild
“Excuse me? He wants me to wear my dressing gown downstairs in the middle of the day?”
“Aye, miss.” The plump little maid’s brow puckered in a determined frown. “His instructions was very clear on that matter. Very clear indeed.”
Pamela shook her head, wondering what could have possessed Connor to make such a peculiar request. After a moment’s thought, she squared her shoulders and jerked a fresh knot in the sash of her faded dressing gown. She ran her fingers through the loose curls piled atop her head to find them still a little damp from her bath.
“I suppose we should go then. We certainly wouldn’t want to keep our future lord and master waiting, would we?”
As she sailed from the chamber, accompanied by her beaming escort, Sophie scrambled down from the bed to follow.
Pamela went marching into the ballroom with Sophie trotting at her heels. Her temper had been rising with each step and she was determined to give Connor Kincaid a piece of her mind for daring to summon her in such a high-handed manner.
But when she crossed the threshold and saw what awaited her, the pieces of her mind scattered, leaving her without a coherent thought in her head.
The ballroom had been transformed. If not for the sparkling cut-glass chandeliers and the row of open French windows on the far wall, she never would have recognized it as the same room that had housed yesterday’s duel.
Almost every inch of space was occupied by bolts of fabric in a dizzying array of textures and colors. Dressmaker’s dummies were scattered throughout the room, their voluptuous forms draped in luxurious lengths of silk and satin. Even the ancient suit of armor standing guard against the far wall had been recruited to model a mink tippet and a saucy little willow bonnet crowned by a towering plume of ostrich feathers.
“Oh, my!” Sophie exclaimed, slipping right past Pamela. She eyed the watercolor fashion plates that had been propped up on gilded easels throughout the room, swaying on her feet as if she might swoon. “I’m willing to wager they smuggled these right out of Paris! Aren’t they the most exquisite things you’ve ever seen?”
A sea of expectant faces greeted Pamela, but she only had eyes for one of them. She stood frozen in place as Connor came wending his way through their ranks to greet her.
“What have you done?” she demanded, sounding nearly as breathless and prone to swoon as Sophie.
He shrugged his broad shoulders, as if assembling a virtual army of dressmakers and linen drapers was something a highwayman did every day. “I summoned them to start work on your trousseau.”
“Do you even know what that word means?”
“It’s a French word for—”
“Hush, Sophie,” Pamela and Connor snapped in unison.
Sophie’s wounded pout quickly shifted into a gasp of delight as a display of elegant silk slippers in a variety of sizes and a rainbow of colors caught her eye. Their gemstone buckles sparkled in the sunlight.
“The hardest part was getting them all to agree to close up shop for two days and work around the clock,” Connor admitted, “but I’m quickly learning just how persuasive a title and the promise of a generous reward can be.”
Pamela already knew exactly how persuasive he could be, even without a title or the promise of a reward. Judging from the bliss she had experienced at his skillful fingertips only last night, he could probably persuade a woman to do just about anything he wanted her to do, no matter how deliciously wicked or wanton.
“I can’t do this,” she said, taking a hasty step backward.
“And why not?” He narrowed his eyes and squared his freshly shaven jaw in an expression she was coming to know only too well. “You don’t dare refuse me. You said it yourself, lass. I can’t have my bride embarrassing herself—or me—in front of all of London.”
His bride.
For a dizzying moment, it was only too easy to imagine herself on his arm, wearing one of the elegant gowns sketched in the fashion plates as she gazed up at him adoringly. Only too easy to forget that they were only playing roles and that her part in their little farce would be over long before the curtain rose for the second act.
She eyed a bolt of shimmering sea-green crepe with open longing, reminding herself that even the most miniscule of roles required a costume.
“Very well, my lord,” she said softly. “I shall strive not to disgrace your good name.”
Grinning his approval, Connor crooked a finger at his waiting minions.
Connor felt a brief pang of sympathy as they rushed forward, descending upon Pamela in a flurry of pins and feathers and measuring tapes and Brussels lace, all chattering at once in English and French with a smattering of Italian tossed in. She shot him a panicked look before she was swallowed up completely.
Knowing his work here was done, he started for the door only to find Sophie standing all alone, her pretty face blanched nearly green with envy.
Following her wistful gaze to the dazzling array of slippers, Connor leaned down and whispered, “Why don’t you pick out a bonny pair or two for yourself and pretend they’re for your mistress? Since she ruined your finest pair with herenormous feet, I’m sure she wouldn’t mind.”
Sophie’s face lit up and for a minute Connor was afraid she was going to forget all about her role of maidservant and throw her grateful arms around his neck. But she stopped herself just in time. Lowering her eyes, she bobbed a deferent curtsy. “Aye, my lord. Whatever you wish, my lord.”
