Page 59 of Some Like It Wild
“You’re proud. Passionate. Determined to make your own way in this world without bowing to any man.”
Pamela lifted her head as her sister rose and came over to kneel beside her chair. Sophie peered up into her face, her blue eyes wide and guileless. “You share her strengths but not her weaknesses.Mamanwas always thinking of herself, while you think far too little of your own good and far too much of the good of others. You’re loyal and kind and generous and the most devoted sister a girl could hope to have.”
Pamela gazed down at her sister’s beautiful face through a haze of tears.
Sophie squeezed her hand. “She may have been the toast of the London stage and adored by any number of wealthy and powerful men, but I never saw a single man look atMamanthe way he looks at you.”
Grinning through her tears, Pamela tucked a wayward curl behind Sophie’s ear. “You know—once I become a marchioness, I do believe I’m going to promote you to housekeeper.”
For Pamela the rest of the day passed in an agony of anticipation as she waited for the night to come. While a long, hot bath and an even longer nap soothed away much of the tenderness lingering between her legs, a tantalizing ache remained. An ache she now knew only Connor could ease.
She wasn’t sure what was going to be the most difficult—the hours they had to spend apart during the day or the hour spent sitting across from him at supper, playing the role of chaste lady to his courteous gentleman.
The minute she strolled into the dining room that evening and Connor rose to greet her, his smoky eyes aglow with appreciation and a new coat stretched taut over his broad shoulders, she knew the answer.
“My lord,” she murmured, bobbing him a demure curtsy when what she really wanted to do was throw herself into his arms and kiss him insensible.
“My lady,” he replied stiffly, offering her his arm so he could escort her to her chair.
Even that brief contact was torture. As she slid into her chair, he leaned down and whispered, “I wish you were the main course.”
He retreated to the chair directly opposite hers, leaving Pamela with a provocative image of herself laid out naked on that linen-draped table, with Connor free to partake of her at his leisure.
He lifted his wineglass in a silent toast to her while the footmen served the first course and the duke and his sister continued their incessant sniping. It took Pamela several minutes before she realized they were discussing the ball that was to be held in a few days to reintroduce the duke’s long lost heir to thecrème de la crèmeof London society.
“Now Archibald, you need to stop fussing and fretting, and leave all of the planning to me,” Lady Astrid was saying.
The duke shot Connor a mischievous look, resembling a wizened little boy. “That’s all well and good, but don’t forget that I have a surprise for the lad.”
“Don’t we all?” Lady Astrid purred like a cat who had stumbled upon a saucer of particularly rich cream. She seemed to be in an unusually fine humor, which set off warning bells in Pamela’s head.
Connor rested his glass of wine on the table. “Miss Darby and I have decided the ball would be the perfect time toofficiallyannounce our engagement.”
“Have you finally charmed the chit into wedding you before next December?” the duke asked, spearing a juicy beef olive with his fork.
“I’ve devoted my every effort to it,” Connor assured him solemnly.
Pamela choked on her wine, remembering just how “devoted” some of his efforts had been. She rested the glass back on the table. “I’ve discovered that your son can be very persuasive when he wants to be.”
“A trait he inherited from his father, I assure you,” the duke said, winking at her.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when she lowered her glass to find Lady Astrid surveying her from the foot of the table with a benevolent smile. “Just leave everything to me, Miss Darby. I promise you and your fiancé an evening that you—and all of London—willneverforget.”
Pamela paced back and forth in front of the open window in her bedchamber, pausing every fourth or fifth turn to poke her head out the window and glare down at the deserted lawn below.
She hugged herself as a chill breeze drifted through the window, raising the gooseflesh on her arms. What if Connor didn’t come to her? What if he had decided to embrace his role as gentleman and was content to bide his time until they were wed?
She sighed and wandered over to the gilt-framed cheval glass sitting next to the dressing table. Her reflection eyed her pensively as she began to tug the pins from her hair. She shook the thick mane loose until it came spilling around her shoulders, then unhooked the bodice of her gown and peeled it away. The sewn-in stays had left pink welts on her tender flesh and it was an immense relief for her heavy breasts to finally spring free.
She untied the ribbons at her waist, letting her skirt and petticoats slide down to pool at her feet, and stood there in front of the mirror, naked except for her silk drawers and stockings.
She had gazed at herself in the mirror a thousand times as she prepared for bed, but tonight she seemed like a new creature. A sloe-eyed stranger—wild and sensual and still desperately hungry despite the many courses served at dinner.
Her dusky nipples were peeping through the glossy tendrils of her hair. She sighed. There were times when she envied Sophie her bobbed curls, but her hair was far too thick and straight to support such a fashionable coif. She reached up to gather the heavy coils at her nape with one hand, exposing her breasts to the caress of the moonlight.
Pamela froze as a sharply indrawn breath warned her that she was no longer alone.
Chapter 23
