Page 18 of Some Like It Wild
“That’s what I’m hoping,” she agreed cheerfully. “After all, he won’t be expecting you to be as dangerous as he is.Moredangerous,” she quickly amended as Connor narrowed his eyes at her in the mirror. “And while we’re waiting for him to show his hand, you can learn to pass yourself off as a gentleman in society. The duke will no doubt want to complete your education. Why, just think of it—you can even learn to read!”
Connor gave her another of those enigmatic glances in the glass. “Indeed.”
“He’ll probably hire a fencing instructor and a dancing master.”
Connor shot to his feet. “I don’t mind the swordplay, lass, but you didn’t say anythin’ about prancin’ around a ballroom in ruffles and tights.”
Reaching up to clap her hands on his shoulders, Pamela gently urged him back down in the chair. “Have no fear, sir. Tights went out of fashion several seasons ago.”
Realizing that she had allowed her hands to linger against the muscled breadth of his shoulders, Pamela snatched them back and tucked them behind her. “Even though you’ve been living among the Scots for most of your life, the duke will be just arrogant enough to believe you should still be showing signs of your noble English blood. You should probably go ahead and make an effort to stop dropping your g’s.”
“I don’t know what in the bluidy hell ye’re talkin’ aboot, lass.”
Pamela had already opened her mouth to correct him when another deft stroke of the razor revealed his brazen dimple. Tilting her nose in the air, she said primly, “Regardless of how coarse his tongue might be while in the company of other men, a gentleman would never swear in the presence of a lady.”
“Is that so?” As he captured her gaze and held it, Connor’s voice both softened and deepened, its provocative timbre raising gooseflesh on her arms. “Then I’ll have to trust you to help me mind my tongue.”
Warmth purled low in her belly as she remembered how that tongue had traced the yielding softness of her lips before sliding between them to have its way with her. She tore her gaze away from his before she could blurt out something incredibly foolish like, “It would be my pleasure.”
She injected a deliberate note of briskness into her voice. “I suppose I should warn you that you’ll still be a wanted man in London. It won’t be the hangman you’ll have to beware but a horde of ambitious young women eager to become your duchess. I’m sure their attentions will become even more relentless when they discover that you’re young, virile and”—she shrugged as if his blatant physical charms were of absolutely no interest to her—“passably good-looking.”
“How kind of you to notice,” he said dryly. “So are these the willin’—I mean thewillingwomen you promised me?” he asked, correcting himself before she could.
“I’m afraid not.” Pamela shook her head sadly. “If you find yourself in a compromising position with an unmarried young lady, you may end up being forced to wed her against your will.”
“So I’m only allowed to find myself in compromising positions with married young ladies?”
“Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “That won’t do at all. A jealous husband might challenge you to a duel. You could cause a terrible scandal that could expose us both.”
He sighed heavily. “So despite your promises I should resign myself to a life of celibacy more suited to a monk than a duke.”
“Oh, there are always women of questionable moral character who will welcome a gentleman’s attentions—lusty widows, courtesans”—she sniffed as if the smell of some overbearing perfume lingered in the air—“Frenchwomen.”
“Ah yes, Frenchwomen.” A nostalgic smile curved Connor’s lips. “I robbed a coach once with a buxom young French maidservant on board. When I demanded her mistress’s jewels, she threw herself in front of my pistol and begged me to take her instead.” His smile deepened a devilish degree. “Begged quite insistently as I recall.”
Pamela’s own lips felt oddly stiff, as if they belonged to someone else. “I’m sure you were only too happy to accommodate her.”
“I’m afraid I had to disappoint the lass.” His smile vanished as the blade glided over his jaw, revealing its hard, unyielding planes. “Pleasure is fleeting. Gold is the only thing that lasts forever.”
“What about love?” she asked softly, regretting the sentimental words the instant they passed their lips. “Isn’t it supposed to be eternal?”
“Love’s a luxury reserved for fools, poets and the rich. A poor man would rather have a bowl of warm stew in his belly and a pair of new soles for his boots.”
“What of your parents? Did they not love each other?”
Steel flashed in the gaze he gave her, reminding her how it had felt to face down this man over the barrel of a gun. “They did. But it wasn’t eternal. It only lasted until the redcoats murdered them.”
Pamela was almost relieved when she heard the cheerful patter of her sister’s boots on the stairs. “I’ve found the costume, Pamela!” Sophie sang out, her buttery curls bouncing as she came waltzing into the chamber. “I couldn’t find the garters for the stockings so I’m loaning him a pair of mine.”
It appeared that Brodie had already fallen beneath her sister’s spell. The burly smuggler was trotting at Sophie’s heels like a well-trained lapdog, his arms piled high with garments.
“Costume?” Connor repeated ominously, rising and turning to toss the razor and the cup on the table.
Nodding toward his all-black ensemble, Pamela said, “I had Sophie fetch you some more appropriate traveling garments from my trunk. And not a moment too soon, it appears,” she added as he used the tail of his shirt to wipe the remainder of the shaving soap from his cheeks and chin. His unruly hair came tumbling around his face before she could gauge the full effect of his shave. “We had no idea what sort of financial straits we might find the duke’s heir in, so I took the liberty of borrowing this costume from the theater where Sophie gave her last performance.” Herverylast performance, Pamela thought grimly.
Sophie whisked a shirt from the top of the pile of garments in Brodie’s arms and held it up in front of her. “Petruchio wore this one inThe Taming of the Shrew. Isn’t it dashing?”
Eyeing the elaborate fall of lace-trimmed ruffles adorning the collar and cuffs, Brodie snickered. “Aye, lass. Our Connor’ll be so comely in that, even I won’t be able to resist the lad’s charms.”
