Tomorrow's Dreams (31 page)

Generally those measures afforded her plenty of rest. Last night, however, Seth had inadvertently thwarted his own altruistic efforts by informing her that he planned to race for her bonnet and win the privilege of escorting her to the dance.

As giddy as a debutante the night before her debut, she'd tossed and turned till dawn, planning what she'd wear right down to the placement of the silk violets in her hair. She'd imagined thrilling scenes where she so charmed Seth that he waltzed her right off the dance floor and into a dark corner to steal a kiss.

Penelope hugged herself with delight. What made the notion of the dance even more perfect was that she'd be attending with Adele's blessing. In truth, the woman had practically ordered her to participate in the race, claiming that seeing the ladylike Lorelei Leroux at the Vanderlyn house would lure men to the Shakespeare who were normally disinclined to frequent variety halls. It was all almost too good to be true.

Once again picturing herself in Seth's arms, resplendently attired in her ivory crepe de chine ball gown with its numerous violet satin bows and silk flowers, she fished Seth's bar of sandalwood soap from beneath her feet.

The frock she intended to wear had been ordered with Seth in mind just two days before their broken engagement. Unable to bear the sight of it for all the heartbreaking memories it evoked, she hadn't so much as peeked at it when it was delivered from the dressmaker's shop two weeks later. And so the costly creation had languished, unworn, at the bottom of her trunk for almost three years. In fact, she'd forgotten just how exquisite it was until she and Effie had unwrapped it from its tissue cocoon last night.

Just the thought of wearing the wonderful gown made Penelope feel like the princess Seth called her. A satisfied smile touched her lips. Tonight she would look worthy of her title.

Imagining Seth's stunned look when he saw her, Penelope sank deeper into the water. Unlike most mornings when she was too fearful of discovery to do more than take a quick dip, today she felt brave enough to luxuriate. Humming a bawdy ditty she'd heard at the saloon, she rubbed the soap between her palms, delighting in the spicy fragrance of the lather.

Always the considerate boss, Seth was closing the saloon at noon so his employees could participate in the race. As he'd mentioned just yesterday, this was probably the only chance most of the saloon girls would ever have to attend a proper dance, and it was only fair that they be given the opportunity. Though Penelope had attended enough balls to last her a lifetime, she was just as ecstatic as the saloon girls over the early closing, for it gave her her first full day off in a long while.

Languidly trailing her foamy hands down one leg, and then up the other, she tried to decide what to do with the rest of her morning. Perhaps she would splurge on a small bottle of the lilac cologne Seth so loved, and then treat herself to a lemon ice. Or maybe she'd start reading the romantic novel Effie had bought her for her birthday last month. The options spread before her as delicious and tempting as a box of her favorite maple nut candy.

Yawning, she idly contemplated the bar of soak in her hands. Whatever she decided to do, she needed to stop lounging in the tub and get at it. It must be almost eight-thirty, and she needed to get back to the boardinghouse before Effie started to worry.

For the hundredth time in the last two weeks, Penelope thanked her mercurial lucky star for her friend's gullibility. When the woman had questioned her absence the first morning she'd gone to Seth's hotel, she'd claimed that it was part of a new scientific health regimen she was on. She said that the plan required that she rise no later than six and walk briskly for no less than two hours, breathing deeply of the fresh air as she went. It was just the sort of nonsense to which Effie subscribed, and she'd never again mentioned her friend's dawn forays.

Penelope began to grin at her own ingenuity, but another yawn slipped out instead. What she really ought to do was take a nap before the race. She yawned again. Yes. She'd do just that.

Yet, for all her good intentions, she continued to lie there. It seemed like forever since she'd had the luxury of lounging in the bathtub, and today she sorely felt the need for some indulgence. Besides, there was really no reason why she couldn't linger a short while longer. Seth wouldn't be back until after noon, if he returned at all before the race, and she didn't have rehearsal. So why not let herself enjoy her bath just this once?

Five minutes
, she told herself firmly.
She'd allow herself five more minutes of relaxation and then be on her way
. With that resolution, Penelope closed her eyes and dreamed of Seth.

Once again she strolled with him in the park, thrilling to his charming banter. They dined by candlelight at Delmonico's, and danced the night away at the German Winter Garden, as secure in their love as they were in each other's arms.

As he tipped his head forward to kiss her, whispering passionately of his everlasting devotion, her wistful imaginings deepened and she slipped blissfully into the world of slumber.

Seth took the hotel stairs two at a time, cursing himself for his forgetfulness. He'd been in such a hurry to meet his solicitor that he'd rushed from his room without his ledgers.

In one impatient bound he leaped up the last three steps to the second-floor landing. He still had a full day's work to squeeze in before the race began at two, and the last thing he needed was this inconvenience of returning for the books.

The race
. Just the thought of the race and what winning it meant sent a rush of chaotic emotion rioting through him. Attending tonight's post-race dance was just the opportunity he'd been hoping for. For not only would it give him the chance to observe Louisa Vanderlyn up close, it would permit him a glimpse of her home, something that would tell him far more about her than a thousand Pinkerton reports.

As he paused to unlock his room door, he wondered if Louisa would notice him among the crush of people sure to be in attendance tonight. If she did, would she mark his uncanny resemblance to her father and approach him? Or would she let her gaze pass coolly over him, denying the Van Cortlandt stamp as easily as she would have denied him his life? Grimly pondering, he shoved the door open.

The sight that met his eyes stopped him in his tracks. The room was a terrible mess. Perplexed, he stepped inside, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Unlike every other morning during the past two weeks, Penelope had left without setting his room in order. His shaving implements were still scattered willy-nilly across the dressing table along with a damp towel, of which several more were strewn across the floor in a white linen trail leading to the chair where Penelope had shaved him. There was a half-eaten ginger biscuit on the desk where he'd paused to attach his watch to his fob, and his nightshirt was still tossed over the top of the dressing screen shielding the bathtub.

The screen, like the nightshirt, had been hastily acquired the afternoon following his first discomforting session with Penelope acting as his valet. Though he'd never have admitted it out loud, both items had been procured as much for the protection of his sensibilities as for hers.

Oh, it wasn't that some latent case of modesty had suddenly reared its prudish head and he'd become self-conscious about his nudity. Quite the contrary. He liked the way Penelope looked at his naked body and from the desire he'd seen blazing in her beautiful eyes, it was obvious that she liked looking at it.

Problem was, he liked it too much. Especially when he'd caught her stealing peeks at him as he'd dried himself after his bath. To his mortification, he'd hardened instantly and with a groin-wrenching rampancy that had made him sure he'd burst with need. It was that shameful lack of control and the resulting discomfort that had prompted his request for the screen.

And so since that first morning, he'd bathed and dressed behind the screen, taking care that he was covered with enough fabric to mask the telltale signs of what was beginning to feel like his perpetual arousal. It was to that end that he'd purchased the voluminous nightshirt.

To insure that he didn't repeat his disgraceful performance of that first morning, when she'd come upon him in the throes of an erotic dream, he now made sure that he was modestly garbed in both the nightshirt and a dressing gown when she arrived.

Seth chuckled. Penelope had looked almost disappointed when she'd arrived that second morning to find him not only awake, but dressed like an invalid with lung weakness and imbibing in his now six-forty-five cup of coffee.

He was about to move to the desk and collect his ledgers when a daub of cardinal red caught his eye. There, hanging from the corner of the screen, was Penelope's bonnet.

That she would leave without her identity-masking bonnet was as confounding as her leaving the room in such disorder. He was about to pluck the bedraggled hat from its perch, when he caught sight of something else. Something more interesting.

There on the floor, next to yet another soggy towel, was a black stocking. A long, slender woman's one. The kind that looked so fetching when topped by a shapely white thigh. And no one had shapelier thighs than Penelope, to whom it undoubtedly belonged.

Seth almost groaned aloud at the picture that thought evoked. Firmly he pushed the tempting vision from his mind and forced his attention back to the mystery at hand. So what had prompted Penelope to leave her bonnet in his room? More befuddling yet, why had she removed her stocking?

As if in answer to his questions, there was a faint splash of water. Not pausing to think, he peered around the screen.

There, fast asleep in the bathtub, was Penelope.

Seth hardly dared to breathe, for fear that the stunning vision would vanish. Since their parting, he'd often escaped from the grim reality of his life by indulging in fantasies about Penelope. His favorite, one which had never failed to erase the pain from his mind, was that of making love to her in her bath.

Erase the pain?
Seth thought sardonically. Transfer it was more correct, and to a part of his anatomy he was beginning to think had a mind of its own. A part that was beginning to make its throbbing presence known at that very moment.

As he hungrily surveyed the woman before him, the throbbing mushroomed into an aching heaviness low in his belly. The times they had made love, she'd modestly insisted that he turn down the gaslights before they disrobed. Because he'd assumed he'd have a lifetime to admire her body, he'd indulged her in her maidenly reticence and had satisfied himself feeling what he couldn't see.

Oh, he'd guessed that she had a beautiful body. The voluptuous curves he'd glimpsed outlined in the shadows had told him that much. So provocative was that silhouette that on nights when he was too troubled to sleep, he often diverted his thoughts by enhancing those dark contours with imaginary color and detail. More times than not, he added endowments so fine that he'd wryly reminded himself that no woman could possibly be so perfect.

But he'd been wrong. His fantasy Penelope was nowhere near as exquisite as the real one. Utterly captivated, he drew nearer.

Dear God, she was beautiful! Just the sight of her choked him to the point where he could barely breathe. Her skin was smooth and pale, like the bisque of an expensive French fashion doll, blushed in all the right places in shades ranging from delicate pink to dusty rose.

Through the still water he could clearly see every detail of her luscious body. Her breasts were full and round, just as he'd visualized as he'd lain beside her in the dark, shaping them with his hands. Her nipples, peeking just over the waterline, were a shade of peony pink that echoed the hue of her sleep-parted lips.

Though her legs were bent at the knees and propped up against the side of the tub in a way that twisted her torso away from him, the distortion of her line was unable to mask the slenderness of her waist or the feminine flare of her hips.

Groaning, Seth sank to his knees beside the tub. If ever a woman epitomized the word
female
, it was Penelope Parrish. And if ever a man suffered the agonies of temptation, it was he.

God help him! Give him the strength in his lust-weakened knees to rise and run away before he did something he'd regret. Bless him with the wisdom and willpower to keep himself from these dangerous situations in the future. And please! Help him banish his hopeless desire for Penelope.

Yet, even as he prayed, his trembling hand lifted and he lightly ran his fingertips down the sloping plane of her breast. Her skin felt exactly as he remembered, delicate and velvety smooth, like the petals of a newly opened rose.

With desire robbing him of reason, as it always did when he was near Penelope, he dipped his thumb below the waterline to caress her nipple. It hardened instantly. Driven by a need too long denied, he stroked the other one. It, too, responded. As he leaned nearer to examine his handiwork, an explosive gasp erupted from Penelope.

With a violence that sent a tidal wave of bathwater washing over the edge of the tub, she bolted upright, slamming her breasts into his face. He would have tumbled headfirst into the tub had he not flung his arms around her torso to brace himself.

“Seth!” she expelled, her tone aghast.

Chapter 19

Seth yanked his chin from where it had landed between Penelope's breasts and stumbled back on his haunches. He hadn't been this humiliated since he was a boy and had been caught spying on an older girl trying on corsets at the general store. Unlike at ten, however, his depravity at thirty-six wasn't likely to be dismissed as youthful curiosity.

Too ashamed to meet Penelope's gaze, he stared down at his soaked waistcoat, grappling for something to say. He had to make an excuse, fabricate a story, do something … anything!… to break the tense silence. But for once his glib tongue was tied.