Tomorrow's Dreams

by Heather Cullman

  His first words would have to be an apology, that much was clear. Then he’d have to think of a way to explain his behavior without admitting to his unrelenting lust for her. But how?

  He thought for a moment. It wasn’t as if Penelope was unaware of his sensual nature … unless she’d forgotten the raptures of their lovemaking. Wounded by that possibility, he shot her a disgruntled look from beneath his eyelashes.

  She was wearing an expression that was a little bit relieved and a lot triumphant. Gone was the affronted ingenue, and in her place stood a composed woman who looked as though she’d just gotten away with stealing the crown jewels.

  Or, he amended with dawning understanding, gotten away with handling his jewels without compromising her dignity. His gaze sharpened as it homed in on her smug little smile. Thinking back, she hadn’t looked so much outraged as she had guilty when he’d awakened to find her in his embrace.

  Could it be that she’d done something to provoke him into behaving as he had? Seth turned the question over in his mind. It was certainly a possibility, one that bore further investigation. And investigate it he would. Ignoring the fact that his arousal was waving in the air like a flag in a brisk breeze, he folded his arms behind his head and yawned. “I attacked you? Hmm.”

  The indignant virgin was back in a flash. “Yes, you did! And after the disgraceful way you behaved, I’d think you would have the decency to cover your”—she pointed accusingly at his rigid sex—“your—thing!—and apologize.”

  Oh, she was good. He’d give her that. Stifling his urge to chuckle at her performance, he followed the line of her pointing finger to stare down at himself. “It’s called a penis. Of course, considering its rather inflated state, the more correct name would be erection.” Aching with frustrated need and determined to teach her a lesson for working him into such a state, he brazenly lifted the anatomy in question to allow her a better view.

  “The other night you seemed inordinately concerned about me being plagued by the pox.” With his free hand he ran his fingers down his rigid length, smoothing the skin of his sheath to fully display his unblemished male flesh. “Take a good look, Princess. As you can see for yourself, I’m in the pink of good health. Why, I’m positively bursting with vigor.”

  There was nothing maidenly or outraged about Penelope’s expression as she watched his fingers glide down his shaft. She was wearing that dazed, unfocused look she had worn when he’d made love to her. Seeing her like that gave Seth an almost irresistible urge to wrestle her back into his bed and kiss her until the only word left in her vocabulary was a breathless yes.

  Cursing beneath his breath, he dropped his sex back to his belly. With a mere look, Penelope had turned the tables on him, and it was he, not she, who was squirming. Irritated by his own lamentable lack of control, he added in a stinging tone, “Of course, seeing as how you’ve been doing God knows what to my body while I was asleep, you know all about my vigor.”

  That snapped her out of her calf-eyed stupor. Gasping with genuine affront, she practically spat, “You’re an incorrigible bastard, do you know that?”

  “Yes. And you’re late for your duties.” He nodded at the clock on the table next to the bed. “It’s seven-twenty.”

  “I’ll have you know that I was here promptly at seven. It’s not my fault if you refused to wake up.”

  “Seven sharp you say?” Seth pushed himself into a sitting position. Folding his arms across his chest, he inquired, “What exactly have you been doing for the last twenty minutes?”

  Penelope looked so guilty that he was left with little doubt as to exactly what she’d been doing. So he was right, she had in some way provoked his attack.

  Looking as if she wanted to run and hide, she said, “I told you. I was trying to wake you.”

  “And may I say that you’ve done a splendid job of it? If you do the rest of your duties with such èlan, I might be tempted to fire Roper and hire you as his permanent replacement.”

  Penelope bit her tongue to check her barbed retort. No, she wouldn’t rise to his bait. If she did, she’d probably be here all day while the blasted man rated her skills on the Roper scale of domestic excellence. And she’d be damned before she’d remain in the same room with him a second longer than absolutely necessary.

  Determined to expedite her duties, she pointedly ignored his last remark and asked, “What does Roper do after he wakes you?”

  “He fetches me a dressing gown. You’ll find several hanging in the wardrobe. Then he summons one of the maids to bring me my coffee. I take it black and strong, and I like it served with ginger biscuits. But you don’t have to worry about that. The hotel kitchen sends me up a tray every morning at seven-thirty.”

  Penelope nodded. “Fine. What else?”

  Seth tucked a coil of hair behind his ear as he considered her question. “He lays out my shaving implements—you’ll find them in the top dressing table drawer—then runs my bath. Since the civilized luxury of running water has yet to make an appearance in Denver, I’ve asked to have a tub and water brought to my room along with my coffee.”

  “You bathe here?” Penelope asked, disturbed at the prospect of spending yet more time with Seth in his current state of undress. To her discomfiture, she found that the sight of all that smooth golden skin did strange things to her. In fact, looking at him now made her palms tingle to touch him again.

  “Where else would I bathe?” he inquired.

  Slapping her hands against her skirts in an attempt to rid herself of the confounding sensation, she stalked over to the wardrobe. “The advertisement for this hotel claims that there’s a bathroom on every floor,” she said, flinging open the doors.

  “The advertisement is correct,” he assured her.

  Penelope pulled a burgundy and sapphire paisley print silk dressing gown from its hanger. “Then, wouldn’t it be easier to take your bath there?” It would certainly be easier on her.

  “Probably. But I like to soak, which is impossible with the other guests pounding on the door and shouting at me to hurry.”

  Penelope almost groaned aloud. He liked to soak. Wonderful. She could just imagine what the sight of all those sleek muscles glistening with soap and water was going to do to her senses.

  Before she could fully contemplate the disturbing effect, there was a pounding at the door. “Porter, sir!”

  “It’s a valet’s job to direct the lower servants,” Seth said.

  Penelope swung around, gaping at him in speechless panic while he covered the lower half of his body with the rumpled green, gold, and maroon striped damask coverlet. She’d hoped that if she lurked at the side of the tall wardrobe and remained silent, she might escape the porter’s notice. But if Seth expected her to instruct the man in his duties …

  “… I can’t,” she blurted out.

  “Sure you can. All you have to do is open the door and tell the porter where to put the tub. He’ll do the rest.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just that if Adele finds out that I was here this morning, she’ll—” Penelope shut her mouth abruptly.

  “Adele will what?” Seth asked softly. He hadn’t miss her obvious terror of her employer’s disapproval.

  “N-nothing,” she stammered, examining the dressing gown in her hands with sudden fascination. “S-she’ll scold me, that’s all. She demands a high degree of decorum from her performers.”

  Seth made a derogatory noise. “If Miles is a shining example of her idea of decorum, I doubt she’ll so much as bat an eyelash at the news of you being in my room.”

  “Miles is her son. The rules don’t apply to him,” she admitted miserably. “Besides, he’s a man. As you well know, society is much more tolerant of men’s indiscretions.”

  Again there was a flurry of knocks, accompanied by the impatience-tinged announcement, “Porter, Mr. Tyler!”

  “I’ll be right there,” Seth hollered back, not taking his gaze off Penelope’s face. She looked on the verge of tears. Feeli
ng like an ogre for having caused her distress, he beckoned her to his side.

  Looking as if she were going to her death, she complied.

  He reached over and tugged the dressing gown from her arms. “I’ll get the door. You select something for me to wear.”

  The radiance of her answering smile made Seth’s heart contract with longing. It was a real smile, the kind she’d given him during their courtship and engagement. The impact of it was like a powerful blow to his midsection, leaving him breathless and aching inside. Uttering her name in a strangled whisper, he impulsively seized her arm and drew her nearer.

  “Seth?” she murmured.

  Desperately clutching at the threadbare strings of his composure, he reached out and drew her red calico monstrosity of a bonnet back up on her head. “Your hat,” he said, giving silent thanks for the counterfeit calm of his voice.

  As he tugged the wide brim around her face, his fingertips accidently grazed the line of her high cheekbone. Her skin was every bit as warm and satiny-smooth as he remembered, and he was unable to fight the urge to cup her cheek in his palm.

  Apparently Penelope felt the magic of their closeness as well, for she sighed and nuzzled her cheek against his hand. It was an act of such heartbreaking tenderness that it took the final strand of Seth’s willpower not to draw her into his embrace and promise to love her forever.

  But, of course, for them there could be no forever.

  Wracked with a wrenching sense of loss, Seth drew his now trembling hand from her face and pointed to the wardrobe. “Go,” he commanded in a voice that was little more than a croak.

  After gracing him with another of her soul-searing smiles, Penelope hurried across the room to do his bidding. Grappling to regain his emotional equilibrium, Seth slipped from the bed and shrugged on his dressing gown. With his raw backside smarting like the stings from a hundred bees, he limped to the door.

  As he grasped the polished brass knob, he paused to glance over to where Penelope stood rummaging through his clothes. Even garbed in a shapeless wrapper, her figure was too alluring by far. A beleaguered groan escaped his lips. Apparently there were some curves no amount of fabric could conceal.

  Scowling, he hissed, “Stoop!”

  She looked at him as if he’d completely lost his mind.

  Bowing at the waist, he repeated, “Stoop!”

  Her expression mystified, she did what looked like an imitation of a hunchback.

  “Perfect. Now stay that way.” With that edict Seth opened the door. “Sorry to keep you waiting, gentlemen,” he apologized, stepping to one side as he ushered the porter and his entourage into the room. “Please put the tub over there.” He indicated a place at the end of the room opposite from where Penelope stood.

  Grunting under the weight of their burden, the porter and a bellboy lugged the sizable tin bathtub over to the designated spot, closely followed by three men-of-all-work hauling buckets of steaming water. Bringing up the rear of the procession was a waiter bearing a tray with Seth’s coffee and ginger biscuits.

  After setting the food on a small table by the window, the waiter lingered until the bellboy had finished positioning the tub. Then the two men departed the room together.

  Under the crisp direction of the porter, the remaining men prepared Seth’s bath. Unfortunately the activity didn’t prevent them from noticing Penelope, and they spent as much time gawking in her direction as they did tending to their duties.

  Deciding it best to nip the men’s curiosity in the bud, Seth casually asked, “I assume you all know Mrs. Grubber?”

  The porter straightened up. “Can’t say I do.” He nodded courteously at the figure by the wardrobe. “Pleasure, ma’am.”

  Seth saw Penelope stiffen, but before she could respond, he said, “Oh, she can’t hear you. She’s almost completely deaf. You have to get right up to her and shout if you want to talk to her.” He shrugged. “Sometimes she hears you.”

  “So what’s she doin’ here?” ventured a young man with spiky black hair and a missing front tooth.

  “S-sh,” hissed the porter, fixing the man with a reproving glare. “It’s not your place to question the guests.”

  “It’s all right,” Seth reassured him. “Mrs. Grubber will be working for me while I’m in town, so it’s just as well that I explain her presence to you.”

  “Work?” A blond man with a bristly orange mustache scratched his head. “What good is a deaf female?”

  Seth glanced over at Penelope, who had pulled out one of his shirts and was studying it with the intensity of a student cramming for a midterm exam. Inclining his head in her direction, he lied, “The woman works absolute magic with starch and an iron. My shirts have never looked so good. My trousers are always perfectly pressed, and she never leaves so much as a speck of lint on my coats. She’s also handy with a razor on those mornings when I’m too lazy or too hungover to shave myself.”

  “Oh, I get it,” chortled the fourth man, rubbing the top of his bald pate as if forming a thought made it ache. “She’s sorta like a gentleman’s gentleman, only she’s a lady. Right?”

  Seth winked. “Exactly.”

  The man with the orange mustache looked unconvinced. “Her being deaf and all, how do you give her orders?”

  “She doesn’t need direction when it comes to seeing to a man’s needs. She’s been married for thirty-six years and has raised nine sons,” Seth explained. “In truth, she takes such good care of me that I’m beginning view her as a second mother.”

  The four men nodded their understanding as they collected the now empty buckets.

  “However,” Seth continued. “For all her motherly good intentions, she can be a bit dangerous.”

  The porter looked up. “Dangerous, sir?”

  “Yes. Being deaf has made the poor dear a bit—uh—high-strung. She always carries a loaded pistol in her pocket and has developed a rather dangerous habit of shooting anyone or anything that happens to sneak up on her. Since she can’t hear much, she’s real easy to startle.”

  The man with the orange mustache made a gobbling sound, while the other two workers exchanged worried glances. Clearing his throat, the porter inquired, “So what should we do?”

  Bending down to test the water temperature with his finger, Seth advised, “Stay out of her way. You shouldn’t have any problem avoiding her. She arrives every morning at seven sharp and comes straight up to my room. Just make sure you let everyone else know that she’s not to be stopped or in any way accosted.”

  “But how will they know who she is?” asked the man with the missing front tooth.

  Seth straightened back up to his full height, all six feet two inches of it, to take a long look at Penelope. After considering a moment, he replied, “Tell everyone that she always wears a red bonnet that completely hides her face. She’s got a tattoo on her cheek, and she’s touchy about people staring at it.”

  “Tattoo?” choked the orange-mustached man.

  “She was captured by the Indians when she was young, and they gave it to her, but we’ll save that story for another day.”

  Casting a look of mock concern at Penelope’s heaving shoulders, Seth intoned, “Looks like Mrs. Grubber is getting kind of nervous. Maybe you gentlemen ought to leave now.”

  That observation was enough to send the four men sidling toward the door. Just as they piled out into the hallway, Seth stopped them. “Gentlemen?”

  They froze.

  “I’ll have Mrs. Grubber ring the bell three times before she leaves my room in the morning. If you wait a few minutes, it should be safe to retrieve the tub. Just don’t come up unless you hear the three rings, or unless I direct you otherwise.”

  Bobbing their heads like loosely stuffed scarecrows in a tornado, the men hurried from the room.

  As the door closed behind them, Penelope spun around to face Seth, her whole body convulsing with laughter. “A tattoo? Deaf? Really, Seth! However do you come up with those tales?”

&nbs
p; Seth grinned his cockeyed grin. “Just talented, I guess.”

  She rolled her eyes toward the heavens. “Outrageous is more like it. You made me sound so dangerous that those poor men will run for cover every time they catch sight of a red bonnet.” It was then that comprehension of what he’d done hit home. “Why, Seth Tyler! You spun that wicked story to protect me! You did it to insure my anonymity.”

  Seth merely shrugged and tested the bathwater again. “Will you bring me my soap from the dressing table?”

  Penelope found herself smiling as she hastened to do his bidding. For all that he was obviously trying to deny it, it was apparent that his heart was softening toward her. Why else would he have done what he just did? As for her own heart, well, as much as she’d been desperately trying to ignore it, it had been telling her that Seth Tyler was the only man for her.

  Her smile faded as she stared down at the clutter of ebony-backed brushes and masculine grooming articles scattered across the marble tabletop before her. Seth may be the man for her, but he’d made it abundantly clear that she wasn’t the woman for him. He no longer viewed her as anything but a friend.

  Or did he? Her hand froze in the act of picking up his bar of soap. Surely a man didn’t dream sensual dreams about a woman who was just a friend? He didn’t cry her name in his sleep in a voice thick with desire. And he certainly wouldn’t look at a mere friend with passion blazing in his eyes the way Seth had done just now as he’d cradled her cheek in his hand.

  Just remembering the smoldering topaz fire in Seth’s eyes was enough to fill Penelope with a sunlike glow of warmth. He still wanted her, that much was apparent.

  Want. Her inner glow dimmed a fraction. He wanted her, yes. But wanting a woman was a far cry from loving her.

  But want is a start in the right direction, she reminded herself with halfhearted optimism.

  Behind her, there was the splash of water, followed by a low groan as Seth lowered himself into the bathtub. With faint embers of hope stirring in her breast, Penelope scooped the soap from its dish with one hand, while pushing the unflattering bonnet from her head with the other, then turned to face the man whose love she was now determined to regain.