Tomorrow's Dreams

by Heather Cullman

  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.

  It wasn’t that he, with his vivid imagination, couldn’t come up with a defense. He could, a dozen of them, and believable ones at that. What he couldn’t do was force the words past his lips.

  Mutely, Seth cursed himself for a weak-willed fool. Once again his heart was overruling his head, and the damn thing was refusing to let him pass this episode off as a strange accident. Worse yet, it was urging him to tell the truth, to confess the tender feelings that had induced him to act as he did.

  But, of course, he couldn’t allow himself to do that, no matter how he was tempted. He’d seen the way Penelope looked at him of late, so soft and full of yearning, and he refused to hurt her again by giving her false hope for their future together.

  As he stared bleakly at his sodden trousers, wondering what the hell he was going to do, he heard the sound of flesh moving through water and then a hand appeared before his face.

  “Would you help me up?” Penelope asked, her voice as matter-of-fact as if she were requesting that he fetch her a shawl. “I’m stiff from sleeping in the tub and doubt I can rise by myself.”

  Seth glanced at her composed face, stunned. He’d expected her to heap recriminations on his head, or at the very least shield her breasts with her arms and stare at him as if he were a rowdy set on ravishing her.

  Instead she sat as unperturbed as if being naked in his presence was an everyday event, casually requesting assistance; assistance that invited him to touch her delectable body. He sucked in a hissing breath between his teeth. He’d have preferred the recriminations. A couple of indignant shrieks and a few shaming rebukes would have done wonders to diminish his obstinate lust, which, despite his mortification, still seared his loins.

  “Please?” She leaned forward and held out her arms in a way that displayed her breasts in all their tantalizing glory.

  Seth mumbled something, he wasn’t sure what, and forced his gaze up to her face. That move didn’t do a thing to ease the suddenly too tight fit of his trousers. Though her expression was sweetly pleading, her eyes were luminous with desire.

  “The water’s terribly cold. I’m afraid I’ll take a chill if I sit here much longer. Look”—she nodded down at her chest, an area he was diligently trying to ignore—“I’ve got goose-flesh.”

  He’d already behaved like a lecher, and he wasn’t about to add insult to injury by acting like a cad. And he would be a cad if he denied her help. Resigning himself to torment worse than the fires of hell, Seth clamped his hands around her upper arms and helped her up. The process went smoothly, with Seth avoiding coming in contact with anything more stimulating than her arms.

  Just as she lifted her leg to step from the tub, she slipped and he was forced to whip his arms around her torso to keep her from falling. With a startled cry, she grabbed on to his shoulders and clung to him as if for dear life.

  The feel of her body, naked and yielding, crushed against his was almost more than Seth could bear. Groaning, he pushed her away to hold her at arm’s length.

  Gluing his gaze to the floor, he murmured hoarsely, “I’ve got you. You can step out now.” As soon as her feet entered his line of vision, he released her and poised himself for a hasty retreat. As he turned to flee, she exclaimed, “Oh, dear!”

  Her voice was so full of distress that he instinctively glanced back to see what was wrong. He could have kicked himself.

  He had thought Penelope’s figure stunning when he’d gawked at it in the tub, but seeing it now, upright and fully displayed to its best advantage, he saw that it was better than stunning. It was flawless, perfect in both shape and symmetry.

  Her legs were long without being coltish, her rounded hips in perfect proportion with her generous bosom. Add those attributes to her wasp waist and you got a natural hourglass shape that most women had to pad and lace themselves to achieve.

  Swallowing hard, he pried his gaze away from the alluring sight and somehow choked out, “What’s wrong now?”

  “I don’t have a dry towel. I left the stack by the washstand when I poured the water for your shave.”

  As fast as he could, considering his aching groin and constricting trousers, Seth hobbled from behind the screen, muttering, “I’ll fetch them,” all the while sending up thanks for his long overdue deliverance. Wanting nothing more than to sit down and gather what was left of his composure, he grabbed a handful of towels and hastily dumped them over the top of the screen.

  “Thank you, Seth,” Penelope called out in a dulcet tone.

  He grunted and collapsed in the chair before his desk.

  From behind the screen drifted the sounds of humming interspersed with the soft rasp of crisp linen being rubbed against flesh. Smiling at Penelope’s musical selection, a bawdy drinking song called “Nellie’s Naughty Night on the Town,” Seth opened the bottom drawer and removed his ledgers.

  Abruptly the humming ceased. “Seth?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Have you been riding too much again?”

  He glanced toward the screen, perplexed. “No. Why?”

  “I noticed you were walking funny when you went to fetch the towels. Kind of like when your backside was blistered.”

  Something in her voice piqued Seth’s suspicion. She sounded almost amused, as if she’d noticed his disgraceful condition and was now baiting him about it. He let out a snort of disgust. Of course she’d noticed. She’d have had to have been blind not to, what with the snug fit of men’s trousers these days.

  So why the coy inquiry when the answer had been so apparent? His wariness deepened. After her blushing response to his reference to blue balls last Saturday, he knew for a fact that she understood about male arousal.

  She was obviously up to something. Intrigued to find out what that something was, he replied in like coin, “Remember the condition we talked about after I kissed you last week?”

  She peered around the screen at him, her expression as angelic as if she were quizzing her Sunday schoolteacher about the colors of Joseph’s coat. “How can that be? We didn’t kiss.”

  “Believe me, Princess. We didn’t have to kiss.”

  She stared at him for a
long moment, as if absorbing the news, then shook her head. “You poor man. It must be very inconvenient to get in that condition for no reason at all.”

  “No reason?” he echoed. “A beautiful woman parades naked in front of me, and you say I have no reason to get aroused?”

  “I didn’t parade,” she retorted, almost flirtatiously.

  “It isn’t the parading part I find stimulating.”

  “Then, I can’t imagine what worked you into such a state.” She reached up and toyed with one of the long red ties dangling from her bonnet. “I’m certain it wasn’t the sight of my naked body. As you pointed out to me in regard to your own body, it’s not as if you’re not familiar with it.”

  “Just because I’ve seen your body in the shadows and touched you a few times doesn’t mean that I no longer desire you. Good God! If anything, those memories make me want you more.”

  Seth could have bitten off his tongue. He’d opened his mouth to issue playful flattery, not admit his feelings. Damnation! He should have known better than to have taken Penelope’s intriguing bait. Now he was really on the hook. His squirming discomfort didn’t ease any as he noted the blazing joy on her face.

  Dropping the now twisted bonnet string, she clutched at the edge of the screen with both hands and softly exclaimed, “That’s exactly how I felt the first morning I came to your room. You looked so handsome lying there naked, I wanted to touch you.”

  She flushed pink and ducked her head. “In truth, I did touch you. That’s why you awoke in the state you were in.” She peered up at him earnestly. “Do you think I’m terribly wicked?”

  “No. I think you’re terribly charming and beautiful,” he murmured, more thrilled than he had a right to be by her halting confession. “And I’m flattered that you find my body tempting enough to steal a caress. Any man would be.”

  “But I’ve never been tempted to touch another man. Regardless of what you choose to believe about that incident in New York, there’s never been anyone for me but you. I’m beginning to think there never will be.”