The Man in the Buff Breeches Read Free Page A

veins. Just what I need!

    Two hours later, we are out on the balcony. The music has gone smoochy, and I’ve learned several things about Nick—so far all good. He works in marketing, spends a lot of time in the States, and is presently involved in promoting a software product due to be rolled out later this year. He has a good sense of humour, and there is chemistry between us that keeps my insides creating exothermic reactions every time he looks at me. It is breathtakingly blissful and slightly exhausting. He met Henry at the golf club where he was entertaining some clients. When Henry discovered Nick was on his own for the weekend, he suggested Nick join them for tonight’s event.
    The Regency ball finally winds up, and Nick and I wander out to the reception area. I have no idea what is to happen next. I can’t drive home as the punch was far punchier then I realized. Lyn and Henry are staying the night, and I have to reconsider the room Lyn has booked for me. Even though I told her I was not going to stay. But of course she knows me better than I know myself and worked out before I even arrived that I wouldn’t be fit to drive back home.
    I know Nick has mentioned he has to get back to London tonight, but he seems in no rush to leave. He’s taken my cloakroom ticket and gone to retrieve my holdall and coat from the cloakroom. I turn towards the reception desk to confirm the reservation Lyn has made for me and collect a key.
    I sign in and then look up to find the man with the buff breeches leaning on the edge of the desk watching me. He’s now wearing a parka which thankfully reaches his knees.
    “So you are staying the night,” he says. The smirk still hovers on his lips, but his gaze is constantly sweeping the foyer. For some reason, the words make me shiver.
    “Why is that any of your business?” I remember our last exchange and feel the need to keep the upper hand this time.
    “I thought you would have gone, as there haven’t been any fights or duels to avert.”
    “I’ve been checking out the other event.” He nods to the door to the right.
    “The eightieth birthday party?” I ask, with a smirk of my own. “How many machine guns have you wrestled from under the skirts of Sid’s guests?”
    “You have a sarcastic tongue, Miss Bennet. These senior parties can become very wild.”
    “I’m not Miss Bennet. I am someone far less well-bred—so don’t push your luck.”
    “I know. You are Shona.”
    What! How and why has he found out my name?
    Before I can ask, there is an eruption of drunken merriment as five of Sid’s guests try to leave through the revolving door, all at the same time. The scene looks brutal, especially with the walking frame wedged in an unnatural pose in the centre of the crush. After two revolutions, three partygoers topple out the same side as they entered, while one, not so able, takes another spin and exits out into the night. The fifth goes around again.
    With remarkable speed, the security man leaves my side and launches himself into the fray. He extracts the walking frame with one hand and the petite elderly blond with the other. She magically, or possibly wine induced, finds an inner strength and throws her arms around her rescuer’s neck, encouraging him into a salsa. The dance lasts only a few seconds before he attaches her back to the walking frame. A minibus arrives, and a young, responsible looking woman takes control and ushers the elderly rioters in to their transport.
    When he finally returns to my side, his golden mane has flopped over one eye where his dance partner had run her hands through it.
    “I think I went to the wrong event?” I giggle.
    “As I said—wild, Shona.” He pushes his hair back and props an arm up against the wall.
    My eyes narrow, and my heartbeat speeds up to double time. “How do you know my name?”
    “It’s on the card.”
    I look down at the paper cover my key card is inserted into. My name is scrawled on the front. That is