The Man in the Buff Breeches (3 page)

“Let me have your number. I will ring you,” he says.

Will you?

I rattle off my number and watch him punch it in to his mobile. One last devastating smile and he is gone. Perhaps he was
the ghost from Regency past
.

I’m too tired to work out if I will ever hear from him again. I can’t bear to dwell on the negative probability, but he didn’t leave me his number. My bubble of romantic ecstasy slowly deflates. I peel off my Regency dress and head for the shower.

Wrapped in the comfort of the luxury hotel bathrobe, I emerge a few minutes later and examine the mini bar. There is a sharp rap at the door. My heart leaps for a moment until I hear, “Room service, madam.”

Cautiously I open the door and am presented with a bunch of long stemmed red roses by a grinning porter. He hands me a small envelope and then to my surprise, he scoots off quickly. Obviously he was already handsomely tipped for his late night errand. I lay down the flowers and rip open the note.

Missing you already
.
Nick.

How did he manage to get flowers in the middle of the night
? I grin stupidly and turn the card over. He has written his mobile number and his office number. My phone jingles with an incoming text—it’s him. I giggle as I read it.
Sleep well. I will take you out to dinner next week.
He has added a heart and a row of kisses. My bubble of joy re-inflates with a whoosh!

Nick is propped on one elbow looking down at me. One long fingered hand trails tantalizingly from the curve of my waist down to my thigh and back again. My body is melting in anticipation. One of my bunny slippers is peeking over his naked shoulder giving me a glassy wink. My eyes fly open. Damn—what was that? I flip the light on wondering what jolted me from my dream.

There it is again—a rattling noise—from the door. I jump out of bed, wrap the hotel robe around me, and walk up the recess area to examine the door. I reach towards the handle to test that I am secure but it turns easily, releasing the door. The hairs are standing up on the back of my neck. Did I forget to lock it? How stupid! I peek down the hallway; it is deserted although the door opposite is ajar. There is no sound now except for my heavy breathing. Shivering, I scoot the three steps to the door opposite and put my ear to it. It swings opens a little further under the pressure of my touch.

I have the curiosity of a cat and always wanted to be a detective. So whilst my head tells me to get back inside the safety of my room, my inquisitive streak takes control of my hand and it pushes the door a little more. I sense something is not right. I take a couple of steps forward and peer inside. The room is lit by two table lamps and appears to be empty.

The layout is different from mine. There is a seating area with two doors leading off either side of the room. Both are shut. I’m not brave enough to go further inside but have a reluctance to leave. My eyes roam around the room again as they become accustomed to the dim light. My heart stops as I catch sight of a figure stretched out on the settee and a familiar parka lying on the floor. Golden hair is splayed against the pink upholstery, and the man’s face is smeared with blood. My feet are stuck to the floor in terror. Someone has murdered the security man in the buff breeches.

I stand and shiver for several seconds before my brain begins to function again. Dashing back to my room, I snatch up the phone.

“Reception,” a tired voice answers.

“This is room 218. There is a body in the room opposite me. I think he has been in a fight.”

“You mean a dead body or a drunken body?”

I stare at the receiver in disbelief. “Dead! I think. I didn’t check.”

“It’s one of those nights, madam. I suspect it is a guest sleeping it off. I will get someone with you as soon as possible.” The line goes dead.
Unbelievable!
I slam the receiver down and take a few deep breaths.

Dead body or drunken body.
I feel this stupid need to go back and check.

I creep back in to the room and look down at him; he is very still. I lean in closer trying to detect any sign of life. He doesn’t smell of alcohol.
Is he breathing
?

Suddenly he lurches up and lets out a yell as we grapple together in a tangle of arms.

I yell back and struggle to free myself, but he has hold of the lapels of my bathrobe. I topple to the floor, and he follows me down.

I am now crushed beneath him as he manoeuvres his body to sit astride my waist; then his right arm pulls back and I brace for impact. His fist thankfully stops inches from my nose. I hold my breath as I watch his eyes change from fury to surprise.

“What the—!” he says.

I shove his thighs in an attempt to push him off, but his hold is secure. His arms are muscled, and he is far stronger than I would have anticipated. His brown eyes go through a series of emotions before the smirk finally returns and his grip relaxes. Sensing this, I try again to push him off without success.

“Why, Miss Bennet. What are you doing sneaking up on me? Did you want another peek at my breeches? You only had to ask.” He slowly gets up and offers me a hand. I want to bite it off.

I struggle up on my own, tightening my robe.

“Sneaking up—are you mad? What planet do you come from? I thought you had been murdered.”

He frowns. “Did you? Why?”

“You have blood on your face.”

He wanders over to look in the mirror on the far wall. I watch as he rubs off some of the dried blood.

“Must be from this.” He holds up his right hand where a blood-stained tissue is wrapped around the middle finger. “I got it from a broken glass. My face must have been lying on my hand.”

I narrow my eyes at him in fury. “Were you trying to get into my room just now?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Certainly not, Miss Bennet. I would wait for an invite.”

“I have called security.”

“Oh? Why?”

“I just told you. I thought someone was trying to get into my room. Oh, yes! And I thought you were dead.”

A mobile buzzes on the table, and he picks it up.

“Yes,” he says. He doesn’t take his eyes off me whilst listening to the caller. “Okay. I’ll take care of it. I’m on the spot with the lady now. No, there is no body—yeah—she probably had the punch—too much alcohol.” He snaps the phone off.

Too much alcohol!
I really wish someone had murdered him.

I turn to go but stop in my tracks as one of the interior doors click open. From the rush of steam that escapes, I deduce it is the bathroom. Out steps Bo Peep, pink and luscious swathed in a hotel bathrobe identical to mine. Her bonnet has been replaced by a towel around her head.

She looks first at me and then turns and frowns at him. He answers her unspoken question with a shrug. Without a word, she continues across the room and disappears into what I guess is the bedroom. I am agog with curiosity, fear, and bewilderment. Why are they sleeping apart? Did they have a row? And why is the security man occupying such an upmarket room?

He turns his attention back to me. “Are you alone?” The humour has gone from his eyes, and there is a touch of displeasure in the question.

“Yes.” His mood change makes the hackles on my back rise.

He strides towards my room. “I’ll check things out. It could have been someone mistaking your room for theirs.”

“Oh, no, you don’t.” I try to scoot in front of him, but he is too quick, and before I can prevent him doing so, he busies himself checking my accommodation. He examines the bathroom and bedroom and even under the bed. Finally, he puts a hand through his hair and looks from me to the roses beside my bed.

“I thought the flower display in the foyer was rearranged. Boyfriend gone home?”

Why is he so rude
? “Yes. Sorry you can’t arrest him. Perhaps you better go and tape the crime scene off and dust the vase in the foyer for fingerprints.”

He frowns and looks me up and down as though assessing my IQ. “You better check none of your belongings are missing all the same.”

I am boiling over with rage now and point to the door with a shaky finger. “Please leave.”

“Of course. Just call if you need my services again.” He saunters out of the room. I lock the door behind him and wedge a chair under the handle. There is something very worrying about security in this establishment. I check my phone for messages and open my vengeance folder and insert
Idiot in buff breeches
.

I crawl back into my bed and return my thoughts to Nick. Well—what if he did procure the flowers from the foyer? It was the thought that counted. After all, he couldn’t get a florist at this time of night. I smile. Nick is resourceful as well as gorgeous, polite, sexy, intelligent… I drift off, hoping to re-enter my dream exactly where I left it.

After a sleepless night, I drag myself out of bed and send a text to Lyn and Henry. The two lovebirds will not be about for a while, and I decide not to bother with breakfast as I have a thumping headache.
What was in that punch?

A Sunday of lazing about and planning my hot date for next week is what I have on the agenda for today. I quickly dress, pack my belongings, and snatch up my roses. As I leave, I notice the room opposite is being cleaned. I deduce security and Bo Peep have already departed. I am still angry I didn’t discover the full story behind their strange behaviour and consider making my own enquiries at reception. But if they were as helpful as the previous evening, then I would definitely be wasting my time.

I let myself into the flat, walk through to the bedroom, and throw my holdall on the bed. I kick off my shoes and return to the kitchen area of my open plan living room and make a strong mug of tea. Retrieving my phone, I quickly check my messages and am disappointed there is nothing from Nick. But of course he would be busy with breakfast meetings and deadlines.

A loud screechy squawking noise distracts me from my thoughts of Nick. A gang of magpies are terrorising a fat pigeon on the branch of the tree outside. I take a sip of tea and watch from the window as the pigeon wins the argument and the magpies retreat.
The faded spot on the blind is showing.
Strange. I always pull it up just high enough to hide that mark. My skin turns cold. I put down my mug and check the flat. Nothing is missing. Everything is where it should be. All windows and doors are secure, but I still feel uneasy.
Stop it for heaven’s sake,
I scold myself. The blind must have just slipped.

The flat was broken into three weeks ago, and the experience has made me wary. The intruders left the place in a mess but nothing much was stolen. Just some cash, credit cards, and a couple of pieces of jewellery. On police advice, I changed all the locks to high security ones. The place should be totally burglary proof now.

My mobile rings. I grab it, glad of the diversion.

“Good morning, Shona.”

My knees buckle, and I drop into a chair. “Nick. Hi, thanks for the flowers. Very resourceful of you.”