The Man in the Buff Breeches by Susan Lodge Page B

distracted by a man leaning against the buffet table. He wears a T-shirt, black boots, and no trousers. I didn’t think it was that sort of party. I scrunch my eyes, transfixed as no one else seems to have noticed his state of undress. I breathe again as I get closer. The sleek breeches he is wearing are a pale skin colour. I reassess the man, relieved his assets are covered, albeit clearly outlined. The mismatch of period breeches and heavy metal T-shirt makes him look like a bad boy ballet dancer.
    Lyn and Henry are making their way through the crowd towards me. Lyn is walking in a stilted fashion, attempting to keep the posture of the era, but the effect is frankly—odd. But when she stops to exchange a few words with another couple, I have to admit she looks quite beautiful in her costume. Henry looks positively scrummy dressed in black Regency eveningwear.
    I notice the man in the provocative breeches pick up a coat from the chair behind him and shrug into it. His outfit looks better now the T-shirt is covered. I watch in fascination as the high collar of the period jacket bites into his cheeks when he leans to pick up a sandwich. His hand goes up to flatten the sides so he is able to open his mouth. He suddenly stops with sandwich in mid-air, and I realize he is staring right back at me staring at him. For no reason, other than the fact I have a fan and reticule on my arm, I revert to period. I open the fan and retreat behind it.
    This is quite handy. I flutter it a bit and peek over the top. He has looked away. Good. I try to close the fan but it sticks so I push it with both hands. The fan slips upwards through my fingers, and the end pokes my eye. “Aggh!” With hurried steps, as far as my skirts will allow, I retreat to the nearest corner of the room and linger for a few moments hunting in my reticule for a tissue. I see through my watery eye that he is propped against the table munching his sandwich and watching me with a smirk. Resisting the urge to poke my tongue out at him, I turn away and wonder what happened to the rest of his costume.
    “How did you manage to make a weapon out of a lacy fan?” Lyn is by my side staring at my face. “Do you want the first aid kit?”
    “No, it’s okay.” I pull her a little closer. “Who is that standing over there in those nude breeches?”
    She turns her eyes casually sweeping the room. “Oh my,” she murmurs. After a long pause she finally adds, “I have no idea. Those are not a very accurate depiction of Regency breeches. They are usually cut roomier around the seat.”
    We both watch as our subject saunters off toward the bar. Then Lyn takes my arm and steers me across the floor.
    “Now come on, enough of lurking in the shadows. Henry has someone who would like to meet you.” I look towards our destination and instantly lose interest in the bad boy ballet dancer. My heart starts beating wildly as I examine the stranger who is standing beside Henry. I take a quick look around me—nope, he’s looking at me. I expect Lyn to turn me at the last minute but to my delight, I am brought to a halt in front of six feet of rugged male gorgeousness. Cobalt eyes devour me whole as Henry introduces us.
    “Shona, this is Nick.”
    “Hi.” I exhale the word on a slow breath. It’s all I can manage as my tongue and brain have become uncoordinated.
    “Pleased to meet you, Shona.” Even his voice is breathtaking—a growly tone that makes the temperature of the room shoot up.
    He wears the same impeccable Regency evening dress as Henry, only his is in midnight blue. His neck cloth rests below a square chin with the slightest hint of stubble.
    “Nice outfit,” I say. Oh lame. Sparkle blast you, I order my brain.
    Nick looks at my watery eye with a sympathetic smile. He hands me a pristine white handkerchief. Not a tissue, but a real handkerchief in starched linen. I didn’t realise these items still existed. I take it and dab my eye, because I do not want to refuse