Chapter 16
The hour had grown late when Ben at last made for bed that evening.
With great relief, he cast off cravat, waistcoat, and stockings, folding them haphazardly atop the bench at the bottom of his bed and basking in the warmth of the low fire. An extravagance he could enjoy now that his responsibilities around the estate had finally ended for the night.
He stood beside the sleeping Achilles and held his fingers—the tips still slightly wrinkled—near the flames, ridding his weary body of the dampness that had permeated to his bones.
He’d found it no easy task to forgo this comfort earlier, when he’d run up to his bedchamber to throw on dry clothing before dashing off again into the blustery twilight.
However, ignoring the turmoil wreaked by the storm had never been an option for him, and he could rest that much easier knowing there had been no critical losses on his lands. Not tonight, anyway.
He brought his warmed fingers to the buttons on his shirt, just slipping the top one free when a murmur gave him pause. He tilted his head, and sure enough, the muffled feminine voice sounded again from the other side of the wall, followed by the gentle splashing of water.
Violet. It had been no easy task to leave her, either.
Only after her lady’s maid and Mrs. Wheeler had flocked around her, promising fires and baths and tea, had he managed it, stealing one last glance backward before he’d slipped out the door.
Even water-logged, mud-stained, and exhausted, she remained his spot of light.
The only brightness on a miserable night.
She should have long since gotten herself dry and warm, then slid into bed to sleep off the effects of the chaotic evening. It was for fear of disturbing her that he’d been keeping his footfalls soft. However, if Violet was still awake …
His feet moved toward the connecting door of their own volition, and his hand curled into a fist that tapped the carved, polished wood.
He wouldn’t bother her overlong and cling to her as he’d done outdoors, like she were the flotsam keeping him from drowning in a turbulent sea.
He’d merely lay eyes on her. Ensure she was well.
“Come in.” Her voice drifted through the door, containing an almost dreamlike quality. Had she been on the verge of slumber?
He took hold of the door handle and entered her bedchamber with a careful step, where he was immediately enveloped in a humid, fragrant cloud. He blinked, his eyes darting to the small fire that burned in her grate, in front of which stood the large copper tub.
A tub that Violet currently occupied, her blonde head angled back against the edge and her bare arms resting atop the rim to each side.
He couldn’t see her face from this position, only knew that she lay very still as her lady’s maid tiptoed around her, pouring a can of steaming water into the bath.
“Forgive me.” His throat went arid, his words cracking as they emerged. “I—I didn’t mean to intrude.”
“It’s not an intrusion, Benedict.” She spoke just as he returned his fingers to the door handle, ready to make a hasty retreat. “I said you could come in.”
He froze, watching as she made a gesture to her maid and uttered a few words he couldn’t distinguish. Whatever they were, the maid bobbed a curtsy and scurried into the corridor, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click.
Well. It would seem they were alone. That his wife had no qualms about him being here. Even though she was in the bath.
Did that mean … he should approach her? For it dawned on him that he could cower beside the door—the door he’d knocked on—for only so long before looking ridiculous.
He crept forward, trying not to think about what he did and whether it was right or wise.
The tendrils of steam beckoned to him, the rich scent becoming stronger—lavender and orange blossom, and something else creamy and sweet that he couldn’t put his finger on.
Whatever concoction had been added to the bath, it turned the water murky, concealing Violet’s body within its depths.
Yet that only made the rest of her more captivating. Arms dotted with tiny droplets. Loose hair spilling across her shoulders and disappearing below the surface of the water. Cheeks flushed pink with the heat, blue eyes drifting open to take him in as he stilled at the head of the tub.
He swallowed thickly, praying he remembered how to speak. “I … wanted to make sure you were well.” He peered down at her slackened lips, her heavy eyelids, the delicate spikes of her lashes. “Were you sleeping?”
His voice sounded pinched, the question absurd, although it didn’t seem to rattle her state of tranquility. “No, not sleeping. Luxuriating.” Her mouth curved into a small smile. “It feels wonderful to no longer have mud in every crevice.”
Yes, to be sure. Her skin was pristine, bearing no evidence of the earlier catastrophe. Except now, he was thinking about crevices. The creases in her elbows. The point where her neck met her collarbone. The cleft between her breasts, just visible above the water’s surface.
“I thought you would be abed by now,” he choked out, his neck constricting despite his lack of cravat.
The comment caused her to sit up a little straighter, and her tongue slid over her damp bottom lip.
“I couldn’t rest until I went back out to see the sheep settled in the barn.
Don’t be angry,” she added quickly as his jaw began twitching.
“A footman accompanied me, and we waited until the rain lessened. I thought I might see you there.”
He reminded himself to breathe, in and out.
He’d wanted her safe, wanted her warm and dry—the thought of her in danger did make him angry.
Yet he should have known Violet would never reduce herself to a passive bystander while matters remained unsettled.
She had too much determination for that. She cared too much for that.
“I was in the barn only a short time before riding out to inspect how the rest of the estate fared,” he said, something intense and spasmodic hitting him between the ribs. “I was concerned that the tenant farms closest to the river may have come to harm.”
“And did they?” A small pucker formed at the bridge of her nose.
“No.” He unclenched fingers that had tightened into fists, creating a small release of tension.
Despite his alarm as they’d rushed into the storm to confront disaster, and despite his ongoing outrage with the idiotic lordling next door, he could relay one encouraging development.
“The newly repaired water meadow was able to contain the brunt of the flooding.”
“That’s wonderful news.” The lines on her brow eased, her lips curving upward once more. Her perfect, plush lips, sprinkled with tiny beads of moisture from the bath. Why did he suddenly feel like he needed to kiss them as urgently as he required his next breath?
He’d ascertained that she was well; consequently, it was time for him to retreat to his bedchamber and leave her in peace. Yet just as he clamped his mouth shut and thought to step away from the bath, her hand shot out to clutch his, trapping it against the rim of the tub.
A beat of unadulterated stillness passed, in which the room turned silent but his mind raced with what should come next. He could divert his eyes, wrench himself free, run back to his bedchamber and replace the lock on the connecting door.
Instead, he found his knees loosening, his body dropping to sit on the narrow edge of the tub.
“Violet.” Her name emerged from some deep, raw place inside him, and he didn’t know why he was saying it, what he was asking of her. He knew very little beyond that her skin was flushed and wet, that her eyes glittered as she watched him, that his heart thudded like great claps of thunder.
And then, he knew nothing at all besides that their lips had collided, and everything he yearned for came to fruition.
Wet hands clasped the sides of his face, water dripping down his neck and below the collar of his shirt as he explored her lips.
They were fuller than he remembered, softer, warmer.
And while he’d cursed the biting rain outdoors, desiring nothing so much as to be rid of the dampness, each droplet of bathwater created a spark against his skin, and he wanted more. Wanted to drown in them.
He cupped her nape, her sodden tendrils of hair draping over his fingers like a cloak. What if he followed the pathway of her curls into the water and down her back? What if his fingers discovered what his eyes couldn’t see? The ridges of her spine, the cleft of her buttocks, the curve of her hips.
His cock stirred to attention, pressing insistently against his fall. All those secret parts of her were just beyond his fingertips, his to reach out and explore—
I needn’t be inconvenienced, then.
The memory of her words shot back at him, making his fingers stiffen. His lips pull away.
He knew he longed for her. Knew it to his core. However, where did logic fit into the equation? He’d become overzealous and wasn’t thinking clearly. He hadn’t thought of how far this would lead. Of how far she wanted it to lead, or if he had the ability to please her.
She shrank back, just enough that their eyes locked.
Her hands didn’t leave his face. “Do you desire me, Benedict?” Her voice was almost a whisper, floating in the air alongside the fragrant wisps of steam.
“I thought you did when I heard you call my name last night. I saw you in your bedchamber through the crack in the connecting door.”
His heart jerked, missing a beat before reestablishing its tempestuous rhythm. So, she had seen. When her cries of pleasure had echoed through the wall, it was because she’d seen.
Logic fought for purchase, telling him he should be ashamed of his lack of control and needed to apologize. But instead, his cock only grew harder in his trousers, the force of his want igniting his veins.