Chapter 23 #2
As she read and re-read the same page she tried to dismantle it. Leather. Wood. The soap he used and the cream that lathered his shaving brush. The bristles of that brush. The pomade that went into his hair. Her eyes crested the page to look at him.
When did he last turn a page? A minute? Two?
Adeline turned her own page, the previous page’s contents unseen but not wanting it to look like she wasn’t reading. Winston yawned. Demonstratively. Exaggerated. He stretched his arms and then winced as his ribs complained. Adeline found herself pressing her lips together to suppress a smile.
You seek to show how uninterested you are and crack your ribs further in the process. Poetic justice.
The clock ticked, the firewood cracked. Adeline concentrated on her breathing, feeling that it was too heavy, too fast. In the heavy silence, it felt that Winston would know her thoughts by the urgent panting.
I am not panting. I am breathing normally. I am not thinking of him. I am reading.
She felt a small thrill as Winston slapped his book closed and thumped it down onto the table.
He glared at her. At least she felt that was what he was doing.
She noticed how his head turned in her direction using her peripheral vision.
She waited for a slow count of five and glanced up from the book.
The meeting of their eyes sent a spark through her.
“Will you tell me the name of the cad who hurt you?” Winston said abruptly.
He looked angry. Adeline’s breath caught. The question was unexpected. She swallowed.
“Why do you wish to know?”
“Will you tell me?” he demanded.
Adeline put the book down because her hands were trembling. She folded them in her lap to disguise the fact.
“Why do you wish to know?” she repeated.
“So, that I may look out for him.”
“And take revenge on my behalf?”
Winston drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair, lips tightening.
“Have you been dwelling on this?” Adeline asked.
“Of course not. It has just come into my head,” Winston said brusquely.
“Well then, I will withhold his name against a time when you have fully considered the implications of knowing it. I do not think it wise to act on impulse and would not have you compromising yourself for my sake.”
He levered himself from his chair, clutching at his injured ribs. When Adeline got up, he raised a hand.
“I must learn some independence. You have been carrying me around all morning.”
“Hardly.”
“I think I will soak in hot water for a while to soothe my aching muscles. You will excuse me.”
His tone was coldly formal and Adeline wondered if he was offended that she had not trusted him with the name of the man she was so afraid of.
His name is Harston, as is mine. That is why I cannot tell you.
Late in the afternoon, she went in search of Winston again.
She had spent a couple of languid hours, listless and unable to concentrate.
The time alone with Winston had felt wonderfully intimate.
The things he had told her about himself made the physical intimacies that they had already shared seem paltry by comparison.
That was just their bodies. Knowing something of his history, of his mind, made her feel far closer to him, and she found herself craving more of that.
She hesitated at his door, hearing the faint splash of water and the muted groan that followed.
“Winston?”
No answer, then another sound, more frustrated than pained.
She knocked once and opened the door. The screen by the hearth had been pushed aside.
Steam clouded the air. Winston sat half-submerged in the copper bath, one arm braced against the rim.
The look he gave her was equal parts mortification and relief.
Adeline spun around, facing the other way.
“Adeline…I didn’t expect…”
“I heard you. You shouldn’t have attempted this alone. I’ll call for a servant.”
“No!” Winston snapped, with more anxiety than anger in his voice. “I got in easy enough, but getting out is altogether more difficult. Lord, I do not want any servant to see me like this. The bellpull is at hand; I could have summoned one half an hour ago if I had wished. I can manage.”
The sound of a wet body moving against the metal of the bath came to her. The slosh of displaced water and then a thump and a sharp intake of breath followed.
“Damnation!” he hissed.
Without thinking, she turned and went to him, kneeling beside the tub but keeping her eyes closed.
“Hold still. Let me help.”
“I don’t require…”
“You require sense, which I have more of at this moment than you.”
“You’re impossible. If my mother knew of this, she would have apoplexy.”
“If your mother knew of the stables, she would have apoplexy,” Adeline countered, still with eyes closed.
“True.”
“Now, enough nonsense. Take my hand.”
“You think you can pull me out of the bath by yourself? I am twice your size in width and height.”
“You will do most of the work, I assure you. Hand.”
He hesitated only a second more before obeying.
The heat of the bath rose between them, mist beading on her skin.
She braced herself and helped him lift from the water.
His body was heavy against her arm, the strength of it still evident despite the injury.
She kept her eyes firmly closed, but her breath came quicker all the same.
Her pulse raced at the feel of wet naked skin against her.
“Your dress will be soaked,” Winston pointed out.
“Then I will change out of it,” Adeline said, ruthlessly pragmatic to hide the excitement that was flushing her face.
“I will need linen,” Winston said.
Adeline turned her head and opened her eyes. She saw the pile of clean linen that had been left beside the bath. She picked up a large sheet and handed it to him, but forgot to close her eyes. She felt her cheeks flame, and her eyes rose to his, fixing there.
I could just close my eyes again. Why do I not just close them? Or leave, that would be the decent thing to do. Just leave. He is out of the bath now.
Winston stood before her, rubbing the linen slowly over his body.
She saw water trace the lines of his shoulders.
She tried not to see, but the closeness made it impossible not to feel.
His nearness, his warmth, the restrained power in his movements.
She finally summoned the will to turn away, but he caught her arm.
“Look at me.”
She did, and the air between them tightened. The world outside the steam and lamplight disappeared.
“I owe you more than I can say,” he murmured.
“You owe me nothing.”
“I owe you my life. Twice over. You saved my daughter and, therefore, me. Two lives…” His voice was low, almost a whisper. “And I keep making you pay for it with fear.”
Her reply faltered. “You’ve done nothing of the sort. It is not you that I fear.”
He smiled faintly, then winced as he shifted.
“If I fall again, we’ll have the doctor back in laughter. Help me to the chair.”
She slipped her arm around him once more.
The scent of soap and warm skin filled her head.
His skin felt soft. His muscles felt hard.
The linen was wrapped around his waist, but his naked torso was arousing enough on its own.
He was the embodiment of Michelangelo’s David, the sculpture of the perfect masculine form.
He leaned into her, trusting her completely, and that trust undid her more than any words could.
When he was seated, she turned to fetch his robe.
He caught her wrist before she moved away.
“Adeline.”
She froze.
He let his hand drop almost at once. “Forgive me. I forget myself.”
“No,” she said, her voice soft but certain, “I forget myself, too.”
For a moment, neither moved. Then she stepped back, folded the towel neatly, and left him to finish dressing.
In the corridor, she pressed a hand to her chest, the rhythm of her heart still wild.
She knew this was the edge of something she could neither deny nor safely cross.
And yet, as she stood there in the quiet of the house, she found she was smiling, small, uncertain, but real.
Downstairs, the clock chimed six. Cordelia and Louisa would be back soon, full of stories and laughter. Adeline straightened her gown and went to meet them, still feeling the warmth of Winston’s hand ghosting against hers.