Page 55 of A Single Obsession

And then she would have fallen in on top of him. He shuddered at the thought.

When they reached the stables, they abandoned the horses to the grooms and the soggy pair made their way back to the house. Beau guided Eliza to the conservatory entrance, thinking it might be preferable to drip in there while he sent for help.

Fortunately, his mother’s efficient servants had been on the lookout for their return, and a footman waited to open the door for them as they approached. He grimaced apologetically at the man who was trying, unsuccessfully, to hide his surprise at the picture they presented.

“I’m afraid we’re a little wet. Please bring some towels and fetch Miss Merry’s maid.”

“Yes, my lord,” Ash said, scurrying off on his errand.

“And arrange a bath for Miss Merry,” he called after him.

Beau was left alone with Eliza, who was wearing a damp and enticingly clingy scarlet habit.

He had to distract himself. Think about something practical. She was wet. Getting cold.

“You must get out of those clothes as soon as possible,” he said, and straightaway wished he hadn’t. The picture his words painted didn’t distract him at all.

Eliza flushed deep red, but launched into speech with a lightness that was at odds with her obvious embarrassment. “I hope my hat survives the wetting,” she said, unpinning it from her head. “It’s the first time I’ve worn it and I know it sounds vain, but I was rather pleased with the way it looked.”

“If it doesn’t survive, I’ll buy you another. Now, we must get your boots off. Can’t have you treading water through my mother’s home.”

He bid her sit down on one of the stone benches that littered the conservatory, raised her right foot and undid the laces. As he pulled the boot off, he brushed her heel with his hand.

Beau had not considered that such an everyday task could prove so intimate. Perhaps he should have left a servant to do it after all.

Trying to forget the intimacy of the action, he tipped her boot up and a trickle of water came out, making Eliza chuckle.

He then lifted her other leg and removed the second boot. The same tingling sensation occurred when his fingers brushed her ankle. As he was about to tip it up and empty it on the floor, Eliza leaned forward and grabbed the boot from him, pouring the contents over the nearest plant.

She was pressing her lips together, trying not to giggle, but it was too much for her, and a little gurgle of amusement escaped. Beau found the sound infectious, and soon they were both roaring with laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Now, no messing about. When you get upstairs, take your wet clothes off, and warm yourself up in a nice hot bath.”

Eliza fired up red again, and he realised that, in his concern for her well-being, he had embarrassed her for the second time. Yet her eyes glowed with the exhilaration of a shared adventure and laughing together, and something more he didn’t understand.

Whatever it was, it was captivating, and Beau couldn’t take his gaze off her.

She peeked up at him shyly. Her charming dimple showed on her chin and her lips—her full red lips—beckoned to him.

“Eliza,” he said huskily, bending his head toward her.

But before he could claim a kiss, they were interrupted. Her maid bustled into the room, and after wrapping her mistress in a towel, she hurried her away, tutting as she went.

Beau stood, dripping, staring after Eliza, feeling bereft, wondering what had come over him.

Back in his bedchamber, changing out of his wet clothes, he pondered what had just happened. The scene in the conservatory had shaken him more than he was prepared to admit—even to himself. He had come so close to kissing Eliza, and from that point, there would be no turning back.

Although he would rather marry her than any other lady of his acquaintance, he wasn’t ready to commit himself.

Not yet. Not while there was still a chance of avoiding marriage altogether if Romeo won at Epsom.

He needed to pull away—for both their sakes. The last thing he wanted was to injure Eliza by raising expectations he hoped to avoid having to fulfil.

He had already singled her out more than he ought, and laid her open to Miss Whitlow’s spitefulness, which seemed to increase the more attention he paid her.

After arranging for a tray to be sent up to Eliza’s room, Beau entered the parlour, a little on the late side, to join the rest of the household for breakfast.

“Are you recovered from your wetting?” Miss Whitlow asked as he took his place at the table.