Page 49 of A Sight to Behold
The scent of the tea, a blend of aromatic floral notes, filled his nostrils. It was a heady mix, but the shock of the sudden spill overshadowed the fragrance. Nick could only stand there, frozen in surprise, as the last drops of tea dripped from his shirt. He looked down at the small puddle seeping into the carpet below.
“Oh dear!” Pippa’s gasp echoed in the room, her hands flying to her mouth as she saw him. The empty teapot clattered onto the tray, its job done. The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the soft crackle of the fire and the distant ticking of a clock.
Nick looked down at his shirt, the fabric darkened by the tea. He lifted his gaze to meet Pippa’s, his eyes reflecting a mix of shock and amusement. Despite the discomfort, he couldn’t help but chuckle. After all, it wasn’t every day one got doused with tea in a moment of surprise.
*
“I’m so sorry,”Pippa exclaimed, trying not to laugh. Spilling the tea without breaking the teapot had been easier than she’d thought, and she’d spent all five minutes gathering the tea set and carrying it upstairs, contemplating how to force Nick to stay.
“It’s nothing,” he mumbled, ever the gentleman, as he stared down at the puddle of tea around his boots. It wasn’t all right because his shirt and breeches were so wet that they dripped into his boots. Yet, he didn’t shake the dripping liquid onto the carpet.
He wasn’t like the men she’d met at the balls. Any mishap, no matter how small the resulting stain or rip of their garments, and they’d made a fuss as if she’d all but cut off one of their sleeves entirely. Not Nick. He turned and searched for something with which to dry himself.
Pippa rushed to the armoire on the wall perpendicular to the fireplace, turned the key, and retrieved a pressed cotton towel.
With care and her gaze woefully cast aside, she attempted to pat Nick dry, but it didn’t help; his linen shirt was soaked.
He looked down at the puddle at his feet again and unbuttoned the top of his shirt—button for button. Slowly, the wet fabric fell limply off his chiseled torso. A chill ran down Pippa’s back as he removed his damp shirt, bunched it into a ball, and dropped it onto the floor. He lifted his right foot, pulled his boot off, then lifted his left and pulled the boot off. After he’d set them aside neatly, he stepped on the shirt and tried to soak up all the liquid. Pippa watched in amazement.
“I’m afraid some of the tea is seeping into the parquet. It might stain,” he said, squatting on the floor at Pippa’s feet.
He was concerned about the flooring.
The muscular man with bare feet and—Pippa gulped—a naked upper body used his shirt to soak up the tea she’d spilled. Air left her lungs, but she didn’t find the strength to inhale more as she took in the sight of him. What had she done?
She’d abducted a doctor from his practice on the day before his birthday. He’d responded gracefully and said he’d like nothing better than to be with her. Pippa’s heart beat faster.
Then she’d told him about Violet’s wicked accounts with her new husband, and Nick had expressed his willingness to try. Pippa’s heart beat even faster.
And when she’d spilled tea on him, instead of yelling at her as every single other man of the Ton had done in the past, Nick had taken his shirt off—the only one he had with him—to soak up the puddle lest it stain her parquet. Pippa’s heart lurched, and she gasped for air.
He was beyond perfect.
And, he hadn’t said that he didn’t want to fall in love with her but that hemustn’t.
Only a second passed, but Pippa’s entire life flashed before her eyes. Her world shifted around her as if she was pivoting on skates on a frozen pond. This was when she knew she’d fallen in love with him. It wasn’t a mere fancy or desire to touch his perfect face. Gone were the doubts that she might only have wished to feel what Violet had described. She loved him and wanted to show him. Not that she knew how, but couldn’t he teach her as the earl taught Violet?
“Your shirt,” Pippa said when Nick rose from his squat with the wet and stained mess in his hands. “I’m so sorry,” Pippa said as she took it from him and put it on the copper tray.
In her other hand, she still held the bunched-up cotton towel and patted Nick’s chest after hesitating for what couldn’t have been longer than a heartbeat. She was drying him.
Interesting.
Her gaze was low, and Nick caught on. She avoided his gaze, lifted the towel fully off his chest, and placed it back on slowly. She pressed it against his bared abdomen and stilled.
“I’m afraid your shirt is ruined, I’m so sorry—”
“Are you?” Nick said the moment she laid her bare hand on his chest, next to the place where her other hand pressed the towel on his skin. He was exposed, well, his upper body was.She also noticed his feet, large but clean. Everything about him looked manly but neat, youthful, and strong.
“Did I burn you?” She trailed her bare hand over this chest, and he followed the motion with his gaze. She’d stopped patting with the towel, mesmerized by the perfect male shape.
“You know you didn’t, Pippa.” His hand grasped her wrist tenderly, and then he pushed her hand onto his heart. His voice sounded stern, but there was a flash of amusement on his mien.
He was playing along.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aspilled potof tea and a soaked shirt later, Nick found himself barefoot and shirtless in Pippa’s beautiful manor in one of the elegant upstairs bedchambers in a half-dry puddle of cooling tea and with her hands on his torso. He gave up trying to feign embarrassment because it was a lie, and he was neither good as lying nor at pretending to be a bashful lover. He knew enough of the human anatomy to know that he was well built. Plus, he had nothing to hide and, quite frankly, didn’t want to. So, he laid his left hand over her right, pressing her hand on his heart. She must have felt his heartbeat for she raised he gaze and met his.
