Page 32 of The Beast of Beswick
Astrid wondered if he had designed and built this room as well. She had never seen the bathing chamber’s like, though in some Turkish and Roman history books, she recalled drawings of similar public baths.
The thought of Beswick floating at the pool’s center like some indolent pasha slipped into her mind like silk.
Lord above, but she was obsessed with ducal nudity.
Kicking off her slippers, she wandered to the edge and dipped her toe into the water. To her suddenly over-warm skin, it was delightfully cool. She wouldn’t dare go in, but the temptation was too much to resist. Discarding her wrapper near her abandoned footwear, she sat at the edge and hiked up her night rail to her knees. A fit of nerves made her glance over her shoulder, but nothing stirred in the shadowy corners of the room.
She sighed at the sublime feel of the water on her submerged legs. There was something decadent about the soft splash of the water lapping at her bare skin. The urge to wade in grew, but it wasn’t just a matter of bravery; it was a matter of logic. She had no idea where the servants kept the toweling, and she also didn’t know if she could find her way back without dripping everywhere. As such, she contented herself with submerging her feet and watching the dawn’s fingers creep across the sky.
Astrid had no idea how long she sat there staring through the windows, watching the sunrise, but it was incredible. Like experiencing nature’s artistry coming alive with long, elegant brushstrokes. Pale-gold swatches, tinged with pink and orange, appeared first, catching on the edges of the trees and gilding them in light. And as the sun chased away the darkness, the shimmering hues spun and danced, bathing the world afresh in color.
A distant clatter reached her ears—one of a household awakening—and Astrid launched to her feet. Her toes were the texture of prunes.
“Blast it!”
Her faithful candle had near burned down to a stub. Grabbing her slippers and dressing gown, she almost skidded on the wet floor but righted herself with a gasp. The echo of her gasp reached her, but she was too focused on not being discovered by the waking staff that she put it down to the room’s acoustics. She made her way to the foyer at the front of the abbey.
From there it was a simple task to find her bedchamber.
…
“There you are, Your Grace, good morning,” Culbert said, making Thane’s cramped body flinch painfully as the butler walked into the room that Lady Astrid had vacated only moments before. “You should have summoned me to light the hearths. Did you fall asleep in here again?”
“Good morning, Culbert.”
Thane blinked, uncurling his long body from the position it’d been in for the better part of an hour. The oversize chaise was situated in the far corner of the room, designed as a sitting area, and he’d been occupying it for most of the night. He’d been about to ring for the butler to light the stone flues when the object of his fantasies had wandered in. Thane had been shocked. Had he summoned her with his lewd thoughts?
But no, Astrid hadn’t been a figment of his lust.
Thane had almost alerted her to his presence, as any gentleman would have, but then she’d approached the pool. He’d held his breath while the wheels turned in her head. She’d dipped one dainty toe in and then discarded her wrapper.
Thane couldn’t have announced himself even if he had wanted to.
The silhouette of her body limned in moonlight had stunned him to silence. Long and lithe, she’d walked like a nymph to the water’s edge and crouched down. She moved like a silken ribbon caught in a breeze, with an elegant and fluid economy of motion. An outstretched leg, an exquisitely arched foot. The curve of a sleek calf as it sank from view. She moved like music. Like poetry. And he’d been spellbound.
She’d sat there and watched the sunrise.
He’d sat there and watched her.
Watched the shadows creep from that regal profile as the dawn’s light replaced them. Examined the curls that had sprung free from her bedtime braid, haloing the beautiful oval of her face. Seen the way her lips had parted in astonished delight and the soft rise and fall of her breast. Heard the erotic sounds of water sloshing against skin and wished he could be the one at her feet. Caressing. Lapping. Enveloping.
He’d gone as hard as stone.
And stayed that way.
“Shall I have the footmen light the hearths, Your Grace?” Culbert asked.
“Yes.”
“Do you wish to have your breakfast here, then?”
Thane shook his head. “No, just coffee will do. I will break my fast later with my aunt and the young ladies Everleigh.”
“Very well, Your Grace.”
After Culbert took his leave, Thane discarded the robe and strode to the pool, sinking to where Astrid had sat. It gave him a cool thrill to enter the water at the exact point where she’d dangled those pale sylphlike legs of hers. The glimpses of her well-turned ankles and shapely calves had made him lose his breath. He’d wanted more. Much more. A vision of her with her curls unbound and draped in soaking-wet, transparent lawn invaded his mind, doing nothing to lessen the erection he still sported. A brisk plunge would help with that.
Some hours later, after a lengthy swim, a bracing round of exercise that combined gymnastics and stretching, and Fletcher dressing and grooming him into civility, Thane descended to the breakfast room, all parts of him in compliant, civilized order.
