Gideon left the estate offices, walked along the grand central hallway toward the main block of Woodglen, slipped through a little used withdrawing room, and through a hidden door into the maze of servant hallways. He swallowed his pride whenever he did, but the passages led to narrower stairs he found more manageable than the wide marble stairs designed to show off graceful ladies and the fashionable fribbles. He was neither.
Gratis had departed. An uproar in the servants’ hall over an attempt to molest one of the tweenies had sent him packing. Thank God! Nether Abbas’s medical man was a selfish bastard with a sadistic streak, something Gideon had reason to know, and he had no desire to encounter him. He did, however, need to check on their unexpected guests’ well being. He turned sharply right to climb the enclosed stairway, took two hurried steps, and bumped into the soft body of Euphemia Selwyn.
Their collision jarred her arm and the pitcher of water she carried toppled from her hands and shattered on the steps below. Shards of clay spread across stair treads, a mug tumbled all the way down, and water flowed down the steps.
She turned, stumbling over anguished words. “I’m so sorry. I filled it too full and it was too heavy for me.
“I—” the word came out a croak. His mouth went dry.
Water soaked the front of her gown through to the skin. The clearly visible skin. Even in the dim light of the stairwell, he could see more than he ought—the curve of her waist, outline of stays, the outline of pert breasts and pebbled nipples.
Hot blood surged through him, shooting directly to an erection so hard he suspected she could also see more than she ought clearly outlined in his breeches. Feeling no better than Gratis, he opened his mouth—his suddenly very dry mouth—but no words came out.
Her face, Kendrick. Keep your eyes on her face.
She stood one step above him so that their faces were even, apology continuing to flow out of her. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kendrick, I didn’t hear you.”
He pulled himself together. “And I obviously failed to see you. I am the one who should apologize. Perhaps you might—” His hands fluttered a gesture meant to suggest she turn around. “Go on up and dry yourself while I get someone to clean this up and bring you fresh water.” He was gratified that he was able to speak sensibly. Her reaction sent him reeling. “Tears, Miss Selwyn? Please don’t cry. I—”
She dabbed at her face with her palm, obviously distressed. She sank down to sit on a stair. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she moaned.
Gideon stepped lower as well, putting one foot two steps lower than the other. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I’m the clumsy one,” he said, handing her a clean handkerchief.
She took it with a watery smile. He prayed she didn’t notice the way his eyes darted to her glorious curves of their own volition. “It isn’t your fault, Mr. Kendrick. I overfilled it hoping to make fewer trips. I already dribbled water downstairs. Now this.”
“Why didn’t you ask a footman to fetch it?”
“Mrs. Morrit told me I was to fetch everything myself. She won’t send anyone to clean this up either, I’m sure of it. I don’t know how I’ll manage the supper tray.” She wiped her eyes and dabbed at her grown, drawing his eyes downward again.
He cleared his throat. “That is unacceptable. You are a guest here. What floor are you on?”
“The fourth? Whichever one is the top one. I’m not to leave the guest floor except to fetch for Selina.” She handed back his handkerchief.
He frowned fiercely. “Keep it please,” he said.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured again flinching at his frown.
School your expression, Kendrick. “Don’t be. I will see to having someone clean up and fetch your supper tray as well. Let me escort you to your room.” He put out a hand to help her rise, belatedly remembering neither wore gloves. She took it, and the warmth of her dainty hand in his added to his inappropriate reaction to her accident.
She turned, to his everlasting gratitude, but the narrowness of the stairs forced him to walk behind her, giving him a close view of the sway of her hips and rounded backside. He swallowed the lump in his dry throat and began to recite Caesar’s soliloquy in his mind to chase away the images she invoked. Friends, Romans, countrymen…
She opened the door at the top floor and light flooded in. Her gown clung to her waist, a gentle curve, one he wanted to trace with his hand. She stepped swiftly into the hallway as if she meant to dart off, but she turned to peer at the door on her left. His door. She darted a glance back at him, a peculiar expression on her face.
“What is it, Miss Selwyn?” he asked.
“They warned me…” Her face took on a deep rose color. “Why are you on this floor? I gather these aren’t Woodglen’s premier guest quarters.”
A bitter laugh barked out before he could stop it. “Far from it.” Her troubled gaze made his heart squeeze in his chest. “They warned you about me, did they?”