Chaste Kiss (19 page)

Why he felt the overwhelming need to uncover his family history remained unclear to him, but he couldn't let it go. He could only guess that he used it as an excuse to stay near Isabel instead of leaving as he should.

Walking the many paths twining through the shrubs and flowerbeds, he heard a splash. Curious about the sound, he made his way to the edge of the garden. The soft yellow lights glowed around the perimeter of the patio casting a sheen across the rippling water. He prepared to step out of the shadows and announce his presence, until he saw her emerge from the pool.

Steam rose up from her body as shimmering rivulets ran down the firm planes of her stomach and legs. He'd not seen such vast amounts of skin displayed before him in centuries. She was perfect.

The tiny bathing suit barely covered her intimate parts, teasing his thoughts and building a powerful blaze deep inside him. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and bury himself in her sweetness. Lord, what torture must he endure? Were his sins so terrible that he should deserve such torment?

He'd watched silently as she dabbed her skin dry. Everywhere the towel touched, he yearned to place his lips. If only his caress was bearable. If only he could share with her the pleasures to be had between a man and a woman.

Moments later, she wrapped the towel tightly around her and went inside. Although his body was but a shell as she had once described, he never felt more full with need and desire in his entire existence. He spent the rest of the night walking, trying to wipe the image of her enticing body from his mind, but as the sun rose he still hadn't cleared his head.

Isabel's cheerful response wrenched him from the tantalizing memory.

"Great! I'll go grab some cleaning supplies,” she said brightly.

How would he keep from touching her, if he must spend the entire day alone in her presence?

"What needs cleaning?” Constance asked, appearing next to them at the table.

"I'm going into town to clean up the shop. Have you got a bucket and a few spare sponges I could use?"

"Of course, but I insist you let me help."

"Help?” Isabel darted a disconcerted look at William.

Pouncing on the offer to save his soul, he intervened. “Wonderful, Constance. The more the merrier."

"Really, you don't need to come. I'm sure we can handle it,” Isabel said quickly.

"Nonsense. He's a lord, for pity's sake. He's probably never lifted a scrub brush in his life."

"I'm afraid she is right, Isabel.” He couldn't contain his smug grin. “I shall probably not be of much help."

Narrowing her eyes, she ground her teeth together. She wasn't a very good sport. “Then why come at all. Constance and I can go alone."

He didn't let her waspish tone dissuade him. “No, I shall feel much better if I accompany you."

"We'll be fine,” she insisted through clenched teeth.

William refused to allow her stubbornness to win out. Her safety was at stake. He would have to voice his concerns, alerting Jerome to the danger. Her uncle would no doubt support him in his endeavors. “You said you felt as though we were being watched the other day when we were in town. And I have learned to trust your instincts."

"Is this true, Izzy?” Jerome asked.

She puffed out a frustrated breath, fluttering the hair at her brow. “I just got the creeps for a minute. Nothing happened."

"And nothing will. Thank you for going with them, William. I know you'll take good care of my girls."

Constance blushed as Isabel huffed off into the house.

Whether she liked it or not, William was determined to keep her safe, even if it meant risking his own existence by going into town again. The Library had been a rather close call when the shapely chit with blonde hair presented herself to him, but he hadn't mentioned the incident to Isabel. He would rather have her angry with him than worry over him.

The three met in front of the manor. William opened the trunk of Jerome's car and placed the many cleaning supplies inside. Constance ran back inside for one last item, leaving him alone with Isabel.

"This is ridiculous. You don't need to go. We'll be perfectly fine,” she fussed.

"Did it not occur to you that I might want to go?"

"Hardly, since you've been avoiding me."

He sighed as he closed the trunk. “I would not be avoiding you if you would cease in this quest of yours."

"You've got your objectives, and I've got mine."

"Sweeting, you must understand."

She splayed her hands on her hips. “I understand you want to touch me. You admitted it yourself. What I don't understand is why you won't."

"All ready,” Constance called, as she came bouncing down the steps caring a pair of kneepads. “These old knees aren't what they used to be.” She spryly hopped into the backseat.

William and Isabel exchanged amused glances as they climbed in the car, but he knew the tension between them had only temporarily abated. She waged a fervent battle in her desire for his touch, and he was indeed weakening.

They spoke not a word to one another during the ride into town, but speech was not needed, as Constance chattered the entire time. Once they arrived, Isabel unlocked the door and stepped inside the shop while he followed closely behind, his arms laden with cleaning supplies. He watched as she took a deep, dust filled breath and gazed around the empty store.

This was one of her dreams coming true, and he felt privileged to be a part of it, but he sensed her melancholy mood. He much preferred their sparing words to indifference and hoped he wasn't the cause of her present displeasure. Their constant battle of wills was wearing him down, and he could only assume it was having a similar affect on her.

Constance waddled in behind them loaded down with more supplies and set them on the counter. “Oh, sweetie, it's wonderful.” She moved to the stairs. “It's going to be just perfect when we get it cleaned up. I'm so excited for you. I've got to have a look upstairs.” With a quick grin over her shoulder, she bounded up the steps.

"She is right. It will be perfect,” William said.

Isabel sighed and reached for one of the buckets. “Well, I guess we'd better get with it."

He struggled for words to lighten her spirits, but could find none.

Constance came back down and suggested they take the upstairs while she worked downstairs. William knew the determined little housekeeper was matchmaking again, making him more nervous by the minute, but there was naught he could do but comply. With a bucket full of soapy water, a sponge, some window cleaner, paper towels, and a broom, they climbed the stairs. He hoped with so much work to be done, Isabel would not pursue the topic of touching.

She started scrubbing the floor in the corner, while he washed the windows. His fears had been temporarily laid aside as they worked, but although intent on his task his gaze often strayed to her. Watching her on her hands and knees scrubbing the floor was torture. Her jeans pulled tightly across her rounded curves in a most tantalizing way. As she shifted to another spot, she blew at the loose tendrils framing her face. He was amazed at how beautiful she could be while performing such an unpleasant task.

Lifting her head, she caught him watching her. He cleared his throat and quickly went back to cleaning the windows.

"Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

"Thoroughly.” He continued his work without looking at her. He'd been caught quite plainly and didn't wish to deal with the consequences.

"Uh-huh.” She dropped the bucket with a resounding plop at his feet.

He felt her gaze heating the back of his neck and bravely turned to face her. The gleam in her eye worried him greatly.

"Like cleaning, do you? Not tiring yourself out, I hope. We wouldn't want his lordship to strain anything."

Her mocking tone did not bode well for him. “Um, no. I am quite well. I believe I am finished, however. Is there more you wish me to do?"

"Definitely.” She took a deliberate step closer.

He casually twisted to the side and edged away. “And what would that be?"

"You know exactly what I want you to do, William.” She copied his movements and stepped even closer.

"This is not the time or place to discuss this, sweeting. We are not alone."

Isabel's grin turned devilish. “I wouldn't worry about Constance. I'm sure she won't be coming upstairs any time soon. We can discuss, or
do
whatever we like."

"But Isabel—-” Stumbling over the scrub bucket, he lost his footing and landed squarely on his back in a puddle of soapy water.

"Oh God, William, are you all right?” She hurried to his side, her hands hovering above him for a second before clenching into fists.

"I am fine.” Disgusted, he propped himself up on his elbows.

Falling to her knees, she covered her lips and giggled.

"I fail to see the humor in this,” he grumbled.

Smiling, she pointed to the top of his head. He lifted his hand to his hair and scowled as it came away covered in bubbles.

She swallowed her laughter with an indelicate snort. “Sorry."

He shook the bubbles from his hand, eyeing her through narrowed slits. “Why do I have the feeling you are not as repentant as you should be?"

"I'll bet that's the first bath—you've had—in a long—time.” Grabbing her sides, she fell back in a fit of laughter.

"You think this is funny, do you?"

"Hilarious!” She continued laughing, rolling from side to side on the freshly scrubbed floor.

He reached into the bucket and pulled out the sponge dripping with soapy water.

"William?” Still laughing, she quickly rose up and crawled backward. “You put that sponge back in the bucket."

"But the floor is not yet finished, sweeting.” He crept closer, weighing the sponge in his hand.

"You're going to scrub the floor?” she asked warily.

"And then some."

"William, don't you dare—"

The sponge slapped loudly against her chest, and he let out a hearty laugh.

Smiling broadly, Isabel scooped up the sponge from the floor. “All right, my lord. You want war, you've got it."

She flung the sponge back at him, but he dodged it easily.

Shoving his hand back into the bucket, he retrieved a large fistful of suds and plopped them on top of her head. “There. Now we match."

He quickly turned, snatching the sponge from the floor and dunked it into the bucket.

"Don't you dare!” She ran behind the old desk in the corner as the sponge flew by, smacking against one of the windows. “My turn, you rogue."

"You could not hit me if I were right in front of you."

She plucked up their weapon of choice and rifled it across the room, grazing his shoulder as he ducked sideways. “I got you!"

"Barely.” After reloading, William stealthily circled the desk while she countered his every step.

Straightening, she cleared her throat with authority and planted her hands on her hips. “Now, William. We still have a lot of work to do. This is no time for games."

His gaze roamed slowly down the front of her shirt. The water had made her cotton top nearly transparent, clearly displaying the taut dusky peaks pressing against the wet fabric. She didn't wear one of those female contraptions of her time. His ghostly heart pounded in his chest as his hands trembled with the need to reach out and experience the perfection before him.

She glanced at her shirt, then slowly lifted her head and gazed at him. He could feel the electricity coursing between them and knew if they were to touch, ‘twould spark a fire that would burn hotter than either had ever known. A fire that would consume them both and send him to Purgatory forever.

"William?"

Her soft query stifled the heat growing inside him. He could not touch her—ever. Not the way he desperately longed to do. He had to break this spell before it overwhelmed them both. Ignoring the blistering heat of desire burning in his belly, he slowly and deliberately, lifted his hand in preparation for another dousing.

She blinked, clearing the need from her eyes. He was thankful she recognized the danger. Even though she wanted his cool touch, she knew the heated moment could easily spiral out of control. Turning, she bolted for the stairs, and he quickly followed suit.

"You cannot escape me. Concede and I shall be lenient with you,” he called after her.

"Not this century, my lord!"

Rounding the banister, the sodden sponge sailed past her head, splattering against the wall. She glanced at him triumphantly as she spun around to pick up the sponge, but quickly lost her balance. Arms flailing, she began toppling headfirst down the stairs.

"Isabel!” He reached for her, but grabbed nothing but air.

Chapter Twelve

"You really should be more careful,” a deep voice vibrated against Isabel's cheek as strong arms wrapped around her, encompassing her wet torso in warmth.

She lifted her head and found a pair of cool silver-gray eyes staring back at her. “Mick!"

Quickly wriggling away from him, she grabbed the banister for support as she stepped back up to the second floor. She glanced to the side at William's face, pale with fear. If a ghost could turn pale.

He really did care for her, but then she already knew that in her heart. She was just relieved he hadn't caught her, or else he would be out of her life forever.

"I guess I wasn't watching what I was doing. Thanks for catching me,” she said.

Mick climbed the remaining steps, his gaze traveling over her wet shirt. She quickly plucked it away from her chest as he turned to survey William.

"I don't believe we've met,” Mick said, extending his hand.

William held his hands open at his sides, insinuating they were not clean enough to return his greeting.

"Mick Wise, this is Lo—um, William Ashenhurst. He's an old friend."

She expected William to shoot her a quizzical look at the absence of his title, but he never took his gaze from Mick. The tension between the two men was palatable. Locked in a staring contest, both seemed to be trying to stake out their territory like two old dogs, and Isabel was the territory. Talk about new experiences.