Chapter 16

Bliss.

The rush of the waterfall and the gently churning water mixed with the sound of her own heartbeat. Maddy floated for what seemed like forever and yet no time at all, her body freed from layers of clothing. While Maddy rarely wore any of the more stylish trappings her fellow spinsters did, she did use a corset to support her chest and back. She’d briefly considered leaving that on the bank along with her skirts, but changed her mind. After all, she had no idea if Teddy Chandler might come by to rescue an errant sheep, never mind the challenge of putting herself back into it with a sopping wet shift underneath.

It was so easy to imagine herself as a character from one of those Arthurian Legends—Isolde, maybe—pining for her lost Tristan. Or maybe Maid Marian, off in the woods, hiding from the sheriff, waiting for Robin Hood. It was silly, really, to want those things. For years she’d been looking over her shoulder, alone, waiting for the day she’d be discovered and taken back to face her punishment. Having someone else rescue her felt like a fantasy. It didn’t hurt to indulge in it, even for a brief moment… did it?

Maybe The Grove’s beauty was playing with her imagination. The place awakened something inside her that not even Everwell had. She wanted to think it was the pretty rolling hills and the possibility in the overgrown kitchen garden, or even the beautiful berry patch. But there was something else, too—something she absolutely needed to guard herself against. It was the expression on Beau’s face when he looked at her. Because it wasn’t like Dominic or Jeremy. They certainly respected her, even liked her. But Beau was different. She’d caught his lingering stare in the small mirror that hung by the front door. The vulnerability he betrayed. It made this golden man a little less shiny. But far more attractive.

Madeline.

The muffled sound of her name caught her attention, pulling her away from her disjointed feelings. Her attention sharpened, and through the woosh of rushing water, she sensed a change. Her body went on alert, but before she could react, something gripped her shoulders. Alarmed, she opened her eyes only to see another set of panicked eyes staring back at her and her upper body being pulled from the water.

“Madeline!”

Propelled by fear, she came into her strength, pushing whoever this was away from her. She stepped back, her feet skittering over the rocks, trying to find her footing. She wiped the water from her eyes with the back of her forearm and raised her fists ready to fight, instantly regretting the fact she’d left her knife in her boot on shore.

“Thank Jesus you’re alive.”

The sound of Beau’s voice, along with that damnable beautiful face of his, cut through the haze of confusion. Wet hair plastered to her face like a web, obscuring her vision. He stood an arm’s length away in his trousers and shirtsleeves, hands up, a line of worry on his normally placid face.

She, on the other hand, was utterly mortified. Once the excitement subsided, she pulled her arms across her chest, then dunked down into the water in some vain attempt at preserving her modesty.

“Of course I’m alive,” she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady, even though she was only a few feet away from Beau with nothing between them but some very clear water and her underthings, which, save for her corset, were utterly transparent. “Why were you sneaking up on me?”

“I called out but you didn’t answer,” he said. “You were just very… still. I thought you might be drowning.”

There was something in his looks—something urgent. He’d been afraid. Afraid for her.

“I’m not some fairy tale princess,” she grumbled, ignoring the fact that before he arrived, she’d allowed herself to imagine it. “You don’t need to save me.”

“You don’t know how many times I saw people who loved to fish but couldn’t swim. They got in over their head. Some of them didn’t make it.” He locked eyes with her, and Maddy was struck by the earnestness she saw there. It occurred to her, with something approaching genuine shock, that Beau da Silva never told her anything but the truth.

“Well, you can plainly see I’m fine,” she said, trying to brush off the warring sense of delight and mortification at being in front of him so completely vulnerable. “I have to get to shore.”

He nodded in recognition that this meeting of theirs, unintended as it was, was now incredibly awkward. He put his back to her, then called over his shoulder.

“Do you need help?”

“No.”

She lifted herself out of the water. She hadn’t taken more than a few lumbering steps toward the shore when she landed on a sharp rock. Wincing, she pulled her foot away and stumbled. Choosing between her modesty and having rocks embedded in her face from a fall, she decided the later would be more painful, and flung her arms out in front of her.

Her actions were unnecessary. Beau was there, one arm around her back, his hands on her arms, steadying her before she fell forward.

“I’ve got you.”

It should have been awkward. It should have been mortifying. Here she was, practically naked and soaking wet, her drawers clinging to her body. For a moment she was struck by the very real urge to sink into him, let him bear the weight of her. Rely on him to get her safely to shore. To let him do for her what he had no doubt done for countless other women—be gallant and charming.

To rescue her.

She was afraid to look him in the eye, fearful she would be lost in the hypnotic spell he weaved without even trying. Her gaze trailed down his body. His shirt was wet from his midsection down, clinging to his body. Before they’d taken more than a few steps however, an old fear rose inside. She shrugged, a halfhearted attempt to push him away, but it appeared that Beau da Silva was not having it.

“Can you allow me to be a gentleman just once?” he asked, half exasperated, half playful. “If I’m going to ruin these perfectly good trousers, I should have a good excuse.”

“Fine,” she said. “Just keep your eyes forward.”

He looked at her, cocking an eyebrow and giving her a perfectly devilish smile that made Maddy wonder if her knees would actually buckle.

“As long as you do the same.”

Maddy reddened, then turned away, her eyes fixed on the shore.

“You don’t have to keep shifting your weight,” he said, as if sensing what she was doing. “I’ve got you.”

“I’m bigger than you,” she protested, as if that was the only explanation required.

He turned to face her, and a line of irritation spread across his brow.

“Did it ever occur to you that I might like helping you? That I respect you enough to let you know if I might need you to shift your weight or to stop for a moment?”

The exasperation in his voice, and the implication—that he wasn’t bothered by her size—was a far more bewildering thing than it should have been.

He guided her to a large rock a few feet from the shoreline. Away from the canopy of trees, it was warmed by the afternoon sun, and despite its hard surface, offered some comfort.

“Thank you,” she said, as she tried to wring out the edges of her drawers.

“You weren’t even drowning,” he said. “My attempts at playing the gallant hero were misspent.”

Were they? She’d never been rescued by a man before. Maddy stilled even as the thought formed, remembering the moment when they’d gotten off the train, and Nelson Taylor had insulted her. Beau had nearly started a fight on her behalf. Even before then, he’d bought that near-priceless tome for her, saving her the worry of having to nick it. Of course, he had no idea that he’d helped her in that way. But he’d seen, somehow, that her heart needed something, and he’d given it to her. Beau da Silva seemed to make it his mission to make her feel safe. It was so strange.

So tempting.

She studied his face—really looked at it. There were little lines at the corners of his eyes. He had a small scar, just peeking out underneath his hairline. She realized he had a small fleck of blue in one of his eyes. He seemed, at that moment, incredibly shy. She fought the traitorous urge to run her fingers through his disheveled hair.

“It’s the thought that counts,” she said, unable to keep herself from smiling. “And I appreciate it. I really do.”

“You really do have very pretty eyes,” he said, then, as if sensing her imminent retreat at the compliment, he plucked a small ribbon of her hair in his fingers, held it up, and pulled a face before unceremoniously dropping it. “But your hair… I have seen old mops less tangled than this.”

This time she did laugh—it was loud, and she was pretty sure she snorted just a little bit as she struggled to find breath. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, then caught a look of utter joy in Beau’s face.

“What?” she asked, as she tried to pull her hair out of her face and into some sort of order.

“It’s good to hear you laugh,” he said, with a grin so infectious Maddy returned it. They both grew quiet, a creeping yet tantalizing tension between them. There was no sound, save the gentle rush of the waterfall, and the insistent call from a blue jay from above them.

He stood and gestured to her hair.

“Let me help you with that.”

“I think you’ve helped enough,” she said.

He arched an eyebrow, which Maddy knew was deliberately done to disarm her and quite handily did the trick. “My gallantry knows no bounds.”

He stood behind her, and though the sun was warm, a shiver of pleasure went through her as he carefully raked his fingers through her hair in an effort to detangle it.

“You don’t like compliments,” he said, oddly matter of fact.

“I—” She paused, uncertain how to proceed. “I find them difficult.”

“Because you are too modest for your own good?” he asked.

“I’m not too modest,” she protested. “Is it possible to have too much modesty?”

“Take it from someone with far too little,” he said in that self-deprecating way of his. “It is entirely possible to have too much.”

Whether it was his hands on her hair, or the warmth in his voice, or the very careful way he worked the strands of her hair so not to pull at her scalp, Maddy felt herself giving way to his question.

“I was supposed to marry a man who was very generous with his compliments in public,” she said, thinking back on Malcolm Ferguson. Malcolm had a full crop of dark hair, a million-dollar smile, and an eye for making money.

“I know the type,” he said. “They came after my sister in droves. Smooth talkers, looking for her money.”

“Malcolm used to tell me how pretty I was,” she said. “How my hair was like liquid fire, or some nonsense. He couldn’t wait to be married to me. He was going to be the luckiest man in town.”

“And he would have been,” he said with a confidence Maddy found she couldn’t share.

She remembered the horrible sinking feeling that had come over her the moment she’d called on him unexpectedly. He was with his friends, and they’d been drinking. And he’d told them he’d how he’d managed to snag the Murray fortune. He’d managed to convince old man Murray that his oversized daughter with the face that could stop a train in its tracks was the only woman for him.

“Only because of my dowry,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she recalled the words that had wormed their way into her heart. “He told his friends he’d won the prized sow.”

She’d spoken so softly, it took a moment to understand what she’d said. But there was something in the air, and it was fragile. When his brain put finally this impossible thought together, his stomach dropped. Finally, it all made horrible sense. Every time he’d flattered her. Every time he’d tried to tell her how dazzling she was.

She cleared her throat, and it occurred to Beau that she might be crying. Something inside him shifted and he was tempted to turn her around, but he stopped himself. Madeline Murray was an intensely private person. Instead, he continued to untangle her hair, partially because it felt so damn good to touch her, and partially to keep himself rooted to this space, instead of finding whomever it was that broke Madeline Murray’s heart and handing his arse to him. His fingers worked her curls, and before he knew what he was doing, he’d braided her hair back in a simple plait and tied it firm at the end with the damp handkerchief he’d stuffed in his pocket. It was hardly expert work, but it would keep it from tangling as it dried.

“There,” he said, putting his hands on his hips, trying to lighten the mood. “I don’t think I’m in danger of replacing any one as a ladies’ maid.”

She reached back and felt the braid. “Thank you.”

“Please tell me you didn’t marry this idiot who clearly wasn’t worthy of the dirt under your boots,” he said at last. The idea that she may have found herself tied to this absolute asshole set Beau’s jaw on edge. He swallowed his anger and sat down beside her, reaching out to hold her hand. He half expected her to push him away, but instead, she gave him the most heartbreaking smile.

“Not for his lack of trying,” she said. “I went to my father and demanded he call off the wedding. My mother wouldn’t hear of it. She said I was lucky to have anyone want me.”

Beau was renowned for his poker face while in the middle of intense negotiations, but his ability to keep his emotions hidden were failing him now. This woman brought out every ounce of passion he had. The idea that her mother would be so heartless to her own daughter must have been all over his face.

“She was a beauty,” she continued, answering Beau’s unasked question. “She gotten far on her looks, and I had always been a disappointment, I guess. But my father must have been considering it, because Malcolm came to see me.”

“To beg forgiveness?”

“To force me,” she said.

If the police had found him before this moment, he would have said he wasn’t a man given to violence. After that moment, that would have been a lie. He turned her gently, facing her, and her hand. It may have been a decade too late, but he needed her to know she wasn’t alone.

“I didn’t let him,” she said.

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “I am so sorry they were so horrible to you. You didn’t deserve it.”

“Maybe I did in the end,” she said.

“How can you say that?”

“Because he died,” she said, then looked straight at him. “And I think I may have killed him.”

Beau paused, giving himself a moment to measure his response to her shocking admission. “You weren’t sure?”

“He forced himself on me,” she continued. “He’d been drinking heavily. He said so many horrible things to me, but he seemed determined to make me the cause of all his ills. His failed job prospects. His inability to find a prettier wife.”

“You don’t have to tell me this,” he said.

“I have to tell someone,” she said, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “It’s been so long. I can’t live with this anymore.”

Beau smiled and brushed a few strands of hair from her face.

“I suppose I’m the best person to tell,” he said, happy to play along. “I mean, if I go to the police and turn you in, I’m not doing myself any favours, am I?”

His joke brought a smile to her face as she squeezed his fingers.

“I fought him off,” she said. “He was smaller than me, and the drink had made him unsteady. He’d been forcing himself on me, when I kicked him off and ran. I didn’t dare look back. I thought I’d heard him yelling after me, but it was so confusing.”

Maddy stopped for a moment, those last moments a horrible blur she could no longer recall with clarity.

“The next day the local constable was at our door,” she continued. He’d been found dead from a wound to the side of his temple. I must have pushed him harder than I thought.”

“That wasn’t your fault,” he said, putting his hand to her face. “You did what any man would have done. Defend yourself.”

“I wasn’t going to let anyone hurt me anymore.”

Something in Beau swelled then, fierce and protective. It was as if he’d never made a vow before—and maybe he hadn’t. But he was never going to let anyone hurt Madeline Murray. Never again. If it cost him every last cent, every scrap of his self-worth.

“Is that why you look after those girls at Everwell?” he asked.

“Partially,” she said. “They need someone to look after them.”

“And who looks after you?” Because I want to. He would look after her until his last breath.

“My fellow spinsters,” she said. “We all look after each other, in our own way.”

He wanted so badly to put his lips to her exposed shoulder and taste her skin, which was starting to turn pink under the sun. Instead, he got to his feet, looked around for her clothes and boots, and presented them to her.

“Well, I’m going to look after you,” he said, ignoring the curious glance. “At least for the rest of the afternoon. As much as I would personally love to see you in nothing but your drawers, I don’t feel prepared to answer to any of the Chandlers if one of them came back this way looking for a stray ewe.” He gave her his best cocky smile, and to his great delight, a blush crept up the side of her face.

Even though they’d just been side by side, she insisted he turn around until she was dressed.

“There,” she said, button up the last button on her blouse. “I’m ready. I’m eager to see the pergola.”

There was something about her not-quite-put-together appearance that threatened to drive him wild, but this was not the time for him to be thinking with what was in his pants.

“Much as I would be thrilled to dazzle you with my carpentry skills,” he said, “I’ve got something else to show you. Are you ready for a little adventure, my lady?”