She covered her mouth with her free hand. “Oh dear.”
His eyes narrowed, not with anger or irritation, but with playful intent. “Oh dear, indeed.”
Eloise inhaled sharply and planned her retreat, but before she was able to move, he stepped toward her with shocking speed. The bowl tipped, sloshing water all over the front of her apron. She gasped, reached behind her, and grabbed a handful of flour. But before she was able to fling it at him, his hand clasped her wrist.
“No more,” he murmured. He was holding her steady and leaning in, gazing down into her upturned face, eyes sparkling with humor.
Eloise sucked in a breath. He was close. Too close. So close she could smell his masculine scent – a rich combination of sandalwood oil and exertion. Her heart skittered, the foolish thing. And her stomach began twisting about in all sorts of peculiar directions.
Unable to stop herself she lowered her gaze to his mouth, to the perfect slope of his upper lip and the fuller firmness of the one beneath. When she looked back up, his expression had changed. All humor was gone and if Eloise could have retreated further she would have done so, but somehow the work table blocked her escape.
Mr. Towsbridge inhaled and his nostrils flared. Awareness, as thick as a fragrant perfume, began overwhelming her senses. Her mouth went dry. She wanted to shake her head in denial of what was happening. He wasn’t the right man for her. It would never work. She was merely a servant.
And yet her heart pounded. “Mr. Townsbridge.”
He reached up and stroked her cheek, only briefly, but the touch was enough to ignite her skin, and she let out a low sigh of pleasure.
“I must have your name,” he whispered, his breath like a gentle breeze wafting against her. “Your given name.”
“Eloise,” she confessed before she was able to think of the repercussion.
“Eloise,” he repeated as if in a daze. And then he stepped back, adding the appropriate amount of distance. “You may call me William if you wish.”
All she could do was blink and nod like a dimwitted fool. Her heart still raced like a rabbit chased by a ravenous fox. She didn’t even have the ability to tell him it would be inappropriate for her to do so, she was so overcome by the forceful effect of his nearness.
He tried to dust off some of the flour with his hands, but it wasn’t very effective. “I need to go now, Eloise.”
Again she just stood there, trying to comprehend what had just transpired. Had they really been throwing flour and water at each other? It was absurd and...and wrong. Everything about this encounter with Mr. Townsbridge had tipped her world off its axis. She wasn’t sure how to react anymore.
It wasn’t until he was gone that she realized he’d gotten away without making a single bread roll. A disgruntled sigh left her. She shook her head and began cleaning the mess they’d made, all too aware that she was in serious trouble. Because for a moment there, perhaps even longer, she’d actually hoped he might kiss her.
Chapter Three
He wasn’t supposedto like her. He wasn’t even supposed to be thinking about her, and he damn well wasn’t supposed to find her remotely attractive. But when William woke four days later to yet another memory of how desirable Eloise had looked the last time he’d seen her, he knew every gentlemanly intention he harbored had been shot to hell and beyond.
Like him, she’d been covered in flour and wet, but that had not detracted from her beauty or charm. Quite the opposite, however odd that might be. And it had been his fault right from the start. Because he’d wanted to tease her, to poke at her a bit in a selfish attempt to pull her attention away from Matt.
