“Did she tell you what it meant?” asked Shannon.
“Mm-hmm. Some people have pointy noses. Some have sharp chins. Annie Jones has round heels. Here, Miss Shannon, look at this.” She held up her sampler and proudly displayed the crudely stitched apple.
“That’s lovely, poppet.” Shannon examined the sampler carefully, glad the matter of Annie’s round heels had been put to rest. She glanced at Brandon archly, assuring him they would discuss his…er…acquaintance with Miss Jones when they were alone.
“May I sent it to Grand-mère?”
“Of course. We’ll write a letter in the morning, and you may add your present.”
“All right,” Clara agreed happily. She took the sampler back and began improving it immediately, adding several brown stitches, which, to her at least, looked like a very fine worm.
Later that night Shannon slipped from her room beside the nursery and padded down the hall to Brandon’s room. He was soaking in a wooden tub, his head thrown back against the rim so droplets of water glistened on his strong throat.
“I thought you would be in bed,” she said, closing the door lightly behind her.
“Disappointed? I assure you, you are the woman who can get me there.”
Shannon snorted derisively. “What about Annie Jones?”
“Annie?” His eyebrows rose consideringly, but his eyes remained closed. “Annie’s too impatient. She’d join me here.”
“Beast.”
He smiled lazily. “I sent Jemmy to bed after he drew the water. You don’t need to be afraid that he’ll—” He broke off, eyes opening wide as he felt Shannon step into the tub. He stared like an untried schoolboy as she drew her nightshift over her head and tossed it in the direction of the bed.
“You were saying’!“’ she asked with seeming indifference.
Brandon caught her teasing glance. His eyes slid over the faint smile on her lips, the line of her throat, and the proud carriage of her slender shoulders. His heavy lashes lowered, shuttering his darkening gaze as he took in the perfect swell of her breasts, the inward curve of her waist, and traced the narrow thrust of her hip. He reached for her hand and tugged on it until her knees buckled slightly.
Shannon resisted. “Brandon! There really isn’t enough room in here.”
“I didn’t think so either,” he said. He sat up and braced his legs against either side of the tub. “There’s room for you now.” He pulled harder on her hand and Shannon sank between his legs, her knees curled against her chest. Water sloshed on the floor. “Quite a squeeze,” he noted, grinning crookedly. “And I’ve lost the soap.” He groped in the water for it.
“Thatis not the soap,” she told him when his hand pinched the back of her thigh.
“Oh? Sorry.” He tried to look repentant and failed utterly. “Can you find it?” he asked, hoping for a bit of return groping.
Shannon’s mouth was drawn to one side in amused disbelief, clearly conveying that she knew what he wanted. The soap had found shelter between the small of her back and the wooden slats of the tub. She pulled it out and showed it to him. The disappointment on his face was comical. She took his wrist and placed the bar of soap in his palm, trying to look severe.
“I don’t suppose you know where the sponge is?” he asked innocently.
Groaning softly, Shannon found it wedged between her hip and the tub. Brandon’s toes were wriggling against the underside of her thighs. She tossed the sponge at his chest.
Unperturbed, he caught it and began washing himself. He scrubbed his chest and arms, seemingly oblivious to Shannon’s fascinated stare, and began on his legs.
“That’s my foot you’re washing now,” she told him.
“Is it?”
“Andthat’smy leg.”
He feigned shock. “How indelicate of you to point it out. It is all very well for you to climb naked into a tub with a man who has proposed marriage, but to actually mentionlegs?”He shuddered. “Madam, it is indecent.”
“Fool,” she said, not unkindly.
Grinning, Brandon finished washing himself and gave the sponge and soap to Shannon. “I could do it for you,” he offered, leering wickedly.
“No, thank you.” She dropped the sponge and soap over the side of the tub. “I have already had my bath.”
