Jane was barely awake when he came to fetch her. He considered turning her more comfortably on the bed, covering her with a blanket, and letting her lie there, but then she extended an arm toward him in an elegant, graceful gesture and that made up his mind. Pulling her to her feet, he guided her into the bathing room where he relieved her of everything right down to the tortoiseshell combs in her hair. He held her hand when she stepped into the tub and kept holding it until water lapped at her breasts. When he was certain she wouldn’t sink and drown, he laid towels on a stool and then carried her clothes into the bedroom. He stripped there, adding his clothes to those he had arranged on the chair. When he looked over at the bed and saw Jane’s hat was still on it, he moved it. She would not thank him for crushing it in a frenzy of lovemaking.
He was still grinning when he lowered himself into the tub.
Jane roused herself enough to look at him from under one partially raised eyelid. “I am not going to ask what you are doing. That seems obvious. It is the why that eludes me.”
“Back scrub?”
Jane was aware of the water rising as Morgan settled himself comfortably in front of her. “That is more easily accomplished if you are sitting on the stool outside the tub.”
“I was thinking of my back.”
She opened her other eye but not by much. “In that case, you’re facing the wrong way.” She made a circling motion with her forefinger. “Be careful. I should not like it if you slipped in a puddle on your way to bed. You might be carrying me.”
“And I thought your hat was all I had to worry about.”
“What?”
“Nothing.” He rose up, turned, and put himself in the space Jane made for him between her thighs. She was holding soap and a sponge in her hand, so Morgan drew up his knees and leaned forward. At the first pass she made, he bent his head forward and closed his eyes.
Jane pressed her knuckles against her mouth to cover an abrupt yawn. “I do not know why I am so tired.”
“I can think of a couple or three reasons. Strain. Lack of a sleep. And polishing off everything Mrs. Sterling put in front of you at dinner. It was a heavy meal, plus you ate more of my apple pie than I did.”
“That is an exaggeration. I ate perhaps a third of your pie.”
“And all of your own.”
“Mm. Mrs. Sterling was happy, though. Did you notice? She thinks I don’t eat nearly enough.”
“I’m not unhappy about it. I don’t think you eat enough either. Not lately anyway, tonight being a notable exception.”
“There is altogether too much interest in my appetite. I am so full now, I believe I have a belly.”
Morgan reached behind him. “You do.”
“That is not my belly.” She lowered his hand.
“Oh. You do.”
Laughing under her breath, she slapped his hand away and returned to applying the soapy sponge to his back. For a time she did nothing but make slow, lazy circles. “Are you satisfied with how things turned out today?”
“I will let you know in about an hour.”
Jane squeezed the sponge over his head. Spitting and sputtering, he grabbed it out of her hand and leaned back so she was pressed against the sloped end of the tub. Her arms went around him and her legs followed. It was difficult for either of them to know who was captured and who was cradled. What was important was that it did not make any difference.
They remained like that until the water began to cool. Morgan nudged the stopper with his toe and drained about half the tub before he added hot water. They immediately returned to positions of sloth.
Jane soaped Morgan’s damp, ginger hair and amused herself making furrows and peaks and curls while he washed. When he was done, she helped him rinse his hair. She would have washed herself, but he kept the sponge and soap and took what Jane told him was an unnatural interest in her hygiene.
Water did accumulate in puddles on the floor but that happened as they were getting out. Jane stole both towels that were on the stool, one for her wet hair and the other to wrap around her shivering torso. Morgan had to find another, and that delay meant Jane was already turning back the covers when he arrived at the bedside.
He whipped off the towel she had tucked around her head, but he let her keep the one she was clutching to her breast. “I don’t understand why, Jane, but I find your modesty very, very fetching.”
She tumbled into bed, taking the towel he had hitched around his hips with her. “We are different that way,” she said, regarding the state of his erection with unabashed interest. She lifted the covers and patted the place beside her. “Come here, Mr. Longstreet. I believe I can help you with that.”
“I’d be obliged if you would.” He extinguished one of the lamps and crawled into bed.
Under the cover of the blankets, Jane surrendered her towel.
