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June relaxed, her uneasiness melting. “I thought you might be sorry to find me here.”

He took off his greatcoat. “No. Afraid you wouldn’t be.”

That gave her a curious new feeling, a kind of softness filling the spaces between her heartbeats.

“You was out for a long time,” she said, curling an arm beneath her head as she lay there watching him.

Mad sat on the chair and drew off his boots. “Mr. Pembroke and I, we went to fetch the wet nurse after we brung the doctor home.”

“Wet nurse,” she echoed, and shook her head. “Hell sweat me, I hadn’t even thought of that.”

“Seems like a right nice girl,” he reported. “Spanish. Don’t know a word of English.” He went to set his boots on the boot rack and padded to the stove in his stocking feet. “You put water on for me,” he said in pleased surprise as he saw the steaming brass can.

“Course I did, after you was so thoughtful to set out a bath for me.” June paused before adding a bit sheepishly, “Didn’t know where to empty it, though.”

“I’ll empty it in the stable yard tomorrow morning.” After taking the hot water to the washstand and filling the basin, Mad turned to give her an inscrutable glance. “Junie,” he said, beginning to unfasten his necktie, “I’m goin’ to do a quick strip-wash. If you don’t turn the other way, you’re about to have an eyeful.”

June started to roll over to face the wall. But she paused in mid-roll as she realized . . . he hadn’t asked her not to look at him.

A flush of shyness made her feel positively flambéed as she brought herself to ask, “Should I turn away?”

His broad shoulders lifted in a slight shrug. “If you want to look,” he said casually, “it won’t bother me none.”

June was amazed. This had nothing to do with showing off or trying to seduce her. The man was cold and exhausted, and he already knew she wasn’t there for a tumble. He was deliberately making himself vulnerable to her. Giving her the choice to view him in the altogether, while she remained safely covered.

This might be the most interesting thing that had ever happened to her.

She closed her eyes and listened to the rustle of clothing and the sound of leather braces hitting the floor. “Mad,” she asked with a touch of worry, “have you got a lot of them tattoos?”

“A lot? No.” Water sloshed in the basin. She heard a sponge being squeezed.

“What I’m asking is,” she persisted, “under your clothes, you don’t look like none of them circus sideshow blokes covered with pictures all over ’imself? Like Professor Scribbles the Walkin’ Tapestry? Or Arty the Patchwork Gentleman?”

“Nah, ain’t got no tattoos on me backside.”

Deciding that needed visual proof, June slitted her eyes open.

Bugger me blind.

Mad was at the nightstand, naked as Adam. He faced away from her, scrubbing his neck and shoulders with a sponge. Shimmers of water and glitters of white foam coursed down a back paved with muscle. June’s fascinated gaze followed the tightly cambered lines of his waist, down to the hard curves of his arse. He was as fine an example of a virile, healthy male as any who’d ever lived.

She closed her eyes again and tried to sound casual. “Why ain’t there no pictures on your backside?”

“I can’t see ’em if they’re behind me,” he said reasonably.

“They ain’t for other people to look at, then?”

He seemed to think that was funny. “Why’d anyone want a gander at me tattoos? They’re for reminding me of things I like thinkin’ on, is all.”

“You don’t need no pictures on yourself to think about something,” she said.

“Folk don’t need no pictures on their walls neither,” he pointed out.

Which made sense, actually.

At the sound of splashing and sluicing, June risked another covert glance. Mad had gone to stand in the cold bath and was pouring the last of the hot water over himself. It was a lovely sight, that wealth of wet muscles and sodden chest hair, and the sleek manly make of him. He wasn’t covered in nearly as many tattoos as she’d feared, only a few on his arms and one low on his side near his hip.

After roughly scrubbing himself dry with a towel, Mad pulled on a pair of long white flannel drawers from the cupboard and tied the drawstring waist.