It seemed she was forever and always running away from someone or something. She yawned into the soft covers.

“I’d really rather sleep, if you don’t mind.”

Jamie gave her a smart slap on the rump. “And sleep you will, after you’ve had some food and a bath.”

Bliss rolled over and sat up, indulging in another yawn. “I don’t know why you’re being irksome about this. I’m so very tired—”

“So am I,” Jamie broke in resolutely. “And I’m not sharing a bed with a grubby little chit like you. You’re a mess, Duchess.”

Bliss’s mouth dropped open and her eyes went wide.

Jamie grinned at her disgruntlement and stood to help Dorrie as she struggled into the room with a massive copper bathtub.

“She could ’ave used Mistress O’Malley’s water,” the servant grumbled. “But no-o-o-o. That ain’t good enough for Miss Tall Snout, is it?”

Bliss shuddered and made a face. By then, Dorrie was distracted—she was admiring Jamie from behind as he positioned the bathtub near the fire and then began shedding his coat, hat, and gloves.

It was clear enough, from Dorrie’s expression, that she’d learned to enjoy watching Jamie take off more than coats and gloves. Bliss knew a flash of bitter jealousy, and she glared at Jamie as he looked up and smiled at her.

He shrugged in reply to a question she hadn’t asked and then said, “Dorrie will see you have all the hot water you need, won’t you, love?” He started to give the serving woman an affectionate slap on the derriere, stopping just in time to prevent Bliss from scrambling off the bed and scratching his eyeballs right out of his head.

“I hate you!” she sputtered, the moment Dorrie had left the room.

“How do I get myself involved in these things?” Jamie asked, of no one Bliss could discern, and went out, closing the door quietly behind him.

It would have served him right if Bliss had gone to sleep right then, flouting his edict that she must have a bath if she was going to share a bed with him—as if she wanted to snuggle up with that insufferable lout! But the truth of the matter was that she was wide-awake, desperately hungry and longing for the soothing luxury of sinking into a tub of hot water.

Presently, Dorrie reentered the room, carrying a tray that contained the inevitable wedge of venison pie, a pot of strong, fragrant tea, and a jagged hunk of bread.

Bliss was so hungry that she fairly jerked the tray from the woman’s hands.

The servant left without comment, returning sometime later with two huge buckets of steaming water. Jamie was directly behind her with two more.

They made a great ceremony of filling the bathtub, then Dorrie went out. Jamie lingered.

Bliss remembered that she was wearing only her underclothes and covered herself with a blanket snatched from the foot of the bed.

“Get out,” she said clearly.

Jamie grinned and remained exactly where he was. He folded his arms across his chest. “If you’re going to go around claiming me as a husband,” he remarked, “the least you can do—the very least, Duchess—is let me help with your bath.”