The humor of the situation was coming home to Reeve by then; he felt his mouth curving into a smile and settled back with a whoosh of water. He even lifted one leg out of the cramped little tub, letting the heel rest against the edge.

“Your betrothed,” he said in a leisurely tone. God, his kingdom for a good cigar and a snifter of brandy. “Oh, yes. Philip Briggs.”

“Was I wrong in deducing that you dislike my Philip?” sputtered Miss Maggie Chamberlin. “You see, I’ve come so very far and if I can’t marry Mr. Briggs, I shall have to scour floors and empty chamber pots for a period of three years—”

Reeve felt a chuckle rise in his throat and was gentleman enough to swallow it. “I’m not sure that wouldn’t be preferable to marrying Briggs,” he observed. “Have you been trained as a servant?”

The slim shoulders stiffened. “I should say not! I am an actress, Mr. McKenna, and Philip promised me—”

“Don’t tell me, let me guess.” Reeve took the bar of soap in hand and began to lather his left armpit. The cooling water reminded him that the bath couldn’t last forever. Under the circumstances, he reflected, that was regrettable. “Philip promised you marriage and a role in a play.”

Maggie almost forgot herself and turned to stare at Reeve at that moment; fortunately, she stopped just short of complete scandal. “Yes.”

Reeve gave a long sigh and soaped his other armpit. He seldom gave a thought to the three theaters he owned; they were nothing more to him than play-things for Loretta, toys to keep her occupied while he traveled between Melbourne, Sydney, and Brisbane, attending to interests ranging from whaling ships and sugar plantations to the breeding and training of Thoroughbred racehorses. “I see,” he said after a very long time.

Maggie’s voice trembled slightly when she spoke. “If there is something I should know, Mr. McKenna, before I commit myself to marriage, I believe it is your duty to tell me.”

Reeve tilted his head forward until it met with the water and industriously lathered his hair. “Have you had any acting experience, Miss Chamberlin?” he was surprised to hear himself ask.

Through dripping water and soapsuds, he saw Maggie Chamberlin stomp one foot in frustration, much as she had done earlier when she learned that there would be no boat to carry her ashore at Brisbane.

“Will you kindly stop skirting my questions, Mr. McKenna?”

Reeve began to rinse his hair with a lusty splashing. “Philip Briggs is a lying, cheating, spineless lowlife with an unnatural attachment to his mother,” he said. “And believe me, Miss Chamberlin, he has no more intention of marrying you than I do. Is that direct enough for you?”

Even over the splashing, Reeve heard her suck in a horrified breath.

“You do dislike him!” she cried in wounded resignation.