“Alas,” Reeve sighed philosophically, “you lie with your lips, but your body tells the truth.”

Maggie turned crimson. “You had no right!”

“I had every right, love; I’m your husband. And don’t play the wronged maiden; you weren’t carrying on the way you were because you didn’t like what I was doing.”

Caught with no way to deny that she’d responded to Reeve’s loving with her entire body and soul, Maggie lowered her eyes. “I wasn’t carrying on,” she protested weakly.

“You were howling like a dingo,” was the blithe response, and then Reeve was rising out of the water with an inordinate amount of splashing. Maggie watched warily, seething, as he dried his superbly muscled body and began to dress in clothes too elegant for a quiet evening at home.

“Where are you going?” Maggie asked suspiciously.

There was a most inopportune tap at the door, and Reeve only grinned at his wife before opening it. Goodness and Mercy came in, giggling, and carried out the bathtub full of sooty water.

“You need bath too, missus,” Mercy said. “We bring back new water.”

Maggie longed for a bath, but she wasn’t about to take one in front of Reeve McKenna. Not after the sweet, endless ordeal he’d put her through that morning. “Thank you,” she said briskly, and the little girls went out, lugging the tub between them and slopping half the water on the floor.

Reeve, heedless of the small lake on the costly Persian rug, was standing in front of a mirror, frowning as he grappled with his fashionable string tie. “You ought to wear the pink silk, my love,” he said offhandedly.

The pink silk was the best gown Maggie owned. Trimmed at the hem and bodice with tiny diamond-like beads, it was very formal. “To dinner?” she asked, examining her fingernails idly. “It’s hardly the thing. Cambric is more suited.”

“Not to a party at Duncan’s house, it’s not,” Reeve replied, and his marvelous aquamarine eyes were sparkling as Maggie leapt off the bed, unable to hide her excitement.

“A party?” She beamed.

Reeve laughed. “A party,” he confirmed. “We’re celebrating the harvest.”

Maggie was pacing the floor. “Where are those girls with my bathwater?” she fretted.

Reeve stopped her, taking her shoulders gently into his hands, and kissed her. “I love you,” he said.

Maggie stiffened, remembering how he’d taken over her soul so easily, shamed by her own surrender. “Because I’m such an obedient little wife?” she drawled, glaring up at him.

“Because you’re such a hellcat,” he replied, his eyes laughing at her. Then he shrugged. “Of course, if you don’t want to dance with me tonight, I’m sure Eleanor will be more than happy to—”

“Don’t you dare dance with that woman!” Maggie interrupted, stomping one foot.