Kala was standing in the hallway when Maggie reached the second floor, and she beckoned. Maggie went toward her questioningly, clutching the blanket around her, beginning to shiver now that she was far from the fire.

Kala indicated the doorway behind her and Maggie stepped through to find a steaming, scented bath waiting. There were fluffy towels stacked on a low shelf within reach of the marble tub, and fresh soap had been set out.

Maggie glanced gratefully at Kala, who smiled and slipped out, closing the door behind her.

Cold, tired, and overwrought, Maggie found that bath irresistible, even though she knew that she should not avail herself of any of the treacherous comforts of Reeve McKenna’s house. What she should do, in fact, was put on whatever dry clothes she could find and make her way to the inn, rain or no rain. But the pull of that hot, aromatic water was almost mystical; Maggie could not resist it.

She let the blanket fall to the floor, awkwardly removed her shoes and the sodden stockings beneath, and peeled away her clammy camisole and drawers. She was just sinking into the glorious luxury of her bath when the door opened again.

Gasping, braced for a confrontation with her host, Maggie sat rigidly upright in the luscious water, her arms covering her breasts.

But her visitor was only Kala, bringing a single delicate crystal glass on a small tray. Some deep purple liquid sparkled in the tiny goblet, promising sweetness and warmth.

Maggie settled back in the spacious tub, thanked Kala as she set the tray down within reach, and lunged forward to clasp the glass the moment the woman was gone.

The drink was a cordial of some sort, tasting of grapes and sugar. Each delicate sip deepened Maggie’s state of languor until she was yawning, her body so fluid as to seem a part of the lulling, sweet-smelling water.

Exhausted by the rigors of taking Loretta somewhere she hadn’t wanted to go, specifically the Parramatta Inn, wet and cold and annoyed, Reeve made his way up the stairs, unbuttoning his shirt as he went. By the time he reached the door of the bathroom, he was down to his trousers. His boots and shirt and socks were strung out in a trail on the hallway floor.

Maggie was sleeping in the bathtub, her insouciant little nose barely an inch above the water. Reeve drew in a ragged breath and sank back against the door, the sane, reasonable part of him battling another, less civilized one. “Maggie?”

She stirred, stretching her arms high above her head and giving Reeve an enticing view of her full pink-tipped breasts. He groaned inwardly and closed his eyes, but the sweet image followed him, made the wanting of Maggie Chamberlin a grinding ache.

Just then Maggie opened sleepy gray eyes and, of all things, she smiled and purred his name.