Not wishing to share her secret until they were safely in their bedroom, Nina shrugged in what she hoped was a believably carefree fashion. “She’s allowed to be in a good mood, isn’t she? And it was a nice day. That’s all.”

“I suppose,” he said, and then he stood and began to strip off his dusty clothes. Rosa had switched off the overhead light earlier, leaving only the soft glow of the single oil lamp on the table, and even though they were alone, and unlikely to be disturbed, Nina’s face grew warm at the sight of his broad back and muscled limbs.

He groaned softly as he lowered himself into the steaming water. “Thank you. I can’t imagine a better homecoming than your lovely face and this bath.”

“Do you want to shave? I can fetch your things from our room.”

“Not tonight. I’m so tired I’d only cut myself.” Now he glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “I would rather be in bed with my beautiful wife.”

“Would you, ah, like me to wash your hair?” she stammered, her heart racing.

“Yes, please,” he answered, and she was ever so relieved. Now she had something to do, apart from ogling him and blushing at his compliments.

She sat on the stool next to the tub, first making sure the sliver of Rosa’s good soap was near to hand, along with the pitcher for rinsing. “Will you wet your hair first?” she asked, and he obligingly leaned forward and used his cupped hands to sluice water over his bent head. Straightening, he leaned back, his head almost in her lap, and she began to wash his hair.

Her heart growing ever lighter, she watched, mesmerized, as he relaxed into her soothing touch, the lines of worry and exhaustion gradually fading from his face. But the water was getting cool, and he needed to sleep, so she reluctantly dipped the pitcher into the bathwater and rinsed the soap from his hair.

And then, before she could stop herself, the words slipped from her mouth. “Nico? I have something to tell you.” She had told herself she would wait until they were upstairs and alone, but now, with her heart so achingly full, she could wait no longer.

“All right,” he murmured, already half-asleep. “What is it?” When she didn’t answer straightaway, he opened his eyes and squinted up at her. “Is something wrong? Is it Zwerger?”

He turned in the bath, his abrupt movement splashing water all over the floor, and rose to his knees, his expression troubled.

“It’s a good thing,” she rushed to reassure him. “A wonderful thing.”

Her eyes met his. It was wrong to be shy, she realized, so she steadied herself and, taking his hands in hers, set them on her still-flat stomach. “You’re going to be a father,” she whispered, and she watched as joy eclipsed the worry in his gaze.