Page 26 of Eight for Losing, One for Loving

“Who did you see?” he demanded, frowning at that.

“I’m afraid I don’t know her name, we were not introduced,” she said dryly.

“Where and when?” he asked, ignoring her sarcasm.

“At the theatre, the year before last. Really, Leo, have there been so many that—”

“Ah. Mrs James,” he said, nodding. “A rather buxom brunette.”

“Quite so,” Vi said tartly, the warm feeling she’d had upon his lovely words dissipating. Her own fault, of course, she ought never to have mentioned his mistress.

“Yes, she was a handsome woman, but we did not last long.”

“Why not?” Vi asked before cursing her own stupid curiosity. She really did not wish to know. “No, don’t tell me, I—”

“Because she bored me silly,” he said frankly. “No conversation past whatever piece of jewellery she wanted me to buy her or where she wanted to go to be seen wearing it. Very tedious. You, however, are never dull. I never know what you are going to say, and your opinions are always your own, not recited from overhearing something someone else said. You think about things, Vi, and if you think I’m wrong, you’ll explain why, not just tell me I’m wrong and sulk about it if I disagree.”

“Oh,” Vi said, mollified, though she felt abruptly bad for Mrs James. Had he broken her heart?

“Have your bath, Vi,” Leo said, smiling at her. She watched as he tugged off his boots and tossed them to the floor before stretching out on the bed and pulling the curtains around him.

Vi shook her head and sighed, picking the boots up and setting them neatly in the corner of the room before investigating the bath. Steam rose from it, fogging the mirror. She dipped her fingers in, pleased to discover it was the perfect temperature.

Stripping off the worn nightgown, she stepped into the bath. The water lapped against the sides. Leo would hear that too, and know she was getting in. The idea he might be imagining her just as she was, naked and standing in the bath, brought a rush of heat to her skin that had nothing to do with the temperature of the water.

Slowly, she sat, unable to repress a sigh as she lay her head back and the water eased away the aches from too many hours sat in the tilbury.

“The water is not too hot?” Leo’s voice came from behind the curtains.

“No. It’s wonderful,” she said, wondering why she was not more scandalised by the situation, but it was surprisingly natural to speak to Leo whilst she bathed.

“There’s soap, on the little table beside you. Did you find it?”

Vi looked around and saw a small wrought-iron table had been set beside the tub, holding a clean flannel and what looked like a homemade cake of soap. There were bits stuck in it that looked like petals.

“Guess what it smells of?” Leo asked her, his amusement obvious.

Vi lifted it to her nose and laughed. “Roses!” she said. “Of course.”

She lathered it between her hands, luxuriating in the delicate scene.

“What are you doing, Vi?”

Vi froze, her hand upon her forearm. “Er… washing.”

Leo made a muffled sound that she thought might have been a snort.

“Give a fellow a bit more information, love. My imagination needs a little extra help.”

Though he could not see her, Vi blushed scarlet. She couldn’t possibly… could she? Steeling her nerves, she told herself to be brave, just this once. Tonight was a night out of time and place, a once in a lifetime, never to be repeated time, and the person she was here and now could do that.

“I… I’ve lathered the soap between my hands. It's lovely, though the scent isn’t very strong. Now I’m st-stroking the lather up my arms,” she said, fitting action to words. “My shoulders now, and my neck.”

She was silent for a moment, not thinking he needed to hear about her washing her armpits.

“What now, love?” he asked, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room.

Vi swallowed, knowing what she would do next if she were alone, but discovering she wasn’t that brave. “My feet,” she called out cheerfully, ignoring the little chuckle of amusement. “And my ankles, now my calves, behind my knees and—drat, I dropped it.”