She and Draven had never been so intimate. He was bathed by his manservant, and she by her maid, and they only met under the covers. "Of course," she said without hesitation. "Draven loved the way I bathed him."

"Well, damned if there isn't something about which I

agree with that blighter." Rafe sighed. "Did he bathe you as well?"

"Naturally," Imogen said, turning her mind away from the awkward couplings that she and Draven had shared.

"Lucky man," Rafe said, sounding almost drowsy. "I suppose this is why you're so quick to talk about privy matters. Maybe I should get married. This is the part of marriage that you never hear about."

Because this part doesn't exist, Imogen thought to herself. In her experience, husbands and wives didn't find themselves alone in palatial marble bathrooms lit by candles. At least she and Draven hadn't. The thought made her irritated, and she didn't pour quite as warm water as she might have into the basin.

"Oof," Rafe said, shaking his head like a dog coming out of a lake.

Imogen stood over him, grinning as he ran his hands back through his hair. Then she noticed.

His towel had come undone and was floating on the surface of the water. He certainly had a little gut, but his legs were strong and muscular—the riding, she would guess.

And there between his legs—

She turned away to get more water and poured it over his head. He was looking less green. His eyes were closed. She peeked again.

He was definitely much larger than Draven had been.

Interesting.

Chapter 11

Neighbors May Well Be the Nearest… But Not the Dearest

October 1, 1817 Ardmore Castle, Scotland

The Countess of Ardmore was not pleased. "Every time I look at Crogan, I think about how he wished to plaster me with molasses and feathers," she told her husband. "How could you invite him for supper?" Ewan tucked his wife closer under his arm. "The Cro-gans have always had a meal with us after the harvest fest; 'twould be paramount to a declaration of war to change the tradition. The Crogans and the Ardmores have marched along beside each other these hundred years now. And the present Crogan's grandda actually managed to feather my grandmother, if you remember." I can hardly believe it," Annabel said, thinking of

Ewan's fierce grandmother. "Are there any other unpleasant family traditions I should know about?"

"Well, there is the one," Ewan said, rubbing his wife's stomach thoughtfully.

"She's kicking, can you feel it?" Annabel whispered, leaning into his shoulder.

"How could I not?" He laughed out loud. "For all you think this is a girl, darling, I think those thumps bespeak a son."

"Nonsense," Annabel said. "She's a high-spirited Scotswoman, that's all. And what is this other tradition I should know about?"

"Well, there is an ancient agreement between the Cro-gans and ourselves that when a daughter of this house marries a son of that house, a particularly large amount of gold travels to the Crogan household."

"My goodness, you should be happy that I married you. Your blood has likely been weakened by that little arrangement." Annabel's eyes widened. "If you think that a daughter of mine would ever—"

Ewan bent over and dropped a kiss on her tummy. "The arrangement is of long standing, but to this date, no Crogan has managed to talk a woman of this house into marrying him. Mind you, the Crogans have generally done some serious courting, so that is something our daughter will have to look forward to."

"She will kick them into the next county," Annabel said without hesitation.

Just then Josie entered the room and walked over to them.

"You look very lovely tonight," Annabel said, smiling at her little sister. "That velvet makes your skin look utterly delectable."

Josie smoothed the peach-blossom skirt of her dinner gown. "Imogen had this made for me last spring." She made a face. "We had to let out the seams in the back so I could wear it tonight. I've started another reducing diet. I'm having cabbage for dinner."

Annabel frowned at her. "I don't think cabbage is particularly good for you. And look at you, Josie! Why should you go on a slimming diet? You're one of the prettiest girls in the Highlands."

"I agree with that," Ewan said, smiling at his sister-in-law. "You're a bonny lass, and I'm sure every man in Al-mack's will agree with me next spring."

"I doubt that," Josie replied. "Item, two lips, indifferent red, item, two gray eyes, item, one face as round as a pumpkin."

"You're distorting Shakespeare," Annabel said, but just then Ewan's butler, Warsop, entered the room. "Mr. Crogan and Mr. Hew Crogan."

"Oh joy, both of them," Annabel moaned under her breath, as she allowed her husband to haul her from the couch.

One of the surprising things about the Crogans was that they seemed to feel not the slightest embarrassment at meeting her, the woman whom they had attempted to cover with molasses and feathers just before she married Ewan.

"We can see what you've been doing recently, Lady Ardmore," said the elder Crogan with a veritable howl of laughter.

Annabel blinked at him.

"Stroking the sheets," he said cheerfully. "Just as a countess ought. Nice breeding stock, you are." He pulled his younger brother over to them. "Now think on this, young Crogan. Lady Ardmore has been married almost no time a-tall, and she's telling the world that she's the one to produce an heir. It's good breeding stock we see here. Good breeding stock."

Annabel was so dumbfounded by Crogan's deplorable freedom of conversation that she might have just stood there with her mouth open if Ewan hadn't caught the end of Crogan's speech and intervened. "I am a fortunate man," he said, smiling at them with a touch of steel in his eyes.

"I'm thinking to the future," Crogan said. "I've no doubt but what your lovely wife will give you a brace of bonny lasses, and you know that there's long been a wish to create closer bonds between our households. I've got four young lads growing up at home, you know. And if it weren't for the fact that the youngest is all of a week old, my wife would be here to offer her congratulations as well. Our son, your daughter: 'tis a perfect match."

"I'll have your guts for garters first" didn't seem a ladylike thing to say, so Annabel pleaded an aching back and fell into a chair.

"And who is this lovely young woman?" Crogan said, his eyes wandering to Josie in a manner that was just on this side of acceptable.

Ewan explained while Josie curtsied to the Crogans. "This is my youngest sister-in-law, Miss Josephine Essex. Her father was Charles Essex, the Viscount Brydone."

"Ah, and if he didn't take me for a Johnny flat by selling me a horse that was out at the knees," Crogan shouted. But he didn't seem to have taken an insult at it, but instead stood beaming at Josie.

"Was that True Confession?" she asked.

"Indeed it was!"

"I remember her," Josie said, nodding. "She was not only out at the knees, but she had a droopy eye as well, didn't she?"

"Right you are, young lady," Crogan said, looking rather less cheerful. "I'd forgotten that detail." He shrugged. "Ah, well, and I gave her as payment for a loan that I never meant to repay anyway, so it comes to the same thing, doesn't it?"