When she pushed open the door, her complaint died. Captain Clare stood with his back to her, his bare back, with a towel draped over one pale broad shoulder, his left hand holding a razor to his jaw. Whatever she meant to say about his interference with Adam died in her suddenly dry throat. His shoulders needed no epaulets. They were quite broad. His smooth skin was marked by tiny white nicks, and one long, thin red line that slashed from under his right shoulder blade down to the band of his trousers.

Heat shimmered in the lazy gaze that collided with hers in the glass. “You.” His raised hand paused in its scraping of the lather on his chin, like a clock figure waiting for the next second to tick off. Then he shook the foam from the blade into the white, chipped basin in front of him. “Come to scold, have you? Adam’s safe.”

Lucy bowed her head to hide her flaming cheeks. Harry Clare had undressed her and put her to bed. Her whole body flashed with sudden warmth at the thought. She tried to tell herself that his attentions must have been swift and impersonal, or at the least not…not other than her care of Adam.

She had forgotten Adam, but there he was in a chair by the fire, dressed and combed, his hands resting on his knees, his head cocked at an alert angle. She crossed the Turkey rug to rest a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you this morning, Adam?” she asked.

“Captain Clare takes a bath every day,” said Adam. “He likes baths.”

Lucy’s face warmed again. Once when he’d first come to the inn, she’d accidentally discovered him lying in a copper bath, his arms resting on the edges, his hands with their long fingers dangling, his head tilted back against the lip, his eyes closed, water beaded on his shoulders, steam rising around him.

“You undressed me,” she said, putting it plainly, sounding him out.

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’m sure you’d return the favor if I needed it.”

“Favor?” The image of the tub remained vivid in her mind. He filled her with vast impatience, she who had patiently cared for Adam for years.

“I hope you slept well. Adam did.” He tossed the towel aside and reached for a shirt lying on the end of the bed. He pulled it over his head, and the loose lawn fell into place, shadowing his torso. He had seen her in a similar state.

He fastened the cuffs of the shirt. She ought to be glad that he was decent. The conversation had veered away from her complaint, and she sought to bring it back. “Adam is my responsibility.”

“Along with everything else, apparently.”

“Yes, and I’ll thank you to return my keys.”

“Such a lot of brass to carry. You must feel the weight of them with every step.”

“I can manage. You think I’m not up to running an inn.”

He shook his head. “You needed sleep, not another night of watching over Adam.” From the table by the bed he gathered up her ring of keys, hefting them in his palm and handing them to her. Their fingers met with a brief shock.