She closed her eyes and drew a calming breath. “Yes. It is I. Just washing up.”
“We share a notion then. I see you are a man of strict hygiene as well.”
“I…yes.”
“Very good. For most males of the species, monthly bathing seems more than enough. The scent of the average man casts a wide net, and his empty trousers may stand upright in a corner. I applaud your exception.”
“Uh, well, thank you.”
“So, having made that point…”
The sound of Steadman stripping from his breeches nearly sent her into flight. The splash of his feet in the shallows threatened to stop her heart. When he slogged past her and plunged into the river, she well and truly died. Within seconds, his head broke the surface, bobbing in the light leaking from the inn. He swiped water from his eyes.
“Join me. The river is refreshing.”
Beyond mortified, she spun away from him and clambered to the bank. “I cannot swim.”
“This spot is only five feet deep. You cannot drown.”
She collected her towel, drawers, and pantaloons, clutched them to her chest, and began backing away from the river’s edge. “I already have. I will leave you to your bathing.”
“Here, I have interrupted your solitude. I will wait on the bank while you finish.”
“No,” she yelled sharply before finding restraint. She forced a nervous, dismissive laugh. “I am finished anyway.”
“Very well. But Morgan…”
“Yes?”
“If you are to woo a woman, you should practice a more manly laugh. Like this.” He let loose a deep chuckle that reverberated along the water. It was warm, like an oaken chair beside a roaring fire. She choked back a cough.
“You sound like a donkey.”
He laughed again. “Fair enough. But heed my advice.”
Morgan ran toward the inn, not stopping until reaching her room. She hoped the few patrons were too drunk or sleepy to notice her general state of undress and protruding curves. After wedging the chair beneath the doorknob, she fell backward onto her bed, her heart racing like a Thoroughbred.
“Woo a woman, indeed,” she whispered. “What would he know?”
However, she could not shake from her thoughts the image of his bare legs and vowed to reserve all future trips to the river for the dead of night.
Chapter Six
Steadman remained puzzled over Morgan’s abrupt lack of engagement. A silent supper the previous evening followed by a taciturn ride into the country left him scratching his head. He assumed the lad was preoccupied with the investigation, but he worried, nonetheless. Had he offended Mr. Brady with his comment at the river? After all, many men laughed like a woman, including the Lord of the Admiralty. He considered apologizing but could not find the words. Before he managed to corral an apology, he and Morgan arrived at the Thrup farm.
“They will be waiting for us here?” Those were Morgan’s first unprompted words all morning.
“Yes. I sent a messenger early this morning announcing our visit. Farmer Thrup and Farmer Nott should both be in attendance.”
“The two primary plaintiffs?”
“Right, although they speak for several others.”
Mr. and Mrs. Thrup welcomed Steadman and Morgan and invited them into the parlor where Mr. Nott waited. He remembered them all, of course, from his youth. As he took a seat, Mrs. Thrup appeared before him and clapped her hands together.
“Oh, Mr. Drew! What an honor it is for you to visit.”
“Call me Steadman.”
