Aware that she was growing maudlin, Victoria snapped herself back to attention and continued her inspection. She knew she was invading Robert's privacy by rifling through his drawers and cabinets, but she didn't feel particularly guilty about it. He had abducted her, after all. She had a few rights as the victim in this little scenario.
And, much as she didn't enjoy admitting it to herself, she knew that she was looking for pieces of herself. Had Robert saved memories of their courtship, mementos of their love? It was unrealistic to think that he would have moved them to this cottage even if he had, but she couldn't stop herself from looking.
She was falling in love with him again. He was wearing her down, just as he said he would. She wondered if there was any way to reverse the tide. She certainly didn't want to love him.
She headed back up to his bedroom and opened the door to what she assumed was his dressing room. In the corner was a tub, and in the tub—could it be? She looked a little more closely. Sure enough, stuck to the bottom of the tub was a half-melted bar of soap that someone—probably Robert—had forgotten to clean up. Victoria had never in her life been so thankful for someone else's lack of housekeeping skills. The last time she had tried to run her hand through her hair, it had gotten stuck there. Being able to wash the salt out was about the closest thing to heaven she could imagine.
Robert would surely be gone for several hours. She would have plenty of time to enjoy a hot bath. With a grunt of exertion, Victoria pulled the tub out of the dressing room and into Robert's room, where sunlight streamed through the windows. Then, suddenly feeling very uncomfortable at the thought of bathing in his private chamber, she pulled the tub down the hall to her room. She tried to pry the soap from the metal, but it felt as if it had been bonded. She decided to leave it. The hot water would probably loosen it up.
It took nearly half an hour and several trips up and down the stairs, but eventually Victoria had the tub full of steaming water. Just the sight of it had her shivering with anticipation. She stripped out of her clothing as fast as could be and stepped into the bathwater. It was hot enough to sting her skin, but it was wet and it was clean and it felt like heaven.
Victoria sighed contentedly as she slowly lowered herself into the metal tub. She watched as the white patches of salt that clung to her skin dissolved in the hot water, then she dunked under the surface to wet her hair. After quite a while of happy soaking, she used her left foot to nudge against the soap still stuck to the bottom.
It wouldn't move.
“Oh, come now,” she muttered. “You've had a good twenty minutes.” It occurred to her that she was talking to a bar of soap, but after what she'd been through in the past forty-eight hours, she thought she had a right to act a bit oddly if she pleased.
She switched to her right foot and pushed harder. Surely the thing would have loosened by now. “Move!” she ordered, jamming her heel up against the side of it. It was slick and slippery, and all that happened was that her foot slid right over the top.
“Oh, blast,” she muttered, sitting up. She was going to have to use her hands to pry it loose. She dug her fingernails in and pulled. Then she got a better idea and twisted. Finally she felt the soap begin to move, and after a few more seconds of twisting and yanking, she had at least some of the bar in her hands.
“Aha!” she yelled, feeling triumphant even if her enemy was only a silly old bar of soap. “I win. I win. I win.”
“Victoria!”
She froze.
“Victoria, to whom are you speaking?”
Robert. How on earth could he have traveled to town and back in such a short time? Not to mention do all of his shopping. He'd only been gone an hour. Or was it two?
“Just to myself!” she yelled back, stalling. Dear Lord, he was back, and she hadn't even washed her hair yet. Drat. She really wanted to wash her hair.
Robert's footsteps sounded on the stairs. “Don't you even want to know what I bought?”
There was nothing for it. She would have to come clean. Wincing at her mental pun, Victoria fairly screamed, “Don't come in here!”
The footsteps halted. “Victoria, is everything all right?”
“Yes, I'm…I'm just…”
After a long beat, Robert said from just behind the door, “Do you have any plans to complete that sentence?”
“I'm taking a bath.”
More silence, then, “I see.”
Victoria gulped. “I would rather you didn't.”
“Didn't what?”
“See. Me, that is.”
He let out a loud groan that Victoria heard right through the door and clear across the room. It was impossible not to think about him thinking about her in the tub, and—
“Do you need a towel?”
Victoria exhaled, more than thrilled that he'd interrupted her thoughts, which were taking her in a most dangerous direction. “No,” she replied. “I have one here.”
“How unfortunate,” he muttered.
“I found it with the bed linens,” she said, mostly because she felt as if she had to say something.
“Do you need soap?”
“It was stuck to the tub.”
“Do you need food? I brought back a half dozen pasties.”
Victoria's stomach rumbled, but she said, “I'll have one later, if you don't mind.”
“Do you need anything”? He sounded almost desperate.
“No, not really, although—”
“Although what?” he said, very quickly. “What do you need? I'd be happy to bring it to you. Ecstatic. Anything to make you more comfortable.”