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inside a giant cocoon. She became overheated and had to tear off her nightgown and sleep unclothed for the first time in her life.
    Simone had been unable to work her usual magic with Charlotte’s curly hair and she was uncomfortably aware wayward strands had broken free of the arrangement atop her head.
    She was relieved to see the Steward had paid attention to her instructions and arranged for the escritoire to be left outside the door. She had to have something between her and Braden when she interviewed him this morning, if only a small desk.
    Simone, already out of sorts over the hair issue, carried the ink, quills and paper, prattling on with complaints against Augusta. “I am ze lady’s maid, milady . I feex ze coiffure , I do ze maquillages , I ‘elp with ze bain , I prepare ze parfums , but I am not a masseuse of ze feet. I—”
    Charlotte inhaled deeply, her head pounding. Thank goodness something had caused the maid to pause.  
    “ Monsieur Braden ‘as not eaten ‘is breakfast.”
    Charlotte glanced down. Sure enough the tray of oats, bread, cheese and coffee hadn’t been touched. Panic seized her. Had he fled? Died? Gone back to his own time?
    She came close to screaming at her own idiocy. He was likely still abed. That presented a whole new problem. Decorum dictated she send Simone in first, but why give the whining French girl the chance to see Braden in his nightshirt?
    She cleared her throat and rapped hard on the door. “Bring in the ink, then return for the tray,” she said.
    Her heart thudded in her ears when there was no reply from within. The choice was simple; leave or enter. If she entered and he was gone, she didn’t want Simone to witness her disappointment. “Leave the writing paraphernalia on the escritoire . Find a servant to help us carry it into the chamber.”
    Simone pouted. “I can carry—”  
    Charlotte’s glare evidently dissuaded her from further protests. She flounced off after leaving the materials on the desktop.
    Charlotte carefully eased open the door. Her shoulders relaxed when she heard the sounds of light snoring. Her Braden hadn’t disappeared into thin air.
    My Braden?
    Then she stiffened. She should leave, quit the chamber, but her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. She tiptoed towards the bed.
    He lay on his belly, his face hidden in the pillow, one hand underneath it, the other relaxed at his side. The sheet clung to his backside, covering the lower part of his body, but the outline of his long legs was clearly discernible, one bent, the other straight. She gazed at his bare back, seized by a lunatic desire to feel the texture of his skin, the firm muscles of his arms, the ridges of his spine. What would it be like to…
    Her heart careened around her ribcage when he stirred and turned over. He kicked at the sheet and she held her breath, afraid it might break free like the sail of a storm-tossed galleon, but it held firm, still covering his male parts, just.
    She’d assumed men, like women, had hair down there, but apparently not. She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her snort of laughter. It was evident from the way the sheet tented at his groin that male and female anatomies were decidedly different.  
    He lay like a babe, both arms raised beside his head. He’d no hair on his chest either, contrary to what Augusta the expert had told her on the topic of men.
    Intent on her examination she failed to notice when he opened his eyes. How long he’d studied her she didn’t know, but there was no mistaking the lust in his gaze. She looked away, appalled lest he see the same desire in her. “I—”
    Something had gone wrong with the workings of her throat, hence she was profoundly relieved to hear Simone’s high pitched voice and the sounds of footmen preparing to enter with the desk.
    By the time she looked back to the bed, Braden had vanished, along with the sheet. For a big man he was agile. The notion did nothing to calm her racing