A Husband in Time

She’d gone abroad to visit an aunt, or so the story went. Months later, Benjamin had been dropped upon Zachariah’s doorstep, with a note promising Zach he’d be ruined, both socially and financially, if he ever breathed a word about the child’s mother. She’d never wanted to lay eyes on the baby or on his father again.

And so she never had.

It had been, Zach mused, the best education he could ever have. Oh, he’d learned all about women. They were practical creatures. No woman would be truly interested in a man who was less than wealthy—particularly if he was less wealthy than she. Claudia’s interest had recently been renewed. No doubt due to the fact that her rich husband had passed, leaving most of his money to a nephew. And in the years in between, Zach had acquired his own wealth and social standing. But he was no longer interested in Claudia. For a time he’d become a user of women, the way he’d once been used by one of them. Once he understood how the game was played, he’d suffered no further delusions about romance or love.

Perhaps the lovely Jane had learned the lesson, as well, in a manner much the same as he’d learned it himself. Or perhaps she was simply a lonely widow. Though most widows of Zach’s acquaintance continued to wear their wedding bands. That gave him pause.

Jane. Beautiful, brave, passionate Jane. She looked like an angel. But she kissed like a woman too long without a man. He could, he mused, take care of that problem for her. His thoughts surprised him, since he’d given up his roguish ways long ago. But then, he’d been very long without a woman’s touch, and hers had been…incredible. He had three days here, after all, and little else to do besides wait.

Oh, yes. And a well-planned seduction would probably go a long way in helping to convince the little skeptic that he was who he said he was. Or at least convincing her to let him stay.

He swallowed hard at the thoughts racing through his mind. Was it some added side effect of the time travel making him addle-brained, or was it her? Either way, it didn’t matter. He thought he had come up with a far simpler means to convince her now.

As he soaked, there was a knock at the door, followed by Jane’s voice. “Are you decent?”

Some devil came to life inside him, all over again, and it was that devil who made him call, “Come in.” Perhaps he was testing her to judge her reactions, so that he might gauge what sort of woman he was dealing with. A test, much like the many other experiments he’d performed in his day. He ignored the tiny voice in his brain that told him that theory was nothing more than self-deception. The woman got to him, in a way that disturbed him far too much to admit, even to himself.

The bathroom door opened, and the woman he’d been thinking about stepped inside. Aside from an initial start of surprise, she showed no reaction at all. Keeping her eyes averted, she moved through the room, extracting big, emerald green towels from a cabinet, and then a small pink plastic item, and a can of some sort. “If you were trying to shock me, you chose the wrong method,” she said. “I was raised with brothers.” She set the towels and the other items on a shelf beside the tub, and still without looking at him, turned to go.

“Jane?” She stopped, her back to him. She wore a robe now, over the thin nightgown of the night before. Pity. But that glorious hair still hung loosely down her back, making him ache to run his hands through it once again. “What is this?” he asked.

“I thought you’d want to shave.” She still didn’t turn.

Frowning, Zach leaned forward and picked up the pink thing, turning it this way and that. “This bit of a thing is a razor?” He could clearly see, upon closer inspection, that that was precisely what it was.

“Of course it is.”

He sighed loudly, and achieved the desired results. She turned, but kept her eyes carefully glued to his face. “Could you…could you show me how it works, Jane? They’ve changed drastically in the past hundred years.”

Her eyes narrowed as they searched his, and he tried desperately to keep the mischief hidden. He started to get up. “Stay where you are,” she told him.

“I’ll need a mirror—”

“Not if I’m doing the shaving,” she said. Then she knelt beside the tub, picked up one of the towels and handed it to him. “Cover your—yourself,” she told him.

“And soak this wonderful towel?”

Frowning at him, Jane dropped the towel into the water, so that it landed right in his lap, no doubt concealing the parts of his anatomy she’d rather not be tempted to look at too closely. Then she took up the can, shook it and depressed a button on its top. Mounds of white foam oozed from the spout and into her palm. Zach felt his eyes widen. Then she leaned over and smoothed the lotion onto his face. Her touch was warm, and trembling, and so good that he closed his eyes and relished it.

When she finished, she dipped her hands into the water to rinse them clean. Her fingertips brushed his thigh, and he knew then that certain bodily functions had not been damaged by the side effects of time travel. He hoped she didn’t notice the change in the shape concealed by that towel.

“Now, you just take the razor and…” She demonstrated, by drawing the blade very carefully down over his cheek. “Just like that. You see?”

“Mmm…” he said. Then he opened his eyes and saw her scowling at him. “I mean, yes, of course. But…suppose I cut myself?”

“If you are who you say you are, then you’ve managed a straight edge in your time. And if you can handle that, you can handle this.” She set the razor on the edge of the tub and got up to leave.

“I am who I say I am, Jane. And you’ll believe it before breakfast. I promise.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and this time her eyes betrayed her, dipping down to gaze at his chest and belly. Hastily she turned and left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

Jane leaned back against the bathroom door and tried to steady her breathing. Whoever he was, the lunatic in her bathtub was incredible. And that made him dangerous. The sooner he was out of her house, the better. She closed her eyes, but still the image of that muscled chest, beaded with water, kept resurfacing in her mind. “The sooner the better,” she muttered, and headed downstairs to start breakfast.

When she had the coffee brewing and Cody’s favorite blueberry muffins in the oven, Jane went upstairs again to wake her son. But Cody was no longer in bed when she stepped into her room. For just a second, his absence startled her. And then she heard the reassuring sounds of his Nintendo game from down the hall, and sighed. As she dressed, she glanced up at the painting that hung on the wall above her bed…and then she went still, falling into the brown eyes of the man in that painting. The inventor. The time traveler.

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