Page 111 of A Most Forgettable Girl

“You have the loveliest body, Gunnilde,” he said throatily.

Did he really think that? “Thank you.”

“Tell me about your friend Lady Winifred’s prospects,” he said, surprising her again. “Have you anyone in mind for her yet?”

“I promise you faithfully, James, I have not been matchmaking,” she said, looking back at him over her shoulder.

He rubbed the sponge over her back in a circular motion. “No, but if you were.”

“Well...” She thought about it. “Winifred is so exceedingly clever as well as being of good family. I think any family would be proud to admit her as a daughter-in-law.”

“Hmmm. Is that so? Yet she looks to you for guidance when it comes to dress,” he pointed out.

“Yes, that is true.” Gunnilde’s heart swelled with pride. “I really like her and Harriet. I want them to be happy and successful here at court.”

“Do their lectures and meetings not make them happy?” he asked, rubbing soap leaves up and down her spine.

“Yes. I only wish I could enjoy such worthy occupations as much,” she admitted. “Perhaps with time I will learn to.”

“Why should you? Other things make you happy, do they not? You could still be friends with Harriet and Winifred without adopting all their pursuits and endeavors as your own.”

Gunnilde thought about this. “You do not think that in order to foster good relations with another, one needs to share mutual interests to keep that bond alive and strong?” Even to her own ears her voice sounded stifled, almost scared.

His hands paused momentarily. “I think,” he said, running his hands up and down her soapy sides, “that if the bond is real, you will find other points of mutual connection.”

“Such as?” she asked, holding her breath.

He cleared his throat. “Well, they both clearly value your opinion on matters of fashion.” Gunnilde’s heart sank like a stone, for she realized she had not been thinking of her friends at all when she asked that question. She had been thinking about James. And James did not care about fashion at all.

“Yes,” she said, fighting back tears. “That is true.”

“You have washed your hair already?” he asked, running a hand over her damp hair.

“Yes. I do that first, for it takes an age.”

“I’m not surprised. There’s so much of it.” His tone was openly admiring.

“You like my hair?” She would take anything at this point, and her hair was the one thing she had always been able to take pride in. Likely he did genuinely admire that at least.

“I do. I like everything about the way you look.”

Gunnilde almost gasped. She had almost forgotten. He did like buxom women. She had helped him discover that fact. Still, everything? That had to be an exaggeration. “What about...my teeth,” she asked tentatively.

“What about them?”

“It has been observed that they are somewhat over-large.”

“Observed by who?” He sounded annoyed. “Who the devil said that?”

“I forget,” Gunnilde lied lightly. “Doubtless some long-forgotten friend of my youth.”

“Well, they were clearly jealous of you,” James answered testily. “Doubtless their own were pitifully undersized and decayed while yours are large and healthy.”

Large and healthy, Gunnilde thought dolefully. Yes, that described her perfectly. Gunnilde Payne, large and healthy daughter of Sir Aubron. She supposed she should be grateful James had not described her thus in his letter to his parents.

No, stop that, Gunnilde, she told herself crossly. He likes your large and healthy body. When it came to James, his physical attraction to her was her only advantage, for she had precious little else to offer him. Taking a deep breath, she turned about in the tub to face him. “James,” she said, “why don’t you join me now?”

He blinked. “Join you...?”