In which Lucien wears a towel and the kettle doesn't catch fire ;)
Jean sat on the small couch in Lucien's bedroom, her knees drawn up under her chin. She hugged her legs in an attempt to warm up, and wriggled her toes to get the blood moving. Lucien watched her out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to be too obvious in his appraisal.
Frankly, he thought she looked beautiful; her hair curled in damp tendrils round her face, and there was something rather appealing about seeing her in his pyjamas. The trouser legs were rolled up, as were the sleeves - the whole outfit swamped her, but he had very few dry clothes to spare.
He glanced down at his own clothes; yesterday's shirt and a towel round his waist. He should have bought more clothes than just the basics when he arrived in the city, but it was too late to regret that now. Rubbing his hair with a towel, he came and sat next to Jean on the sofa, but not touching her.
Now it was Jean's turn to eye him surreptitiously; she loved the way his hair was curling and standing up, quite different to the very neat way he usually had it. Rather attractive, if she were honest with herself. And the towel round his waist seemed very flimsy compared with the usual armour of his suit.
That suit, and Jean's dress and stockings, were draped over the radiator, steaming gently. From the hot, humid weather of earlier, the change was dramatic. The room was chilly, the radiator was warming them only slowly, and Jean was distinctly cold.
She let her eyes run down his legs. She had never seen his bare legs before, which was surprising perhaps when they had lived together for so long. She became more and more interested in them; she had not really realised quite how fit he was. The muscles in his calves were truly impressive.
She slowly moved her gaze back to his face, to find an amused smile waiting for her. She blushed furiously. He had obviously guessed just what she was thinking.
Jean stood up hastily, holding the waist of the pyjama trousers so they didn't fall down, and cast about her for a distraction. With relief she spotted the teapot and for some minutes she fiddled with the cups and tea strainer, letting the redness in her face subside.
When she sat back down and handed Lucien his tea, he drank it without comment. Then he set down the cup and put his arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her head, and breathing in the scent of her wet hair.
Jean leaned against him gratefully. She was still cold and it was much more cosy snuggled up to him than sitting politely apart. She supposed this was alright. After all, there was something happening between them, even if she wasn't really sure just what it was. And this was no closer than they had been on the bus, was it? Except for fewer clothes, maybe, she conceded to herself.
"Jean, I'm sorry I let you down," he murmured against her hairline. His breath felt intimate against her skin, and she shivered. Lucien pulled her a bit closer for warmth.
"What do you mean?" she asked in reply. "You couldn't help us getting caught in the rain." She looked puzzled.
"No, I meant in Ballarat, when I didn't tell you how much I wanted you to stay. Jean, I can't imagine living there without you, but I didn't know how to tell you." He looked at her with love, but also a little fear. What if she wouldn't come back with him?
"I can't go on just being your housekeeper, Lucien." She was finding the sandy coloured curls that were tickling her face rather distracting. And the faint smell of his sweat on the shirt was making her stomach ache strangely.
"It's not enough for me either," he said. "I'd like you to be far more than that, if that's what you want too." He tried to sound reassuring, but Jean knew him too well; this was making him nervous too.
He glanced down and caught a glimpse of bare skin on her chest, where his pyjama jacket stood away from her. Her breasts were in shadow, but so close. The tug in his gut made him bolder. "Jean, I want to show you how much I care about you. Will you come home with me?"
She looked rather sad. "I can't just come home, Lucien. I promised Christopher I would stay here. I have to at least help Ruby get back on her feet." Seeing the stricken look on his face, she continued, more gently. "But then, I will come home, if you want me to. It might not be a good idea though, Lucien. I work for you, and people will think you shouldn't be bothering with someone like me."
He opened his mouth to object. How could Jean not be good enough for him? If only people knew her like he did. "Jean..." he began, but then decided he would kiss her first. He kissed her cheek first, then her lips very gently, holding her face in his hand.
The smile she gave him lit up the room, and she looked into his eyes for a long moment. Still grinning, she leaned in and kissed him back, putting her hand on the back of his neck and stroking his wayward curls.
"Jean, you are worth a hundred of me. No one could ever think badly of you - I wouldn't let them." He thought for a moment about the risk she was taking with her job, her home and her reputation. "I won't let you down, I promise."
She began to see how serious he was about this, and she felt both amazed and a little bit scared.
She gave him a small smile and nodded. "A few months here and the baby should be settled. I should be home again by the autumn."