'I am Charles Weaver,' the naked man held out his hand.
'Good heavens,' Lorna said at the frank admission of his first name. Despite herself, she added. 'You don't look in the least overweight, Sir.' She clamped her mouth shut.
'Come on man! Shake; I've no truck with this nonsense that servants and gentlemen can't converse.'
Hesitant, Lorna took his hand. It was firm and strong. 'Thank you, Sir.'
'Nonsense; grip man!'
Lorna squeezed tighter, suddenly glad that she had not had a conventional upbringing, so she was used to working with horses, guns, and tools. Her hands were stronger than most women. She altered the direction of her gaze upward to meet his bright blue eyes.
'That's the way man.'
Broadheath walked in. 'All ready? Here!' He threw a pair of blankets to Lorna. 'Put these
