"Mr. Gentry didn't mention a word about it," Lottie said, finding it difficult to reconcile the information with what she already knew of him.
It appeared that Mrs. Trench desired to say more, but she kept her silence on the subject. "If you will excuse me, Miss Howard, I will make certain that the guest room has been properly aired and that your things have been put away."
"Yes, of course." After finishing her stew, Lottie drank a glass of watered-down wine. Nick Gentry, risking his life for someone else...it was difficult to imagine. How much easier it would have been to think of Gentry as purely a villain. Good Lord, one could ruminate about him for weeks and still not come to a definite conclusion-was he a good man acting as a bad one, or a bad man acting as a good one?
The wine made her drowsy. Eyes half-closed, Lottie leaned back in her chair as a footman appeared to clear the table. A humorless smile grazed the corners of her lips as she reflected on the oddity of marrying one man to avoid marrying another. The prospect of being Mrs. Nick Gentry was far more appealing than continuing to hide from Lord Radnor and his henchmen. Moreover, as Gentry had demonstrated, the arrangement would not be without its pleasures.
As she thought of his hands on her body, heat prickled across her face and deep in her stomach. She couldn't help remembering the touch of his mouth on her breast. The silky brush of his hair against her inner arms. The long, rough-textured fingers slipping gently over- "Miss Howard."
Stiffening, she turned to the door. "Yes, Mrs. Trench?"
"The guest room is ready. If you are finished with your meal, a maid will help you to change from your traveling clothes."
Lottie nodded in thanks. "I would like a bath, if possible." Although she did not wish to trouble the maids with the task of running up and down stairs with ewers of hot water, she was dusty and sore from traveling, and she longed to be clean.
"Certainly. Shall you wish to take a shower-bath, miss? Mr. Gentry has installed one in the bathing room upstairs, with piped hot and cold water."
"Has he?" Lottie was intrigued, as she had heard of many well-to-do households that featured shower-baths, but she had never actually seen one. Even Stony Cross Park, with all its amenities, had not yet been fitted with hot-water piping. "Yes, I would very much like to try it!"
The housekeeper smiled at her enthusiasm. "Harriet will attend you."
Harriet was a bespectacled young housemaid with a white mobcap covering her dark hair. She was polite but friendly as she showed Lottie to the upstairs rooms. The dressing and bathing rooms branched off from the largest bedchamber, which clearly belonged to the master of the household. It contained a bed with polished, exposed wooden framework and columns supporting the amber silk canopy above. Although the bed was large, the base was lower than usual, requiring no steps to climb up to the mattress. Stealing a glance at the lavish arrangement of pillows and bolsters, Lottie felt a cramp of nervousness in her stomach. Her attention moved to the walls, which were covered with hand-painted paper featuring Chinese birds and flowers. A porcelain washstand on a tripod foot was positioned beside a tall mahogany wardrobe, topped with a small, square looking glass. It was a handsome and very masculine room.
A subtle fragrance drifted through the air, luring her to investigate. She discovered that the source of the smell was his shaving soap, contained in a marble box on the washstand. As she replaced the top on the box, a bit of soap residue transferred to her fingers, leaving them aromatic and spicy. She had inhaled this scent before, from the warm, slightly prickly skin of Nick Gentry's jaw.
Good God, in less than a week, she had been wrenched from her hideaway and brought to London...she was standing in a stranger's bedroom, already familiar with the scent of his body. Suddenly she could no longer be certain of who she was, or where she belonged. Her inner compass had been damaged somehow, and she was unable to negotiate between what was wrong and what was right.
The maid's voice broke through her uneasy pondering. "Miss Howard, I've started the water. Shall I 'elp you into the shower-bath? The 'eat doesn't last long."
Obeying the prompting, Lottie ventured into the blue-and-white tiled bathing room, noting the porcelain tub with its exposed pipes, a dressing-stand and a chair, and the shower-bath neatly fitted into the space of a tall but narrow cupboard. The tight confines of the room explained why the washstand remained in the bedchamber.
With Harriet's help, Lottie undressed quickly and let down her hair. Covered in only a blush, she stepped over the raised threshold of the shower-bath. Viewing the steaming water that poured lavishly from the perforated projection directly overhead, she hesitated. A cold draft curled around her, raising gooseflesh on her skin.
"Go on, miss," the maid encouraged, seeing her irresolution.
Taking a breath, Lottie walked straight into the fall of water, while the door closed gently behind her. A startling suffusion of heat, a moment of watery blindness, until she maneuvered far enough that her face was no longer directly in the spray. Wiping her streaming eyes with her hands, Lottie laughed in sudden pleasure. "It's like standing in the rain," she exclaimed.
The loud spattering of water on tile made the housemaid's reply inaudible. Standing still, Lottie absorbed the exhilarating sensation, the needling warmth on her back, the steam that saturated her lungs. The door opened a crack, and a bar of soap and a sponge were extended to her. She soaped her hair and body and turned in slow circles, her face uplifted, eyes and mouth tightly closed. Hot water slid everywhere, over her breasts and stomach, down her thighs, between her toes. It was a surprisingly sensual experience, making her feel at once enervated and relaxed. She wanted to stand there for hours. However, all too soon the water began to cool. With a regretful sigh, Lottie stepped away from the shower-stream before she became completely chilled.
"It's cold now," she called to Harriet, who twisted the valve outside the door before handing her a towel that had been warmed on the hot-water pipe.
Shivering in the cool air, Lottie blotted her face and hair, and wrapped the towel around herself. "If only it could have lasted a bit longer," she said wistfully, making Harriet smile.
"In three hours, there will be enough hot water for another, miss."
Lottie followed the maid to the adjoining dressing room, where her dark blue dress and fresh linens had been set out for her on a narrow daybed. "It would almost be worth marrying Mr. Gentry just for his shower-bath," she said.
The remark earned a cautiously inquiring glance from Harriet. "It's true, then, miss? You are going to marry the master?"
"It would seem so."
It was obvious that the housemaid was eaten up with curiosity but somehow managed to remain respectfully silent. Lottie dropped her wet towel and pulled on her drawers and chemise with modest haste. When she was decently covered, she sat on the velvet-covered daybed and began to tug her thick cotton stockings over her calves. She couldn't help wondering how many women had bathed and dressed and slept here. Gentry's bed must be as busy as a brothel. "I suppose you've attended quite a few female guests at Mr. Gentry's home," she commented, reaching for a garter.
Harriet stunned her by saying, "No, Miss 'Oward."
Lottie nearly dropped the garter in surprise. "What?" She raised her brows as she stared at the housemaid. "Surely I am not the first woman that he has brought here."
"Ye are as far as I know, miss."
"But that can't be true." She paused and added with deliberate bluntness, "I am certain that Mr. Gentry has entertained no less than a harem's worth in his bedroom."
The housemaid shook her head. "I've never seen any ladies visit the 'ouse...not in that way. O' course, after the Barthas fire, many lady admirers sent letters an' made calls." A sly grin touched Harriet's lips. "The 'ole street was filled with carriages, an' poor Mr. Gentry couldn't go through 'is own front door, as a crowd waited for 'im ewery morning."