Worth Any Price (Bow Street Runners #3)(33)

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 br**sts 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."

"Hmmph." Lottie fastened her garter neatly over her stocking and reached for the other one. "But he's never brought a mistress here?"

"Oh, no, miss."

Evidently Gentry was more scrupulous than she had expected-or at least, he wished to keep his home completely private. It must be that he satisfied his sexual needs at a brothel, or-distasteful thought-perhaps his appetites were base enough that he sought the services of alleyway prostitutes. But he seemed more discerning than that. The way he touched her bespoke the appreciation of a connoisseur rather than a simple brute. Her face flamed, and she tried, as she dressed, to cover her discomfiture by asking further questions of the housemaid.

Lottie quickly discovered that Harriet was far more voluble on the subject of Gentry than Mrs. Trench had been. According to the housemaid, Gentry was something of a mystery even to his own servants, as one never knew what to expect from him. He comported himself like a gentleman in private but did not shrink from the violence of his profession. He could be scathing or kind, brutal or gentle, his moods infinitely mercurial. Like the other Bow Street runners, Gentry kept odd hours and could be summoned at any moment to assist at some disaster, or investigate a murder, or apprehend a particularly dangerous fugitive. There was little structure or routine to his days, and he did not like to make plans. And curiously, he did not sleep well, and was occasionally tormented by nightmares.