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."

"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.

"Nightmares about what?" Lottie asked, fascinated.

"He won't say, not even to 'is valet, Dudley. But he makes the most fearsome noises in 'is sleep sometimes, and then 'e wakes 'imself, and won't go back to bed for the rest o' the night. Dudley says it must be from things that Mr. Gentry remembers from..." Pausing, Harriet glanced at Lottie warily.

"From his days in the underworld?" Lottie asked calmly. "Yes, I am aware of Mr. Gentry's criminal past."

"'E weren't a criminal, miss. Not 'xactly. 'E was a thief-taker. But 'e owned a flash house near Fleet Ditch, and 'e was put in the stone jug a time or two."

"Imprisoned, you mean?"

Harriet nodded, adding with a boastful note in her voice, "Escaped twice, Mr. Gentry did. They say there's not a prison that can 'old 'im. The second time, 'e was weighted wiv three 'undred pounds o' chains, right in the Devil's Closet, in the center o' Newgate. An' 'e slipped out an' shuttered off easy as ye please."

Lottie was not surprised by the information, knowing what she did of Gentry's unusual agility, physical strength, and wily nature. Perhaps the image of her soon-to-be husband as a hardened criminal should have alarmed her, but instead it was oddly reassuring. She was more convinced than ever that he would not be intimidated or easily outwitted by Lord Radnor. He was quite possibly the best protection she could have enlisted.