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“Does it?” she asked, and she sounded almost shy.
Letty took a deep breath. “It is functional and pretty.”
“You think I am pretty?”
“Beautiful.” The light in her eyes warmed Letty. “I haven’t shown you the best part yet.”
She leaned over and turned on the faucet with a flick of her wrist.
The duchess’s mouth dropped open. “Why, it’s almost automatic.”
“Wait for it,” Letty urged her and watched for the instant that the duchess realized that the water was not only portable, but steam was billowing from it.
“It’shot!” Delighted, she stuck a finger into the stream but drew it back with a gasp and brought it to her mouth to blow cool air onto it.
The bathtub had been a mistake, Letty thought now, looking at it. Large enough for two or even three, it was roomy and romantic. Watching the duchess blow gently on her finger made her think very illicit thoughts indeed.
Despite her best intentions, she didn’t know if she would be able to keep her hands to herself. Not when the duchess looked as pleased as punch at what Letty had designed. It made Letty want to give her everything for the reward of that smile.
This was playing with fire. It was too bad that her good intentions were lodged so firmly in her head, when it was other parts of her that were at risk of going up in flames. Flirting to ease the heat was self-preservation.
She managed a cocky grin. “Now you’ve seen miracles and wonders. The workmen tell me this is the very first hot water installation in all of London, and you have the very first water closet as well, over there.” She pointed to a discreet alcove tucked in thecorner. “The privilege of working on behalf of a duchess is that there have been no shortages of people petitioning me to show their innovations to you.”
A shadow crossed over her face. “It’s endless.”
“I’m sure it is. But this invention is useful. Think of how amazing it would be, if you supported them and they were able to bring their wares to more households. Imagine—anyone having the power to have hot water on command!”
Letty would like it for her own home. One nice thing about working on Hawthorne House was that she could cram it full of her wildest fantasies and then live vicariously through the duchess’s experience of them.
She stole a look at the duchess, who was testing out the water faucets again.
Wildest fantasies, indeed.
* * *
The carriage turned down a street lined with narrow townhouses and tradesmen’s shops, and Anne resisted the urge to press her face against the window to see the neighborhood where Miss Barrow spent her time.
The driver rapped on the door next to the entrance to a furniture shop, and soon enough the bright winter sun sparkled on Miss Barrow’s silver-shot brown braids. Anne waved and was pleased to see Miss Barrow smile before she hurried into the carriage.
“Have you come all this way to drive with me back to the estate?” she asked. “I should run back inside and fetch my sketchbook.”
“I thought to do things out of the ordinary today. You like to encourage me to be away from the house, so I wondered if I might come to yours and we could talk.”
Talking was all she meant. But when she saw Miss Barrow’s pink tongue lick her lower lip, she knew it to be a lie. Talking wasn’t all she wanted.
Miss Barrow smiled. “Please do come in.” She leapt down the steps that the driver put at the door of the carriage and heldout an ungloved hand to support Anne. Anne clasped it harder than the situation warranted, but she wanted that hand on her anywhere she could get it, even if it was only offered in such innocent circumstances.
She followed Miss Barrow up a flight of stairs, then into a small parlor where embers glowed from the remnants of a fire. Anne was reluctant to shed the warmth of her pelisse, but there was no other option if she wished to be polite. Her reward was immediate when Miss Barrow stepped behind her and eased the pelisse from her shoulders, the ghost of her breath on her neck as she drew it down her arms and away from her body.
Anne shivered a little, but not so much from the chill as from the look in Miss Barrow’s eyes. It was an all-knowing sort of look, one corner of her mouth raised in that little half smile that she was starting to adore.
“I wanted to speak with you in private,” Anne said, sitting down in a comfortable but worn armchair. “I wrote to Hawthorne last week and told him about the renovation. I said he was not to return.”
Miss Barrow’s eyes widened. “Well done, Your Grace! There is no turning back now.”
“I feel changed,” she said. She felt bold and breathless. “I didn’t expect to.”
“Articulating something can give it power,” Miss Barrow said.
