saw their interaction or the closeness of their friendship. She had not done anything so very wrong. A kiss was not the end of her reputation or the end of the world. And it was not like Miss Sinclair was not embarking on a love affair of her own. "We shall see, will we not?"
"We will," he said, kissing her hand and throwing her a wink.
Chapter 7
Late that evening, a knock sounded on her bedroom door and, having dismissed Miss Sinclair some hours before, Molly slid from atop her bed where she had been reading, placing the book down before seeing who was there.
She cracked the door but an inch and fought back the urge to grin like a silly nincompoop. "Mr. Armstrong. Is anything wrong?" she asked, opening the door farther and checking up and down the hall that there was no emergency he was waking her for.
"Not at all. I wanted to show you something in the villa that I have recently had restored. I think you shall enjoy it."
"Really?" Intrigued, Molly stepped out into the hall and shut her door. Hugh held out his arm, and she took it willingly, any excuse to touch him, and she would. When she returned to London, she would miss him dreadfully.
After they had dined together, her mind had raced all evening with what he could mean by trying to persuade her to stay. Did he intend to ask her to marry him? If he did, would she say yes? Molly glanced at him quickly, knowing full well the answer to her question. Oh yes, she would marry him without a second thought.
Even knowing him so little, he made her blood sing, her body yearn and no one, not in all the years she'd treaded the ballroom floors in London, had reacted so to a man.
They made their way through the villa through the atrium and out into the courtyard. Sconces burned against the villa's walls and lanterns lit the garden paths, lighting their way. They headed in the direction of a room that had an oiled wooden door leading into it. Many such rooms ran about the villa walls, and Molly was yet to see what was in those spaces, but this one's door looked repaired and varnished.
"It's inside here." He turned to watch her a moment, and before she knew what he was about, he stole a kiss. Molly tried to make it linger, but instead, he grinned, turned, and threw the door open.
Molly gasped, stepping into the warm, tiled room that had an arched ceiling. She could not believe what she was seeing. It was as if she were stepping back two millennia to Roman times. The room held two deep, tiled pools in the center of the space, sconces burned on each wall, and what looked to be steam coming up from one of the pools made the water inviting.
"Is this a bathhouse?" she queried, taking in the painted mosaics on the wall that although were new, were of scantily clad men and women enjoying baths such as the ones that sat before them.
"It is. Rome used to have hundreds of them as you would know, and this villa had a derelict, ruined one when I bought it. I've had it restored and have had the hypocaust under the floors cleaned out and rebuilt. The hot air that flows beneath the caldarium or hot bath is heated by coal and warms the floor and water. The frigidarium or cold bath I put in myself, the room did not have one. This bath was located in the room next door, but I needed space for servants’ quarters and so placed it in here as well. But of course, there is no heating system beneath this bath."
He took her hand, pulling her toward the steaming-hot bath. "I thought you might like to bathe. Alone, of course," he said, grinning wickedly and making her body hum. "You may use the room whenever you like."
Molly didn't know a great deal about history and had learned much more from listening to Hallie and her many travels. However, one thing she did know about Roman baths was what happened to the person after they bathed. "You do not have a servant who rubs you down with oils after your bath, Mr. Armstrong?" Molly couldn't help but chuckle at her teasing. For a moment, Hugh looked a little shocked by her words.
"I do not. No." He moved over to a nearby daybed that sat