“But with all this chaos. The sawed carriage wheel has yet to be investigated. Where was the carriage, who was near it today? Then there is the problem of Anthony’s murdered assistant, the two highwaymen. How can a relationship develop?”
Aunt Margaret displayed a playful grin. “Courage and perseverance are the magic amulet before which complications disappear and obstacles vanish into air.”
“I wish I had your confidence.”
Aunt Margaret snorted, “Doesn’t everyone.”
Chapter Thirteen
Would it work?Rachel placed her hands on her hips. A week of labor had gone into her project. Her masterpiece was complete. A maid scurried in, depositing an armload of towels, soaps and fragrance oils to stock the new bathing chamber. Rachel shooed the curious maid and workmen away, locking the door behind them. She bit her lip. The initial test had to be performed alone.
A bronzed cistern filled with water had been positioned to the rear of the kitchen fireplace. Cook tended the duo-functioned fire that allowed her to heat the cistern water and to cook the meals for the day. Due to the Duke’s insistence and largesse, Rachel had improved her earlier pump design. A kitchen boy, employed to work the copper and elm chain pump, stood at the ready. She tapped the pipe, sound waves, traveled down the installed conduits to the kitchen, signaling the pumping to start. She held her breath.Please work. Please work.
Crackle. Glug. Whoosh.Like magic, water sluiced into the tub from the blacksmith crafted, copper spouts. She clapped her hands together, pure joy erupted from the bottom of her toes, bubbled in her stomach to the top of her head.
What a shame Anthony was not there to share in her triumph. But, he had been warned away and everyone had been sworn to secrecy until she had worked out any flaws. Her pride was at stake. He was taking it very bad, like a bear with a thorn in its paw, complaining no one was helping him in the lab. The cook had even caught him snooping in the kitchen.
How she missed his strong arms about her, wanting him morning, noon and night. How many times had she fantasized kissing him, smelling his hair, the touch of his breath on her face…his hands on her? She wiped her damp palms on her skirts. A longing grew like she never felt before. She shook her head. No.Do not yearn for what you cannot have.
When the tub filled sufficiently, she tapped the copper pipe, signaling the pumping to cease. Her footsteps amplified across the marble floor as she walked around, admiring the tempting copper gleaming tub. This was her child, her design. Why not try it out?Should she?Rachel swished her hand through the warm water, the temptation drawing on her like the earth’s gravitational force. She glanced at the window, the door, and a smile formed when she touched the water again, and a small moan escaped. In seconds, she unfastened her dress, undid her laces, and took off her stockings.
Her dress fell to her ankles in a soft hush. After pinning up her thick hair, she stepped into the tub, lowering herself, and allowed the fragrant water to lap about her shoulders. At last, she picked up a cake of lavender and lemon balm soap and smoothed the satiny bar over her skin. The scent wafted, lulling her as she rested her head against the tub. How she wished she could stay here longer. A lot longer when she thought of Anthony and their passionate kisses.
Her heart sank. In a short time, she would voyage to Lisbon, Portugal, a neutral port for American and British ships. Her three months were over. Ethan would pick her up for the long voyage back to Boston. Aunt Margaret and the Duke had begged her stay. But the only thing more inconceivable than leaving was staying. And the only thing more unbearable than staying was leaving. To watch Anthony court and walk another woman down the aisle? The inevitable was intolerable. To think of him in another woman’s arms was unbearable. But his life was hammered in stone, that he must marry, and he needed someone to enhance the ducal titlenot a Colonial.
She lifted a leg above the water to rub the soap all the way down to her toes. She tapped the pipe again and the pump started with a fresh stream of hot water. She dropped her head back, reclining against the tub again and closed her eyes, basking in the added warmth.
It was just the barest hint of cool air. A booted heel scraped against the floor. Rachel’s eyes flew open, and she jumped, water sloshing over the tub.
Anthony.
Scrambling upright, her heart skipped a beat, as she tried to arrive at a position of modesty, clasping her arms tight around her legs to hide her nudity. She tapped the pipe to stop the pumping from below to stop the overflow. “I locked the door.”
“I’m a scientist. Don’t you think I could pick a locked door? Clever mechanism,” he praised, although he wasn’t studying the tub as much as he was studying her.
He moved around the tub, his eyes staring down on her from his towering height. Regardless of the soap clouded water, could he see the flesh that shivered just beneath the surface? The notion sent bolts of heat and mortification through her.
“Clever, your use of hydraulics in the ship’s pump to send the water up to the second floor.”
“I left express orders that you were not to see my work until it was completed.”
“But the device is complete and looking very well.”
She narrowed her eyes with his double entendre. “Out! I’m indecent.”
He ran his long-tapered fingers along the edge of the tub. “And leave an exciting innovation without examination? Wouldn’t think of it.”
She sank deeper into the water, her rapid breaths creating ripples in the water. “You are being provocative.”
“Provocative is not helping me in my laboratory. Provocative is usurping my blacksmith.”
So, it was to be a contest of wills. He would not win. Or could he? She stiffened her spine and lifted her chin. Careful. Plan a line of attack. “Blame your sister who corresponded the details of my invention. Your father,” she cleared her throat for emphasis, “requested my engineering talents.” A twinge of guilt followed, pitting father against son. This was war.
He still had the ever-present stubble across his face, giving him a rakish looka battle he did win with his valet. Sunlight from the stained glass window above haloed him, casting him in an aura of gold. Even his thick ebony hair seemed bronzed as he leaned down to grip each side of the tub. His white shirt tucked into his fawn breeches, clung to powerful thighs, the corded muscles rippling beneath, in what could be considered indecent. Primitive.
He did not fit the formula of a scientist today. No. His posture, awareness, and confidence belied undertones of a man who always achieved what he wanted. She needed a maneuver to get him to leave. This was the other side of Anthony. The dangerous side of him. The side she had seen when he had made Sir Bonneville impotent, and again, when he dispatched the highwaymen. Her heart stopped in her throat. What kind of trouble would he cause her? She clenched and unclenched her hands with the set of events that put her at his mercy.
Never had she felt so exposed and vulnerable.
