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 in one corner, sitting on its edge. "I can arrange that for you, however, if that is what you wish."
Molly joined him, standing before him. He glanced up at her, his long locks mussed with a little curl. He looked vulnerable all of a sudden, and something in her chest ached. She reached out, running her hands over his unshaven jaw, reveling in the feel of his short whiskers. "Are you trying to tempt me to stay in Rome with this bath that I have at my disposal whenever I wish?"
He shrugged, a teasing grin upon his lips. "Is it working?"
Molly looked over her shoulder at the water. The bath looked deep and clean, and so appetizingly warm. It had been so very hot in Rome, and she would revel in bathing. She went over to the bath, looking over her shoulder and meeting Hugh's gaze. He was watching her, a hungry light in his eyes that made her stomach clench. She wanted him to look at her like he wanted to consume her and gorge on every piece of her body. The thought of him, kissing her the way he did in the carriage, of having him take her, left her aching.
Perhaps she ought to jump in the cool bath instead. All his deliciousness was making her discombobulated.
"Can you help me with my buttons?"
His eyes flashed with need, and without hesitation, he stood, striding toward her like a Roman warrior heading to war. Molly looked at the water, steeling herself for his touch on her back. And then it was there, the slip of his fingers upon her gown. He made short work of the buttons that ran down her back.
As the last button on her gown let go, Molly brought up her hands to clasp the front of her dress. Hugh did not stop there. His fingers slid down atop her bottom, the tug of the drawstrings on her corset making her wobble. She bit her lip and closed her eyes, forcing herself not to turn around. Should she do so, she would be lost, and she could not do that. For as much as she had come to realize that she wanted Hugh, wanted him to want her to stay, possibly marry her if that was where he thought their friendship was heading, she could not give herself unless the words were spoken.
At least she did not have the worry that he was merely a wealthy lord looking for a little entertainment while she was in Rome. His being untitled suited her, and she liked that he was a self-made man, had not inherited his fortune from his parents.
"What is it that you do here in Rome, Mr. Armstrong? You have not told me."
His fingers slipped between the laces, working their way up her back. "I grow wine on my country estate here in Italy, and I dabble in the shipping of goods back and forth from India and England. I've been fortunate that I'm not beholden to anyone, and I live a comfortable life here in Rome."
"Your parents, are they still alive?" Not that she wanted to intrude or seem ungracious, but she was curious. For as much as she longed to turn about and crawl into his arms and stay there forever, they did not know much about each other’s lives. If she were to stay in Rome, if he did happen to ask for her hand, they ought to know everything there was to know.
"No, unfortunately, my father passed some years ago and my mother more recently. I was not there for her passing, not that she would wish for me to be."
Molly frowned, a pang of sadness swamping her at the pain she heard in his voice. She turned, staring up at him and wishing she could make the memories of his parents happy ones, just as hers were for her own.
"You were not close? I'm sorry if you were not."
He sighed, running a hand over his jaw before striding toward the door. "I am not. My mother made it clear when I left England that I was not needed or wanted there. I thought it would be contradictory to both our true feelings should I try and be there when she passed. I was correct when she wrote to me, telling me she did not regret her decision of years before."
For all of Hugh's words, there was something within his eyes, a pain hidden from those around him. He was not as immune to this hurt as he stated. The tightness of his mouth told her that no matter what his mother had said, her child had wished it otherwise. He wanted his mother's love, just as all children do, whether they receive it or not.