Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  “Kit. You’re still here. “ She suddenly remembered her plans. “Will you kiss me?” she asked.

  “Here? Now?” His eyes widened, becoming more green than brown.

  “I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed out, cursing herself silently for her habit of speaking before she thought. “I just…well, I just want to see how you do it.”

  He looked amused. “Like anyone else does it, I imagine.”

  He was wrong, so wrong, about that. As he moved closer, the little bubbles began dancing in her stomach.

  He was very, very wrong.

  His gaze locked on hers, now purest green with only flecks of brown. Flecks she was close enough to see. Though his scent wasn’t heavy, it still overwhelmed her—that woodsy perfume mixed with the clean sweat of hard, honest work.

  “Are you certain you want a kiss now?” he teased. “Right here, in front of the entire court?”

  “Haven’t you heard?” another man cut in. “Our Lady Rose quite enjoys kissing.”

  Startled, Rose turned to find Lord Davenport standing behind her. She’d kissed him earlier and been disappointed, but at least he’d had good manners.

  “Greetings, my sweet Lady Rose,” he said and kissed her again, right there—as Kit had said—in front of the entire court.

  It was a chaste kiss. But it snapped Rose out of her trance. What had she been thinking, asking Kit Martyn—a common architect!—for a kiss before England’s finest?

  “Thank you,” she told Lord Davenport, meaning it. If only she liked kissing him, she would give him another for saving her from humiliation.

  “My pleasure,” the man said, reaching for her again.

  Hearing a throat clear, she turned back to Kit.

  But he was gone. The Duke of Bridgewater was there instead. “Ah, Lady Rose. You promised me this dance, if I’m remembering right?”

  She hadn’t, but before she could say so he was leading her away. Lord Davenport just shrugged. Apparently he didn’t feel up to challenging the duke.

  “I don’t like seeing other men kiss you,” Gabriel said.

  “Then don’t look,” she suggested, laughing when he began to protest. “I didn’t encourage him,” she told him.

  “Shall I call him out, then?”

  “Gemini, no!” She laughed again, furtively searching for Kit. He was nowhere to be found. “Lord Davenport isn’t worth your time, your grace.”

  The duke’s pretty blue eyes sparkled, telling her he liked hearing that.

  They danced an almain and once again received jealous glances from men and ladies alike. Gabriel was a perfect gentleman. But after the dance, when he contrived to draw her behind the curtains, she sighed.

  If only she enjoyed his kisses instead of dreading them, life would be so much better.

  They weren’t the only couple in the big bay window. In one corner, a man had his hand down the front of a lady’s bodice, and if Rose could judge from the woman’s moans, she was enjoying his attentions very much. As she watched, Rose felt her own breasts begin to tingle, and a strange, lazy warmth stole through her body, weakening her knees. She licked her lips, imagining a man doing that to her.

  But the man wasn’t Gabriel.

  “Don’t look,” he whispered, turning her to face the other corner.

  There, a man had his hand up a lady’s skirts! The lady had raised one of her legs and wrapped it around his. Rose suddenly pictured one of the engravings in Ellen’s book.

  She needed air.

  “I wish to go outdoors,” she told Gabriel.

  “Excellent idea. There’s a distinct lack of privacy in this area.”

  She hadn’t meant with him; she’d submitted to four of his kisses tonight, and she didn’t intend to allow a fifth. Not until she’d kissed Kit again and figured out how to teach the duke to kiss her better.

  As they emerged from behind the curtains, Rose looked around for rescue, relieved to meet the gaze of Viscount Hathersham. She’d kissed him, too, and from what she could remember, it hadn’t been that bad. At least not bad enough that she couldn’t risk encouraging him a little if it might save her from another private outing with the duke.

  “Lord Hathersham!” she called, waving him closer. “I completely forgot that I’d promised you the next dance.”

  She hadn’t, of course, but thankfully he wasn’t dim enough to say so. He bowed and took her by the hand, raising it to his lips. His kiss was a bit more blubbery than she’d remembered, but at least it was to her hand, not her mouth. “The next dance will be my pleasure, Lady Rose. And well worth the wait.”

  As they moved toward the dance floor, Rose sent Gabriel what she hoped he would take as an apologetic glance.

  “I never asked you to dance,” the viscount said in a low tone that she imagined he thought was seductive.

  “Well, you should have,” she told him with a smile.

  “You feel we two are suited, then?”

  “For a dance.”

  Though a vigorous country dance would have been more to her liking, the musicians had chosen a minuet. As the dancers went to their toes, the viscount pulled Rose near. “I’m hoping I can persuade you we’re suited for more than a dance.” One of his hands slipped around her and rested on the small of her back. “You move nicely,” he said.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  “I have nice moves as well.” When she tried to gain some distance, he pressed her even closer. “Especially,” he added, “in bed.”

  She forced a girlish giggle. “Oh, my lord! There’s no bed here at court.”

  “We can find one,” he murmured as his hand slid down to her bottom. And pinched.

  “My lord!” She twisted subtly out of his embrace, not wanting to make a scene. “That isn’t appropriate,” she told him in a voice colder than the ice sculpture that decorated the refreshment table.

  “But, my lady—”

  “Hush up and dance!”

  She held herself in check, though she wanted to rant and rave—and perhaps bash him over the head with something good and heavy. The Chinese vase on that silver table would do nicely.

  The nerve of him, touching her bottom!

  When the dance ended, she muttered a stiff “Thank you, my lord,” and took off for the solitude of the terrace.

  Twenty-Five

  “SHE’S DISTRESSED,” Lady Trentingham said, standing with Kit in a dark corner of the drawing room. “And she’ll be alone out there on the terrace. Go to her.”

  “I’d wager she won’t be alone for long,” Kit predicted. A safe bet, given the Duke of Bridgewater was meandering toward the door already.

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate you taking her away from here.”

  “Away?” Rose’s mother never failed to surprise him.

  A short laugh escaped her lips—or maybe it was a snort. “Not for the night—just for an hour. You can find solitude, yes? You know this castle better than anyone.” She gave him a little push. “Now, go. I’ll keep an eye on Ellen.”

  He went, quickly, feeling like a poltroon as he elbowed his way past the more sedate duke and handily beat him outdoors. This entire courtship was beyond humiliating. Lady Trentingham had made it clear she approved of him pursuing her daughter, and he shouldn’t be needing her encouragement—or worse, her nagging—to make each and every move.

  He’d always gone after what he wanted with no holds barred, and from now on, he promised himself, he’d do the same with Rose.

  Silhouetted in the moonlight, she stood at the edge of the terrace, gazing over the darkened Thames Valley.

  “Rose,” he called softly as he approached.

  She started, then turned, looking amused. “Kit? You always turn up.”

  A glance back told him the duke had made it out to the terrace. “Would you fancy a stroll?” he asked her quickly. Without waiting for a reply, he began walking.

  She followed without hesitation. “Where would you take me?”

  “Around the c
ourtyards, or—”

  “Lady Rose!”

  “It’s Bridgewater,” she whispered, walking faster. “Ignore him.”

  “Don’t you like him?”

  “Of course I like him! He’s a duke!” She sped up, walking amazingly quickly considering her high heels. “I just need to leave court for a while, that’s all.”

  Her mother really was quite perceptive. “And why is that?” he asked, steering her around a corner.

  “I’m making a fool of myself here,” she said with a sigh, never one to mince words. “I wish to break the cycle.”

  He laughed, then glanced back. Thankfully, they seemed to have lost the duke. “A fool?” he said. “I think not. It’s quite obvious all the men like you.”

  He hadn’t enjoyed watching that popinjay kiss her.

  “And all the ladies hate me.” He could hear the pout in her voice.

  “They’re only jealous,” he soothed.

  “I know that.”

  As he led her through a small courtyard, he laughed again, enjoying her candor.

  “They’re vulgar bores, anyway,” she declared. “But a woman needs friends. I miss my sisters. I enjoyed talking with Ellen.”

  “She enjoyed you, too. She’s in a much better mood now. Thank you for that.”

  She waved a hand. “I cannot think what I did, besides possibly offer friendship.”

  “She needs friends, too. Of late, she spends all her time with that man.” He steered her around the Round Tower. “What was the title of the book she brought along?”

  “I won’t know until I translate it,” Rose said glibly.

  So glibly he suspected it was a fib. That book was making him more and more curious.

  She stopped before the castle gate and turned to face him. Torchlight danced over her fine features, highlighting her puzzled smile and the charming little indents it made in her cheeks.

  “Where are we going?” she asked.

  He hadn’t known, but now he did. “To the river, if it pleases you.”

  Although Lady Trentingham had suggested he take her daughter to a secluded part of the castle, surely the river would do as well.

  Twenty-Six

  ROSE KNEW SHE shouldn’t have left the castle, especially with a man. But she’d wanted so much to escape. And Kit was a friend.

  She’d never had a male friend before.

  “It’s quiet out here,” she said.

  “Unlike your friends at court, most folks rise with the dawn and seek their beds when the sun sets.”

  “I guess that’s why none of the windows are lit.” The hill was steep, the uneven cobblestones treacherous. “It’s so dark.” A little wobble in her voice matched a sudden lurch in her gait.

  He reached to steady her. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”

  “No,” she snapped, then added, “Well, maybe. A little,” when she caught him looking at her sideways.

  What was it about this man that made her spill her most embarrassing secrets?

  She waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. “I’d know the way with my eyes closed,” he said. “Here, take my hand.”

  She did, though she knew she shouldn’t be doing that either. But Kit’s fingers felt good linked with hers, comforting instead of intimidating. His skin felt warm, his palm rougher than those of the other men who’d touched her tonight. Work worn, she supposed. And while she was holding his hand, the night didn’t seem quite as dark.

  At the bottom of the hill, rowdy laughter drifted from a tavern called Bel and the Dragon. The sound of common men thick with drink. Kit was common, too, but for now she didn’t care. It was peaceful here, away from court. And no one was threatening to kiss her.

  Not even the man she wished would.

  When they reached Kit’s house and he turned and started up the steps, Rose pulled her hand from his. “You said we were going to the river.”

  “We’re stopping here only a minute.” He fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door; it was late enough that Graves wasn’t there to open it. “Wait here,” Kit whispered, ushering her into the entry. A single oil lamp burned on the small marble-topped table. “I’ll be right back.”

  Hugging herself, she watched him walk deeper into the house. Through an open window, more laughter floated from the river, faint and joyous. People celebrating on a barge, she imagined.

  She didn’t have to wait long. A minute later Kit was back, a cloth sack in one hand and a cloak in the other. “Ellen’s,” he explained. “I thought you might be cold.”

  He moved close and settled it over her shoulders, wrapping her in its warmth. Fine gray wool with black and silver braid, it was much heavier than her own velvet one and smelled faintly of Ellen, a light, carefree fragrance compared to her own heavier perfume. But Kit being so near, his own scent seemed stronger—woodsy, masculine, and heady enough to overwhelm her.

  She was on the verge of asking for a kiss again when he stepped away.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly as he guided her back outdoors. “It was very kind of you to take me for a walk. Away from…all that.”

  “I needed a break from my work. And now that I’ve taken it, I’m realizing I’ll be needing sleep soon, too.”

  Ellen was counting on that, Rose thought, wondering why she felt disloyal. Whose side was she on regarding this brother–sister tug of war? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that right here, right now, she was in the right place.

  The streets were deserted this time of night, the river slow and dark, the moon illuminating its ripples. Kit guided her past the bridge that led to Eton, its shops dark and shuttered. They came to a wooden gate with white lettering that gleamed in the moonlight. “Romney Walk,” Rose read aloud.

  The gate creaked when Kit opened it. “There’s a place near Trentingham named Romney as well, isn’t there?”

  “There are many such places, I believe.” Beyond the gate, the path angled closer to the river. Although the moon provided enough light that she could trod the packed dirt without tripping, she allowed Kit to keep a steadying hand on her elbow. “The word derives from a Saxon word, rumnea, meaning water.”

  He looked at her with admiration. “You know ancient languages, too?”

  She smiled, liking that look. She couldn’t remember a man ever admiring her for more than her appearance.

  It was the difference between a suitor and a friend.

  “No, Rand told me about that. I’m not so much interested in old tongues—I’d rather learn languages I can use someday when I travel. What’s in the sack?”

  “Bread. For the swans.” Several had been following them as they walked, gliding soundlessly on the water. One of them honked now, as though he’d heard Kit and knew food was in the offing. “I thought you might like to feed them.”

  “It would never occur to me to bring bread. Lily would think like that.”

  “She loves animals, doesn’t she?”

  “Almost as much as she loves Rand.”

  She wondered what her sister was doing this evening. In the middle of the night, so soon after her wedding…Rose was afraid she knew. She’d lay odds Lily was doing those things that were still a mystery to her, those things that she feared would be distasteful…except when she thought about doing them with the man here with her now.

  She released a long sigh. “Lily is nice to everyone and everything, human and animal alike. I could never live up to her perfection.”

  “No one’s perfect, Rose. Not Lily or anyone else.” He reached into the sack and handed her a few cubes of stale bread. “Shall we sit?”

  The bank rose here, forming a little grassy hill that overlooked the river. Rose lowered herself to the springy ground, tucking Ellen’s cloak beneath her. She tossed a bread cube out on the water and watched the swans rush to gobble it. “I wonder what it is about you that makes me so glib,” she mused.

  He sat beside her. “You don’t seem tongue-tied with anyone else.”

  She
blushed, thankful for the cover of darkness. “I don’t generally admit to people that I’m imperfect.”

  “I hesitate to disillusion you,” he said wryly, “but I imagine they could figure that out without you informing them.”

  Laughing, she shoved at his shoulder and tossed more bread. Swans honked, demanding still more. Across the river, a tiny bridge was barely visible over small rapids gleaming white in the moonlight. The sounds of running water were soothing.

  After a moment of silence, Kit reached over and took her hand. When she didn’t pull away, he raised it to his mouth and pressed his warm lips to the back.

  She knew she shouldn’t allow it. But his kiss on her hand felt different from Lord Hathersham’s, so different it made her shiver.

  “Are you cold?” he asked.

  “No. Will you kiss me?”

  “Shy as usual,” Kit teased, sounding pleased as he reached for her.

  Her heart began pounding. “I don’t mean…” Agitated, she scrambled to her feet. “Good God, I just want to see how you do it.”

  He rose and moved close. “Like any other man, as I told you.” With a hand beneath her chin, he tilted her face up and leaned near. His warm breath brushed her lips. “A kiss is a kiss.”

  “Oh, no,” she breathed. “It isn’t.”

  Then she couldn’t say more, because his mouth had met hers.

  She tried to concentrate on his technique. But as his work-roughened hands cupped her face, as his gentle pressure turned into more, as the kiss deepened and his tongue tangled with hers, she couldn’t seem to think straight.

  Was he more tender? Not really—and not at all when the caress turned more demanding. Was he more skilled? She had to think so, but she couldn’t discern how. Did he taste different? Well, certainly. He tasted like Kit, only Kit…the most divine flavor ever to grace her lips.

  She heard a moan and realized it was hers, and then she couldn’t think at all. She could only feel. A wonderful heat began spreading through her. She wound her arms around Kit’s neck and threaded her fingers into his hair, pressing her body against his. It seemed she could feel his pulse, his lifeblood, beating in tandem with hers. A perfect moment.