Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  “Why do you kiss me, Rose?” he demanded softly.

  Realizing she definitely had more to think about than just the Duke of Bridgewater, she took a ragged breath. “You’re very good at kissing.”

  The tension eased from his face, and his sudden grin flashed white in the night. “I like a woman who says what she thinks.”

  His hands slid from her shoulders down her arms, slowly…slowly. She held her breath until he locked his fingers with hers.

  “I’m good at other things, too,” he said.

  When he drew on both her hands, she didn’t have to sway forward. But she did, landing against his solid chest. A warm shiver rippled through her. “Show me what you’re good at,” she whispered.

  “My forthright Rose.” He searched her eyes for a moment, so intense she’d swear she saw glints of green even in the darkness. “I’ll show you,” he promised right before his mouth met hers.

  Heat that had simmered all through supper burst into flame now. His kiss was wild and demanding, and she gave as good as she got. Somewhere in the back of her mind she despaired of ever finding this with anyone else, but as their tongues tangled, all thought fled, replaced by fiery sensation.

  “You’re a quick study,” he murmured appreciatively, trailing his lips beneath her chin and backing her up to a bench as he went. They both sank down to it, Rose sprawled wantonly with Kit half on top of her. He unfastened her cloak and grazed the tops of her breasts, first with his hands, then his mouth. Her shiver had nothing to do with the cool night air. His touch was magic.

  Laced tightly into her bodice, her breasts ached. Remembering how the ladies behind the curtain in the King’s Drawing Room seemed to enjoy having men touch them, she reached to unfasten her stomacher.

  “I want you to touch me,” she whispered.

  “Here?” He skimmed a finger inside her neckline.

  She trembled. “Yes, there.”

  While she worked the tabs, he pressed little kisses to her cheeks, across her forehead, on the tip of her nose.

  “Kit,” she breathed.

  “Let’s take these off, too.” He slipped the rubies and pearls from her lobes and whisked them into his pocket. “I don’t remember you wearing earrings.”

  Finished with the stomacher, she attacked the laces beneath. “They were a gift from Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel?” His mouth moved to where the jewelry had been, suckling her soft flesh. “The angel?” he whispered in her ear.

  “The duke. Bridgewater.” She could melt, she thought. She could melt right here.

  “The man has taste,” he said dryly. “I’ll give him that.”

  “I chose them.”

  “I should have known.” He chuckled, a burst of warm air beneath her ear. She’d never dreamed the skin there was so sensitive.

  Then her bodice was open, and he cupped a breast and rubbed a thumb over the peak. “Good God,” she murmured, arching up.

  “I told you I was good,” he allowed. “But God?”

  She was beyond finding humor in anything he said, beyond anything but reveling in these new sensations. Now she knew why the ladies at court liked this. Kit’s caresses sent currents racing through her, made her pulse speed, incited a heaviness low in her belly. A warmth that turned into a searing heat when he replaced his hand with his mouth.

  Her fingers clenched in his hair, holding his head captive. “More,” she whispered.

  “More?” Licking his way to her other breast, he lavished it with similar attention. She pressed her mouth to the top of his head and moved her hands to explore his back. Hard planes with ridges of muscles; the body of a working man.

  She hadn’t really touched Gabriel, but somehow she knew he’d be soft.

  She shoved both hands under Kit’s surcoat and pulled at his shirt, wrenching the bottom from his breeches. As her fingers worked beneath it to encounter bare flesh, he responded with a low groan. “Rose…”

  “More.” He was warm, so much warmer than she. Firm. Her palms burned against his skin.

  “More?” he asked.

  “More.”

  He lightly bit a nipple, at the same time reaching down to encircle one of her ankles with a hand.

  What, she wondered dizzily, was so erotic about an ankle? And one covered by a stocking, no less? She didn’t know, couldn’t know, but his fingers around her leg seemed to shoot heat up higher, while the suckling on her breast drove her to the point of distraction.

  She was melting inside. “A thing of beauty,” she breathed aloud.

  “Oh, yes.” While his lips trailed up to kiss her mouth, his hand slid up too, a breath-stealing glide over silk. And higher, over her garter, his tongue tracing her lips while his hand skimmed warm on her thighs.

  All her air rushed out in a shudder. “Good God.”

  And higher, until he cupped where her ache was suddenly centered.

  The ache was more than an ache; it was a need, an all-consuming need so exquisite it bordered on unbearable. She felt herself damp beneath his hand, and she squirmed, wanting more. More.

  More.

  Wanting something inside her to ease that exquisite ache.

  Might he slip a finger inside? She didn’t know where such a scandalous idea had come from; surely men didn’t do such a thing. Another part of their bodies was meant to fit there.

  Words from I Sonetti flitted through her head: Such pleasure I feel with my yard in your hand, I shall explode…

  She reached to the front of his breeches.

  “Bloody hell,” he said, sitting up and jerking his hand from beneath her skirts in the process. His eyes closed momentarily, then opened as he rushed to rethread her laces. “We must go back inside.”

  She sat up, too, disoriented and bereft. “Didn’t you like that?”

  “I liked it too much.” He kissed her softly, apologetically. “You have no idea what you do to me, Rose.”

  She had an idea, because he did it to her, too.

  But she knew better than to say that aloud.

  Thirty-Four

  ROSE AND KIT returned to the house to find Chrystabel and Ellen laughing, a smudge of flour on Ellen’s nose.

  Kit stayed just long enough to down two servings of the apple fritters they’d prepared. Just long enough to lock gazes several times with Rose. Just long enough to surreptitiously touch her a few times beneath the table.

  The same fingers that were grazing her body over her gown had been under there mere minutes earlier. She could hardly believe she’d allowed it—encouraged it, truth be told—but now, recalling those shared moments, she felt that heat simmering again and felt that urgent, exquisite ache.

  The apple fritters were sweet and crispy, spiced with nutmeg, mace, and cinnamon. Yet Rose could hardly eat a bite. These were not common reactions to a friend.

  But she didn’t want anything more with Kit.

  “It was delicious,” he said at last, rising from the table. “Ellen, you can make apple fritters for me anytime. But I must leave. I’ll need to head out to Windsor very early in the morning, and I must get some sleep.”

  “I know.” Ellen’s earlier gaiety disappeared as she and Rose walked him from the dining room to the door. “You’ll be back soon?”

  “Day after tomorrow.” He stopped to kiss her on the forehead. “Be good, will you? In the meantime, I expect you to spend a lot of my money at the dressmaker’s. I trust that will give you some measure of revenge.”

  “My earrings,” Rose reminded him.

  “Oh.” He dug them out of his pocket and deliberately folded her fingers around them, holding her hand wrapped in both of his when he was finished. “I like your ears better without them.”

  Her whole body flushed with heat, remembering his mouth on her earringless ears. He gave her a smoldering look—a knowing look—before he dropped her hand.

  She expected his sister to comment. But Ellen just gave him a wan smile as he headed out the door, then sighed when his carriage rolled o
ut of the square.

  Rose drew a deep breath and released it slowly, willing her racing heart to calm. “Is something amiss?” she asked Ellen.

  “I hate it when he’s nice. It almost makes me forget that I loathe him.”

  “You don’t.”

  “Not really. I’m just…very angry with him right now. He shouldn’t have the right to dictate my life.”

  “But he does.”

  “But he shouldn’t. And it makes me sad to be at odds with him, because I know he cares underneath.”

  “Underneath? He cares every way that matters, Ellen—any fool could see it.” Just like he cared for her, Rose…any fool could see that, too. And Rose feared she was denying it much the same as Ellen.

  “Whose side are you on?” Ellen asked. “I thought we were friends. You promised to intervene on my behalf.”

  “I did. There in the square we talked of little but you and your situation.” It wasn’t quite a lie—they hadn’t talked about much else. “He doesn’t want to listen. But I’d lay odds he listens other times, your brother. He wants only what’s best for you. What he thinks is best for you.”

  “I know.” Looking very pale, Ellen sighed.

  Rose remembered Kit’s concern for his sister’s state of mind. “Shall we translate another sonnet?” she asked in an attempt to cheer her.

  Ellen perked up. “Have you made any progress?”

  “Not really. Mum and I lived in close quarters at Windsor, and when we arrived here yesterday I was fitted for new gowns and then went to bed. I needed to catch up on my sleep. Unlike your brother, I’m afraid I’m only human.”

  And she’d avoided looking at those pictures and reading those words, because they gave rise to dangerous feelings. But whatever would lighten Ellen’s mood, she was more than willing to do.

  “Come upstairs,” she invited.

  Unlike Kit, Ellen showed little interest in the house itself. Instead, she skimmed a hand over a marquetry hall table. “Thomas had something like this,” she said. And a Chinese vase. “And like this. He just sold it last week.” And a silver lantern clock. “He has something like this now.”

  Mum called to them through an open door. “Good evening.” She sniffed at a bottle and made a note on a little card. “Come in,” she urged, choosing a vial and lowering a dropper into it.

  “What’s this?” Ellen asked as they stepped into the room.

  “My mother makes perfume,” Rose explained. “This is a laboratory of sorts.” She waved at the racks of vials. “Those are her essential oils.”

  “Essential oils?”

  “Distilled from flowers. In her perfumery at Trentingham, she has a fancy still that my brother-in-law built for her. That’s where she makes the oils.”

  Squinting in the candlelight, Ellen peered at the rows of labels with their tiny, neat black lettering. “Are some of them made from herbs, too?”

  “Oh, yes,” Chrystabel said. “Many herbs make lovely top notes. Rosemary, for example, has a lavenderlike fragrance, and pennyroyal is minty—”

  “Pennyroyal?” Ellen’s head jerked up. “In perfume?”

  “Not often, but sometimes.” Chrystabel added two drops to her blend and swirled the bottle. “Do you know much about perfumes?”

  “Nothing.” Ellen’s gaze swept the assorted vials again. “Except that I like them.”

  “Shall I make a blend for you, then?” Chrystabel set down the bottle and chose an empty one. Using a little silver funnel, she poured in alcohol and water from two pewter flagons, then turned back to Ellen. “Should we start with pennyroyal?”

  “No,” Ellen said quickly. “I…” She swallowed hard. “I don’t actually care for mint.”

  Chrystabel nodded slowly. “You seem like a dreamer. A floral, then. Orange blossoms, and maybe some vanilla. Lilac, I think…” She went off into a dreamworld of her own as she concocted a mix that would fit Ellen perfectly.

  Rose chose another empty bottle.

  “I cannot believe how many oils she has,” Ellen whispered to her, as though speaking aloud would break Chrystabel’s spell.

  Rose took up the little funnel and a flagon. “She works all spring, summer, and autumn, converting the plants to oils,” she said, filling the bottle with alcohol and water. “Some oils she has to buy—as talented as my father is in his gardens, he cannot make everything grow in England.”

  Ellen’s gaze continued sweeping over the labels. “But so many. They’re not alphabetical?”

  “Good God, no. Mum just knows where to lay her hands on whatever she wants.” Rose searched for frankincense. “This is nothing, really. She has a whole little room at Trentingham where the walls are filled floor to ceiling with all her many supplies.”

  Ellen nodded distractedly.

  “What do you think?” Chrystabel asked, presenting her with the bottle.

  Ellen sniffed. “It’s lovely!”

  “A good scent can go a long way toward cheering one up.”

  So Mum had noticed Ellen’s melancholy mood, too, Rose thought. She added a few drops of myrrh to her mix and swirled it gently while her mother jotted a few notes on a card.

  “There,” Chrystabel said, looking up. Smiling at Ellen, she took the bottle from her, corked it, and handed it back. “Now I’ll be able to duplicate the scent should you wish for more later. Or we can alter the ingredients if you think you’d like something else.”

  “Oh, no, this is perfect.” Ellen smiled, but Rose couldn’t help noticing it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thank you very much.”

  “You’re quite welcome, dear. I hope you’ll enjoy it.”

  Rose corked her bottle, too. “We’re going to my chamber, Mum.”

  “Good night, then.” Smiling absently, Chrystabel turned back to the perfume she’d been creating earlier.

  Rose’s bedchamber at Trentingham was hung with crimson silk, but here in town she had jewel tones—bright ruby, deep sapphire, and rich emerald. “This is beautiful,” Ellen said when they walked in.

  “Kit showed us your blue chamber when he gave us a tour of the house. It’s beautiful, too.”

  “I like it.” Though Ellen smiled, the expression quickly faded. “I suppose it’s as well, since I’ll likely live there all my days.”

  Taking Ellen’s bottle, Rose set both on her bedside table and fetched the book from where she’d hidden it beneath a pile of chemises. “Not all your days, surely.”

  “I suppose not. Just until Kit finds some hateful nobleman in need of money to marry me off to.”

  Rose sat on the bed, drawing Ellen down beside her. “He wouldn’t wed you to anyone you hated.”

  “He’s obsessed with raising our social status.” Ellen shifted to face her. “He’s convinced people judge him by that rather than his accomplishments.”

  “It’s the way of the world. But he should be proud of those accomplishments—”

  “Exactly what I tell him,” Ellen interrupted. “He shouldn’t care what people think. Do you know, I believe he doesn’t look on the Deputy Surveyor post as an accomplishment so much as a chance to be knighted. Kit really believes that people will look at him differently if there’s a Sir before his name.”

  Rose knew Ellen was waiting for her to disagree, but she couldn’t. People would look at Kit differently. Especially if he managed to impress King Charles to the point that he eventually awarded him a more prestigious title.

  She’d never thought about that possibility, but then she hadn’t known the position of Deputy Surveyor carried with it a probability of knighthood. That and more was certainly within the king’s power. If Kit were a member of the aristocracy—

  “Oh,” Ellen said suddenly, “I’m so tired of all of this.” She reached to flip open the book.

  Rose’s gaze dropped. Then her eyes widened as she read the Italian.

  “What?” Ellen turned to her, some color returning to her cheeks. “What does it say?”

  “‘Mettimi un dito—’” Ro
se started.

  “In English.”

  “Oh. Yes.” She blew out a breath. “Push a finger inside me…”

  That was a normal part of lovemaking, then? She’d believed it a figment of her imagination, entirely scandalous. And her body reacted at the mere thought of it. She felt herself dampen all over again.

  “What’s next?” Ellen asked as though it were very normal indeed.

  Rose blinked and refocused on the page. “…and then your yard, bit by bit…”

  The words made her think of Kit. Kit, who had liked it too much when she’d touched him there. Her gaze strayed to the engraving, the picture of a man kneeling between a woman’s spread thighs.

  She forced her eyes back to the text. “‘Alza ben questa gamba’…Raise my leg, and we shall play a new game…good God.”

  “Good God?”

  She looked up. “It doesn’t say that. I’m just…I’m sorry, but this is difficult. It worked much better for me when I could puzzle over it slowly and write it down.”

  “I don’t mind waiting.” Ellen, too, stared at the engraving above the sonnet, her muted words directed to the page.

  “Have you…done that?” Rose asked after a moment.

  Her friend burst into tears.

  “Gemini. I’m so sorry.” Rose turned to her, taking her hands, cursing herself for not thinking before talking—as usual. “What is it?”

  “I…” Ellen searched her eyes, her own overflowing. “I just…” She seemed to swallow past a huge lump in her throat. “I just miss Thomas, is all,” she whispered finally.

  If this was love, Rose wasn’t sure she wanted anything to do with it. Ellen looked more miserable than she’d thought possible. She’d never seen anyone so desperate—not even Lily when she feared Rand would have to marry someone else.

  “You’ll see Thomas soon,” she soothed, squeezing Ellen’s hands. “You live in Windsor, after all. Kit cannot keep you away forever. I imagine he just wanted to conduct his business there quickly and then get back to Whitehall where he’s needed.”

  “But he’s not needed at Whitehall—not anymore. The crisis has passed, and the project will go smoothly without him.”