Chase Family Collection: Limited Christmas Edition

by Lauren Royal

  He nodded. “Pounds.”

  “That’s my whole inheritance!” Perhaps it was just as well that she’d missed the gaming. “I’ve got better things to do with my money.”

  “You have big plans for it, then?”

  “Unlike my dowry, it’s mine. It won’t belong to my husband.”

  He slanted her a glance. “I’m not in need of it. I cannot speak for the duke.”

  The thought startled her. The truth was, she had no idea whether the duke was in need of funds or not. He dressed richly and had given her diamond earrings, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. For all she knew, he could owe his tailor and jeweler a fortune.

  “Well, he won’t be getting it,” she said.

  “I admire your conviction. What do you plan to do with it?”

  “Maybe I’ll give it to Ellen,” she said with a sly smile, “so she and Thomas can move their pawnshop to London.”

  “Be serious.”

  “Is this more of the getting-to-know-each-other game?”

  They’d come to the entrance of the maze. “Tell me,” he said softly.

  Her sisters had both nurtured dreams since childhood: Violet wanted to publish a philosophy book, and Lily wished to build and staff a home for stray animals. But in truth, Rose had never made such high-minded plans. She’d only ever hoped to find love and be happy.

  She’d just never dreamed that goal would prove so difficult.

  “I want to travel,” she said. “I wish to see the world.”

  “Travel can be fascinating, but it can also be tiring and tedious. Does the duke enjoy it?”

  She had no idea. In fact, she realized now, she knew little of the duke at all. They’d never had a serious conversation, never shared a confidence, never discussed likes, dislikes, values—or much of anything at all.

  But she’d spent hours talking to Kit, about anything and everything. They’d become friends before she ever kissed him. She knew he wanted to travel, to Italy and elsewhere.

  “Let’s go inside,” she said. “I’d have you show me this left-hand rule.”

  The look he gave her made it clear he knew she was avoiding his question. But he took her remaining shoe and set it down with his own things, then led her inside the tall hedge maze.

  “Put your left hand on the wall as we walk,” he instructed. “And leave it there. Just follow that left wall without breaking contact, and I guarantee you’ll find the center without getting lost. Go on,” he urged when she hesitated. “I’ll follow you.”

  Slanting him a wary glance, she did as he said, skimming her left hand along the leaves as she marched through the hornbeam hedges. When they reached a dead end, she turned on him. “It didn’t work.”

  “Keep your hand on the wall,” he repeated. “Follow it around.”

  “It’s a dead end.”

  “I didn’t say you’d never come to a dead end. I said you wouldn’t get lost.” He took her left hand, pressed a slow, warm kiss to the palm, then placed it back against the hedge. “Keep going.”

  She did, but not before releasing a long, shuddering breath. She could still feel his lips on her palm, even as she slid it along the leaves. Why had he done that?

  Had he not given up on her?

  The towering hedges made the path shady and intimate. At the second dead end, she turned to him again. “This cannot be the optimum route.”

  “Of course it isn’t.” He looked amused. “You’d have to know the pattern of the maze to take the optimum route. But this is a safe route. You won’t wander the same way twice, and you’ll find the center.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, so fast and light she wondered if she might have imagined it. “Keep going.”

  At the third dead end she turned to him once more. “This is a waste of time.”

  “Of course it’s a waste of time. It’s a maze—there are few things more frivolous.” Smiling, he trailed a finger down her cheek to her chin. A frisson of warmth followed. His thumb rubbed her bottom lip. “But there’s nothing quite so delightful as wasting time with someone you care for, is there?”

  He cared for her. What did that mean, exactly? Too tired to think straight, she held her breath as he leaned close and slowly brushed her mouth with his.

  She definitely wasn’t imagining this.

  Giddy with exhaustion, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He was right: there was nothing else quite so delightful. Forgetting that she didn’t want him, she slid into the kiss, that wonderful heat building in her, making her head feel light and her stomach flutter with excitement.

  “Keep going,” he whispered when at last he drew back.

  Dizzily she trailed a hand along the cool leaves, the trodden dirt path hard under her stockinged feet. At the next dead end, she felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her into his arms. His fingers cupped her face, and as he lowered his mouth to meet hers, his woodsy scent filled her head.

  The morning was chilly, but he was so very warm and male. He nibbled here and licked there, coaxing her lips to part. As he deepened the kiss, she surrendered all too willingly, his tongue in her mouth sending more heat spiraling through her.

  “Kit,” she murmured.

  “Hmm?” He kissed both sides of her mouth, where her dimples would be if she were smiling.

  “I think…” She was so lightheaded, her thoughts refused to come together. Was it her exhaustion or his kisses? “Let’s keep going.”

  She felt weak, so weak she could barely keep her hand to the hedges as she went along. Another dead end loomed ahead, and this time she turned to him before they even reached it.

  He laughed low, his smile as intimate as a kiss. “I think you’re enjoying this maze more than you anticipated.” He reached out to tap her mouth, traced her lips, then trailed a finger down her chin, her throat, along the edge of her low décolletage. His gaze went a glittery green as his long finger found the valley between her breasts.

  She shivered and went on her toes to press her mouth to his. It was a kiss to fall into, hungry and demanding. Her knees trembled, her throat tightened, and the heat down low grew into a burning ache. By the time he broke away, she was gasping for breath, and she couldn’t have held her hand to the wall had her life depended on it.

  He scooped her up in his arms, carried her a short distance to the center, and deposited her on a bench.

  No one had ever carried her before—at least, not since she was a small child. It was so romantic. She’d felt safe and cherished held against him, and she was sorry the experience hadn’t lasted longer.

  But she was also sorry there hadn’t been more dead ends.

  Feeling boneless, she placed her hands on either side of herself for support. The maze’s center was an oval, grassy space, a tiny hidden garden with two old trees and the bench between them, nothing more. A secret place that exuded an air of tranquility and the scents of greenery.

  Kit stood looming over her. “Told you we’d find the center.”

  She leaned back on her palms, gazing up at him. “That always works?”

  “Well, not necessarily quite so enjoyably,” he said with a grin. “But yes, it always works. From a mathematical standpoint, it must.”

  She shook her head, then stopped when it made her feel woozy. “I was never all that good at mathematics.”

  “And I cannot speak anything but English.” Stepping back, he leaned casually against one of the trees, looking wide awake and utterly handsome. “We all have our strengths, Rose. And our weaknesses. Don’t underreckon yourself.”

  “You don’t,” she said, knowing it was true.

  “I don’t what?”

  “Underreckon me.”

  “Of course I don’t. I couldn’t love a woman if I didn’t admire her as well.”

  That single syllable, love, threw her. She was reeling under Kit’s onslaught of seductive actions and words. He quite obviously hadn’t given up.

  And he admired her.

  Did sh
e admire Gabriel? She didn’t know. He’d proven himself kind and solicitous and generous, but he’d also kept a pawnbroker’s change.

  She hadn’t slept in more than a day. She was so tired and confused and dizzy. Her knees still shaky, she stood and walked to the other tree, putting the bench between herself and Kit.

  She turned away, running her fingers down the trunk, smiling dazedly at the carvings made by others who had found their way to the center. “Look at all the initials,” she said quietly. “Hundreds of them. Do you suppose all these people made it here using the left-hand rule?”

  His low laugh sounded by her ear, surprising her. “No,” he said from right behind her, his voice reawakening that heat in her middle. “I’m sure most of them were lost for hours, both on their way in and on their way back out.”

  She smiled, the only reaction she could manage at the moment. Not that it mattered, since she was facing away. “You’re fooling.”

  “Maybe. You’re tired.”

  “Definitely.”

  She felt his fingers on her face, warm and sure, slipping the diamond drop from an ear. Then his lips as he leaned close and drew her lobe into his mouth to suckle it gently. She let her head fall back against him, inhaling his scent, drawing it into her lungs as though it might sustain her.

  Maybe it could.

  “Romance,” he muttered under his breath, pulling away.

  Or at least she thought she’d heard him mutter. She straightened woozily and turned to face him. “What?”

  “Nothing.” He pulled his knife from his belt. “Who do you suppose made all these carvings?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know.”

  He moved around the tree, examining all the initials. “Do you think the king has left his mark?” He set his knife to the wood and began scratching. “Or his mistresses? Do you expect any two people have been here who fit together as perfect as we?”

  She followed him around and stopped, swaying slightly as she stared. He’d engraved RA and CM, and now he was busy surrounding both with a heart.

  Her own heart melted. “Kit,” she whispered.

  The knife dropped to the dirt as he gathered her into his arms, his mouth on hers tasting of heat and desire. Turning her, he backed her against the tree. He slid the second diamond drop from her ear and slipped it into his pocket, kissing her lobe and nipping it gently. And lower, following the line of her jaw to her throat, playing in that sensitive hollow that made her shiver.

  Wanting to taste him as he was tasting her, she raised her hands to unknot his cravat. Slowly she drew it from his neck, placing her lips where it had been as it fluttered to the ground like a white flag of surrender.

  A fitting symbol, because surrender she did.

  His skin tasted of warmth tinged with salt and Kit, a heady flavor. Her toes curled into the turf. She slipped her hands beneath his surcoat and around his waist, leaning into him, molding her body to his. She wanted this, wanted him, wanted him there where she ached.

  She raised her face for his kiss, and when he obliged her, it was a glorious sensation. But she wanted more. Her body was crying for more.

  Blindly reaching behind for his hand, she tried to bring it between them, tried to show him what she wanted. She wanted to feel him, too. She wanted to learn the shape of a man, the shape of Kit. She wanted to give him some of the incredible pleasure he’d given her in the orangery.

  But he pressed his hips hard against hers, blocking her attempt. “No,” he whispered, twisting his hand to grasp her fingers instead. He gave her another light kiss. “Not if you won’t have me.”

  Her senses were spinning, making it hard to absorb his words. “But last week—”

  “I let this go too far then, but not again. I won’t dishonor you. No.”

  “Yes…oh, yes…” Her voice went higher in her desperation. “Oh, please, Kit. I want to feel what you can do to me. I want to make you feel it, too.”

  He squeezed her hand and kissed her again, a sweet, lingering caress that left her mouth burning with desire. Then he let go of her and stepped back.

  Looking resolute, he took a big breath and blew it out. “Until you change your mind, sweetheart, you’re going to have to make do with kisses.”

  She looked away, feeling like she should say something but not knowing what.

  She’d made a complete fool of herself.

  He bent to pick up his knife.

  “My earrings,” she finally whispered tremulously.

  He dug them out of his pocket and dropped them, one by one, into her outstretched palm. “Did the duke give you these, too?” His voice was husky and as shaky as hers.

  She swallowed and nodded.

  “I’m not giving up without a fight,” he said low. “We’re too good together. I want you.”

  God help her, she wanted him, too, and not just because his touch made her forget who she was and what she was after. He was the only man she’d ever met who appreciated her for more than her beauty—who valued her for her intelligence, who was awed by her talent with languages. She wanted Kit more than she’d imagined a woman could want a man.

  But in the end, she said nothing, because a duke had offered for her hand. And risked his life defending her honor.

  How could she accept an architect over a duke?

  The diamonds felt hard in her fist. “I think we’d best go back.”

  He scooped his cravat off the ground and stuffed it into his pocket.

  She straightened her gown. “How do we get out? The right-hand rule?”

  His expression eased to the point where he almost cracked a smile. “How about the rule of knowing the way you came in?”

  “How many times have you been in this maze?”

  “Just the once. But it’s a pattern. Geometry.”

  She nodded slowly. “You’re good at geometry.”

  He met her gaze, his own steady. “If you ever give me a chance to show you, you’ll find I’m good at a lot of things. Follow me.”

  He led her out without one misstep.

  Without running into one dead end.

  Without any more kisses.

  Fifty-Two

  LATER THAT DAY, Kit was in the midst of a calculation when a knock interrupted.

  “One minute,” he called, pausing to scribble down a number.

  He rose and stretched for a brief moment, then padded across his small lodging to open the door. “Lady Trentingham.” He blinked.

  How had she found him? The courtiers weren’t lodged near Master Carpenter’s Court.

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course,” he said, suddenly aware of his state of half-dress: no shoes, no stockings, no coat, no cravat. Just breeches and a shirt, the latter unlaced at the neck and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He began turning them down.

  “No need to do that for me,” she assured him as she stepped inside. “I’ve seen a man’s arms and feet before. And a chest.” Her brown eyes danced with mischief. “Has Rose seen yours?”

  “No!” he said quickly.

  She gave a mournful shake of her head. “Then you’re not doing a very good job. However do you expect her to be consumed by lust if you’re always dressed to face a snowstorm?”

  He couldn’t believe the conversations he found himself in with Rose’s mother. He waved her toward one of the two chairs that flanked the Spartan room’s small table and took the other for himself. “I gave my word that Rose would remain chaste.”

  “I haven’t forgotten.” She sat, fluffing her skirts. “But a little temptation wouldn’t be amiss. This is going to take more than kisses.”

  How did she know he’d scaled it back to kisses? And was she right? Had that been a mistake?

  “Have you tried some romance?” she asked.

  “I picked her up and carried her. And I carved our initials into a tree trunk. The mere act had me choking back laughter, but she loved it.”

  “Excellent. You must do some more of that.”

&n
bsp; He wasn’t sure he could come up with anything more. “I’m a very straightforward kind of fellow, Lady Trentingham. I wasn’t raised here at court. I’m not good at gallant gestures.”

  She glanced at the carefully drawn plans he’d spread on the table. “You seem creative enough to me. I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll do just fine.”

  Designing buildings wasn’t creative—it was logical, mathematical. Certain requirements had to be met, certain loads had to be supported, certain shapes were inherently beautiful.

  But he’d learned by now there was no arguing with Lady Trentingham. “I’ll try,” he told her.

  “Excellent. The fact that Rose refused the duke’s proposal after he dueled on her behalf—I take that as a very good sign.”

  “The duel…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I realize it’s not my place to say this, my lady, but matters at court seem to be getting a bit out of hand. I think it might be best if you took Rose and left—as soon as possible.”

  “We’re leaving tomorrow. Her friend Judith is marrying later this week, and she’d never forgive us if we missed her wedding.”

  “No, I mean you should leave today. Before…” Hoping Rose would forgive him, he plunged on. “Are you aware that your daughter is in possession of a book? A very—”

  “I Sonetti?” she interrupted.

  “She shared it with you?” He couldn’t imagine a mother-daughter relationship like that, but then nothing about the Ashcroft family seemed normal.

  Question Convention, he thought with an internal sigh.

  Lady Trentingham’s lips quirked. “Of course she didn’t share it. But she’s carried it from place to place for days. I’m not unobservant.”

  Somehow he didn’t find that statement surprising. “Then you’ll know why you must leave. Word has gone round that Rose has this book, and people—men—have decided she’s…she’s…”

  “Wild? A wanton?”

  “And worse,” he snapped. He didn’t want to think of Rose like that. And he knew it wasn’t really true.

  Her mother sighed. “I’m aware of that, too. It’s unfortunate, and certainly not in my plans. But she’s in no danger of being compromised—”