by Lauren Royal
Rose swallowed hard and forced her gaze to the words.
Such pleasure I feel with my yard in your hand,
I shall explode…
On the next page, the woman had settled on the man’s lap.
You are filling me, thrilling me,
and I could stay seated here for a year.
And then the woman was lying on the floor with the man standing over her, holding her raised legs.
Spread your thighs, let me see your lovely bottom
and your seat of womanly pleasure.
The sight makes me pulse with passion,
and I’ve a sudden urge to kiss you…
Ah, she remembered the kisses. Kit’s kisses. And the thought of her on the floor, a man standing above her…a certain man…
That ache was intensifying. A yearning ache that felt all but unbearable. Right where the man in the drawing was looking.
Spread your thighs…
Quickly she flipped another page and froze, staring.
Will you look at this? she remembered a high-pitched voice saying. How do you expect it works? This looks bloody uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable, indeed. Why, the lady was all but folded in half, and…good God. Rose’s hand fluttered up to her throat. Would her husband expect her to do this?
Position Nine was even more unbelievable, and Position Ten—did bodies really twist like that? In Eleven the woman arched on one elbow and foot, her other leg raised in the air, while the man—
Gemini.
If this was what awaited her in the marriage bed, she’d as soon remain a spinster.
She flipped hurriedly through the rest of the engravings, sixteen in all, and finally slammed the book shut. Shaking, she hid it carefully, then folded the translation and tucked it into her embroidered drawstring purse. As the clock struck four, she tiptoed back into the bedchamber and slid beneath the covers, leaving a lamp burning low as always.
But sleep eluded her as the pictures played over and over in her head.
Did her sisters do these things? Were Lily and Rand doing them even now? Aristotle’s Master-piece had warned there would be “some little pain” the first time, and Rose had never worried about that. But from what she could see, there must be pain every time. And not a little, either. She ached just thinking about those positions.
The fire in the grate sputtered and died, leaving nothing but glowing embers—and still Rose lay sleepless. At long last, she forced herself to remember the first engraving.
The beautiful one.
Her skin tingled where the sheets seemed to caress her…and she wished they were male hands instead. The man in the engraving hadn’t had a clear face. Shutting her eyes tight, she tried to picture the duke.
But the face she saw was Kit’s.
THIRTY
“DIDN’T YOU sleep well, dear?” Chrystabel frowned as Rose yawned for the dozenth time. “Perhaps you should go back to bed.”
“I slept fine, Mum.” And she had—for the three hours she’d actually slept. “I overslept, in fact. It’s past ten already, and I promised Ellen I’d visit her at the pawnshop this morning.”
“The pawnshop?”
She crossed to the window to check the weather. “I never made it back to the bookshop yesterday, and Ellen said the pawnshop has books. Foreign books. And I need to return her cloak.” It looked sunny, so she decided against wearing her own. “It’s amazing how quickly we’ve become friends.”
“Sometimes friendships are meant to be. Just like some men and women belong together.”
“Like the ones you introduce to be married?” With an indulgent laugh, Rose turned from the window. She grabbed her little purse and slid the cord over her wrist, then draped Ellen’s cloak over one arm. “The court leaves today for Hampton; did you know that?”
“Of course.”
“Will we go with them?”
“Do you wish to?”
“I’m not sure.” Rose didn’t want to make this decision. She watched her mother reach for her own drawstring purse. “Where are you going?”
“You didn’t think I’d let you go to the pawnshop alone, did you? A young lady doesn’t parade around town on her own.”
Plenty of young ladies did, but Rose didn’t feel like arguing. She only hoped she’d be able to slip Ellen the translated sonnet without Chrystabel noticing. Not that there was anything wrong with what she was doing, but it wasn’t something she felt like sharing with her mother.
Outdoors, the courtyards were abuzz with servants hauling luggage, but there was no sign of any courtiers. “Has the court left already?” Rose wondered, half hoping they had. Maybe she’d arisen too late to leave for Hampton Court, and the decision would be out of her hands, at least for today.
But as they skirted the Round Tower, Chrystabel laughed. “I imagine they’re all still fast asleep.”
“I thought everyone was planning to leave early.”
“That, Lady Rose,” came a male voice, “depends on your definition of early.”
Rose turned to see the Duke of Bridgewater fall into step beside them. He looked very dapper this morning, with a broad-brimmed, ostrich-plumed hat shielding his golden head from the sun.
“And what is your definition of early, your grace?”
“Oh, before noon, I suppose. I’m certainly proud of myself for being up and about before the sun reaches its zenith.” He grinned, his blue eyes twinkling. “Most of us wake as the sun sets. I fear the court will find it tedious to have to rise and travel in broad daylight today.”
She laughed, enjoying the company of so pleasant and impressive a man. Even for traveling, he was dressed to the height of fashion. His bright burgundy suit sported rows of gold buttons along the front edges of both the long waistcoat and the embroidered surcoat that went over it. The breeches beneath were secured at the knee with gold buttons, too. His lace cravat was tied at his neck in a wide bow, and, unlike Kit, he wore shoes instead of boots—heeled, with a double sole and small gold spurs.
She smoothed her red silk day gown, wishing it were adorned with pearls or something else extravagant. She’d always considered her clothes fashionable, but the ladies here made her feel like a country frump.
“I’m so glad to see you’re feeling better this morning.” The duke took her arm. “Please tell me you’re coming along to Hampton Court.”
She exchanged a glance with her mother, who shrugged, apparently leaving the decision up to her. “We’re just on our way to the pawnshop,” she said, evading an answer.
“The pawnshop?”
If Rose could judge by the duke’s tone, he and Kit held similar opinions regarding pawnshops. “We’re not pawning anything,” she assured him with a laugh. “Just visiting a friend there.”
“A friend?” Sounding slightly disturbed, he gripped her arm tighter. “I shall accompany you, then, at least as far as the door.”
“That’s not necessary,” Rose protested.
“I was planning to take a walk in the Great Park, anyway. A brisk morning stroll does wonders for a man’s constitution. I usually leave from the castle, but I can enter off Park Street, no harm done.”
There was no arguing with him, it seemed. They walked through the Lower Ward, Rose wishing some of the ladies were around to see her on the arm of the tall, handsome duke. Perhaps she should go to Hampton Court, because she sensed she was on the verge of snagging him.
Beyond the gateway, it was a short stroll down Castle Hill and a left onto the High Street. The pawnshop was right there, as Ellen had said. Three golden balls—the pawn trade’s age-old symbol—dangled from a bracket that projected from the building. As they approached, Rose couldn’t help but notice the business looked prosperous. A wooden sign overhead said WHITTINGHAM’S PAWN SHOP in fresh gold paint.
Then she lowered her gaze from the sign to find a gorgeous pair of earrings in the window. Set in delicate gold filigree dangles, rubies sparkled and pearls gleamed. “Oooh,” she breathed, fin
gering her few coins through the thin fabric of her drawstring purse.
Dozens of items crammed the window, but the earrings stood alone as dainty works of art. She fairly itched to own them.
“Aren’t these earrings beautiful?” She gazed at them on their bed of black velvet. “If we go to Hampton Court and there’s gaming tonight, maybe I’ll be lucky enough to win them.”
“They match your gown superbly,” Gabriel observed. “I think this is your lucky day.”
“Pardon?”
He grinned. “I’ve never patronized a pawnshop before, but wait here, ladies, if you will.” He bowed and then entered the shop, a bell jingling as he pushed the door open.
Rose pressed back against the building to avoid a careening carriage. “Mum, do you expect he’s going to buy those earrings for me?”
Chrystabel shrugged and smiled. “It seems so.”
A masculine hand went into the window, square with pale hair sprinkled on the back. Rose watched the earrings and the hand disappear. “I hope he won’t think I belong to him afterwards.”
“Does that mean you don’t want to?” Chrystabel raised a brow but didn’t wait for an answer. “In any case, they’re only earrings. A trifling item for a man like the duke.”
Rose breathed a sigh of relief, for the truth was, she wanted the earrings. She could hardly wait to see them on her ears. She hoped someone had pawned a mirror.
A moment later, the duke stepped back outside and presented the jewelry to her with a flourish. “Enjoy, my lady.”
The rubies sparkled even more in the sunshine; the pearls shone like they held secrets; the gold was intricate, fashioned by a talented hand. Chrystabel slipped into the shop as Rose fumbled with the first earring.
“Here, let me help.” Gabriel took it from her and stepped close to fasten it on her lobe.
He still smelled of too much perfume, but Rose didn’t care. “Thank you, your grace.”
“It’s nothing.” He reached for the other earring. “Beautiful women deserve beautiful things.”
She turned her head to allow him greater access. “I love them.”
“I’m glad. I want to see you happy, Lady Rose.”
She smiled. He truly was very nice, and generous and handsome and a duke, too. When he was finished, she tucked her long ringlet curls behind her ears, the better to display her new treasures.
“Stunning,” he pronounced. Then he leaned close and pressed his lips to hers.
She tried to act enthusiastic, because truly, a kiss was a small price to pay for such beautiful earrings. But she was glad that Ellen’s cloak over her arm gave her an excuse not to embrace him.
Thankfully, the kiss was short. Gabriel was too polite to attempt a seduction in broad daylight on Windsor’s High Street. But short as it was, all Rose could think was that his kiss was nothing like Kit’s.
When Gabriel pulled away, he reached into one of the deep pockets in his breeches and pulled out a handful of coins. A small, secret smile curved his lips as he counted them, dropping each into a little leather pouch. “It’s just as I thought.”
Rose touched her new earrings, assuring herself they were still there. “What’s that?”
“The fool gave me too much change. A crown more than I was due.”
“It was good of you to notice. I’m sure he’ll appreciate its return.”
He blinked his nice blue eyes. “Return? Why the devil should I return it?”
“It’s dishonest not to. Besides, I imagine he needs it much more than you do.”
“A pawnbroker? I think not.” He tucked the pouch into his pocket. “The knaves prey on the most unfortunate, paying pence on the pound for their goods, then charging exorbitant fees for their return. Ten percent a month—and when the poor clodpolls cannot pay, the brokers sell their goods at an enormous profit.”
Rose reached up to finger the ruby earrings. She didn’t like to think of them as belonging to a poor clodpoll. Surely they hadn’t. “So you’ll just keep the money?”
“His loss, my gain. A wise man is more careful when doing business.” The duke patted the leather pouch where it was hidden inside his pocket. “Now I must be off for my walk. I’ll need to get back to the castle in time to see all my luggage is safely transported.” He executed a small, formal bow. “Your servant, my lady. I hope to see you at Hampton Court late this afternoon.”
“Thank you for the earrings,” Rose called as he walked away. Then she went into the shop.
The bell on the door was still jingling as she headed toward a pockmarked blond man who was polishing a glass counter. Though he was younger than she had pictured Ellen’s Thomas, he looked very industrious indeed. And certainly not like a knave who preyed on the unfortunate.
“Lady Rose!” Ellen came running over. “Thomas and I were just having the most lovely conversation with your mother. And the duke bought you earrings, did he?” Her eyes danced. “Mercy me, imagine that.”
“Kit loaned me this last night,” Rose said, handing over Ellen’s cloak.
Ellen looked at her sharply. “When?”
“Later, when it grew cold.” Rose dug in her drawstring purse and pulled out a silver crown. “Mr. Whittingham gave Bridgewater too much change. He asked me to return it.”
Ellen set the cloak aside, effectively distracted from wondering how she’d come by it. “That wasn’t Thomas’s doing, but the new apprentice he’s training.” Her disapproving gaze went to the young man behind the counter. “Thomas will have a word with him for certain.”
Rose felt sorry for the boy. “I’m sure it was an honest mistake.”
“Fear not, Thomas doesn’t beat the lad. But he must learn to be more careful.” Ellen took the coin gratefully. “Please thank his grace for returning this, next time you should see him. Thomas needs every penny, because he dreams of moving the shop to London—to the Strand, no less!” She laughed as she walked over to add the crown to the till.
Noticing a fine gilt-framed mirror perched on the wall, Rose went over to admire her new earrings. She turned her head this way and that, watching the rubies catch the light. “Where is your Thomas?”
“In the back, talking to your mother. Come, I cannot wait for you to meet him.”
“Just a minute.” She sidled closer to Ellen and pulled the paper out of her purse. “Here,” she whispered, passing it to her.
“The sonnets?”
“One of them. It took me half the night.” She didn’t mention that was because she’d spent the majority of the time goggling at the engravings.
And thinking about Kit.
“Thank you.” Ellen tucked the paper into her skirt. “Thomas will enjoy reading this.”
From the glint in Ellen’s eyes, Rose suspected the two of them would enjoy it together.
She followed Ellen into the back. The shop was deceiving, because although it looked large enough on the inside, even more space was hidden behind. Here, apparently, was where Thomas kept the goods that he was holding for customers to return and claim—and he had more in that category than goods for sale. Items were piled up on shelves and stacked in trays and spilling out of trunks—a treasure trove, as Ellen had said.
“Mr. Whittingham has been telling me all about the history of pawning,” Chrystabel said after the introductions.
Rose traced the silver embroidery on a deep green velvet surcoat. “There’s a history?”
“Most certainly.” Thomas had brown hair, blue eyes, and a strong chin that lent him a mature air although he looked no older than five-and-twenty. “Pawnbroking can be traced back over three thousand years to ancient China, and there are also records of it in early Greek and Roman history.”
Thomas seemed intelligent, too. More learned than she’d supposed a pawnbroker would be—and certainly more learned than Kit seemed to give him credit for. “And the three gold balls?” she asked. “From where did that symbol come?”
“In times past, the Medici family in Italy were well-known mon
eylenders. Legend says one of the Medicis battled a giant and slew him with three sacks of rocks. The three balls became part of their family crest, and eventually, the sign of pawnbroking.”
“It’s an honorable business,” Ellen put in. “Where else can the common people find money should they need it? It’s not as though they can approach noblemen for loans. Pawning has saved many families’ homes and farms—they consider themselves lucky to have a broker to turn to.”
Rose remembered Gabriel’s opinions about preying on poor clodpolls. “Even when they cannot afford to redeem their pawned goods?”
“Sometimes they just choose not to.” Ellen lifted her chin. “It’s a business, after all. Thomas is entitled to make a living.”
“Of course he is,” Chrystabel said.
Rose turned to Ellen’s love. “However did you get into this trade?”
“My father was a pawnbroker, and his father before him.”
She hadn’t thought of a pawnshop as something a man could inherit. In fact, she’d never thought about pawnbroking at all. It was unlikely she would ever require such a service. But she had to admit, standing here amongst neatly tagged jewels and guns, tools, household goods, swords, and clothing…the business wasn’t nearly as seedy as she’d assumed.
She wondered if Kit had ever really looked at Whittingham’s shop with an open mind. Not to mention listened to the man’s plans. She smiled at Thomas. “Ellen was telling me you wish to move to London.”
“I do, as did my father before me. He saved for twenty years towards that goal. Trade in London would be much brisker—there are so many more people.”
“So many more destitute people,” Rose put in.
“We can help them,” Ellen said. “This trade isn’t about taking advantage, no matter its reputation.”
Rose hadn’t missed the we. “Why the Strand?” she asked.
Thomas waved an arm at the trays and trays of jewelry—clearly the most often pawned item. “The Strand is home to many of London’s goldsmiths. Whittingham’s could compete favorably, drawing customers—paying customers, not pawning ones—from the patrons who frequent the area. The real estate there, however, can be prohibitively expensive. My father never did manage to save enough to make the move. And prices are still rising—the Great Fire made London’s remaining developed land even more precious.”