Rose

by Lauren Royal

  “You shouldn’t have to take care of yourself.” They heard the low murmur of people talking in an apartment, and he waited until they’d strolled past it. “Rose, I want to take care of you. I wish to make you my wife.”

  She stopped walking, the corridor suddenly silent without the rhythmic clicks of her heels. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

  He turned to face her and crowded her against the brick wall. It felt rough and cool behind her back. “Yes,” he said. “I’m not very good at this, am I? I’m better with actions than words.”

  He was a duke, and surely that was good enough. A duke, asking for her hand. He tilted his head and moved nearer, brushing her lips with his. His technique really wasn’t that bad. He didn’t smell of frankincense and myrrh, but he didn’t smell unpleasant, either. And he was a duke.

  “Rose, will you marry me?”

  Of course she would. She wasn’t brainless. She opened her mouth. This was what she’d been waiting for. “No.”

  She blinked and felt as surprised as Gabriel looked. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. Out of habit she almost added that her heart belonged to another, but surely that wasn’t true. “I must go,” she said instead.

  Avoiding his stunned gaze, she sidestepped free and ran down the gallery toward her lodging. The heavy old door creaked when she opened it. She slammed it shut and leaned back against the thick wood, a hand to her trembling mouth.

  How could she have refused him? Had she not been waiting for this proposal? Had she not come here to Hampton Court hoping to receive it? Had she not refused other perfectly suitable men because she wanted a duke?

  How could she have turned down a duke—and a perfectly nice one, at that? One who had fought and risked his life for her? Never mind that he’d fenced circles around the earl—he couldn’t have known the man was so incompetent when he issued the challenge.

  There was nothing for it. She would have to seek him out and change her answer to yes.

  But not tonight. She couldn’t face him tonight. Furious at herself, she straightened and wandered toward the bedchamber. “Mum? Harriet?”

  It was empty. “Harriet, where are you?”

  No one was here. Not her mother, not her maid, not her mother’s maid, either. She threw herself facedown on the bed.

  The boned bodice of her gown poked into her, so after a moment she rolled over. But there were whalebone splints in the back, too, not to mention the bulky lacing that ran down her spine.

  Where the devil was Harriet? Rose cursed the maid along with whatever fool was responsible for dictating court fashion. She’d claimed to be able to care for herself—well, she could slap an impudent courtier, all right, but she couldn’t manage to undress herself when her blasted gown was laced down her back.

  The apartment was too silent. She sat up and sighed. She didn’t really want to undress—she’d been hoping to finally try gaming tonight.

  But first she would take a walk—a calming walk, out in Hampton Court’s immense public gardens—and steel herself to change her answer to Gabriel tomorrow.

  She’d bet the Duchess of Bridgewater would never find herself without a maid.

  FIFTY

  NOTEBOOK, RULER, and rope in hand, Kit left his assigned lodging in Master Carpenter’s Court and made his winding way through the palace.

  Base Court smelled of cut grass, and it was quiet after the excitement of the duel earlier. Or at least it should have been quiet. As Kit approached the covered passage known as the Great Chamber, an odd pounding reached his ears. “Open up!” a woman shouted, clearly agitated.

  That reminded him of Rose’s agitation earlier this evening. He wondered what had possessed him to try to soothe her during the duel. After all, she’d flatly turned down his proposal, and given that she’d nearly gone out of her mind at seeing the duke put his life at risk, it was clear she seemed bent on marrying the lucky bastard.

  Regardless of her mother’s encouragement, Kit liked to think he was a man who knew when to give up.

  Crossing in front of the Great Chamber, he looked to see who was making such a racket, then stopped and stared. As though he’d conjured her with his musings, there stood Rose, banging her fists on the huge oak doors that led to the bridge over Hampton Court’s moat.

  “Rose!” he called. Apparently he had yet to give up. “Wherever do you think you’re going?”

  She turned, her hands clenched at her sides. “To the gardens, if a guard will ever be pleased to let me out. I wish to take a peaceful, solitary walk.”

  He stepped deeper into the musty passageway. She looked beautiful in her anger, her eyes shining with a luster that matched the pearls on her fancy gown. “It’s not wise to go out there alone at night,” he warned. “The privy garden would be safer.”

  “I’m not allowed in the privy garden. Don’t you know the meaning of the word privy?”

  “I can get you inside. I’m on my way there now.”

  “To do what?” she asked, glancing at the assortment of items he carried.

  “My project is there. The new apartments for the king’s old mistress Barbara. I wish to check…everything,” he finished with a sigh.

  A trickle of water dripped from somewhere overhead. “Have you found something amiss?” she asked.

  “Not yet. But I’ve a feeling in my bones that something’s wrong. I intend to measure every square foot of the building.” It was a fool’s task, he feared, as well as a long, tedious one. But he wouldn’t rest easy until he’d completed it. And he needed to do it when no one was watching, trying to distract him—or worse, covering anything up. “Come along. Their Majesties are at court, so the garden will afford you the solitude you’re seeking.”

  She grabbed a lantern off the ground. “I shall help you measure.”

  In the torchlight that danced on the old brick walls, he gazed at her. “Why?”

  Her dark eyes grew hooded. “I have nothing else to do. I’ve no wish to return to court until later, when the gaming is underway. And your task would go faster with help, would it not? I’ve been called selfish, but I like to think I would be there to help a friend.”

  He wondered about some of her brave speech, not least why she hesitated to return to court. But he focused on her last sentence. “Are we friends, Rose?”

  “Yes,” she said firmly, and then more uncertainly, “I hope so.”

  A part of him—the part that didn’t know when to give up—still hoped for more than her friendship. But it would do for now. “Come on, then,” he said. “Lead the way.”

  She raised the lantern and started across Base Court, teetering a little on the cobblestones in her fashionable high heels. Such a lady, his Rose.

  “Does this feel like a cloister to you?” he found himself asking.

  She glanced around as they walked. “Maybe. A little. Why?”

  “I keep thinking Cardinal Wolsey built this place like an Italian cardinal’s palace. Something about the feel of it, the layout. Henry the Eighth would have ruined it when he rebuilt, but underneath…”

  They crossed Clock Court, Rose’s measured steps matching the cadence of Henry’s great astronomical timepiece. “Are there records of the construction?”

  “None of which I’m aware.” He sighed. “Someday I hope to see an actual cardinal’s palace. To journey to Italy and stand in the middle of one and see if I’m right, if it feels the same as this.”

  He waited for her to say she’d like to come with him, but she didn’t. Her skirts swished against the cobblestones, and as they passed the fountain with its paltry gurgle of water, hoots of revelers filtered down from the Presence Chamber.

  “The court seems in high spirits following the duel,” he remarked.

  “I’m sure they are,” she replied dryly. “Louise said it was the most exciting thing that’s happened in weeks.”

  “Why aren’t you with them?”

  She clamped her lips and walked faster, entering Cloister Green Court.


  And there she stopped. “Listen.” The courtyard was bordered by the king’s and queen’s apartments on two of its four sides. “Do you hear Charles’s dogs? How odd—he usually keeps them with him at court.”

  He suppressed a smile. “You’re not hearing Charles’s dogs.”

  “I am. Can’t you hear them yipping?”

  “It’s not dogs you hear, Rose. It’s people.”

  “People? Doing what?” Her eyes narrowed and then widened. “You cannot mean…”

  Despite his efforts, a grin broke free. “Yes.”

  “It’s a couple making love?” Trust her to say it out loud when he’d avoided being direct. In a complete reversal of mood, a little giggle escaped her lips. “Good God, do people really sound like that in bed?”

  “Some people,” he said, struggling to maintain his dignity. “Not everyone.”

  More giggles filled the courtyard, mad giggles, giggles that warmed his heart. “I-I’m n-never g-going to y-yip like that,” she choked out as the yipping went on. “Gemini, would you listen to her? She sounds as though she’s in pain!”

  He thought he heard a little snort, but surely Rose wouldn’t snort. “She’s not in pain, I assure you,” he said, giving in and laughing along with her.

  He’d never in his life laughed so much as he had since he met Rose. It felt good. Lest he drop them, he set down his things and put his hands on her shoulders, and she felt good.

  “With any other man,” she chortled as the yipping built to a crescendo, “I’d have pretended I didn’t hear that.”

  “You thought it was dogs,” he reminded her. “You couldn’t have pretended.”

  “Well, a courtier wouldn’t have pointed out my mistake.”

  The yipping stopped while Kit just stared at her.

  “I didn’t intend that in a negative fashion,” she said quickly in the sudden quiet. “I’m very glad we’re friends.”

  Kit was glad, too, but he feared that was all they’d ever be.

  After a spell of silence, she drew a deep, audible breath. “I feel small here,” she whispered. “In the dark with the towering buildings all around looming over us.”

  He squeezed her shoulders. “I know what you mean.”

  “Look at all the different shaped chimneys silhouetted against the sky.” She gazed up for a quiet moment, then lowered her eyes to meet his. “It must be wonderful to create something so monumental.”

  She knew. She knew how he felt. “I’m only creating one building,” he reminded her.

  “Still, it will be part of this whole.” Her sigh sounded wistful, calmer than before their bout of laughter. “Show me what you’re creating.”

  He scooped up his things and guided her out the back of the palace, nodding to the sleepy guard. Before them, lime trees stretched into the dark distance, and moonlight reflected off Charles’s Long Water, a manmade canal inspired by one at Versailles. Kit drew Rose to the right, where at the corner of the palace another guarded gate marked the entrance to the privy gardens.

  “Harriet!” Rose exclaimed. “Whatever are you doing here?”

  In the torchlight from the gatehouse, her maid blushed. “Just passing the time, milady. Your mother introduced me to Walter.” Harriet motioned to the guard. “You haven’t need of me, have you?”

  “I certainly do…not.” Rose shook her head. “No, not right now.”

  When Kit pushed open the gate, Walter cleared his throat. “The garden is for the king’s pleasure only, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m here to work,” Kit said succinctly.

  “At this hour?” The man looked between them. “With her? Pardon me, Mr. Martyn, but it doesn’t seem as though—”

  “She’s volunteered to assist me.” Kit raised his supplies.

  “Ah, let them go,” Harriet cajoled with much more familiarity than Kit expected from one so newly introduced. “Trust me, Walter, my mistress won’t be dallying with the likes of him.”

  That attitude, unfortunately, Kit did expect. As he ushered Rose through the opened gate, the fragile closeness he’d felt in Cloister Green Court disappeared like sawdust in the wind.

  “Trust my mother to find a suitor for my maid,” Rose grumbled. “She thinks she can match every last soul with his or her perfect mate.”

  Kit shut the gate. “Do her introductions often result in marriages?”

  “Usually, which is annoying as anything.”

  He hid a smile. “Not to the people involved, I’ll wager.”

  “Well, she’s not involving me.” She hurried toward the new construction. “Show me what you’re building.”

  He walked her through the new apartments, the main rooms and all the bedchambers for the Duchess of Cleveland and the five children she’d borne King Charles. Most of them were all but grown already, but the king had granted them titles, and he played a large part in their lives.

  “The chambers are bare yet,” he told Rose, “but they will be rich. Charles is sparing no expense.”

  “Isn’t Barbara living in Paris now?”

  “Yes, but he knows she’ll be back.”

  “I understand he doesn’t stay at Hampton Court often. Word has it he prefers Windsor and Whitehall.”

  “All the more reason to give her a home here,” he said with a half smile. It was common knowledge that Charles was long finished with his old mistress, but he valued their offspring and would support her so long as she should live.

  After the tour, Rose held the lantern for Kit while he measured and made notes.

  “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “Something off. Not to plan. I won’t be able to tell here, but I’ll take the notes back to my quarters and review every inch.” Her sensuous rose scent was distracting. “What did you mean,” he asked, “when you said earlier tonight that you didn’t want to be responsible for the earl’s death?”

  Though he was busy measuring, he heard her tight swallow. “The duke wouldn’t have been fighting the earl if not for me.”

  “You?” Jotting a note, he looked up. “The duel was over you?”

  “Yes.” Her face looked pale in the lamplight. “The earl took…liberties that were out of line.”

  “Liberties?”

  “With my person. He was trying to…well, he was trying to act out an engraving in a book he’d heard I possess.” Kit’s face must have shown his confusion, because she rushed to clarify. “It’s called I Sonetti Lussuriosi.”

  “I Sonetti? Weren’t virtually all the copies burned by the Vatican? Where on earth did you find one?”

  “It’s Ellen’s,” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell her I told you.”

  “We’re not talking, remember?” That must have been the book Ellen had brought that evening to Windsor, the one she’d asked Rose to translate. He should have known it was something licentious. Ellen had never been bookish, and yet she’d been engrossed. “Besides, I don’t even want to think about my baby sister owning that book.”

  Despite everything, Rose grinned. “She’s a married woman, Kit.”

  He looked away, stretching his rope to make another measurement. “I don’t want to think about that, either.” He counted the knots spaced at one-foot intervals, adding swiftly in his head. “Regardless, Featherstonehaugh had no right to maul you.” The mere thought made him seethe. “Simply owning a book does not make one a loose woman.”

  “Exactly what I think!” She moved to help, holding one end of the rope up to a beam. “Yet the entire court seems to have jumped to that conclusion.”

  As he fed out the rope, he glanced over at her. “As your friend, I wonder if you’re doing something else to give that impression.”

  She looked like she didn’t want to believe that. “Men,” she said, “will be men.”

  He cocked a brow.

  “Well, I did ask a few men to kiss me.”

  “A few?”

  “Only the unmarried ones,” she said, managing to sound ind
ignant.

  Unreasoned jealousy surged through him. “All the unmarried ones?”

  “There aren’t that many. And good God, Kit, they were just kisses.”

  Rose was a sensual creature. He knew how easily she could be coaxed past kisses. Hell, even without inviting their attentions, he couldn’t imagine the men here at court keeping their hands off her. They were lechers, one and all. “It’s no wonder the duke had to come to your rescue.”

  “He didn’t rescue me—I rescued myself quite well, thank you. I believe the earl has my handprint on his face to prove it.” He’d finished measuring, so she dropped her end of the rope. “The duel is the result of a misplaced sense of possession. The duke wishes to marry me.”

  In the midst of writing another number, Kit froze. He was well aware that Rose was desirous of wedding Bridgewater, but he hadn’t realized the damned duke returned her feelings. “He’s asked you, then?”

  “Yes. I refused him.”

  He released a pent-up breath. “You seem to make that a habit.”

  “I do, don’t I?” she said with a sigh.

  He wished he knew what that sigh meant.

  “MY, HARRIET, you’ve been out here a long time.”

  The maid startled and pulled her lips from the guard’s, smoothing down her skirt. “Please forgive me, Lady Trentingham.”

  Walter’s face flamed red in the torchlight. “My lady—”

  “I saw nothing.” Chrystabel waved a hand. “I’m looking for Rose.”

  “Oh! Lady Rose is in the privy garden, working with Mr. Martyn.” Harriet hurried to open the gate.

  “Is she?” With a smile, Chrystabel reached out and shut it. “I’ll just let her be, then. I imagine they’re doing something important, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”

  The news that Kit had managed to get Rose alone—tonight of all nights—lightened her heart. She’d heard about the duel from the duke himself, along with his complaint that Rose had dismissed his suit. After he’d drawn his sword for her, no less, he’d pointed out with an affronted sniff.

  She’d silently sent up a cheer.

  Things were looking up. “Thank you,” she said, turning to leave.