by Lauren Royal
“Hush,” he repeated. “Keep still. It’s nothing but a silly game. The court will tire of it soon enough, and the torches will be relit.”
She clung to him, feeling calm begin stealing over her, restoring her world to balance. “Can you help me get out?”
“I’m afraid we’d but stumble over others.” His arms came around her; his deep voice soothed. “You’re safe here with me, I promise.”
Darkness still enveloped her, but she wasn’t quite so panicked. “All right,” she whispered.
“We’ll just wait.” Moving closer, he laid his cheek against her hair. She slipped her arms around his waist, wondering vaguely how he’d got in here and managed to find her.
Like at the duel, he’d known just when to show up, just when she needed him.
They were buffeted by other bodies searching, laughing, groping in the blackness. When she mewed in protest, his arms tightened, molding her more securely against him, locking the two of them together.
He felt comforting; he felt right. She tilted her face up, waiting for him to lower his lips to meet hers.
And, of course, he did.
Kit. The pressure of his mouth, that sweet-spicy unique flavor, that woodsy, masculine scent. The last of her fear evaporated as she sank into the reassuring familiarity of his kiss.
She felt as well as heard him groan, his hands trailing lower and cupping her bottom to pull her closer still. Whatever flowers might remain on her gown were crushed mercilessly between them, but she cared not a whit. A frisson of excitement stole through her veins, robbing her of reason and breath.
Her senses spun with wine and so much more. Moans and groans, squeals and breathy sighs echoed all around her, but suddenly the sounds were arousing instead of threatening.
The kiss deepened, a dance of lips and teeth and tongues, a long, fast slide into madness. Her breasts ached inside her gown, and she pressed closer, but that wasn’t enough. So she pulled back instead, taking his hands to guide them where she wanted them.
This time he seemed only too happy to oblige. He teased her breasts through the thin silk of her ruined gown, then reached into the low neckline of her bodice, pinching the sensitive crests gently as he claimed her mouth in another kiss.
That melting warmth spread in her middle, and a tingling ache built lower down. More bodies bumped them, but she barely noticed. The darkness offered privacy amidst this horde of writhing humanity, making bold Rose even bolder. Putting her hands flat to Kit’s chest, she skimmed his lawn shirt until she found his flat nipples and teased them the way he was hers, thrilling when she felt them tighten.
She’d wanted this. It felt powerful, knowing she could give him the same pleasure he gave her. Molten heat sprinted through her veins. Emboldened further, she reached lower, holding her breath, waiting for him to protest as he had before. But he allowed her to touch him this time. Her fingers explored the front of his breeches, finding a long, hard ridge that made the ache between her legs intensify as she imagined him sliding inside her. She wanted him there, filling her as a woman was meant to be filled.
At the other end of the chamber, a single torch flared to life. They pulled apart, Rose swiftly yanking up on her bodice. All around them in the all-but-darkness, courtiers were engaged in various stages of lovemaking.
It sickened her, no matter that she’d been envisioning the very same thing. The whole court sickened her.
“Take me out of here,” she said. One shoe off and one on, she began limping toward the door. Kit swept her up into his arms and wove his way through the crowd, stepping over bodies as he went.
At long last, they made it down the Great Stairs and into Clock Court. Torches bathed the courtyard in a hazy yellow glow. He strode to the fountain in the center before setting her on her feet.
Her gown was in tatters from the knees down, the few remaining blooms torn and limp. Her face burned in one spot; she touched it and came away with a trace of blood on her fingertip. Her hair tumbled madly over her shoulders, half or more unpinned.
Thank heavens it was only Kit here to see her.
Still shaky—from lust or fear or some combination—she splashed water on her face before she looked up and blinked. “Good God, you were the pirate.”
His expression slowly transformed from concern to something darker. “You didn’t know? And yet you kissed me, touched me…” He looked thoroughly disgusted. “I can hardly blame all those men for taking advantage, though I wish to wring all their lecherous necks. Lord Almighty, Rose, you touched me like a true wanton, and you didn’t even know—”
“I’m not wanton!” The last of her fear was swept away by indignation—and maybe a touch of guilt for her actions here at court. “I’m not!”
Kit felt outrage like he never had before. He could hardly credit that he still wanted her—and yet he did, which fueled his anger all the more. “You could have fooled me,” he spat.
“What were you doing in the great hall?” she demanded, by all appearances equally outraged. “You’re not a member of the court!”
“And that’s why you won’t have me, isn’t it?”
“No! To hell with the court. I never want to come back here again. Everything here got completely out of hand.”
He opened his mouth, then closed it. The fountain trickled in the background while he silently repeated her words.
I never want to come back here again.
Perhaps there was hope for him, after all.
Quite suddenly he felt bone tired. “I don’t want to fight,” he said.
She sighed. “I don’t want to fight, either.”
“Rose, you must be more careful around men.”
“I would never allow—”
“You’re a passionate woman, but for your own good, you must curb—”
“I’m not passionate,” she interrupted. “Only with you. I knew it was you, Kit. I’ve never kissed anyone else like that. Anyone but you. Ever.”
He stared, wondering whether to be pleased or angry at that impassioned revelation. Anger won. “How can you fib with such a straight face? You expect me to believe that after you admitted you didn’t realize I was the pirate?”
“I didn’t recognize you as the pirate during the masked ball,” she returned hotly, “because it never occurred to me you would be there.” She shifted her weight back and forth, popping up and down on her single high-heeled shoe. “And you’re a blasted hypocrite, do you know that? You kissed me when you didn’t know who I was.”
“Bloody hell,” Kit shot back, “do you take me for a fool? A sightless nitwit would have recognized you at twenty paces. You smell like a damned garden. But you could be wearing sackcloth instead of flowers and I’d know you, Rose. Instantaneously. Don’t you know that?”
Her dark eyes flashed. “Like I knew you the moment you caught me in the dark? The moment I touched you, even blind as a bat? I just never connected you with the pirate.”
Understanding hit Kit like a brick dropped from a half-built wall.
I knew you. I just never connected you with the pirate.
She was beautiful in her fury, her cheeks flushed, her agitated breath making her chest heave in a way that drew his gaze. No one could lie that convincingly.
Damnation, had he ever been such a nithing blockhead?
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I twisted your words in my mind, jumped to an erroneous conclusion. You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
He cracked a smile. “You’re so graceful at accepting apologies.”
Her anger seemed to flee as quickly as it had flared. “It’s a good thing, since I still don’t want to fight.” She answered his smile with one of her own, her gaze raking his costumed form. “You make a very fetching pirate.”
“Do I, now?”
Though he’d said it in all good humor, her voice dropped to a whisper. “You appeared like magic, and I was so grateful to have you there. You swept away my fear with a single touch of you
r lips…”
Unable to help himself, he touched those lips to hers again. A silent apology that swiftly turned to more, much more—
“Rose?” her mother’s voice drifted down the Great Stairs. “Rose!”
Reluctantly Kit drew away. “We’re out here, Lady Trentingham.”
Her high heels clicked on the cobblestones as she made her way over to them, carrying Rose’s missing shoe. “I feared for you, dear. I know how you hate the dark.” She kissed her daughter on both cheeks, then drew back and touched the one with the shallow scratch. “What happened here?”
“A woman with claws like a wildcat.” Rose’s hand went to the injury. “Does it look terribly bad?”
“A little powder and you’ll never know it’s there,” her mother assured her.
Rose sighed. “I cannot imagine what Nell was thinking when she ordered the torches doused.”
Lady Trentingham cocked her head. “Did you not know Nell is famous for practical jokes? Why, recently she left King Charles at a brothel—”
“Without any clothes or money,” her daughter finished for her. “I heard about that. Remind me never to introduce her to Jewel and Rowan. If she makes these pranks a habit, the three of them together could prove deadly.”
“You’re all right, though?” Lady Trentingham tried to smooth Rose’s hair, but her efforts made little difference. “You’re not truly hurt?”
“Kit rescued me,” Rose said.
“Did he?” Lady Trentingham shared a furtive glance with him, that one brief look conveying a mixture of emotions: gratitude, congratulations, and a silent admission that she’d been wrong. “I think we should leave,” she told Rose quietly.
“Yes,” Rose agreed. “There’s Judith’s wedding, of course…but I believe I’d want to leave anyway.”
Lady Trentingham looked back to the great hall. “Then shall we make our good-byes?”
“Please, Mum, just give King Charles my apologies. I’d rather go straight to our rooms.”
Kit was glad Rose didn’t want to go back to the ball. “I’ll walk you to your lodging,” he said, taking her arm.
While her mother ascended the staircase, Rose leaned to put on her shoe. “I look like something one of Lily’s cats dragged in, don’t I?”
“No.” His mouth quirked in a half grin. “Worse.”
She winced as she straightened. “Well, thank you for being honest.”
“I’ll love you no matter what you look like. Always. Would the duke feel that way as well?”
She had no clue what the duke felt, as evidenced by the way she changed the subject. “Did you check all the measurements?”
He began walking her toward her apartments. “Some. Not all. There are hundreds.”
“Have you found anything wrong?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet. The set of drawings I keep with me doesn’t seem to match the plans I left here, and I’m not certain which is correct or which reflects the actual measurements we took last night.”
He couldn’t imagine how that had happened. Most builders worked from a single set of plans, but he preferred to err on the side of caution and always made a careful duplicate. Had he been not-so-careful? The discrepancy was more than disturbing, but he’d set aside the problem for the evening when he decided watching over Rose was more important. And he didn’t want to think about it again now.
Before she could ask more questions, he stopped beneath the clock tower and turned to face her. “I’ll let you know if I find anything conclusive,” he said, raising a hand to her lips.
Her eyes went soft when he traced her mouth with the pad of a finger. She swayed toward him involuntarily, and he took advantage, drawing her close for a long, languid kiss.
It was a kiss his tired soul could melt into, but he wouldn’t allow that, even though she threw herself into the caress. She was still distant, distracted. Though she was with him in body, her mind had yet to cross the crucial barrier that would truly make her his.
“Come along,” he murmured when they parted, their lips clinging for one last moment. “It’s been quite a night.”
Just as they reached Base Court, a shooting star streaked across the sky.
“Look,” she breathed, closing her eyes to make a wish.
He wished, too, then turned and took her face in both hands. “What did you ask for?”
“I cannot tell you, or it won’t come true.”
“Fair enough.” It made him smile to think she believed such fancies. “Shall I tell you what I wished for instead?”
“I think I know,” she whispered and left it at that.
It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but for now it would have to do.
FIFTY-FIVE
HAMPTON COURT was quiet in the middle of the night, Kit’s building dark now except for the circle of light thrown by his lantern. Scents of fresh-cut wood and hardening mortar assaulted his nose, and his footsteps echoed in the empty rooms as he wandered them for the last time.
Tomorrow the building was coming down.
Two more days spent poring over the numbers had confirmed his suspicions: the building was flawed. He’d double-checked his calculations, remeasured, triple-checked again. The conclusion was always the same. If left standing, the structure would eventually collapse.
Oh, it wouldn’t fall today or tomorrow—not even this year. In fact, it could be ten or twenty or fifty years before the inherent weakness resulted in disaster. It would certainly remain standing until long after he was appointed Deputy Surveyor, most likely so long after that he doubted he’d ever be blamed.
But when the collapse occurred, the consequences could very well be deadly.
Was his design at fault? Or had someone tampered with the plans? Since the two copies he had didn’t match, he couldn’t be sure. The fact that they were different lent credence to the theory that Harold Washburn—or someone else—had sabotaged this project.
But it didn’t matter. It was Kit’s project, Kit’s responsibility.
There was nothing for it. Although it meant he would miss his deadline and any chance at the appointment and knighthood, he’d had no choice but to order the structure torn down and rebuilt from scratch. He couldn’t live with himself knowing there were potential deaths looming ahead—not even when he suspected those at risk had yet to be born.
All he had left now was a journey to Windsor and the difficult task of explaining his failing to Wren. Then—while his dreams were torn down along with this building—he would go to Trentingham as promised. Once there, he would finalize the plans for Lord Trentingham’s greenhouse…and tell Lady Trentingham why he was no longer worthy of marrying her daughter.
He grabbed an exquisite carved panel—that, at least, could be salvaged—and exited the building without looking back.
He’d long ago learned there was no point in that.
FIFTY-SIX
“OH, JUDITH,” Lily breathed, staring at the gown the maid had just laid on her friend’s bed. Palest blue, Judith’s wedding dress had a wide neckline and golden ribbons crisscrossing the stomacher. The underskirt was cloth-of-gold. “It’s so beautiful.”
A happy sigh escaped Judith’s freshly painted lips. “I always dreamed of wearing blue for my wedding.”
“Me, too,” Violet said.
Lily grinned. “Me three.”
Rose’s sisters had both worn blue, and they were both happily married. Rose brushed her fingers over the gown’s shimmering fabric, ordering herself not to be jealous. After all, she’d received so many proposals she’d lost count, and she’d probably have more if she hadn’t rebuffed so many men.
It had been her choice to refuse them.
Besides, she would never wear a gown like this. It might be lovely, but it was entirely too pale and insipid. When Rose finally chose to marry, she intended to do so in red.
Judith wandered across her feminine mauve room to her dressing table. “Shall I wear patches?” she wondered.
Rose turned
to her pretty, plump friend. “Just one. A heart. But we must powder your face first.” She handed Judith’s patch box to Lily so she could find a suitable shape, then dipped a fluffy brush into a packet of Princess’s Powder. “Are you nervous?”
“Of course not,” Judith said, but her smile was trembly. She held out a wine cup for Violet to refill. “Why should I be nervous? Grenville is a good man.”
Rose dusted Judith’s cheeks. “Of course he’s good. He’s titled and has money.” And if he wasn’t exactly handsome, she added to herself, at least he wasn’t pockmarked or ugly. A woman could look at him without wincing.
If she’d gained nothing else from court, she’d learned it wasn’t easy to find perfection. Perhaps compromise wasn’t such a bad thing.
“No, I mean Edmund is ever so good.” Judith peered at herself in the mirror. “He adores children, though his first wife couldn’t give him any. He makes certain all the orphans on his estate find families and homes. No one, young or old, is ever allowed to go hungry, and—”
“That’s just being decent,” Rose interrupted.
Violet set down the wine bottle with a little clunk. “But decency is important. And rare.”
Still riffling through the patch box with a fingertip, Lily nodded. “I’d choose decency over money and a title any day of the week. You have to live with the man you wed.”
“Husbands and wives don’t have to live with each other.” Rose fluffed more powder on her friend’s face. “At court, it seems hardly any of them do.”
Violet stared at her, her brown eyes looking huge through her spectacles. “But those are marriages made for alliance, not love. That’s not what you want, is it?”
“Of course not,” she said, still fluffing.
“Stop!” Judith laughed, brushing at her dressing gown. White powder flew everywhere. Particles coated the surface of her dark wood dressing table and floated in a sunbeam that came through the window. “Edmund won’t be able to find me under all this powder.”
“Sorry.” Rose dusted more on her own cheeks, though her scratch was all but healed. “Is Grenville nervous?”