The Gentleman's Scandalous Bride

by Lauren Royal

  When he looked up again, Lady Trentingham was beaming. “I knew you were a good one. Yes, you’ll do very nicely.”

  Feeling his face slowly heating, Kit cleared his throat. “Thank you, my lady, but—”

  “How long have you been in the Crown’s employ, Kit?” she interrupted.

  “Almost two years.” He eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”

  She shrugged, searching for something in her pretty little drawstring purse. “I assume you’ve observed the goings-on here at court. The king and his merry ways? The courtiers and their…proclivities?”

  “Let us say that I’ve observed far more than I ever wanted to.”

  Lady Trentingham glanced at the time on an enameled watch. “And what might you say,” she went on, tucking it back in the purse, “if I told you Rose left the drawing room a quarter of an hour ago, accompanied by one of those courtiers?”

  Kit scarcely hesitated.

  Barking at a carpenter to take charge, he turned back to the countess and offered his arm. “Have you had a chance to enjoy the terrace, Lady Trentingham? The views are quite spectacular.”

  TEN

  AS ROSE AND Gabriel walked, she found herself mentally bouncing back and forth between trying to be her most charming and marveling that the Duke of Bridgewater was choosing to spend so much time with her. As a result, she feared their conversation had been a bit stilted.

  But that was only to be expected, wasn’t it? After all, they hardly knew each other. Still, her family had always been rather vocal, discussing anything and everything with great enthusiasm, so the awkward silences made her uncomfortable.

  “What do you think,” she asked after a particularly long gap in their dialogue, “of the maritime agreement we’ve just signed with France?”

  “Maritime agreement?” The duke’s perfect brow creased in puzzlement.

  Did people not discuss these matters at court? Didn’t he read The London Gazette? She plucked a yellow bloom off a potted hollyhock plant. “English ships will now be permitted to carry Dutch cargoes without fear of French interference.”

  A little chuckle burst from his lips. “What would a woman know about that?”

  She forced a simpering laugh in return. “Oh, just something I heard,” she said and cursed herself silently.

  Though she wasn’t a student of history or prone to philosophical musings, she’d always been interested in what currently went on in the world. But she should have realized even unsophisticated political matters weren’t appropriate topics for ladies to bring up. Would he now think her too intellectual?

  She sniffed the flower daintily. “I was just wondering if you could tell me what the agreement might mean to us here in England.” When he gave her a blank look, she worried that he might no longer like her. “The significance of such an action escapes me,” she lied in a desperate effort to redeem herself.

  “That’s quite all right, my dear.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head.”

  Did he still like her, then? she wondered.

  But then he drew her between a turret and a potted tree, and she knew.

  He still liked her.

  In fact, he was going to kiss her.

  She could tell when a gentleman was aiming to kiss her. After all, it had happened before. In truth, she’d lost count of how many young men had tried their luck with her lips—though most hadn’t succeeded. Rose wasn’t nearly as proper as her sisters, but nor was she apt to kiss every Tom, Dick, and Francis who looked her way.

  So she’d been kissed a few times before, and she knew what to expect. But she had a dreadful secret.

  She didn’t like kissing.

  “Gabriel,” she whispered when he turned her to face him. “May I call you Gabriel?”

  “But of course, dear Rose.” His voice had deepened, and he raised a hand and skimmed her cheek. Then it curled around the back of her neck as he drew her closer, and before she could say anything further—before she could attempt to slow him down, to possibly suggest they get to know each other better before sharing this intimacy—he lowered his head.

  His other arm went around her, and his hand pressed into the small of her back, drawing her against him. As the flower dropped from her fingers, his mouth came down on hers.

  She stiffened, but he seemed to be enjoying himself too much to notice. When he deepened the kiss, she tried to relax and participate. She tried to learn to enjoy herself, too. But try as she might, kissing didn’t feel as wondrous as everyone else said it did. In fact, it didn’t feel like much at all beyond a damp, messy collision of mouths.

  She was relieved when he pulled away—and even more relieved when her mother’s distinctive silvery laughter floated to her on the night air.

  She spun away and leapt back onto the terrace. “Mum! And…you,” she added rather ungraciously as her gaze shifted to her mother’s right.

  There stood Kit Martyn, looking handsome and mysterious in the low torchlight. A commoner in a plain suit had no right to look so good. She felt those champagne bubbles again, and she hadn’t even been drinking spirits.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked him.

  “Building a new dining room for the king. What have you been doing here?” he asked in a way that made it clear he thought he knew.

  Rose felt herself turning red. For once, she appreciated the dark.

  “She’s with me,” the duke said, sounding rather possessive. “Though what business is it of yours, I wonder?”

  Picturing these two in a fistfight, Rose feared Kit might win. “Your grace,” she said quickly, “may I present Mr. Christopher Martyn. Kit, the Duke of Bridgewater.” She looked up at Gabriel. “He’s just a family friend,” she added, feeling it necessary to explain.

  “And I asked Mr. Martyn to help me search for you,” her mother put in. “I felt it unsafe, as a lady, to be out in the dark alone.”

  “Indeed, it wouldn’t have been wise.” Kit held Gabriel’s gaze until the duke looked away. “I’m glad to have been of service, but I must be off. I’ve much to accomplish before tomorrow. Lady Trentingham, Lady Rose.” He nodded toward them both, then addressed the duke with an elegant bow. “Your grace.”

  Slightly disconcerted, Rose watched him walk away.

  “We should return as well,” her mother told her. “I’m grateful to have found you in such safe hands.”

  If Mum’s voice held a bit of warning, Rose chose to ignore it. She hadn’t been doing anything her mother would disapprove of, anyhow. Mum always said one ought to kiss a man before marrying him, to make sure it wasn’t disagreeable. Although Rose reckoned that in her own case, she’d just have to resign herself to her fate.

  Seething with jealousy, she’d listened to Violet’s sighs over her first kisses with Ford, and watched from afar Lily’s tender kisses with Rand. But kisses had never been like that for Rose. In all honesty, she found them more than a little repulsive.

  Of course, she’d never told her sisters as much, so she sometimes wondered if they, too, were concealing their disgust. But she thought not. Both her sisters were honest to a fault. How they could enjoy having their mouths mauled was beyond her, but apparently they did.

  Still, on the way back to the drawing room, she couldn’t help smiling up at the duke. She’d liked the way he’d made it clear to the others that she was with him. He truly was perfect.

  It wasn’t his fault she didn’t enjoy kissing.

  ELEVEN

  “I’M PLEASED.” King Charles nodded thoughtfully, his dark eyes skimming the dining room again with approval. “And I’m satisfied with your explanation, Mr. Martyn. Do be certain, however, to complete this project per schedule.”

  “I can assure Your Majesty that will not prove a problem.” Kit walked with the king toward the double doors and threw them wide. “I thank you for taking the time to visit.”

  Kit smiled as he watched King Charles make his way through the vestibule, several of the man’s ever-pre
sent spaniels yipping after him. After pulling the doors shut, he unfolded some tarpaulins and laid them near the side of the chamber that was supported by scaffolding. Then he strode through a door at the other end, along a corridor, and into Brick Court. “Come along, now! Beams, lumber—move!”

  Dazed, he stepped aside to let the workmen through with the first of the new materials he’d ordered.

  If it wouldn’t be such a bad example, he’d slump against the wall.

  He’d passed.

  He wandered back along the corridor and into the dining room, keeping out of his crew’s way. He’d been up all night—supervising, reevaluating, working with his own hands—while his men secured the damaged area and hauled away all evidence of the mishap. He’d attached countless strips of decorative molding, polished all the oak paneling, stripped off the tarpaulins and polished the new floor, too. All in hopes of charming the king’s eye.

  He’d passed.

  Dropping onto a fresh stack of wood and using it as a chair, he flipped blindly through a book of architectural renderings. He should go home; he was exhausted and needed to check in with his sister. Ellen had a habit of finding trouble when he wasn’t around.

  The drawings before him blurred.

  He’d passed.

  All was not lost.

  When the double doors reopened, his heart seized as he wondered wildly whether the king had some complaint, after all. Two ladies entered instead, and he sagged with relief. Then sat straight when he recognized them.

  Lady Trentingham and Rose, both dressed in bright, cheerful colors. Surely a sight for tired eyes.

  “Oh!” the countess exclaimed, meeting his gaze. “I didn’t expect to find you here.”

  He wouldn’t wager on that.

  “I just wanted to show Rose this beautiful chamber,” she added.

  Kit shut his book. “I was about to leave, anyway. It’s time I went home.”

  “Home? Surely you’re not finished here. It looks wonderful, but—”

  “It’s stunning, Mum! Even better than you described.” Rose gazed up at the ceiling. “Beauty and whimsy all rolled into one. I’m beginning to think some of the decoration here at Windsor overdone, but this room doesn’t take itself as seriously as the others.”

  “Thank you,” Kit said. Relishing the admiration in her voice, he watched her wander the chamber, touching a carved panel, the white marble mantel, a bit of grooved wainscoting. Smiling, he turned to her mother. “The project is well in hand for the moment; I’m not abandoning it, I assure you. I live right here in Windsor. Not a ten minute walk.”

  “Is that so? I imagine your home must be lovely.”

  He knew a hint when he heard one. “Would you like to see it?”

  “Mum, I don’t think—”

  “We’d love to,” Lady Trentingham cut in. “Weren’t you just saying, dear, how tedious it is here in the daytime?”

  TWELVE

  KIT LED THEM on the easy walk from the castle down the hill to the Thames. Rose decided it felt good to be out in the fresh air. And there truly was nothing to do at Windsor Castle in the daytime. With the exception of the palace staff, it seemed everyone was still abed, sleeping off the excesses of the night before.

  When Rose had hit her pillow after midnight, court had still been in full swing. She would have to adjust her country hours and perhaps take a nap this evening before court got underway. They had just begun setting up gaming tables when she left. Although she’d never tried gambling, as the duke was a keen gambler she found herself suddenly eager to join in. Perhaps she could win enough money for a new gown.

  The steep, curved street followed the castle wall. Across the road, townspeople were going about their business, entering and exiting rows of gabled shops with living accommodations above. Women carried baskets over their arms, gathering purchases as children and dogs played tag in the cobbled street.

  No dirt road here, in this bustling town where the king kept a household.

  “Look,” she said as they reached the bottom of the hill. “A bookshop.”

  “John Young, Bookseller,” Mum read off the old, cracked wooden sign.

  Rose was always looking for new books to help practice her skills. “I wonder if they might have any books written in foreign languages.”

  “They do,” Kit put in. “I found this there.” He raised the book tucked under his arm. “It’s Latin.”

  “You read Latin?”

  “Certainly not,” he said with a smile. “Latin was always my worst subject, and I’ve forgotten most all of it since leaving school.”

  Rose wasn’t surprised, since he hadn’t understood her family’s Latin motto.

  “I bought this book to examine the drawings,” he explained, opening the volume and holding it up as they walked. “See? Classical architecture.”

  “But there are words,” Mum pointed out. “Descriptions.”

  “True.” He sighed as he closed the cover. “I believe, actually, that this book is meant to teach one how to accurately draw buildings. But I enjoy studying the pictures.”

  “Rose can read Latin,” Mum said.

  Rose avoided her mother’s gaze, instead looking longingly inside the bookshop as they passed. “May we stop here on the way back, Mum?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “We can stop now, if you wish,” Kit offered, pleasantly surprising Rose. She thought fleetingly that were it the Duke of Bridgewater walking beside her, she wouldn’t have dared show an enthusiasm for books.

  It was freeing to be with a gentleman she had no interest in.

  “Later,” Mum said. “I’m anxious to see the house.”

  At last they came to the end of the street. On the bucolic River Thames, swans glided majestically. Rose gazed across the Windsor Bridge toward the charming town of Eton. “Where do you live?” she asked Kit.

  “Right here,” he said, gesturing toward an impressive redbrick house that sat beside the river.

  No, not a house. A mansion.

  She consciously closed her gaping jaw. “It looks like Rand’s house.”

  Her mother smiled. “Rand’s house is white, not brick.”

  “But the style in which it’s built…” Rose looked toward Kit, knowing he’d understand what she meant. “It looks nothing like Windsor’s dining room.”

  “The dining room reflects the king’s preferences, not my own.”

  “I like yours much better,” she murmured as he led them under a small columned portico and into the house.

  She paused on the threshold, admiring the clean, modern lines of the entry hall. The black marble floor was studded with small white marble diamonds. Smooth, pale stone walls were set off by classic dark oak molding. A high ceiling led to a corridor beyond, where Rose glimpsed a series of archways that vaguely reminded her of a vaulted cathedral.

  As she’d said, it reminded her of the house Kit had built for Rand in Oxford. But better. Not to mention at least twice the size.

  Kit Martyn was quite obviously a wealthy individual.

  “Mr. Martyn.” To Rose’s surprise, a butler dressed in dark blue rushed to meet him. “Welcome home.” His inquisitive pale blue gaze swept over the ladies. “Shall I have Mrs. Potts prepare dinner for three?”

  “Thank you, Graves, but I don’t believe the ladies are staying long.”

  “As you say, sir.” The servant took himself off.

  “You wanted to see the house?” Kit asked, directing the question to Mum.

  “We’d love to,” she assured him.

  He led them through to a drawing room, all white paneled walls with a gray marble fireplace. The furniture was upholstered but not fussy, the windows large and tall, allowing sunshine to flood the room.

  “I prefer natural light to candlelight,” he told them. “Would you care to sit?”

  “No,” Rose said. “I’d like to see the rest.”

  He shared a smile with her mother.

  Rose’s favorite room on the ground flo
or was the dining room, a complete contrast to King Charles’s in its simplicity. Other than wide crown molding, the ceiling was smooth and white—at night it would reflect the light of the single carved oak chandelier that hovered over the round table. The walls were covered with dark oak paneling, rich and simple except for a few ornately carved sections above the fireplace.

  “Sixteenth century, all of it.” Kit waved the book he still held, indicating the wood that graced the walls. “I rescued it from a house I renovated—the owner wanted something more extravagant.”

  Rose turned in a slow circle. “Something more like Windsor Castle’s decorations?”

  “Very much.”

  “That owner has no taste,” she declared.

  Kit grinned. “Would you like to see upstairs?”

  A small, exquisite stained-glass window threw colored light onto the curving staircase. “Another item I rescued,” Kit said, waving the book at it, too.

  The bedchambers weren’t simply sleeping rooms; they were suites—and there were many. His sister’s was peacock blue with a lovely canopied bed, a sitting room with a settle, a desk, and a marble fireplace, and a mirrored dressing room that made both Rose and her mother jealous. This suite was also the only cluttered area in the house, with pretty little items decorating every flat surface. Rose wondered what his sister was like.

  Kit’s chamber boasted more classic oak paneling, a red-draped half-tester bed, and a beautiful sitting room surpassed only by the luxurious dressing room. It had the biggest bathtub Rose had ever seen—not a tub that the servants had dragged upstairs, but a permanent one positioned before a fireplace.

  Rose could imagine herself in a tub like that. She hoped the Duke of Bridgewater lived half so nicely. Many of the estates she’d visited were much too old and drafty, and she’d met quite a few men who seemed more than happy living with their grandmothers’ choices in decor.

  When the Ashcrofts had seen and admired everything, Kit led them downstairs. “Ellen isn’t here,” he muttered darkly as though to himself. “Anywhere.”