by Lauren Royal
She had to get rid of it.
When Gabriel got to her first, the other suitor turned away dejectedly. “Pardon me, your grace,” she said quickly. “I was just heading to the ladies’ attiring room.”
“Are you quite all right?” Gabriel asked, his blue eyes radiating concern.
He really was terribly nice. “Oh, yes. I’m just feeling a bit, um, peaked.”
“Still?”
“It’s all the excitement, I’m certain,” she told him with a romantic sigh.
When he smiled, she knew she’d succeeded in convincing him he was responsible for her excitement. Leaning close, he lowered his voice to an intimate murmur. “I do hope you’ll be feeling better soon.”
She didn’t care for his perfume. It was too sweet. “Oh, I’m certain I will,” she said blithely and sailed out of the chamber.
Blessedly, the attiring room was empty. She stuffed the book under her cloak and dropped onto one of the green baize benches.
She really was feeling a little bit peaked.
TWENTY-THREE
“KIT,” HIS SISTER said a few minutes later. “I need to talk to you.”
“One moment, Ellen.” He turned back to inspecting the latest materials that had arrived.
“I need to talk to you now,” she yelled across the courtyard.
“It will do nicely,” he told his new foreman, then took a deep breath and strode over to his sister, thinking, not for the first time, that he was mad to keep bringing her here every night. “What in your little selfish world is so important you had to interrupt me?”
Instead of bristling, she looked smug. “Lady Trentingham wishes to see you.”
He slanted her a suspicious look. “Lady Trentingham doesn’t even know who you are.”
“Could that be because you weren’t polite enough to introduce me?” She straightened her slim shoulders. “Well, she noticed me, anyway. Came right up and introduced herself, then asked where she might find you. I gather she looked in the dining room, but of course you were out here.”
“Where did she find you?”
“On the terrace. She’s waiting for you there.”
He headed in that direction, wondering just what Ellen had been doing out on the terrace now that she no longer had her book to occupy her.
He admitted to himself that this arrangement must be even more frustrating for her than it was for him. It couldn’t be pleasant having to entertain oneself all evening long. But he didn’t feel as though he had a choice. If he left her at home, she’d surely run off to enjoy the company of that wretched pawn dealer. Doing goodness knew what.
He certainly didn’t want to know.
Life had been so much simpler when he was off at school and Lady St. Vincent was still alive and caring for Ellen. He and his sister had spent glorious times together during the weeks he’d been able to visit. They’d never argued.
Well, rarely. Only when she’d begged him to take her back to school with him.
He stopped in the dining room long enough to shrug back into his surcoat before stepping out to the terrace.
Lady Trentingham turned in a swish of golden brocade skirts. “Kit. Ellen found you.”
“I apologize for not introducing you earlier.”
She waved that off. “I knew at first glance you were related. She looks just like you. A little prettier,” she added with a smile.
He grinned back. “I should hope so.”
“I wanted to let you know that my daughter is in the ladies’ attiring room. If you can play truant for a bit, I’d like you to be there when she comes out.”
Kit hesitated, suspecting from Lady Trentingham’s tone that this was more of an order than a request. He was dying to spend time with Rose, but still determined to avoid distractions. “Rose was here a while ago, my lady,” he said instead of answering. “She mentioned that she was looking for you.”
“Is that so?” The countess reached to straighten his cravat. “Well, she’s going to find you instead.”
TWENTY-FOUR
ROSE HAD NEARLY steeled herself to venture forth from the attiring room when two young women walked in.
“Oh,” the blond one said when she spotted her. “You’re here.”
Rose didn’t care for her tone. She wanted to slap her across her pinched face. But she also wanted to be liked here at court, so she plastered on a smile. “I’m Rose Ashcroft. And you are…?”
“Lady Wyncherly.”
“And I’m Lady Wembley.” The other girl joined her friend at the large gilt-framed mirror. Her hair was so black Rose imagined she dyed it and used a lead comb.
“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady…” Willoughby? Wemperley? “Ladies. You’re both married, then?”
“Yes,” they said in unison, and then the dark-haired one added, “and you’re not.”
For once, Rose could think of worse things than being unmarried. Like being one of these harpies.
The blond Lady W touched a pimple on the other’s face. “Right there,” she said.
Her friend glared at herself in the mirror. “Stuff and bother, another one.”
The blonde pulled a tiny silver box out of her drawstring purse. “Here, choose a patch.”
While the pimpled Lady W rummaged through the box with a fingertip, the blond one turned to Rose. “Why aren’t you busy kissing someone?”
Rose was rapidly concluding it was just as well none of the women here seemed to like her, because she certainly didn’t like them. But she decided to ignore the slur. “I’m resting until the gaming.”
“There won’t be any gaming tonight,” pimpled Lady W said, choosing a crescent-shaped patch.
“No gaming?” Rose echoed, dismayed.
Blond Lady W pulled some adhesive from her purse and dotted it on the back. “Haven’t you heard?” She stuck the black velvet on her friend’s face. “This will be an early evening, because we’re all leaving for Hampton Court tomorrow. Will you be coming along?”
She sounded as though she hoped not.
“I’m not sure,” Rose told her. She’d found no opportunity to discuss it yet with Mum. Half of her wanted to go to Hampton Court just to spite these two, while the other half thought the peace of Trentingham Manor sounded like heaven.
Unfortunately, there were no potential husbands at home.
The blonde chose a patch for herself—a cupid—even though she was already wearing nine and had no pimple to cover. Patches were quite in fashion, and Rose wore one herself—a small heart at the outside edge of her right eyebrow—but she thought the woman’s face looked diseased with so many black shapes all over it.
Maybe blond Lady W was diseased. Maybe most of the patches were hiding hideous smallpox scars. Although Rose knew it wasn’t nice of her, the thought made her smile.
“What?” the Lady Ws barked together.
Rose shrugged and sauntered out of the little chamber. She was certain they started talking about her the moment she cleared the door—and she doubted they had anything positive to say. It was a good thing she didn’t care.
Stepping into the drawing room, she stopped short at the sight of Kit. He shifted from foot to foot, gazing into space and looking uncomfortable. Well, he didn’t belong here at court, so that wasn’t such a surprise. Perhaps the king wanted the drawing room renovated too, and he was studying it.
She noticed Kit was taller than she, but not terribly much taller. Maybe half a head, while she only came up to Gabriel’s chin. Kit didn’t make her feel petite like the duke did.
He finally observed her. “Rose,” he greeted with a smile.
No Lady. Did that mean he considered her a friend now?
“Kit. Finished working already? It’s not even dawn.” Suddenly remembering her plans, she dropped her teasing tone. “Will you kiss me?”
“Here? Now?” His eyes widened, becoming more green than brown.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she rushed out, cursing herself silently for her habit of speak
ing before she thought. “I just…well, I just want to see how you do it.”
He looked amused. “Like anyone else does it, I imagine.”
He was wrong, so wrong, about that. As he moved closer, the little bubbles began dancing in her stomach.
He was very, very wrong.
His gaze locked on hers, now purest green with only flecks of brown. Flecks she was close enough to see. Though his scent was light, it still overwhelmed her—that woodsy perfume mixed with the dust of the construction site and a sweet tinge of ink.
“Are you certain you want a kiss now?” he teased back. “Right here, in front of the entire court?”
“Haven’t you heard?” a gentleman cut in. “Our Lady Rose quite enjoys kissing.”
Startled, Rose turned to find Lord Davenport standing behind her. She’d kissed him last night and been disappointed, but at least he’d had good manners.
“Greetings, my dear Lady Rose,” he said and bent to kiss her again, right there—as Kit had said—in front of the entire court.
But before his lips could touch hers, she felt herself pulled out of the way. She would have fallen if not for Kit’s steadying hands…but then, it was he who had yanked her off balance in the first place.
“Why on earth did you do that?” she snapped, though she’d been about to dodge the unwanted kiss herself. Wriggling out of Kit’s arms, she turned to glare at him. “You’ve insulted Lord Davenport!”
Kit’s mouth fell open. “But he…you weren’t…” Pausing to gather himself, he rubbed the back of his neck. “Rose, I—”
“Ah, there you are.”
She whirled to find that Lord Davenport had fled…only to be replaced by the Duke of Bridgewater.
Gabriel wore a charming smile. “You promised me this dance, if I’m remembering right?”
She hadn’t, but before she could say so he was leading her away.
“I don’t like seeing other men touch you,” Gabriel said.
“Then don’t look,” she suggested, laughing when he began to protest. “I didn’t encourage him,” she soothed.
“Shall I call him out, then?”
“Gemini, no!” She laughed again, furtively searching for Kit. He was nowhere to be found. “You’re ten times the man he is, your grace. He’s not worth your time.”
The duke’s pretty blue eyes sparkled, telling her he liked hearing that.
They danced an almain and once again received jealous glances from gentlemen and ladies alike. Gabriel was a perfect gentleman. But after the dance, when he contrived to draw her behind the curtains, she sighed.
If only she enjoyed his kisses instead of dreading them, life would be so much better.
They weren’t the only couple in the big bay window. In one corner, two figures were locked in a passionate embrace.
“Don’t look,” Gabriel whispered, turning her to face the other corner.
There, another couple was entwined, and the lady’s skirts appeared to be hiked up to her knees! Rose was uncomfortably reminded of the engravings in Ellen’s book.
She needed air.
“I wish to go outdoors,” she told Gabriel.
“Excellent idea. There’s a distinct lack of privacy in this area.”
She hadn’t meant with him; she’d endured four of his kisses tonight, and she didn’t intend to suffer a fifth.
As they emerged from behind the curtains, Rose looked around for rescue, relieved to meet the gaze of Viscount Hathersham. She’d kissed him two nights ago, and he hadn’t been that bad. At least not bad enough that she couldn’t risk encouraging him a little if it might save her from another private outing with the duke.
“Lord Hathersham!” she called, waving him closer. “I completely forgot that I’d promised you the next dance.”
She hadn’t, of course, but thankfully he wasn’t dim enough to say so. He bowed and took her by the hand, raising it to his lips. His kiss was a bit damper than she’d remembered, but at least it was to her hand, not her mouth. “The next dance will be my pleasure, Lady Rose. And well worth the wait.”
As they moved toward the dance floor, Rose sent Gabriel what she hoped he would take as an apologetic look.
“I never asked you to dance,” the viscount said in a low tone that she imagined he thought seductive.
“Well, you should have,” she told him with a smile.
“You feel we two are suited, then?”
“For a dance.”
Though a vigorous country dance would have been more to her liking, the musicians had chosen a minuet. As the dancers went to their toes, the viscount pulled Rose near. “I’m hoping I can persuade you we’re suited for more than a dance.” One of his hands slipped around her and rested on the small of her back. “You move nicely,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I have nice moves as well.” When she tried to gain some distance, he pressed her even closer. “Especially,” he added, “in bed.”
Panicking, she forced a girlish giggle. “Oh, my lord! There’s no bed here at court.”
“We can find one,” he murmured as his hand began to drift lower.
“My lord!” She twisted subtly out of his embrace, not wanting to make a scene. “That is hardly appropriate,” she told him in a voice colder than the ice sculpture that decorated the refreshment table.
“But, my lady—”
“Hush up and dance!”
She held herself in check, though she wanted to rant and rave—and perhaps bash him over the head with something good and heavy. The Chinese vase on that silver table would do nicely.
The nerve of him!
When the dance ended, she muttered a stiff “Thank you, my lord,” and bolted for the solitude of the terrace.
TWENTY-FIVE
“SHE’S DISTRESSED,” Lady Trentingham said, standing with Kit in a dark corner of the drawing room. “And she’ll be alone out there on the terrace. Go to her.”
“I’d wager she won’t be alone for long,” Kit predicted. A safe bet, given the Duke of Bridgewater was wandering toward the door already.
“I’m sure she’d appreciate you whisking her away for a spell.”
“She didn’t seem to appreciate me earlier,” he said sourly, remembering her hostility outside the ladies’ attiring room.
A short laugh escaped the countess’s lips. “My prickly Rose. But surely a resilient fellow like you can’t be frightened off by a few thorns?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You can find solitude, yes? You know this castle better than anyone.”
Kit eyed the woman curiously. “Aren’t you a mite concerned about letting your daughter go off alone with a young man? I thought chaperones were supposed to abhor that sort of thing.”
Lady Trentingham’s lips quirked. “Are you saying you’ll divest Rose of her innocence at the first opportunity?”
“Of course not!” He was fairly certain he’d just blushed all the way down to his toes. “I would never—”
“Indeed, I trust that you wouldn’t. Though of course everyone gets carried away at times.” Her expression subtly shifted, her eyes glittering with something that wasn’t quite menace, but wasn’t friendliness, either. “I believe in giving my children the freedom to learn from their own mistakes. Rose is nineteen, and thus entitled to a measure of privacy. But please know, Kit, that I am not remiss in my chaperoning duties. I may not always be by my daughter’s side, but I always know what she’s getting up to.”
Kit swallowed hard. “I see.”
She gave him a little push. “Now, go. I’ll keep an eye on Ellen.”
He went, quickly, feeling foolish as he elbowed his way past the more sedate duke and handily beat him outdoors. This whole endeavor had become an exercise in humiliation. Here he was, a grown man shirking his responsibilities, jeopardizing his livelihood, and literally shoving people out of the way, all in pursuit of a girl. A girl who, though she appeared perfectly willing to flirt with him in private, never hesitated to point out h
is inferior status in company. On top of which, there was her mother—her mother—orchestrating their relationship and critiquing Kit’s every move.
His masculine pride was more than bruised. It was beaten to a pulp.
But that all floated to the back of his mind when he saw her standing at the edge of the terrace. Silhouetted in the moonlight, she gazed over the darkened Thames Valley.
“Rose,” he called softly as he approached.
She started, then turned, looking amused. “Kit? You always turn up.”
Mercifully, she seemed to have forgotten she’d been angry with him. He glanced back, noting the duke had made it out to the terrace. “Would you fancy a stroll?” he asked her quickly, already taking her arm.
She fell into step beside him. “Where will we stroll to?”
“Just around the courtyards, or—”
“Lady Rose!”
“It’s Gabriel,” she whispered, walking faster. “Ignore him.”
“Don’t you like him?”
“Of course I like him! He’s a duke!” She sped up, walking amazingly quickly considering her high heels. “I just need to leave court for a while, that’s all.”
Her mother really was quite perceptive. “And why is that?” he asked, steering her around a corner.
“I’m making a fool of myself here,” she said with a sigh, never one to mince words. “I wish to break the cycle.”
He laughed, casting another glance back. Thankfully, they seemed to have lost the duke. “A fool?” he echoed, enjoying the coincidence of their similar mental states. Perhaps love made a fool out of everyone.
Not that he was in love. He hadn’t meant love. Not love love. Just—romance. Courtship. That sort of thing.
He tugged at his cravat, feeling suddenly hot though it was a cool evening. “I think you’re mistaken. It’s quite obvious all the men like you.”
Men like that popinjay who had tried to kiss her.
“And all the ladies hate me.” He could hear the pout in her voice.
“They’re only jealous,” he soothed.
“I know that.”
As he led her through a small courtyard, he laughed again, enjoying her candor.