by Lauren Royal
“I’m well aware.” The countess shook her head mournfully. “It’s unfortunate, and certainly not in my plans. But she more than held her own against the unsavory Featherstonehaugh last night—besides which, I have no intention of allowing her to get into such a vulnerable position again.”
“You feel you can ensure her safety?”
“I appreciate your concern, Kit. But never doubt that I’m watching over her. If you wish to help,” she continued archly, “the best thing you can do is get on with those gallant gestures. Once you’ve secured her hand, she and I will leave court once and for all.”
Kit’s hand closed around the bit of brick in his pocket. “Take her home,” he begged. “As soon as I’ve finished my inspection here, I’ll come straight to Trentingham. Without these distractions, I’ll be able to concentrate my efforts on the, um, romancing.”
“Excellent. But we’ll leave tomorrow. Rose would never forgive me if she missed the masked ball. Even now, she’s wearing her fingers to nubs sewing blooms on a gown.”
“Blooms?”
“Her costume. She’s going as a flower arrangement.”
Despite his anxiety, he smiled. It was so Rose. “I thought she would be sleeping.”
“She did, for a while. But then she raided the palace’s gardens and set both our maids to work. The three of them are stitching madly.”
He sighed, seeing her mind was made up. “What are you going as?”
“A mother. I’ll watch her, Kit.”
“You do that,” he said.
But he would watch her, too.
FIFTY-TWO
EVERYTHING looked so beautiful!
The masked ball was held in the great hall rather than the Presence Chamber, and instead of candelabra and oil lamps, the huge room was lit by liveried yeomen holding tall, flaming torches. Overhead, the gold stars on the painted hammerbeam ceiling winked on their field of bright blue.
Dancers twirled in the blazing light. King Arthur was paired with a glittery-winged butterfly, and Robin Hood danced with Aphrodite. An angel and a devil were flirting rather madly, and Zeus had his arm around Anne Boleyn.
Decked out in a gown covered neckline to hemline with fresh flowers, Rose watched from a corner, drinking in the splendor and trying to puzzle out everyone’s identities. All the faces were covered by full or half masks, but a few courtiers weren’t difficult to spot.
Beneath Caesar’s crown of laurel leaves, his half mask failed to cover King Charles’s mustache, and as the tallest man in the room, the monarch’s height would have given him away regardless.
The Duchess Mazarin had come as a shepherdess, and her boy Mustapha was her little black sheep. Apparently shepherdesses wore no stays of any sort, because Hortense’s ample bosom moved against the thin fabric of her peasant blouse every time she laughed—which was often.
Rose was trying her best not to stare.
Other ladies were skimpily garbed as well. A tavern wench’s décolletage peeked from her low, frilled bodice. A tipsy doxy flitted about in dishabille. A Greek goddess’s robes couldn’t seem to stay fastened—
“Enjoying yourself?” someone asked, and Rose turned to see Nell Gwyn. Since she was the smallest woman in the chamber, her identity wasn’t in doubt. Her half mask of black matched her lovely black gown. But it was, after all, just an ordinary black gown, much like the one she’d made fun of Louise de Kéroualle wearing yesterday.
Rose cocked her head. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“I’m in mourning,” Nell said gaily, “for poor Louise’s lost hopes.”
Rose laughed and looked for Louise. There she was, as a haughty Cleopatra. But Caesar, surrounded as usual by spaniels and drooling over the buxom shepherdess, seemed distinctly uninterested.
Lost hopes, indeed.
“What a clever costume,” Nell said. “I don’t believe anyone has ever before come as a flower arrangement.” She leaned closer to Rose. “You smell delicious.”
Pleased, Rose smiled beneath her mask. “You know who I am?”
“I know who everyone is,” Nell boasted. “Except him.” She gestured toward a gentleman standing before one of the massive gold- and silver-embroidered tapestries that covered the walls. “Handsome as sin, isn’t he?”
Following Nell’s gaze, Rose spotted a pirate. His breeches were tighter than the current fashion—skintight, as a matter of fact—hinting at long, muscular legs. His full white shirt was unlaced at the throat, revealing a little triangle of skin sprinkled with crisp black hair.
“Handsome, indeed.” Rose wondered if he was a good kisser. “When do the masks come off?”
“Midnight,” Nell said with a tinkling laugh, apparently divining Rose’s thoughts. “But I’ve arranged a surprise first. It should be jolly fun. In the meantime”—she lifted her black skirts—“I’m going to meet that pirate.”
As Rose watched her dance off, a medieval knight arrived bearing a goblet full of warm, spiced wine. He bowed elaborately, his chain mail clanking. “My lady.”
He’d taken no pains to disguise his voice, so she knew it was Gabriel. “My thanks, Sir Knight,” she said, taking the cup and sipping gratefully.
Or gulping might be a better description.
Instead of a mask, he wore a polished helmet complete with a visor that concealed his face. How very appropriate, she thought, for him to dress as a knight in shining armor after yesterday’s duel.
And he wasted no time in reminding her. “I would slay dragons for you, my dear Lady Rose.”
She sighed. “You recognize me?”
“But of course. I would know you anywhere.” The visor creaked when he flipped it up, his blue eyes blazing with earnestness. “You’re the damsel of my dreams…I hope you’ve reconsidered and decided to marry me.”
He was so perfect. So gallant.
Was it terrible of her to be glad the helmet prevented any kissing?
She sipped more wine. “I’m thinking about it, your grace.”
“I would have your answer soon. I would waste no time making you my wife.”
Why couldn’t she just say yes? She’d resolved to do so last night, hadn’t she?
But she didn’t know him. She only knew he was a duke. “Do you like to travel?” she asked.
“I visit my mother in Northumberland every year.”
Oh, wouldn’t that be exciting? “I meant overseas.”
“I get seasick in the bath.” He looked a little green at the mere thought. But then he mustered a bold face. “If you wish to travel, my dear Rose, I will manage.”
She couldn’t expect more. “What’s your favorite book?” she asked, wracking her brain for some of Kit’s questions.
“I don’t read,” he said, looking bewildered.
“You cannot read?”
“Of course I can read. I simply find other pursuits more interesting.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t too bad, then, was it? She wasn’t much of a reader herself, save for news sheets and foreign books. Everyone had different tastes. “Tastes,” she murmured. “Do you prefer sweet or savory?”
His good humor seemed stretched to the breaking point. “What is it with these questions?”
“Nothing. Never mind. Thank you for the wine.”
She wandered away, leaving him staring after her. So he wasn’t much for conversation. Not every fellow liked to talk, she told herself sternly. It wasn’t a crime to keep one’s thoughts to oneself.
She just wondered whether he had any.
Musing, she bumped into someone, crushing more than a few of her flowers. “Pardon me,” the gentleman said in an unnaturally deep voice. A disguised voice, she decided, looking up.
It was the pirate. Her heart skipped a beat. “It was my fault,” she assured him with a flutter of her carefully darkened lashes. She hoped he could see them through the eyeholes of her mask. “I was daydreaming.”
His own masked face was expressionless. “I hope they were sweet dreams.”
Her fingers itched to touch the triangle of skin that showed where his shirt was open at the top. She sipped again instead, feeling the wine go straight to her head. “Will you kiss me?” she asked boldly.
Again, that expressionless reply. “I don’t kiss strangers, my lady. And I’d advise you to follow the same rule.”
Well! She wanted to rip that mask off his handsome face.
Then again, she had no idea whether he was actually handsome under that mask. Maybe he wasn’t. In fact, maybe he was hideous. And if he didn’t want to kiss her, perhaps that was because he knew he had dismal technique.
Feeling better, she flounced away.
But as she flirted with Henry VIII, she felt the pirate watching her. And when a jester led her to the dance floor, she saw him glare. Wherever she went, his gaze seemed to follow.
The only person keeping a closer eye on her was her mother. Dressed in a sea-green gown with a demi-mask to match, Mum watched Rose the entire evening. Since her mother had seemed to all but ignore her so far at court, Rose found the sudden attentiveness disconcerting.
She danced with a monk and then with Thor, but she wasn’t truly enjoying herself. When Merlin lifted his mask to try to kiss her and she discovered he was the Earl of Rosslyn—the married cur!—she almost decided to head back to her apartments.
But she wanted to see the unmasking. And Nell’s surprise.
She was dancing with a Viking when, outside in Clock Court, the great astronomical timepiece struck midnight. Nell sharply clapped her hands. “Yeomen,” she shouted. “Now!”
As one, the flaming torches were extinguished, and the room plunged into darkness.
FIFTY-THREE
ROSE SHRIEKED, and the Viking grabbed her by both arms. “Come here, my lovely.”
He stank. Deprived of her vision, she realized many of the people in the great hall stank—all the flowers on her gown couldn’t mask the odors of stale sweat and too much perfume. Feeling lost, she held tight to the smelly Viking. Though she blinked and blinked, she couldn’t see a thing. Her heart was threatening to pound right out of her chest.
She’d never liked the dark.
“What is this?” she cried.
“It’s naught but a bit of fun,” he said in a voice anything but soothing. Dropping one of her arms, he scrabbled at her mask. Cool air hit her face, swiftly replaced by wet, rubbery lips.
Gagging, she twisted her head. “Get off me!” She wrenched from his grasp and stalked away—or tried to, but tripped instead.
She fell to her hands and knees, bouncing off a body on the floor. “Ah, the flower girl,” a man murmured, his fingers grasping an ankle and working their way up. He gripped her calf and dragged her closer. “Come to me, sweet.”
Whimpering with disgust and fear, she scrambled away on all fours, losing a shoe when it came off in his hand. She kept moving, darting around boots and skirts as she frantically tried to feel her way to freedom. Laughter and exclamations rang through the air along with the sounds of courtiers milling, pausing for a kiss here and a touch there, exploring one another in the dark.
It seemed an enormous, terrifying maze of debauchery.
Someone stepped on her hand, and tears sprang to her eyes. She crawled faster, running headfirst into a pair of legs. Large hands reached down and hauled her up.
“What have we here?” a male voice drawled, sniffing appreciatively. “Oh, the flower girl. Are you not the one guarding the secrets of I Sonetti?”
With that, he clamped her ruthlessly, one large hand on the back of her head and the other against her spine, his lips bruising hers as they found their target in the dark.
She pushed against him and kicked his shins, but he kept her clutched tight. Reaching blindly to his right side, her fingers closed on the hilt of his sword. She pulled with all her might, but the peace strings held fast. Tears trailing hot down her cheeks, she bit his lower lip. Hard.
A metallic flavor flooded her mouth.
“Confound you!” he cried, shoving her away with both hands. Spitting blood, she turned and stumbled into someone soft and fragrant—a woman. The vixen squealed and clawed at her face. Rose careened away, bumped into someone else, and screamed.
Hands gripped her shoulders and held her steady. Just held her, not grasping. An anchor in the dark sea of terror.
“Hush,” he said. “There’s nothing to fear.”
Kit. His voice, his hands. Feeling her knees buckle, she leaned against his shoulder, smelling frankincense and myrrh. Kit. Warm and yielding instead of cold and hard, but a knight in shining armor nonetheless.
“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, settling her more securely against him, locking the two of them together. Whatever flowers might remain on her gown were crushed mercilessly between them, but she cared not a whit.
He felt comforting; he felt right. The last of her fear evaporated as the moans and groans, the squeals and breathy sighs that echoed all around them melted away. More bodies bumped them, but she barely noticed. She was sheltered within his arms, wrapped in his warmth, enveloped in his soothing, woodsy scent.
At the other end of the chamber, a single torch flared to life. They sprang apart as the glow spread to reveal, in the all-but-darkness, courtiers engaged in various and sundry embraces.
It sickened her, this horde of writhing humanity. The whole court sickened her.
“Take me away from 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 goodness it was only Kit here to see her.
Still shaky, she splashed water on her face before she looked up and blinked. “Good heavens, you were the pirate.”
His expression slowly transformed from concern to something darker. “You didn’t know? And yet you asked me to kiss you…and pressed against me in the dark…” He looked thoroughly disillusioned. “Perhaps your reputation is well-earned after all!“
“It is not!” Her trembling was swept away by indignation—and maybe a touch of guilt for her actions here at court. “I’m not like that!”
“You could have fooled me,” he spat.
“What were you doing in the great hall?” she demanded. “You’re not a member of the court!”
“And that’s why you won’t have me, isn’t it?”
“No! To the dickens with the court. I never want to come back here again. Everything here got completely out of hand.”
He opened his mouth, then clos
ed 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.”
She sighed. “I don’t want to fight, either.”
“Rose, you must be more careful around these men.”
“I would never allow—”
“You’re a passionate young 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 let anyone else hold me like that. Anyone but you.”
He stared, wondering whether to be pleased or angry. Anger won. “How can you lie to me 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 during the 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 deuced hypocrite, do you know that? You held me when you didn’t know who I was.”
“Pah,” Kit shot back, “do you take me for a fool? A sightless nitwit would have recognized you at twenty paces. You smell like a blasted 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. “Just as I knew you the moment you caught me in the dark. The moment I touched you, even blind as a bat. I just didn’t connect you with the pirate—although I should have, given that I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone but you, ever!”
Kit stared. She was beautiful in her fury, her cheeks flushed, her agitated breaths puffing in and out between rosebud lips. No one could lie that convincingly.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I mistook your meaning and judged you harshly. You’re right.”
“Of course I’m right.”
He cracked a smile. “You’ve got a knack for 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.”