Rose (Flower Trilogy) (29 page)

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

“Is Barbara not living in Paris now?”

“Yes, but he knows she’ll be back.”

“I understand he doesn’t visit 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. ’Twas 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 will take the notes back to my quarters and examine every inch.” Her sweet 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 . . . 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.
“I
Sonetti Lussuriosi.”

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

“ ’Tis 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 illicit. Ellen had never been bookish, and she’d been totally 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 indignant.

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

“There aren’t that many. 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.

“ ’Tis 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 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. “Forgive me, Lady Trentingham.”

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

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

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

“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’d not 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.

“Lady Trentingham?”

She swiveled back. “Yes, Harriet?”

“I shall report to your lodging forthwith.”

“Take your time, dear. I expect Rose will be busy for quite a while. And you and Walter have much to discuss.”

The maid exchanged a puzzled look with the guard.

“Discuss?”

“Will he leave the King’s employ and take a post at Trentingham, or will you find a position here? A major decision, do you not think?”

Chrystabel imagined both their mouths falling open as she made her way back into the palace. But she was certain their relationship would come to that, soon if not this night.

Her matchmaking instincts were all but infallible.

Kit’s notebook was filled by the time he made the last measurement, and Rose had long since slipped off her high heels. When they stepped out of the building, the sun was peeking over the horizon, gilding the privy garden in golden morning light.

“Parterre a l’anglais,”
Rose murmured, mentally comparing the area before her to her father’s exquisitely planted gardens.

“
Parterre a
what?” Kit shut the door behind them.

“Literally it means ‘English floor,’ but you must imagine it said in a derisive French tone.” She grinned at Kit’s quick smile, adding, “It refers to the English preference for smooth turf like this rather than their own intricate figured
parterres.
”

Hampton Court’s privy garden was divided into simple, plain grass quarters, each with a single statue—Venus and Cleopatra in brass, and Adonis and Apollo in marble. In the center of it all sat Arethusa above a great black marble fountain with naught but a trickle of water.

“It is rather pathetic,” Kit admitted. “I’ve heard the fountains in Italy gush water.”

Rose shifted both her shoes to one hand. “I can see why Charles is putting his discarded mistress out here—I imagine he rarely visits this garden himself.”

“I’d wager he does,” he disagreed. “He needs places all his own, whether beautiful or not. The poor man cannot even dine or dress without people watching.”

Rose had never thought of the King as “poor,” but she supposed Kit had a point. Court etiquette could be tedious, she thought through a yawn.

“ ’Tis morning,” she suddenly realized. “We’ve been up all night.”

“I’m used to it,” Kit muttered.

“I’m not. Do you know, I’ve only stayed up all night once before, and I was with you then, too—the night we deciphered Rand’s brother’s diary. You’re a bad influence,”

she accused with a tired smile.

“You can sleep today. God knows nothing happens at Hampton Court while the sun shines. For the nobility, anyway. My crew will be arriving any minute, though; we’d best leave before we’re discovered.”

He put a hand to her back, guiding her toward the gate, and Rose realized it was the first time he’d touched her since they’d laughed in Cloister Green Court. They’d passed the long hours of the night working and talking. He hadn’t tried even once to kiss her, let alone found an excuse for a furtive caress.

Apparently he’d accepted her refusal of his proposal. She was grateful to retain his friendship, and ’twas easier this way, because it would be hard to keep saying no . . . but she was unbearably sad at the thought of never kissing him again.

Walter was no longer at the gate; an older guard nodded as they passed though. No sooner had they rounded the corner of the building than they heard masculine voices and the stomp of boots.

“The workmen.” Kit grabbed her hand. “We cannot let them see us.” With that, he began running along the perimeter of the palace, pulling her along with him.

She dropped one of her shoes. “Wait!”

“We’ll return for it!” he said without slowing.

They were both huffing and puffing by the time they rounded another corner and skidded to a stop. When he dropped her hand, she felt a loss. “Safe,” he declared with a breathless laugh. “I don’t think they saw us.”

Her chest was heaving, and she noticed him noticing.

“Whyever does it matter?”

His gaze returned to her face. “If any one of them is sabotaging this project, I’d not have him know I’m investigating. They’ll all be hard at work in a few minutes. Then we can sneak into the palace.”

“Like spies,” she said with a smile, wishing he were still touching her.

“Like spies.” He grinned, glancing around the extensive gardens. “In the meantime, I’ve been hankering to check out the maze.”

“Not the maze,” she groaned. “I despise mazes. I always get lost.”

“If you know the left-hand rule, ’tis impossible to get lost.”

“How is that?”

“I’ll show you. You’ll not get lost.” Apparently noting her skeptical expression, he took her hand again and began walking. “Besides, I reckon I can make it fun to get lost.”

Something had changed in the quality of his voice; something that made bubbles start pinging in Rose’s stomach.

The grass felt cool and springy under her stockinged feet. “I missed the gaming,” she suddenly realized. “Again.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding at all sincere.

“I was hoping to win enough for a new gown.”

“At Court?” He chuckled. “A gown is a mere pittance.

Word has it the Duchess Mazarin lost ten thousand last week. On a single bet.”

“Ten thousand
pounds
?”

He nodded. “Pounds.”

“That’s my whole inheritance!” Perhaps it was just as well that she’d missed the gaming. “I’ve got better things to do with my money.”

“You have big plans for it, then?”

“Unlike my dowry, ’tis mine. It will not be my husband’s.”

He glanced sideways at her, one of his black brows lifted. “I’m not in need of it. I cannot speak for the duke.”

The thought startled her. The truth was, she had no idea whether the duke was in need of funds or not. He dressed richly and had given her diamond earrings, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. For all she knew, he could owe his tailor and jeweler a fortune.

“Well, he’ll not be getting it,” she said.

“I admire your conviction. What do you plan to do with it?”

She flashed him a sly grin. “Maybe I’ll give it to Ellen so she and Thomas can move their pawnshop to London.”

“Be serious.”

“Is this more of the getting-to-know-each-other game?”

They’d come to the entrance of the maze. “Tell me,” he said softly.

Her sisters had both nurtured dreams since childhood; Violet wanted to publish a philosophy book, and Lily hoped to build and staff a home for stray animals. But in truth, Rose had never made such high-minded plans. She’d only ever hoped to find love and be happy.

She just hadn’t expected that goal to be so difficult.

“I want to travel,” she said. “I wish to see the world.”

That brow went up again. “Does the duke enjoy travel?”

She had no idea. In fact, she realized now, she knew little of the duke at all. They’d never had a serious conversation, never shared a confidence, never discussed likes, dislikes, values—or much of anything at all.

But she’d spent hours talking to Kit, about anything and everything. They’d become friends before she ever kissed him. She knew he wanted to travel, to Italy and elsewhere.

“Let us go inside,” she said. “I’d have you show me this left-hand rule.”

The look he gave her made it clear he knew she was avoiding his question. But he took her remaining shoe and set it down with his own things, then led her inside the tall hedge maze.

“Put your left hand on the wall as we walk,” he instructed. “And leave it there. Just follow that left wall without breaking contact, and I guarantee you’ll find the center without getting lost. Go on,” he urged when she hesitated.

“I’ll follow you.”

She slanted him a wary glance, but did as he said, skimming her left hand along the leaves as she marched through the hornbeam hedges. When they reached a dead end, she turned on him. “It didn’t work.”

“Keep your hand on the wall,” he repeated. “Follow it around.”

“ ’Tis a dead end.”

“I didn’t say you’d never come to a dead end. I said you wouldn’t get lost.” He took her left hand, pressed a slow, warm kiss to the palm, then placed it back against the hedge. “Keep going.”

She did, releasing a long, shuddering breath. The towering hedges made the path shady and intimate. At the second dead end, she turned to him again. “This cannot be the optimum route.”

“Of course it isn’t.” He looked amused. “You’d have to know the pattern of the maze to take the optimum route.

But this is a safe route. You won’t wander the same way twice, and you will find the center.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, so fast and light she wondered if she might have imagined it. “Keep going.”

At the third dead end she turned to him once more. “This is a waste of time.”

“Of course ’tis a waste of time. ’Tis a maze—there are few things more frivolous.” He laughed and trailed a finger down her cheek to her chin, a frisson of warmth following.

His thumb rubbed her bottom lip. “But there is nothing quite so delightful as wasting time with someone you care for, is there?”