Kit shook it. “I say, Rosslyn, this is a relief. I didn’t feel quite right competing against you for the post.” Not that the two of them had ever been close. Though they’d attended Westminster School as well as university together, they’d never run in the same circles. Kit had been a King’s Scholar with his tuition paid by the Crown, while Rosslyn stuck to his own high-born crowd. Still, Kit had always got on well with everyone, and he disliked the idea of making an enemy out of a friend.
But that wouldn’t have stopped him from doing whatever it took to beat the competition. He’d been working toward this appointment all his life. Now he was so close.
“You always were too good for your own good.” Rosslyn’s handshake was limp. “Far better than I.”
Kit grinned. “Well, then, may the best man win.”
He knew he was the best man.
Now he just had to prove it.
EIGHT
AS THE EVENING wore on, Gabriel sought out Rose for a second dance and then a third. “People will talk,” she told him as he guided her toward the dance floor for the fourth time.
“Would that trouble you?” he asked.
“Not at all, your grace.” Rose’s attention was drawn by a spectacle that was already becoming familiar: King Charles crossing the chamber followed by a bevy of yipping spaniels. Charmed, she smiled as she saw him stop before a petite woman and slide an arm around her possessively. “Who is that?” she asked.
The duke barely spared the couple a glance. “Have you never met Nell Gwyn?”
“Is that Nell Gwyn? Gemini!” Rose knew the name, of course; she doubted there was a soul in England who hadn’t heard of the brothel-born actress who’d stolen His Majesty’s heart. But she’d expected Nell to be exquisite.
Although the woman heartily kissing the king was pretty, Rose wouldn’t call her beautiful. Her small figure was lushly curvy, her hair a riot of red-brown curls. Rose’s eyes widened as King Charles backed his mistress toward a chair and pulled her onto his lap. Over the music, Nell’s delighted laughter mixed with the ever-present yaps of the king’s dogs.
“I had no idea she was allowed at court,” Rose mused. “Has His Majesty granted her a title?”
“Of course not.” Gabriel maneuvered her around to where she couldn’t stare. “But the king made their young son the Earl of Burford, and Nell herself was appointed Lady of the Queen’s Bedchamber these two years past.”
Rose blinked. “And what does Queen Catharine think of that?”
“I don’t expect our dear queen was given a say in the matter.” The duke raised a brow as he looked down at her. “Wives usually aren’t.”
“Not all wives,” she said archly. “I’ll have you know my family’s motto is Interroga Conformationem.”
“Question Convention?” he translated, looking amused.
Rose smiled, pleased. On top of everything else wonderful about him, the duke knew his Latin.
After a few more dances with gentlemen who failed to measure up to Gabriel, Rose crept off toward the ladies’ attiring room, needing a moment to catch her breath. Did court always last so long? She’d been here for hours, and the assembly showed no signs of slowing down.
As she approached the small chamber, Nell Gwyn’s distinctive laughter drifted out. “Aye, my ladies, the tale is true.”
“Tell us,” someone squealed.
“Yes, do tell!” came a veritable chorus.
Wondering just how many ladies were crowded into the attiring room, Rose stopped outside the door and listened.
“I took His Majesty to a bawdy house,” Nell confided, “and encouraged him to run up a bill treating everyone to drink. Incognito, of course—it wasn’t the type of place his associates frequent, you understand.” That was met with titters of laughter. “By and by, I took him up to a room and got him undressed—and then ran away with his clothes.”
“You’re a bold one, Nelly Gywn!” someone hooted.
“Hush,” said another voice. “What happened next?”
“Well, the brothel owner didn’t believe this man wrapped in a sheet was her sovereign—you cannot blame the poor fool, can you? He carried no money, so to pay his debt and for something to wear, he offered an emerald ring as security. It was all he had on him, you see.”
“And fair enough,” a lady pointed out.
“Well, the proprietor refused, claiming it was paste for certain. Our dear king nearly burst a vessel, he did, when fortunately someone recognized him and convinced the owner as to his identity. So all was well.”
“He must have been furious,” someone breathed.
“You don’t know my dear Charles,” Nell declared. “Once it was over, he thought it a fine jest indeed!”
Howls of laughter greeted Rose when she stepped into the room. “Good evening, ladies,” she said to the nearest cluster of women.
Her smile slowly faded as the chamber fell silent and, in a rustle of expensive fabric, the occupants shouldered their way past her and out the door one by one.
Finally only Nell was left. She shrugged and made her way to Rose. “Don’t pay them no mind, milady.” Like a man, she held out a hand. “I’m Eleanor Gywn, Nell to my friends.”
“I know,” Rose replied guardedly. Nell’s hand felt small and warm for the brief moment she clasped it. “I’m Rose Ashcroft.”
“Lady Rose Ashcroft, I’ve been told.” Nell’s twinkling eyes nearly closed when she smiled. “They’re only jealous of your beauty. And afraid you’ll steal their men.”
“Gemini!” Rose exclaimed. “Most of them are married!”
“Ah, a babe in the woods.” Nell gave a theatrical sigh. “Here at court, that makes no difference. The women consider all male courtiers fair game, and the men hunt amongst the women just as freely. Fidelity went out with Cromwell,” she concluded, then wiped her tongue and spit, having uttered the hated name.
Rose grimaced, torn between abhorring such vulgarity and appreciating the kind intention underneath. She slanted Nell an assessing glance. ”You don’t seem
