“How encouraging.” Hands fisting in his pockets, Kit savagely ground a bit of plaster into dust beneath his shoe. “Forgive me, my lady, but why are you telling me all this? If I’m not what Rose wants…”
“What Rose wants is love. And I believe she’ll find it with you.”
He raised a brow. “I thought you believed in letting her find it herself. Rose told me she was raised to make her own choices, including the choice of who to marry.”
“She will choose to marry you—just as soon as you’ve made her fall in love with you.”
Kit snorted. “A minor detail.”
“Naturally.” Perfectly complacent, the countess smoothed her skirts. “After all, you two are meant for each other.”
Feeling a strange bubble of hysteria, Kit crushed more plaster underfoot. He still wasn’t entirely certain this conversation was real. “And what did your daughter say when you told her she was meant for me—a commoner?”
“Good heavens, I haven’t told her. She has no idea I approve of this match. And she can never find out.”
“I beg your pardon?“
“Have I mentioned that I’m rather known as a matchmaker?”
“No, but it does seem in character.”
She cracked a smile. “Rose wants no part in my matchmaking efforts—she and her sisters vowed long ago never to become one of my ‘statistics.’ But I love my children too much to let their own stubbornness impede their happiness. I managed to arrange both Lily’s and Violet’s marriages without their knowledge, and I aim to make it three for three.”
“So you were responsible for matching Rand with Lily?”
Her smile betrayed a hint of pride. “And didn’t that turn out well?”
Laughing, Kit lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender. “I cannot deny they are exceptionally happy.”
“You and Rose will be, too,” she said earnestly, her dark eyes so like her daughter’s, “if you take my advice.”
“And if I conceal your involvement.” Kit sighed, watching his boots scuff the dusty floor. “You’re asking me to lie to Rose. It doesn’t feel right.”
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
