Ellen was young yet. And Rose had never before felt so old.
“Do you know, Ellen,” she said carefully, “it’s as easy to fall in love with a titled man as one without.”
“Oh!” Ellen cried. “You don’t understand!” Tears sprang to her eyes as she jumped up and ran from the room.
Rose and Kit listened to his sister’s footsteps until they faded up the stairs. “She likes you,” he finally said.
“And our navy will conquer the Dutch tomorrow.” Rose sighed. “I think I’d best return home.”
SIXTEEN
“HOME” RIGHT now for Rose was Windsor Castle. That was what Kit wanted for Ellen: the rank that would give her the security of feeling at home in a royal castle. Or anywhere. The rank that would assure she’d never again be left behind.
And yet, when Rose had supported his position, he’d found himself not grateful, but vexed.
Her voice still echoed in his ears, so measured and reasonable: It’s as easy to fall in love with a titled man as one without.
Never mind that it was exactly what Ellen needed to hear, Rose’s stance didn’t bode well for his own suit.
The sun was setting as he walked Rose back to the apartments she shared with her mother, the two of them chatting amiably. All the way past the Round Tower, into an Upper Ward building, and up a staircase, he listened to her amusing banter and watched her fluttering lips.
Those lips…
When she reached for the door latch, he stopped her with a hand over hers. She turned and looked up at him, her dark eyes questioning.
“Thank you for a pleasant day,” he said quietly, watching the light dance over her face from the single torch that illuminated the deserted corridor. “And also for the translation. It was much appreciated.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said, looking relieved. “I enjoyed myself.”
When he felt her trying to draw her hand away, he held it tight in his. There was something between them, whether she knew it—or wanted it—or not.
“I’m happy to hear that,” he told her.
She offered him a tentative smile. “No, I mean I truly enjoyed myself. I can see why Rand is happy to count you as a friend.”
He flushed with pleasure—and a touch of guilt. He still didn’t feel quite right about his furtive encounter with Lady Trentingham. But if he confessed, would his hopes be dashed?
As it turned out, he needn’t have fretted, because his hopes were dashed anyway by the next words out of Rose’s mouth. “You’re the best, Kit,” she said, giving him a friendly pat on the arm. “Like a brother, but better.”
A brother? He didn’t want to be her brother.
Had the countess misread her daughter’s feelings? She’d seemed so certain they were right for each other. Then again, she had also endeavored to check his expectations, warning him that Rose would be resistant. Her mother could scheme and maneuver all she wanted, but in the end, the decision belonged to Rose alone.
Like a brother.
He had to respect that, didn’t he? Respect her. His heart heavy, he released her hand, then leaned to give her an innocent, brotherly peck on the cheek.
When his mouth brushed her silky skin, he smelled flowers. And he felt something—a jolt of energy between them, an involuntary shift of her body toward his—that made all his resolve simply melt away.
Then somehow his lips were on hers, and something else inside him melted, too.
And Rose’s world turned over.
She didn’t like kissing. She’d always found it messy and awkward and unpleasant. But this kiss was…none of those things. These lips were soft and warm and seemed to fit hers. They moved with her lips, using just enough pressure to guide her, as if he were leading her through a dance. A dance that was slow and intimate, that made her knees feel weak, that sent dreamy swirls of sensation through her body.
A thing of beauty, she thought dizzily.
When it ended, she didn’t feel relieved. She felt let down. And stunned. And like she wanted Kit to keep kissing her.
Kit? Gemini, had those lips really been Kit’s?
His eyes glittered green in the torchlight, his gaze piercing into her as though he could read her thoughts. Which seemed unlikely, since she could scarcely begin to decipher them herself.
His mouth curved into a faint smile that might have been the slightest bit smug.
“Good night,” he said and walked away.
SEVENTEEN
ROSE CLOSED the lodging’s door and leaned back against it, releasing a long, long sigh. Then she was grinning from ear to ear.
She didn’t hate kissing! There was nothing wrong with her after all.
Apparently, she’d just never kissed anyone who was any good at it—until today.
She was still astonished that it was Kit Martyn who had finally made her feel all those wondrous things her sisters talked of. Who would have thought? But she supposed kissing ability had little to do with one’s birth. And though Kit had had no business kissing her, she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry he’d done so. She’d watched him walk away, knowing she should call after him, berate him for taking such liberties, inform him in no uncertain terms that he was never to do so again.
But she’d been too busy being so, so very happy. Everything had changed. Kissing wasn’t dreadful. She wasn’t doomed to a lifetime of forced participation in a romantic ritual she found revolting.
She’d actually enjoyed it!
She could hardly credit that she’d ever imagined herself defective. How silly she’d been to jump to such a conclusion. Obviously one’s enjoyment of a kiss depended upon the skill of one’s partner. How lucky her sisters had been to receive their first kisses from gentlemen of such great talent. And how unlucky that she had never met a gifted man until now.
“Are you out there, dear?”
“Yes, Mum.” Rose
