Not even the one person she wished would.
When they reached Kit’s house and he turned and started up the steps, Rose pulled her hand from his. “You said we were going to the river.”
“We’re stopping here only a minute.” He fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door; it was late enough that Graves wasn’t there to open it. “Wait here,” Kit whispered, ushering her into the entry. A single oil lamp burned on the small marble-topped table. “I’ll be right back.”
Hugging herself, she watched him walk deeper into the house. Through an open window, more laughter floated from the river, faint and joyous. People celebrating on a barge, she imagined.
She didn’t have to wait long. A minute later Kit was back, a cloth sack in one hand and a cloak in the other. “Ellen’s,” he explained. “I thought you might be cold.”
He moved close and settled it over her shoulders, wrapping her in its warmth. Fine gray wool with black and silver braid, it was much heavier than her own velvet one and smelled faintly of Ellen, a light, carefree fragrance compared to her own bolder perfume. But Kit being so near, his own scent seemed stronger—robust, woodsy, and deliciously overwhelming.
She was on the verge of asking for a kiss again when he stepped away.
“Thank you,” she said quietly as he guided her back outdoors. “It was very kind of you to take me for a walk. Away from…all that.”
“I needed a break from my work,” he said too quickly, as though he’d readied the excuse in advance.
She slanted him a sidelong glance. Had he sought her out for a different reason? Or was it something else he was keeping from her? “Then you mean to return to work afterwards?” she asked in a neutral tone.
He shrugged. “Likely not for long. Lack of sleep is finally catching up with me.”
Ellen was counting on that, Rose thought, wondering why she felt disloyal. Whose side was she on regarding this brother–sister tug of war? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that right here, right now, she was in the right place.
The streets were deserted this time of night, the river slow and dark, the moon illuminating its ripples. Kit guided her past the bridge that led to Eton, its shops dark and shuttered. They came to a wooden gate with white lettering that gleamed in the moonlight. “Romney Walk,” Rose read aloud.
The gate creaked when Kit opened it. “There’s a place near Trentingham named Romney as well, isn’t there?”
“There are many such places, I believe.” Beyond the gate, the path angled closer to the river. Although the moon provided enough light that she could trod the packed dirt without tripping, she allowed Kit to keep a steadying hand on her elbow. “The word derives from a Saxon word, rumnea, meaning water.”
He looked at her with admiration. “You know ancient languages, too?”
She smiled, liking that look. She couldn’t remember a gentleman ever admiring her for more than her appearance.
It was the difference between a suitor and a friend.
“No, Rand told me about that. I’m not so much interested in old tongues—I’d rather learn languages I can use someday when I travel. What’s in the sack?”
“Bread. For the swans.” Several had been following them as they walked, gliding soundlessly on the water. One of them honked now, as though he’d heard Kit and knew food was in the offing. “I thought you might like to feed them.”
“It would never occur to me to bring bread. Lily would think like that.”
“She loves animals, doesn’t she?”
“Almost as much as she loves Rand.” Rose released a long sigh. “She’s nice to everyone and everything, human and animal alike. I could never live up to her perfection.”
“No one is perfect. Not Lily or anyone else.” He reached into the sack and handed her a few cubes of stale bread. “Shall we sit?”
The bank rose here, forming a little grassy hill that overlooked the river. Rose lowered herself to the springy ground, tucking Ellen’s cloak beneath her. She tossed a bread cube out on the water and watched the swans rush to gobble it. “What is it about you that makes me such a chatterer?” she wondered.
He sat beside her. “You don’t seem tongue-tied with anyone else.”
Pursing her lips, she tossed another cube. “I don’t generally admit to people that I’m imperfect.”
“I hesitate to disillusion you,” he said wryly, “but I imagine they could figure that out without you informing them.”
Laughing, she shoved at his shoulder. Swans honked, demanding more bread. Across the river, a tiny bridge was barely visible over small rapids gleaming white in the moonlight. The sounds of running water were soothing.
After a moment of silence, Kit reached over and took her hand. When she didn’t pull away, he raised it to his mouth and pressed his warm lips to the back.
She knew she shouldn’t allow it. But his kiss on her hand felt different from Lord Hathersham’s, so different it made her shiver.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“No. Will you kiss me?”
“Shy as usual,” Kit teased, looking rather pleased with himself.
Though his tone made her blush, it was anticipation making her heart pound. “I didn’t mean…” Agitated, she scrambled to her feet. “Gemini, I just want to see how you do it.”
He rose, too, moving closer. “Like anyone else, as I told you.” With a hand beneath her chin, he tilted her face up. His breath teased her lips. “A kiss is a kiss.”
“Oh, no,” she whispered, “it isn’t.”
Then she couldn’t say more, because his mouth was covering hers.
She did her best to concentrate on analyzing his technique. But as his hands came up to cradle her cheeks, as his lips coaxed hers with slow and deliberate care, as
