He couldn’t have heard right. His baby sister had tried to…?
He fell back onto the chair.
“Gemini,” Rose said, putting her hands to her cheeks and looking entirely unRoselike. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say it like that. She didn’t do it on purpose. But she did nearly die.”
He rubbed his face. “You’re making me more confused. Just…please, tell me what happened.”
Rose took a deep breath and started from the beginning. By the time she finished, he was less confused. But even more shocked.
“You say she’s all right, though?”
“The doctor thinks so. Though I feel she’s quite melancholy.”
“Show me the book.”
Rose produced a tome from somewhere in her skirts, and he reflected, not for the first time, that ladies’ clothing was an utter mystery. But once he’d opened the book’s cover, he could no longer think about clothing.
Because nobody in the engravings wore any. Clothing, that was.
He flipped back to the title page. “I Sonetti? Weren’t virtually all the copies burned by the Vatican? Where on earth did she find one?”
This was obviously the book Ellen had brought that evening to Windsor, the one she’d asked Rose to translate. He should have known it was something licentious. Ellen had never been bookish, and yet she’d been engrossed.
He flipped through a few more pages before slamming the book shut. “This is what my baby sister’s been reading?”
“Technically, she hasn’t read any of it,” Rose soothed. “Only looked at the pictures.”
“Well, isn’t that a relief!” he said sarcastically.
She sat in the chair next to his and angled to face him. “Kit, what’s in the book isn’t as important as what’s in Ellen’s heart. She will do anything—anything—to wed Thomas. She’s willing to push moral boundaries, risk her reputation, risk her own life…”
His heart hammering, Kit came halfway off the chair. “I thought she didn’t know the tansy was dangerous.”
“She didn’t.” Rose darted forward to push him back down again. “A midwife told her that tansy tea aids in conception, so she took one of my mother’s essential oils. They’re stronger than the herbs by a hundred times or more. It would likely have taken her life had it not been purged at once.”
“Thanks to you.”
Rose waved that away. “My point is this: Your sister will marry the man she loves, or she will die trying.”
Kit blinked at her. “But it was an accident. She wasn’t thinking.“
“Because she’s too desperate to think. She’s gone this far, Kit. She won’t stop now. Her latest plan failed, so she’ll move on to the next harebrained scheme.” Resettling herself in her seat, Rose put a hand on Kit’s. “I know she’s young, and I know it seems like she’s throwing her future away, but I fear the sort of future you envisioned is no longer possible. If you could give her happiness or a title—but not both—which would you choose?”
“What a ridiculous question,” he snapped. “Of course I’d choose happiness.” Gripping the chair’s arms, he willed himself to calm. It wasn’t Rose he wanted to shout at, after all. “But I shouldn’t have to choose. I could give her both.”
“No, Kit. You can’t.” After a gentle pause, she leaned back in her chair and continued in a lighter tone. “And don’t you go blaming yourself for this fix. I vow and swear, if your sister had fallen for a viscount, you’d condemn yourself for not snagging her an earl.”
When Rose paused again, he managed a weak chuckle.
Evidently she could tell it was forced. Her expression sobered. “At least you can be certain she’ll have love in her life.”
“She already does. I love her.”
Her dark eyes held his captive. “So does Thomas.”
Kit wasn’t so sure. But Rose’s judgement of Ellen rang true. Kit should have seen that she’d never let this go. But he hadn’t wanted to see, and his stubbornness had nearly cost him his sister. His only family. The one person he was supposed to protect at all costs.
Guilt was a vise squeezing the air from his lungs.
If it hadn’t been for Rose…
She’d saved his sister’s life. Because she was good, because she was caring, because there was a heroic person hiding inside this exasperating young woman who insisted she wanted a duke.
His throat tightened, and something else settled in his chest—an odd rush of tenderness laced with a flicker of panic. He reached for Rose, wrapped his arms around her, and buried his nose in her flowery hair.
“Thank you,” he whispered, afraid he’d just fallen in love.
Wanting was one thing, love quite another. It scared him to death. He’d wanted her before, yes. Wanted her for her beauty, her intelligence, her refreshingly bold nature, her family’s position in society. And, of course, because she’d made him burn like the sun in August from the first time he’d laid eyes on her.
But suddenly he wanted her in an entirely different way. The want had turned into need.
He’d been tasked with making her fall in love with him, but he hadn’t expected to fall himself. What would he do now if she couldn’t be convinced?
Feeling his throat tighten more, he pressed his lips to the top of her head.
“You must let them marry,” she said quietly. “If you have even a glimmer of an idea what they feel for each other, you cannot deny them.”
He had a glimmer, all right. A sudden new glimmer that was singularly terrifying. If Rose was right—if Ellen really did experience the emotions Kit was feeling at this very moment—he wouldn’t dare stand between his sister and her love.
That was, as long as Thomas Whittingham loved her back.
He motioned to the marquetry desk. “Is there paper and quill in there?”
“Yes.” Rose slanted him a look. “Why?”
“I wish to write a letter.”
Her expression made clear she wasn’t satisfied with that answer.
“Trust me,” he added. “And fetch Ellen, please?”
Sighing, Rose stood. “Try not to be too hard on her.”
THIRTY-SEVEN
WHEN ROSE brought
