He pulled her closer, relishing how soft she felt in his arms. Suddenly he realized there were naught but two thin layers of fabric between his hands and her skin. No stiff stomacher, no intricate lacing, no thick, quilted stays. The thought made him warm all over.
Then she was the one pressing closer, leaning into him, her intrepid hands roaming over his shoulders and back and leaving a trail of heat. When he felt a fiery shock, he realized one of those hands had slipped beneath the collar of his robe to graze bare skin.
“Rose,” he groaned against her lips. “You feel too good. Too good…”
“Mmm,” was her only response, but it was a sound of such perfect contentment that it made his heart swell with emotion.
“I love you,” he heard himself saying, and it sounded true. Sounded right. The phrase was only three simple words, but somehow it encapsulated everything he was feeling. Everything that had changed inside him as Rose gradually became a part of his life. The most important thing in his life.
The love of his life.
Love was a true thing of beauty.
“You what?”
Kit slammed back to reality to find Rose recoiling from him, her eyes filled with pain and confusion, her contentment turning to panic. “No. I…no. Gemini, what am I doing?” Shuddering, she wrapped her dressing gown tighter and crossed her arms over her torso like a shield. Or like she was going to be sick. Either way, she looked utterly miserable. “I’m sorry. I must go.”
She pushed past him and ran from the chamber, her bare footfalls slapping all down its long length. At the other end, he heard the door slam shut.
And then he was alone with the flickering candles and his tight throat and his disturbed thoughts.
And his crushed heart.
Blast Rand and Ford for encouraging him! He’d known Rose wouldn’t have him—at least not in his current circumstances. But he’d let himself fall prey to their false optimism. He’d let his actions be guided by emotion rather than judgment, and now he may have scared her away for good.
What would Lady Trentingham say?
And more importantly, what would he do?
The candlelight that had seemed so intimate earlier now seemed harsh. He slowly moved to douse the many small flames. Should he tell Rose of his pending knighthood, even with his project deadlines approaching and all the problems threatening his appointment? Not to mention the fact that a knighthood might not be enough for her, anyway. The Deputy Surveyor post was only a first step—it could be years before he raised himself further.
By then it would be too late for him and Rose.
Too, too late.
FORTY-FIVE
ROSE SPENT A restless, tormented night. When she awakened, the note she found slipped beneath her door did nothing to ease her distress. ROSE, it said in the neat, all-caps printing she’d seen on Kit’s architectural renderings:
MUST CHECK PROGRESS AT HAMPTON COURT. PLEASE GIVE YOUR FAMILY MY THANKS AND ASSURE YOUR FATHER THAT THE GREENHOUSE WILL PROCEED ON SCHEDULE AS PLANNED.
-K
There was nothing more. No “Dearest Rose.” No “I love you, Kit,” or even just “Love, Kit.”
Did he hate her now?
She couldn’t begin to decipher what the note meant about his feelings. She couldn’t even begin to decipher her own feelings.
She washed and slowly dressed without help, so lost in her thoughts she couldn’t bear conversation with Harriet. I love you. She supposed she had no right to expect Kit to repeat the declaration in a letter when his first attempt had been met with silence. No, worse than silence—with horror.
The look on his face had nearly killed her. His words had taken her completely by surprise. She supposed, on reflection, that they shouldn’t have…
But she’d been expecting her first declaration of love to come from a duke.
Confusion was a weight in her chest. Did she love Kit? In the bliss of the moment, it had been on the tip of her tongue to echo those three words. But she hadn’t, because she wasn’t sure, and in any case it wouldn’t matter.
He wasn’t the right man for her.
He’d had no right to expect a different answer. She might have reached the advanced age of nineteen, but she wasn’t yet desperate enough to marry a commoner. She’d be a fool to do that when Bridgewater, a lofty peer of the realm, was likely to offer for her hand. She squared her shoulders as she headed down to the dining room for breakfast.
Happy as bees in a bed of flowers, her sisters and their families were already eating, having risen early to prepare for their journeys home. The elder Ashcrofts had either slept late or already breakfasted. Rowan and Jewel chatted cheerfully, so focused on each other the rest of the room might as well have been empty.
Everyone in this house—everyone but Rose—was in love.
The conversation died as she scraped back a chair and plopped onto it. A footman offered a cup of chocolate, and she clenched it so hard her knuckles turned white.
“Where is Kit?” Lily asked.
Rose felt her jaw tightening. “What makes you think I should know?” she gritted out, suddenly visualizing herself biting her sister’s head off. She gulped the hot liquid, scalding her tongue. “He left a note. It seems he’s gone on to Hampton Court.”
“Oh,” Lily said.
“Did you hear a ghost last night?” Rowan asked.
Rose imagined biting his head off, too. “There’s no such thing as ghosts.”
“Rose is right,” Ford put in.
He could live.
“I heard tapping,” Rowan insisted.
“Me, too,” Jewel said, gazing at him worshipfully.
That pixie-faced girl had fallen in love at six. Six! Off with her pixie head.
“We heard tapping and scratching,” Rand said. “Lily and I both.”
“And I heard a terrible scraping noise.” Violet turned to Rose. “Did
