“My dear Rose,” Gabriel started.
“A duel!” she interrupted loudly, the words echoing in the deserted courtyard. “I cannot believe you challenged that fool to a duel.”
He hurried her into one of the galleries. The corridor was breezy, but the torches along the walls gave off heat as well as light. “I will never let anyone impugn your honor,” he said gallantly.
“I appreciate your sentiments, your grace, but a duel!” The red tiles here were smoother than the cobblestones beneath her feet. She felt steadier, more in control. True, part of her had been secretly thrilled to see a man—a duke, no less!—leap to defend her honor. But a larger part had been terrified. “Not only is dueling barbaric, it’s illegal.”
As they walked past a diamond-paned window, the glass reflected his elegant shrug. “I don’t see anyone rushing to arrest me. Featherstonehaugh deserved it.”
“That may be, but I was taking care of him myself.”
“You shouldn’t have to take care of yourself.” They heard the low murmur of people talking in an apartment, and he waited until they’d strolled past it. “Rose, I want to take care of you. I wish to make you my wife.”
She stopped walking, the corridor suddenly silent without the rhythmic clicks of her heels. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
He turned to face her and crowded her against the brick wall. It felt rough and cool behind her back. “Yes,” he said. “I’m not very good at this, am I? I’m better with actions than words.”
He was a duke, and surely that was good enough. A duke, asking for her hand. He tilted his head and moved nearer, brushing her lips with his. His technique really wasn’t that bad. He didn’t smell of frankincense and myrrh, but he didn’t smell unpleasant, either. And he was a duke.
“Rose, will you marry me?”
Of course she would. She wasn’t brainless. She opened her mouth. This was what she’d been waiting for. “No.”
She blinked and felt as surprised as Gabriel looked. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. Out of habit she almost added that her heart belonged to another, but surely that wasn’t true. “I must go,” she said instead.
Avoiding his stunned gaze, she sidestepped free and ran down the gallery toward her lodging. The heavy old door creaked when she opened it. She slammed it shut and leaned back against the thick wood, a hand to her trembling mouth.
How could she have refused him? Had she not been waiting for this proposal? Had she not come here to Hampton Court hoping to receive it?
How could she have turned down a duke? And a perfectly nice one, at that! One who had fought and risked his life for her honor.
Not that his life had ever really been at risk, given the earl’s complete incompetence—but still!
There was nothing for it. She would have to seek him out and change her answer to yes.
But not tonight. She couldn’t face him tonight. Furious at herself, she straightened and wandered toward the bedchamber. “Mum? Harriet?”
It was empty. “Harriet, where are you?”
No one was here. Not her mother, not her maid, not her mother’s maid, either. She threw herself facedown on the bed.
The boned bodice of her gown poked into her, so after a moment she rolled over. But there were whalebone splints in the back, too, not to mention the bulky lacing that ran down her spine.
Where on earth was Harriet? Rose cursed the maid along with whatever fool was responsible for dictating court fashion. She’d claimed to be able to care for herself—well, she could slap an impudent courtier, all right, but she couldn’t manage to undress herself when her blasted gown was laced down the back.
The apartment was too silent. She sat up and sighed. She didn’t really want to undress—she was far too restless for sleep.
She decided to talk a walk—a calming walk, out in Hampton Court’s immense public gardens—and steel herself to change her answer to Gabriel tomorrow.
She’d bet the Duchess of Bridgewater would never find herself without a maid.
FORTY-NINE
NOTEBOOK, RULER, and rope in hand, Kit left his assigned lodging in Master Carpenter’s Court and made his winding way through the palace.
Base Court smelled of cut grass, and it was quiet after the excitement of the duel earlier. Or at least it should have been quiet. As Kit approached the covered passage known as the Great Chamber, an odd pounding reached his ears. “Open up!” a female voice shrieked. A voice that reminded him of Rose, except she was far less shrill.
But he was doing his utmost not to think of Rose…and how she’d nearly gone out of her mind at the sight of Bridgewater in danger. And how she’d let the duke whisk her away for a private word.
And how she’d probably already accepted his proposal.
She would be a duchess, and Kit would be shattered and alone.
Crossing in front of the Great Chamber in a bitter haze, he glanced up see who was making such a racket, then stopped and stared. The shrill voice did belong to Rose. There she stood, banging her fists on the huge oak doors that led to the bridge over Hampton Court’s moat.
“Rose!” The shout was ripped from his throat as his legs carried him forward of their own accord. “Wherever do you think you’re going?”
She turned, her hands clenched at her sides. “To the gardens, if a guard will ever be pleased to let me out. I wish to take a peaceful, solitary walk.”
He stepped deeper into the musty passageway. Her eyes shone with a luster that matched the pearls on her fancy gown—and with a touch of hysteria that brought Kit up short. “It’s not wise to go out there alone
