What was wrong with her? Shouldn’t she be rapturous and triumphant over her betrothal? For that matter, shouldn’t she be with her betrothed?
Those lustrous eyes flashed. ”I cannot enter the privy garden. Don’t you know the meaning of the word privy?”
“I can get you inside. I’m on my way there now.”
“To do what?” she asked, with a pointed glance at the assortment of items he carried. She was obviously struggling to rein in her temper. Her cheeks glowed red, and her breaths came out in little puffs.
“My project is there. The new apartments for the king’s old mistress, her grace the Duchess of Cleveland.” He sighed as his other source of vexation—besides Rose, that was—came rushing back. “I wish to check…everything.”
A trickle of water dripped from somewhere overhead. “Have you found something amiss?” she asked.
“Not yet. But I’ve a feeling in my bones that something’s wrong. I intend to measure every square foot of the building.” It was a fool’s task, he feared, as well as a long, tedious one. But he wouldn’t rest easy until he’d completed it. And he needed to do it when no one was watching, trying to distract him—or worse, covering something up. “Come along. Their Majesties are at court, so the garden will afford you the solitude you’re seeking.”
She seized a lantern off the ground. “I shall help you measure.”
In the torchlight that danced on the old brick walls, he gazed at her. “Why?”
Her dark eyes grew hooded. “I have nothing else to do. I’ve no wish to return to court and I’m not ready to retire. And your task would go faster with help, would it not? I’ve been called selfish, but I like to think I would be there to help a friend.”
He wondered about some of her brave speech, not least why she was avoiding court. But he focused on her last sentence. “Are we friends, Rose?”
“Yes,” she said firmly, and then more uncertainly, “I hope so.”
A part of him—the part that didn’t know when to give up—still hoped for more than her friendship. But it would do for now. “Come on, then,” he said. “Lead the way.”
She raised the lantern and started across Base Court, teetering a little on the cobblestones in her fashionable high heels. Such a lady, his Rose.
“Does this feel like a cloister to you?” he found himself asking.
She glanced around as they walked. “Maybe. A little. Why?”
“I keep thinking Cardinal Wolsey built this place like an Italian cardinal’s palace. Something about the feel of it, the layout. Henry the Eighth would have ruined it when he rebuilt, but underneath…”
They crossed Clock Court, Rose’s measured steps matching the cadence of King Henry’s great astronomical timepiece. “Are there records of the construction?”
“None of which I’m aware.” He sighed. “Someday I hope to see an actual cardinal’s palace. To journey to Italy and stand in the middle of one and see if I’m right, if it feels the same as this.”
He waited for her to say she’d like to come with him, but she didn’t. Her skirts swished against the cobblestones, and as they passed the fountain with its paltry gurgle of water, hoots of revelers filtered down from the Presence Chamber.
“The court seems in high spirits following the duel,” he remarked.
“I’m sure they are,” she replied dryly. “Louise de Kéroualle said it was the most exciting thing that’s happened in weeks.”
“Why aren’t you with them?”
She clamped her lips and walked faster, entering Cloister Green Court.
And there she stopped. “Listen. Do you hear the king’s dogs?” She cocked her pretty head. “The sound is coming from that wing next to the queen’s. How odd—King Charles usually keeps his spaniels with him at court.”
He suppressed a smile. “You’re not hearing the king’s dogs.”
“I am. Can’t you hear them yipping?”
“It’s not dogs you hear, Rose. It’s people.”
“People? Doing what?” Her eyes narrowed and then widened. “You cannot mean…”
Though his face felt hot, he couldn’t hold back a grin. “Yes.”
“Oh.” She froze, her mouth open in a little O shape. Until, in a complete reversal of mood, she burst into giggles.
Kit laughed along with her, from surprise as much as mirth. He’d expected shock and embarrassment or even offense. But perhaps after everything she’d seen and experienced at court, Rose was no longer so easily shaken.
“It’s a couple in the marriage bed?” she gasped, wiping teary eyes. Trust Rose to say out loud what he’d made a point of politely skirting. “Gemini, do people really sound like that?”
Though he doubted the couple’s bed was a marriage bed, he wouldn’t burst Rose’s innocent bubble. “Evidently some people do,” he said, struggling to maintain his dignity.
As the yipping went on, he grabbed her hand and hurried her across the courtyard. Her giggles filled the open space, mad giggles, giggles that warmed his heart. “I-I’m n-never g-going to s-sound like that,” she choked out.
He was laughing hard enough to make his stomach hurt. He’d never in his life laughed so much as he had since he met Rose. It felt good. Her hand in his felt good, too.
“With anyone else,” she chortled as the yipping sounds faded out of range, “I’d have pretended I didn’t hear that.”
“You thought it was dogs,” he reminded her. “You couldn’t have pretended.”
“Well, a courtier wouldn’t have pointed out my mistake.”
Kit’s laughter died off into the night.
“I didn’t intend that in a negative fashion,” she said quickly in the sudden quiet. “I’m very glad we’re friends.”
Kit was glad, too, but he feared that was all they’d ever be.
After a spell of silence, she drew a deep, audible breath. “I feel small here,” she whispered. “In the dark with the towering buildings all around looming over us.”
He squeezed her hand. “I know what you mean.”
“Look at all the different shaped chimneys silhouetted against the sky.” She gazed up for a quiet moment, then darted a glance at him. “It must be wonderful to create something so monumental.”
She knew. She knew how he
