He led her out without one misstep.
Without running into one dead end.
Without any more kisses.
FIFTY-ONE
LATER THAT DAY, Kit was in the midst of a calculation when a knock interrupted.
“One minute,” he called, pausing to scribble down a number.
He rose and stretched for a brief moment, then padded across his small lodging to open the door. “Lady Trentingham.” He blinked.
How had she found him? The courtiers weren’t lodged near Master Carpenter’s Court.
“May I come in?”
“Of course,” he said, suddenly aware of his state of half-dress: no shoes, no stockings, no coat, no cravat. Just breeches and a shirt, the latter unlaced at the neck and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He began turning them down.
“No need to do that for me,” she assured him as she stepped inside. “I’ve seen arms and feet before.” Her warm brown eyes twinkled with humor.
He shrugged and waved her toward one of the two chairs that flanked the spartan room’s small table, taking the other for himself. “If this is about me keeping Rose out all night, I assure you—”
“It isn’t. I trust you, Kit.” The countess sat, fluffing her skirts. “How went the romancing?”
He rolled his eyes, a habit he seemed to have picked up from Rose. “I carried her to the center of the maze. And I carved our initials into a tree trunk. The mere act had me choking back laughter, but she loved it.”
“Excellent. You must do some more of that.”
He wasn’t sure he could come up with anything more. “I’m a very straightforward sort of fellow, my lady. I wasn’t raised here at court. I’m no good at gallant gestures.”
She glanced at the carefully drawn plans he’d spread on the table. “You seem creative enough to me. I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll do just fine.”
Designing buildings wasn’t creative—it was logical, mathematical. Certain requirements had to be met, certain loads had to be supported, certain shapes were inherently beautiful.
But he’d learned by now there was no arguing with Lady Trentingham. “I’ll try,” he told her.
“Excellent.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “The fact that Rose refused the duke’s proposal after he dueled on her behalf—I take that as a very good sign.”
“The duel…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I realize it’s not my place to say this, my lady, but matters at court seem to be getting rather out of hand. I fear it might be best if you took Rose and left—as soon as possible.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow. Her friend Judith is marrying later this week, and she’d never forgive us if we missed her wedding.”
“No, I mean you should leave today. Before…” Hoping Rose would forgive him, he plunged on. “Are you aware that your daughter was recently in possession of a book? A very—”
“I Sonetti?” she interrupted.
He gasped. ”She shared the book with you?”
The countess’s lips quirked. “Of course she didn’t share it. But the court talks of little else. I’m not deaf, you know.”
“And you aren’t…angry?” He kept his expression carefully blank, wondering if she’d learned how her daughter had come by the book.
Lady Trentingham sighed. “I’m hardly thrilled about the effect on her reputation.”
He nodded his agreement. “Then you’re aware of the danger. It seems that people—men—have decided Rose is…that she’s…”
“Wild? A wanton?”
“And worse,” he snapped. He didn’t want to think of Rose like that. And he knew it wasn’t remotely true.
“I’m well aware.” The countess shook her head mournfully. “It’s unfortunate, and certainly not in my plans. But she more than held her own against the unsavory Featherstonehaugh last night—besides which, I have no intention of allowing her to get into such a vulnerable position again.”
“You feel you can ensure her safety?”
“I appreciate your concern, Kit. But never doubt that I’m watching over her. If you wish to help,” she continued archly, “the best thing you can do is get on with those gallant gestures. Once you’ve secured her hand, she and I will leave court once and for all.”
Kit’s hand closed around the bit of brick in his pocket. “Take her home,” he begged. “As soon as I’ve finished my inspection here, I’ll come straight to Trentingham. Without these distractions, I’ll be able to concentrate my efforts on the, um, romancing.”
“Excellent. But we’ll leave tomorrow. Rose would never forgive me if she missed the masked ball. Even now, she’s wearing her fingers to nubs sewing blooms on a gown.”
“Blooms?”
“Her costume. She’s going as a flower arrangement.”
Despite his anxiety, he smiled. It was so Rose. “I thought she would be sleeping.”
“She did, for a while. But then she raided the palace’s gardens and set both our maids to work. The three of them are stitching madly.”
He sighed, seeing her mind was made up. “What are you going as?”
“A mother. I’ll watch her, Kit.”
“You do that,” he said.
But he would watch her, too.
FIFTY-TWO
EVERYTHING looked so beautiful!
The masked ball was held in the great hall rather than the Presence Chamber, and instead of candelabra and oil lamps, the huge room was lit by liveried yeomen holding tall, flaming torches. Overhead, the gold stars on the painted hammerbeam ceiling winked on their field of bright blue.
Dancers twirled in the blazing light. King Arthur was paired with a glittery-winged butterfly, and Robin Hood danced with Aphrodite. An angel and a devil were flirting rather madly, and Zeus had his arm around Anne Boleyn.
Decked out in a gown covered neckline to hemline with fresh flowers, Rose watched from a corner, drinking in the splendor and trying to puzzle out everyone’s identities. All the faces were covered by full or half masks, but a few courtiers weren’t difficult to spot.
Beneath Caesar’s crown of laurel leaves, his half mask failed to cover King Charles’s mustache, and as the tallest man in the room, the monarch’s height would
