The affection in Mum’s warm brown eyes told Rose her mother had got her meaning, though she tactfully let the subject drop. “I never really got to plan a big wedding,” Mum said instead, heaving a regretful sigh. “I shall have to do so for Rowan. A nice, long betrothal—”
Rose’s laugh interrupted her. “Have you considered that Jewel might want to plan her own wedding? Or Jewel’s mother—”
“Jewel?” Rowan’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m not going to marry Jewel!”
Kit gave the boy an indulgent smile. “Wait till you’re older—”
“Never!” Rowan looked at Jewel with such horror, the girl shrank back.
Rose pulled Kit aside. “May we leave now?” she asked.
He confused her by glancing toward the river again. “I don’t think…ah, yes. Here’s our transportation.”
Rose turned and stared at the beautiful, gilded barge rounding the bend and approaching Trentingham’s dock. “This is how we’re getting to Windsor? What about your carriage?”
“Ellen and Thomas accompanied me here. I sent them home in it. You wouldn’t have wanted to ride back with them, would you?”
“Not really.” She liked Kit’s sister well enough, but she was anxious to get her new husband to herself. “This is Ford’s barge. Was it his idea?”
“Violet’s, actually. Who knew a romantic heart hid inside that intellectual exterior?”
“Violet,” Rose said low, “talked of this barge back when she and Ford were courting. There’s a bed inside the cabin.”
“Is that so?” Kit’s gaze intensified. “Well, let’s go then,” he said loudly, turning back to her family.
“You know,” her father said for the third time, “it’s traditional for a girl to spend her first married night at her parents’ house.”
“I’m only questioning convention,” Rose shouted.
Her mother smiled. “When are you going to London, dear?”
“The queen’s birthday celebration is Friday, so we’re thinking probably Wednesday.”
“Windy?” Father frowned. “Yes, the wind does seem to be picking up.”
“It certainly is, Father.” Rose shared an amused glance with Kit. “I think everyone should hurry inside.”
A few hugs and kisses and maternal tears later, Rose and Kit crossed the lawn to the river and climbed aboard the barge. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They turned to bid farewell to her family, happy to be alone at last.
Well, nearly alone. There was a crew, of course, to guide the vessel to Windsor. And a youth playing a violin, sheltered from the weather by the tall wall of the cabin that sat in the barge’s middle.
Anticipation thrummed through Rose’s veins. She forced herself to stand at the rail, waving at her family until the barge pulled away. The wind was indeed picking up, whipping her skirts and hair. Her heart was accelerating, too, until it beat in a wild rhythm. Beside her, Kit felt warm and solid, an anchor and a temptation all at once.
“Inside,” she demanded the moment Trentingham was out of view. She couldn’t get him into the cabin fast enough. No sooner had they slammed the door behind them than she threw herself at Kit.
The kiss, fierce and frenzied, cleared her mind of everything beyond the cabin. Violin music swirled through her head as her focus narrowed to soft lips, strong arms, and the singularly delicious scent of her husband. Somehow, he had become her world.
When the barge rocked, threatening their balance, she took the opportunity to draw him deeper into the cabin, inching them both toward the bed.
His laugh rumbled against her lips. “Aren’t you even a tiny bit nervous?” he asked, his fingers moving to detach the tabs of her stomacher.
“A little,” she admitted breathlessly. “But that’s what makes it fun.”
His breath hitched. “My daring Rose,” he murmured. Her stomacher dropped to the floor.
She felt the bed against the back of her knees and sank down upon it, pulling him down with her.
But what her bottom rested on was higher than a mattress. And harder. She put a hand back, feeling wood. She twisted in dismay, her eyes flying open. A wedding feast for two was spread on a gorgeous carved mahogany table surrounded by six matching chairs.
There was no bed. “Where in heaven’s name is the bed?”
“Hmm?” Deprived of her lips, Kit kissed her throat instead.
“The bed. The bed is gone.” Disappointment dulled all the exciting, stormy sensations. “Kit, there’s no bed.”
He raised his head and blinked. “You’re not jesting.”
“Can we make do without it?” she asked desperately, though she couldn’t imagine how that would work.
Kit laughed again, though with an obvious undertone of frustration. “No, sweetheart. This is our wedding night, for pity’s sake. We’ll wait for a bed.”
His murky, olive-green eyes revealed that he was as vexed as she.
Sconces on the beautifully paneled walls held flickering candles. “I suppose the journey isn’t that long,” Rose said doubtfully. But now that her heartbeat was calming and her faculties returning, she knew Kit was right. She didn’t want to give herself to her husband on the rough wooden deck of an old boat.
“We’ll be there before we know it.” Pulling her onto his lap, he reached around her to fill two goblets from a waiting bottle of champagne. “I wonder what happened to the bed?”
“I don’t know.” Rose laid her head on his shoulder. “The barge used to be rather shabby. Violet had mentioned it was being refurbished, but I didn’t realize they’d scuttled the bed.”
“They have a family now. A table makes more sense.”
“Not to us.”
“At least we can occupy ourselves with this veritable feast. Did you eat anything at the wedding?”
“I was too busy talking to people.” She smiled at the wonderful memories. “But I’m not hungry.”
“No? Drink, then.” He handed her a goblet, waiting for her to sit up before raising his in a salute. “To a lifetime of love.”
“And beds,” she said, draining her cup in one long swallow.
He laughed and pulled her near. Suddenly she felt so happy, tears pricked her eyes. “Kit, I’m so glad I married you.”
He squeezed her tight. “Then you wouldn’t rather be here with the duke?” he
