Unfortunately, however, the decision wasn’t Wren’s alone. Charles owed many Royalist families for their support in the Civil War, and government appointments were less costly than most methods of repayment.
“Until this unfortunate occurrence,” Wren continued, “you were the front-runner for the appointment. But Charles hasn’t the patience for costly errors—the monarchy, I’m afraid, is as cash-strapped as ever.”
Kit rubbed the chunk of brick in his pocket. “The error wasn’t strictly mine—my foreman chose to use substandard materials. Not,” he rushed to add, “that I don’t take responsibility. Quite clearly I erred in hiring the man in the first place. I’ll cover the losses myself.”
Wren nodded thoughtfully, his brown eyes sympathetic. “Regardless, I’m now under pressure to award the post to Rosslyn. Last I saw, however, the dining room was coming along beautifully—your design and eye to detail are impeccable. Charles plans to inspect it tomorrow, so if you can make certain the site is safe and any debris is cleared—”
“Of course.”
“—perhaps we can divert his attention to the impressive decoration.”
“I have everything under control,” Kit assured him.
If necessary, he would comb the town for extra hands and have the men work overnight. Sufficient scaffolding would be erected to assure no safety concerns, and the site would look pristine, whatever it took to make it that way. “What time have you scheduled the visit?”
“Noon.”
“Then I shall be ready by ten.”
“Make sure you are.” Though Wren’s words sounded serious, he tempered them with a small smile. “With any luck, we can pull this off.”
“I’ve never put much stock in luck. Hard work and perseverance have done well by me so far.” Kit returned the smile with a wry one of his own. “But I suppose a little luck wouldn’t come amiss just this once.”
Wren rose and opened the door, giving Kit a companionable slap on the back as he ushered him through it. “I’ll do what I can.”
“I’m counting on it,” Kit told him.
Hard work and perseverance. He’d always believed that with both, anything could be his.
He headed back to his site. The castle grounds were quiet this time of night, the Round Tower on its huge mound of earth looming tall and imposing between the Lower and Upper Wards. His footfalls echoed off the cobblestones as he skirted the circular structure and made his way to Horn Court.
Nodding a familiar greeting, the usher there opened the door to admit him to the King’s Staircase. Kit hurried up the steps and through the progression of chambers—rooms he didn’t belong in, if one went strictly by rank. But as one of the king’s architects, he had free access.
Someday he would have the rank, too.
His mind on his project and what he would have to accomplish tonight to assure its successful completion, he fairly ran through the Audience Chamber and into the King’s Drawing Room, where court was in full swing this evening. There, he stopped short.
Rose Ashcroft was on the dance floor.
His breath caught at the sight of her, a vision in wine-colored satin. The wide neckline bared her creamy shoulders. Her long sleeves were caught at intervals with jeweled clasps that left gaps, revealing tempting glances of a diaphanous chemise underneath.
He had no idea how she’d come to be here, but she was dancing with some lucky bastard who was tall, blond, and exceedingly aristocratic.
As she spun in the other man’s arms, Kit felt that punch in his gut again. And jealousy spurted through his veins. Which was absurd, aggravating, and unproductive.
Mr. Christopher Martyn was still years away from gaining the title that could give him access to Lady Rose Ashcroft. Wren hadn’t been knighted until well after he’d become Surveyor General. Deputy Surveyor was just the first step.
Unless…
What if he managed to impress King Charles with his abilities as a master architect? Windsor’s new dining room would prove to be spectacular, of that he was certain. The renovations at Whitehall Palace and the new building at Hampton Court—apartments for Charles’s long-time mistress Barbara, whom he’d created the Duchess of Cleveland, and their five children—could prove to be Kit’s making.
Charles might be pleased enough to award him a knighthood along with the Deputy Surveyor post. That would speed along Kit’s plans, perhaps allowing him to win the stunning woman now gliding on the dance floor in the arms of another man.
His jaw set with determination, he tore his gaze from Rose and strode through the glittering assembly, exiting the drawing room into the small, as-yet-unrenovated vestibule that led to his project.
“Martyn.”
Kit turned to see the Earl of Rosslyn follow and close the heavy door behind him. After the hubbub of court, the vestibule seemed quiet, the music and voices muffled to a dull hum.
“Yes, Rosslyn?”
Slim, fair, and elegant in a vaguely effeminate way, Rosslyn shook his head sympathetically. “I was sorry to hear of your misfortune.”
Given that they were competing for the same post, Kit couldn’t help wondering if the man was sincere—but after all, they went back a long way. Oxford, of course, and before that, they’d both attended Westminster School. They’d never run in the same circles, since Kit was a King’s Scholar with his tuition paid by the Crown, while Rosslyn stuck to his wealthy crowd. But Kit had always got on well with everyone, and as it had become clear in the last few weeks that he and Rosslyn were the final candidates for Deputy Surveyor, he’d found himself a bit disconcerted to be competing for the post with a friend.
Not that that dimmed his determination to win. He’d been working toward this appointment all his life. Now he was so close.
He tried for a blithe smile. “What misfortune is that?”
“Your project here has suffered a setback, hasn’t it?”
Kit managed an unconcerned shrug. “Minor, I can assure you. I’ll finish within deadline as planned.”
“Excellent.” Rosslyn toyed with the ribbons that crowned his walking
