Well-wishers pressed closer. Rose began moving toward the drawing room and found Judith by her side. Forsaking her betrothed, Judith clutched Rose’s arm. “Who is that handsome fellow?” she whispered conspiratorially.
Rose slid a glance to the man in question, a friend of Rand’s whose gaze suddenly met hers, then skimmed her body in a way that might have made her heart pound…if she were at all interested. “That’s Mr. Christopher Martyn—Rand calls him Kit. He’s an architect,” she added dismissively.
“Christopher Martyn, the architect?” Awe hushed Judith’s voice. “Hasn’t King Charles recently awarded him a contract to renovate Whitehall Palace?”
“Along with Windsor Castle and Hampton Court.”
“Ah, a man of intelligence to complement yours.” Clearly Judith considered the man’s lack of a title no impediment. “No need for you to play the featherbrained coquette for him.”
“I’ve no interest in him. And I’ve never acted featherbrained.” But perhaps now was the time to start.
On her sisters’ advice, Rose had tried to win Rand by appealing to his intellect, but that hadn’t worked at all. Never again would she attempt to attract a man by flaunting her brains. No matter what her family or Judith said, she knew there were better ways to entice gentlemen.
Unfortunately, where Rand was concerned, she’d come to that conclusion too late. To her intense embarrassment, she’d stooped to propositioning him in her family’s summerhouse, and when that hadn’t worked, desperation had driven her to attempt bribery and trickery of the worst kind.
She couldn’t imagine what had come over her that day and had feared she’d never be able to look Rand in the face again. But to her utter relief he seemed at ease with her, as though he’d graciously forgotten that humiliating episode.
“You cannot tell me,” Judith whispered, dragging Rose back to the present, “that you don’t find Mr. Martyn attractive.”
Rose slanted Kit another covert look. Dressed in forest-toned velvet, he was tall and lean, his hair dark as jet, his eyes a startling mix of brown and green. She dredged up a wry smile. “I’d have to be blind to claim that.”
“And he looks ever so nice. Do you think he’s nice?”
“He’s nice enough.” Except for those unusual eyes, which were decidedly not nice. Wicked would be a better description.
“And good Lord, he’s building things for the king! I’m certain he has money—”
“Money,” Rose interrupted pointedly, “does not make up for lack of a title.”
Her sister Violet walked up, sans children for once. “Who needs a title?”
Judith crossed her arms. “Lady Rose apparently wishes to become Lady Something-Higher.”
“Oh, well.” Violet sent Rose an indulgent smile. “That’s only because she has yet to fall in love.”
Rose smiled in return. “And given that it’s as easy to fall in love with a titled man as one without, I’ve decided to concentrate on the former.”
Violet and Judith exchanged a glance that set Rose’s teeth on edge, then left her, to return to their respective men.
Since Lily had given their mother barely two weeks to plan the event, the wedding party was small. Still, there were more than enough guests to fill the drawing room and spill out onto the Palladian portico and into the exquisite gardens. Trentingham Manor was known for its gardens, thanks to Rose’s father and his passion for flowers and plants.
But it was a warm, sunny day, and Rose feared for her creamy complexion, so she opted to stay indoors. She wandered the crowded drawing room, sipping from a goblet of the new and frightfully expensive champagne her parents favored for celebrations. Although she enjoyed sharing a word or two with various relatives and neighbors, she was generally feeling at loose ends, not quite sure what to do with herself.
Until, that was, she heard her father’s voice and turned to see him addressing Kit Martyn.
“…one of those newfangled greenhouses,” Father was saying. “On the east side of the house, I’m thinking, to catch the morning sun. Since autumn is nearly upon us, I’d be much obliged if you could start it immediately.”
Rose couldn’t believe her ears. It was the second time her father had asked the esteemed architect to build him a lowly greenhouse.
Half tempted to ball up the lacy handkerchief she had tucked in her sleeve and stuff it into her father’s mouth, she hurried to join them. “Mr. Martyn builds things for the king, Father! Palaces, for heaven’s sake. He hasn’t—”
“Well, not quite palaces,” Kit corrected her. “Renovations to palaces, additions to palaces, but I’ve yet to build an entire—”
“See?” Rose met her father’s deep green eyes, speaking loudly and slowly to make sure he could hear her over the hubbub of the celebration. “Palaces. He hasn’t the time to build you a greenhouse.”
Kit sipped from his own goblet of champagne, then grinned at Rose’s father. “Oh, I think I might find the time,” he disagreed, his words infused with a hint of laughter. “In exchange for a dance with your beautiful daughter.”
He shifted to look at Rose, making it clear which daughter he meant. His green-brown gaze swept her lazily, almost as though he were mentally undressing her…and if his expression was any indication, he plainly liked the results.
Lord Trentingham frowned. “My bountiful bother?”
Kit looked confused, and Rose knew she should remind him that her father was hard of hearing at the best of times—and in a crowded room, he was all but deaf.
But she couldn’t seem to speak. The audacity of the man, thinking he could trade a building for her company. Surely her father would never—
“I’ll be most pleased to build your greenhouse,” Kit reiterated, “if your lovely daughter will oblige me with a dance.”
“Oblige you with advance?”
Understanding dawned in Kit’s eyes. “A dance,” he shouted. “May I have the honor of a dance with Lady Rose?”
“Oh, yes. Of course,” her father said. “Now, about that greenhouse—”
“I’ll do a preliminary design before I leave,” Kit all but bellowed.
“Excellent.” Lord Trentingham turned a vague smile in Rose’s direction. “Run along, dear. Enjoy yourself.”
Her mouth dropped open, then shut when
