“Thank you,” she told Lord Davenport, meaning it. If only she liked kissing him, she would give him another for saving her from humiliation.
“My pleasure,” the man said, reaching for her again.
Hearing a throat clear, she turned back to Kit.
But he was gone. The Duke of Bridgewater was there instead. “Ah, Lady Rose. You promised me this dance, if I’m remembering right?”
She hadn’t, but before she could say so he was leading her away. Lord Davenport just shrugged. Apparently he didn’t feel up to challenging the duke.
“I don’t like seeing other men kiss you,” Gabriel said.
“Then don’t look,” she suggested, laughing when he began to protest. “I didn’t encourage him,” she told him.
“Shall I call him out, then?”
“Gemini, no!” She laughed again, furtively searching for Kit. He was nowhere to be found. “Lord Davenport isn’t worth your time, your grace.”
The duke’s pretty blue eyes sparkled, telling her he liked hearing that.
They danced an almain and once again received jealous glances from men and ladies alike. Gabriel was a perfect gentleman. But after the dance, when he contrived to draw her behind the curtains, she sighed.
If only she enjoyed his kisses instead of dreading them, life would be so much better.
They weren’t the only couple in the big bay window. In one corner, a man had his hand down the front of a lady’s bodice, and if Rose could judge from the woman’s moans, she was enjoying his attentions very much. As she watched, Rose felt her own breasts begin to tingle, and a strange, lazy warmth stole through her body, weakening her knees. She licked her lips, imagining a man doing that to her.
But the man wasn’t Gabriel.
“Don’t look,” he whispered, turning her to face the other corner.
There, a man had his hand up a lady’s skirts! The lady had raised one of her legs and wrapped it around his. Rose suddenly pictured one of the engravings in Ellen’s book.
She needed air.
“I wish to go outdoors,” she told Gabriel.
“Excellent idea. There’s a distinct lack of privacy in this area.”
She hadn’t meant with him; she’d submitted to four of his kisses tonight, and she didn’t intend to allow a fifth. Not until she’d kissed Kit again and figured out how to teach the duke to kiss her better.
As they emerged from behind the curtains, Rose looked around for rescue, relieved to meet the gaze of Viscount Hathersham. She’d kissed him, too, and from what she could remember, it hadn’t been that bad. At least not bad enough that she couldn’t risk encouraging him a little if it might save her from another private outing with the duke.
“Lord Hathersham!” she called, waving him closer. “I completely forgot that I’d promised you the next dance.”
She hadn’t, of course, but thankfully he wasn’t dim enough to say so. He bowed and took her by the hand, raising it to his lips. His kiss was a bit more blubbery than she’d remembered, but at least it was to her hand, not her mouth. “The next dance will be my pleasure, Lady Rose. And well worth the wait.”
As they moved toward the dance floor, Rose sent Gabriel what she hoped he would take as an apologetic glance.
“I never asked you to dance,” the viscount said in a low tone that she imagined he thought was seductive.
“Well, you should have,” she told him with a smile.
“You feel we two are suited, then?”
“For a dance.”
Though a vigorous country dance would have been more to her liking, the musicians had chosen a minuet. As the dancers went to their toes, the viscount pulled Rose near. “I’m hoping I can persuade you we’re suited for more than a dance.” One of his hands slipped around her and rested on the small of her back. “You move nicely,” he said.
“Thank you, my lord.”
“I have nice moves as well.” When she tried to gain some distance, he pressed her even closer. “Especially,” he added, “in bed.”
She forced a girlish giggle. “Oh, my lord! There’s no bed here at court.”
“We can find one,” he murmured as his hand slid down to her bottom. And pinched.
“My lord!” She twisted subtly out of his embrace, not wanting to make a scene. “That isn’t appropriate,” she told him in a voice colder than the ice sculpture that decorated the refreshment table.
“But, my lady—”
“Hush up and dance!”
She held herself in check, though she wanted to rant and rave—and perhaps bash him over the head with something good and heavy. The Chinese vase on that silver table would do nicely.
The nerve of him, touching her bottom!
When the dance ended, she muttered a stiff “Thank you, my lord,” and took off for the solitude of the terrace.
TWENTY-FIVE
“SHE’S DISTRESSED,” Lady Trentingham said, standing with Kit in a dark corner of the drawing room. “And she’ll be alone out there on the terrace. Go to her.”
“I’d wager she won’t be alone for long,” Kit predicted. A safe bet, given the Duke of Bridgewater was meandering toward the door already.
“I’m sure she’d appreciate you taking her away from here.”
“Away?” Rose’s mother never failed to surprise him.
A short laugh escaped her lips—or maybe it was a snort. “Not for the night—just for an hour. You can find solitude, yes? You know this castle better than anyone.” She gave him a little push. “Now, go. I’ll keep an eye on Ellen.”
He went, quickly, feeling like a poltroon as he elbowed his way past the more sedate duke and handily beat him outdoors. This entire courtship was beyond humiliating. Lady Trentingham had made it clear she approved of him pursuing her daughter, and he shouldn’t be needing her encouragement—or worse, her nagging—to make each and every move.
He’d always gone after what he wanted with no holds barred, and from now on, he promised himself, he’d do the same with Rose.
Silhouetted in the moonlight, she stood at the edge of the terrace, gazing over the darkened Thames Valley.
“Rose,” he
