She started, then turned, looking amused. “Kit? You always turn up.”
A glance back told him the duke had made it out to the terrace. “Would you fancy a stroll?” he asked her quickly. Without waiting for a reply, he began walking.
She followed without hesitation. “Where would you take me?”
“Around the courtyards, or—”
“Lady Rose!”
“It’s Bridgewater,” she whispered, walking faster. “Ignore him.”
“Don’t you like him?”
“Of course I like him! He’s a duke!” She sped up, walking amazingly quickly considering her high heels. “I just need to leave court for a while, that’s all.”
Her mother really was quite perceptive. “And why is that?” he asked, steering her around a corner.
“I’m making a fool of myself here,” she said with a sigh, never one to mince words. “I wish to break the cycle.”
He laughed, then glanced back. Thankfully, they seemed to have lost the duke. “A fool?” he said. “I think not. It’s quite obvious all the men like you.”
He hadn’t enjoyed watching that popinjay kiss her.
“And all the ladies hate me.” He could hear the pout in her voice.
“They’re only jealous,” he soothed.
“I know that.”
As he led her through a small courtyard, he laughed again, enjoying her candor.
“They’re vulgar bores, anyway,” she declared. “But a woman needs friends. I miss my sisters. I enjoyed talking with Ellen.”
“She enjoyed you, too. She’s in a much better mood now. Thank you for that.”
She waved a hand. “I cannot think what I did, besides possibly offer friendship.”
“She needs friends, too. Of late, she spends all her time with that man.” He steered her around the Round Tower. “What was the title of the book she brought along?”
“I won’t know until I translate it,” Rose said glibly.
So glibly he suspected it was a fib. That book was making him more and more curious.
She stopped before the castle gate and turned to face him. Torchlight danced over her fine features, highlighting her puzzled smile and the charming little indents it made in her cheeks.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
He hadn’t known, but now he did. “To the river, if it pleases you.”
Although Lady Trentingham had suggested he take her daughter to a secluded part of the castle, surely the river would do as well.
TWENTY-SIX
ROSE KNEW SHE shouldn’t have left the castle, especially with a man. But she’d wanted so much to escape. And Kit was a friend.
She’d never had a male friend before.
“It’s quiet out here,” she said.
“Unlike your friends at court, most folks rise with the dawn and seek their beds when the sun sets.”
“I guess that’s why none of the windows are lit.” The hill was steep, the uneven cobblestones treacherous. “It’s so dark.” A little wobble in her voice matched a sudden lurch in her gait.
He reached to steady her. “You’re not afraid of the dark, are you?”
“No,” she snapped, then added, “Well, maybe. A little,” when she caught him looking at her sideways.
What was it about this man that made her spill her most embarrassing secrets?
She waited for him to laugh, but he didn’t. “I’d know the way with my eyes closed,” he said. “Here, take my hand.”
She did, though she knew she shouldn’t be doing that either. But Kit’s fingers felt good linked with hers, comforting instead of intimidating. His skin felt warm, his palm rougher than those of the other men who’d touched her tonight. Work worn, she supposed. And while she was holding his hand, the night didn’t seem quite as dark.
At the bottom of the hill, rowdy laughter drifted from a tavern called Bel and the Dragon. The sound of common men thick with drink. Kit was common, too, but for now she didn’t care. It was peaceful here, away from court. And no one was threatening to kiss her.
Not even the man she wished would.
When they reached Kit’s house and he turned and started up the steps, Rose pulled her hand from his. “You said we were going to the river.”
“We’re stopping here only a minute.” He fished a key from his pocket and unlocked the door; it was late enough that Graves wasn’t there to open it. “Wait here,” Kit whispered, ushering her into the entry. A single oil lamp burned on the small marble-topped table. “I’ll be right back.”
Hugging herself, she watched him walk deeper into the house. Through an open window, more laughter floated from the river, faint and joyous. People celebrating on a barge, she imagined.
She didn’t have to wait long. A minute later Kit was back, a cloth sack in one hand and a cloak in the other. “Ellen’s,” he explained. “I thought you might be cold.”
He moved close and settled it over her shoulders, wrapping her in its warmth. Fine gray wool with black and silver braid, it was much heavier than her own velvet one and smelled faintly of Ellen, a light, carefree fragrance compared to her own heavier perfume. But Kit being so near, his own scent seemed stronger—woodsy, masculine, and heady enough to overwhelm her.
She was on the verge of asking for a kiss again when he stepped away.
“Thank you,” she said quietly as he guided her back outdoors. “It was very kind of you to take me for a walk. Away from…all that.”
“I needed a break from my work. And now that I’ve taken it, I’m realizing I’ll be needing sleep soon, too.”
Ellen was counting on that, Rose thought, wondering why she felt disloyal. Whose side was she on regarding this brother–sister tug of war? She wasn’t sure. She only knew that right here, right now, she was in the right place.
The streets were deserted this time of night, the river slow and dark, the moon illuminating its ripples. Kit guided her past the bridge that led to Eton, its shops dark and shuttered. They came to a wooden gate with white lettering that gleamed in the moonlight. “Romney Walk,” Rose read aloud.
The gate creaked when Kit opened it. “There’s a place near Trentingham named Romney as
