Was that why he’d given her the bracelet? She was tempted to tear it off, but there was no reason, after all, to ruin such a pretty thing. “If I know any secrets,” she told him archly, “I plan to share them with only my husband.”
To her consternation, his grin widened. “I entertain fond hopes of being that man.”
“You what?”
“Will you marry me, dear Rose?”
Good God, he was proposing! A month earlier she’d despaired of ever receiving a proposal, and now she’d had two in a week. But better she live all her days as a spinster than bind herself to Lord Fortescue and his sloppy kisses. “Please accept my apologies,” she said, “but my heart belongs to another.”
Though he sighed, he didn’t look surprised. “Best wishes, then, my lady.”
No sooner had Lord Fortescue taken his leave than Lord Somerville made his way over. He raised her hand and kissed it reverently. “I hope you received my flowers.”
“They’re beautiful, my lord. I thank you.” If she remembered correctly, his kisses had been unexciting but not off-putting. And his suit was adorned with gold braid rather than ribbons. Perhaps he would ask her to dance. She had always dearly loved to dance.
“I hear you’ve a copy of I Sonetti,” he said instead.
If she had his flowers here, she’d be tempted to dump them on his head. “I plan to share it with only my husband.”
“Well, then, dear Lady Rose, I must ask you to do me the honor of becoming my wife.”
Rose’s first instinct was to scream in frustration, but in all honesty there was nothing wrong with the man except that she couldn’t imagine marrying him. “It would truly be an honor,” she assured him, “but I’m afraid my heart belongs to another.”
“I see.” He swept her a courtly bow. “Your servant, my lady. The duke is a lucky man.”
In the next hour, Gabriel failed to appear and four more gentlemen proposed to Rose. Two of them were more than acceptable, men she knew she’d have jumped at the opportunity to wed a year ago. But suddenly she couldn’t stomach the thought of marrying any of them.
And not all the men were after her hand in marriage. Some were simply interested in the book. Rose had warned off three of that type already when two more approached as a team. “We hear you have a copy of I Sonetti,” one of them started, a lascivious gleam in his eye.
They both crowded close—so close Rose could tell one of them truly needed a bath. “We were wondering—” the second man began.
“Leave her alone,” Nell Gwyn interrupted, shoving herself between them.
The first one turned on her. “Bloody hell, Nelly, we were only—”
“Hoping to share her, you beasts.” Raising her dainty hands, she pushed on both their chests. “Go on. Be gone.”
Rose blew out a breath as she watched them walk away.
“Is it true?” Nell asked the moment they were out of earshot.
“What?”
“That you’ve a copy of I Sonetti. It’s all the buzz.”
“Yes, it’s true.” Rose sighed. “But I cannot imagine why everyone finds it so blasted interesting.”
“The ladies, they just want to see it, to hear the words. But the gentlemen…well, if you’re not looking for a tumble or two, you’d best stay in company and be watchful.”
From what Rose had seen, there was nothing gentlemanly about the base creatures. “Surely not all men are so single-minded.”
“Some may approach you with flowery words, but they are men. Inflamed most easily.”
“Then perhaps I should carry a bucket of water.”
Nell laughed.
“Do you know,” Rose said, “you are one of few at court who hasn’t asked to see I Sonetti. Don’t you want to view the engravings and read the scandalous translated words?”
“I’ve no need of such things,” Nell assured her blithely.
“Most ladies seem to think they’d enjoy sharing the book with their men.”
“Not I.” Nell leaned closer. “Charles”—she dropped her voice to a confidential murmur—“is a very catholic lover.”
Rose frowned. “I thought you were both Protestant.”
Nell’s lips curved into a fond half smile. “I mean that he’s not very imaginative. His tastes run to the simple. However, he more than makes up for that with his prodigious appetite and enthusiasm.”
Rose felt her eyes widening. “Oh,” was all she could find to say.
“Besides, I’ve seen those pictures—one would have to be a contortionist to attempt half the poses.”
Rose couldn’t agree more. Despite her sisters’ amused reactions, the engravings still made her a little nervous. In fact, this whole conversation made her nervous. “Will there be gaming tonight?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Of course. And tomorrow night, there will be a masked ball.”
“Gemini! Whatever shall I wear?”
“Not everyone wears a costume. Just a mask will do, although I suspect you’ll find some of the outfits amusing.”
Rose’s mind turned to the clothes she and Mum had brought and what she could possibly create from them. Maybe if she concealed her identity well enough, she’d have an evening free from being questioned about I Sonetti. She watched absently as a beautiful woman walked in and made her curtsy before the king.
Or rather, her bow.
Rose blinked. “Whoever is that?” she asked, staring. Though the tall woman was dressed in silks and satins, the sumptuous turquoise apparel wasn’t a lady’s. “It’s a Cavalier’s suit she wears! She must think the masked ball is today instead of tomorrow.”
“I think not.” Nell chuckled. “Have you never met Hortense Mancini, the Duchess Mazarin?”
“That’s the duchess?” Rose had never seen a woman dressed like a man, but the effect was stunning. A jeweled sword dangled from her belt, and a dark little Moorish boy dressed to match trotted beside her, completing the bizarre picture.
“Are you not jealous of her?” Rose asked candidly, knowing the Duchess Mazarin was yet another of the king’s mistresses.
Nell gave a good-natured shrug. “She has Charles’s attention for the moment, but when all is said and done, he will always come searching for my bed. For I love him, and I don’t believe the lovely Hortense has
