After the tour, Rose held the lantern for Kit while he measured and made notes.
“What are you looking for?” she asked.
“Something off. Not to plan. I won’t be able to tell here, but I’ll take the notes back to my quarters and review every inch.” Her sensuous rose scent was distracting. “What did you mean,” he asked, “when you said earlier tonight that you didn’t want to be responsible for the earl’s death?”
Though he was busy measuring, he heard her tight swallow. “The duke wouldn’t have been fighting the earl if not for me.”
“You?” Jotting a note, he looked up. “The duel was over you?”
“Yes.” Her face looked pale in the lamplight. “The earl took…liberties that were out of line.”
“Liberties?”
“With my person. He was trying to…well, he was trying to act out an engraving in a book he’d heard I possess.” Kit’s face must have shown his confusion, because she rushed to clarify. “It’s called I Sonetti Lussuriosi.”
“I Sonetti? Weren’t virtually all the copies burned by the Vatican? Where on earth did you find one?”
“It’s Ellen’s,” she said, then clapped her hand over her mouth. “Don’t tell her I told you.”
“We’re not talking, remember?” That must have been the book Ellen had brought that evening to Windsor, the one she’d asked Rose to translate. He should have known it was something licentious. Ellen had never been bookish, and yet she’d been engrossed. “Besides, I don’t even want to think about my baby sister owning that book.”
Despite everything, Rose grinned. “She’s a married woman, Kit.”
He looked away, stretching his rope to make another measurement. “I don’t want to think about that, either.” He counted the knots spaced at one-foot intervals, adding swiftly in his head. “Regardless, Featherstonehaugh had no right to maul you.” The mere thought made him seethe. “Simply owning a book does not make one a loose woman.”
“Exactly what I think!” She moved to help, holding one end of the rope up to a beam. “Yet the entire court seems to have jumped to that conclusion.”
As he fed out the rope, he glanced over at her. “As your friend, I wonder if you’re doing something else to give that impression.”
She looked like she didn’t want to believe that. “Men,” she said, “will be men.”
He cocked a brow.
“Well, I did ask a few men to kiss me.”
“A few?”
“Only the unmarried ones,” she said, managing to sound indignant.
Unreasoned jealousy surged through him. “All the unmarried ones?”
“There aren’t that many. And good God, Kit, they were just kisses.”
Rose was a sensual creature. He knew how easily she could be coaxed past kisses. Hell, even without inviting their attentions, he couldn’t imagine the men here at court keeping their hands off her. They were lechers, one and all. “It’s no wonder the duke had to come to your rescue.”
“He didn’t rescue me—I rescued myself quite well, thank you. I believe the earl has my handprint on his face to prove it.” He’d finished measuring, so she dropped her end of the rope. “The duel is the result of a misplaced sense of possession. The duke wishes to marry me.”
In the midst of writing another number, Kit froze. He was well aware that Rose was desirous of wedding Bridgewater, but he hadn’t realized the damned duke returned her feelings. “He’s asked you, then?”
“Yes. I refused him.”
He released a pent-up breath. “You seem to make that a habit.”
“I do, don’t I?” she said with a sigh.
He wished he knew what that sigh meant.
“MY, HARRIET, you’ve been out here a long time.”
The maid startled and pulled her lips from the guard’s, smoothing down her skirt. “Please forgive me, Lady Trentingham.”
Walter’s face flamed red in the torchlight. “My lady—”
“I saw nothing.” Chrystabel waved a hand. “I’m looking for Rose.”
“Oh! Lady Rose is in the privy garden, working with Mr. Martyn.” Harriet hurried to open the gate.
“Is she?” With a smile, Chrystabel reached out and shut it. “I’ll just let her be, then. I imagine they’re doing something important, and I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
The news that Kit had managed to get Rose alone—tonight of all nights—lightened her heart. She’d heard about the duel from the duke himself, along with his complaint that Rose had dismissed his suit. After he’d drawn his sword for her, no less, he’d pointed out with an affronted sniff.
She’d silently sent up a cheer.
Things were looking up. “Thank you,” she said, turning to leave.
“Lady Trentingham?”
She swiveled back. “Yes, Harriet?”
“I shall report to your lodging forthwith.”
“Take your time, dear. I expect Rose will be busy for quite a while. And you and Walter have much to discuss.”
The maid exchanged a puzzled look with the guard. “Discuss?”
“Will he leave the king’s employ and take a post at Trentingham, or will you find a position here? A major decision, don’t you think?”
Chrystabel imagined both their mouths falling open as she made her way back into the palace. But she was certain their relationship would come to that, soon if not this night.
Her matchmaking instincts were all but infallible.
FIFTY-ONE
BY THE TIME Kit made the last measurement, Rose had long since slipped off her high heels. Carrying them, she followed him out of the building to find the sun was peeking over the horizon, gilding the privy garden in golden morning light.
“Parterre a l’anglais,” she murmured, mentally comparing the area to her father’s exquisitely planted gardens.
Kit shut the door behind them. “Parterre a what?”
“Literally it means ‘English floor,’ but you must imagine it said in a derisive French tone.” She grinned at his quick smile, adding, “It refers to the English preference for smooth turf like this, rather than their own intricate figured parterres.”
Hampton Court’s privy garden was divided into simple, plain grass quarters, each with a single statue: Venus and Cleopatra in brass, and Adonis and Apollo in marble. In the center of it all sat
