“A woman with claws like a wildcat.” Rose’s hand went to the injury. “Does it look terribly bad?”
“A little powder and you’ll never know it’s there,” her mother assured her.
Rose sighed. “I cannot imagine what Nell was thinking when she ordered the torches doused.”
Lady Trentingham cocked her head. “Did you not know Nell is famous for practical jokes? Why, recently she left King Charles at a brothel—”
“Without any clothes or money,” her daughter finished for her. “I heard about that. Remind me never to introduce her to Jewel and Rowan. If she makes these pranks a habit, the three of them together could prove deadly.”
“You’re all right, though?” Lady Trentingham tried to smooth Rose’s hair, but her efforts made little difference. “You’re not truly hurt?”
“Kit rescued me,” Rose said.
“Did he?” Lady Trentingham shared a furtive glance with him, that one brief look conveying a mixture of emotions: gratitude, congratulations, and a silent admission that she’d been wrong. “I think we should leave,” she told Rose quietly.
“Yes,” Rose agreed. “There’s Judith’s wedding, of course…but I believe I’d want to leave anyway.”
Lady Trentingham looked back to the great hall. “Then shall we make our good-byes?”
“Please, Mum, just give King Charles my apologies. I’d rather go straight to our rooms.”
Kit was glad Rose didn’t want to go back to the ball. “I’ll walk you to your lodging,” he said, taking her arm.
While her mother ascended the staircase, Rose leaned to put on her shoe. “I look like something one of Lily’s cats dragged in, don’t I?”
“No.” His mouth quirked in a half grin. “Worse.”
She winced as she straightened. “Well, thank you for being honest.”
“I’ll love you no matter what you look like. Always. Would the duke feel that way as well?”
She had no clue what the duke felt, as evidenced by the way she changed the subject. “Did you check all the measurements?”
He began walking her toward her apartments. “Some. Not all. There are hundreds.”
“Have you found anything wrong?”
“Maybe. I’m not sure yet. The set of drawings I keep with me doesn’t seem to match the plans I left here, and I’m not certain which is correct or which reflects the actual measurements we took last night.”
He couldn’t imagine how that had happened. Most builders worked from a single set of plans, but he preferred to err on the side of caution and always made a careful duplicate. Had he been not-so-careful? The discrepancy was more than disturbing, but he’d set aside the problem for the evening when he decided watching over Rose was more important. And he didn’t want to think about it again now.
Before she could ask more questions, he stopped beneath the clock tower and turned to face her. “I’ll let you know if I find anything conclusive,” he said, raising a hand to her lips.
Her eyes went soft when he traced her mouth with the pad of a finger. She swayed toward him involuntarily, and he took advantage, drawing her close for a long, languid kiss.
It was a kiss his tired soul could melt into, but he wouldn’t allow that, even though she threw herself into the caress. She was still distant, distracted. Though she was with him in body, her mind had yet to cross the crucial barrier that would truly make her his.
“Come along,” he murmured when they parted, their lips clinging for one last moment. “It’s been quite a night.”
Just as they reached Base Court, a shooting star streaked across the sky.
“Look,” she breathed, closing her eyes to make a wish.
He wished, too, then turned and took her face in both hands. “What did you ask for?”
“I cannot tell you, or it won’t come true.”
“Fair enough.” It made him smile to think she believed such fancies. “Shall I tell you what I wished for instead?”
“I think I know,” she whispered and left it at that.
It wasn’t the answer he wanted, but for now it would have to do.
FIFTY-FIVE
HAMPTON COURT was quiet in the middle of the night, Kit’s building dark now except for the circle of light thrown by his lantern. Scents of fresh-cut wood and hardening mortar assaulted his nose, and his footsteps echoed in the empty rooms as he wandered them for the last time.
Tomorrow the building was coming down.
Two more days spent poring over the numbers had confirmed his suspicions: the building was flawed. He’d double-checked his calculations, remeasured, triple-checked again. The conclusion was always the same. If left standing, the structure would eventually collapse.
Oh, it wouldn’t fall today or tomorrow—not even this year. In fact, it could be ten or twenty or fifty years before the inherent weakness resulted in disaster. It would certainly remain standing until long after he was appointed Deputy Surveyor, most likely so long after that he doubted he’d ever be blamed.
But when the collapse occurred, the consequences could very well be deadly.
Was his design at fault? Or had someone tampered with the plans? Since the two copies he had didn’t match, he couldn’t be sure. The fact that they were different lent credence to the theory that Harold Washburn—or someone else—had sabotaged this project.
But it didn’t matter. It was Kit’s project, Kit’s responsibility.
There was nothing for it. Although it meant he would miss his deadline and any chance at the appointment and knighthood, he’d had no choice but to order the structure torn down and rebuilt from scratch. He couldn’t live with himself knowing there were potential deaths looming ahead—not even when he suspected those at risk had yet to be born.
All he had left now was a journey to Windsor and the difficult task of explaining his failing to Wren. Then—while his dreams were torn down along with this building—he would go to Trentingham as
