“…so long as ye both shall live?” the priest concluded expectantly.
In the hush that followed, Rose’s heart swelled. She’d thought her wedding day would never come.
“I will,” she pledged, squeezing Kit’s hand.
A few more words, a gorgeous ruby ring slipped onto her finger, and Rose and Kit were husband and wife, Mr. Christopher Martyn and Lady Rose Martyn.
Once upon a time, she’d thought that disparity would bother her. But nothing could be further from the truth.
When Kit lowered his lips to meet hers, Rose threw her arms around him.
She’d finally found someone who could make her feel like a queen.
SEVENTY-TWO
ROSE COULDN’T remember ever hating idle chitchat more than she did late that afternoon. Idle chitchat was the very devil.
Especially when it contrived to keep her from her wedding night.
She’d been wanting Kit ever since he’d appeared in her bedchamber earlier today. No, since before that. Since she’d shown up at his house and found him gone. The want was a fire smoldering inside her—a heat that would take little encouragement to flame.
Very little.
“Farewell, Aunt Cecily, Aunt Arabel,” she said with a forced smile, kissing Mum’s sisters on both cheeks. She urged them down the portico’s steps to the lawn. “Thank you for coming.” As they finally walked away with their children, she leaned close to Kit’s ear. “I think that’s the last of our guests. We can leave now.”
He glanced toward the river. “Soon.”
As her curious gaze followed his, Jewel and Rowan stepped onto the portico. “I have something for you,” Jewel said.
Rose looked down to find a box, exquisitely fashioned of colored, leaded glass. “It’s beautiful!” she exclaimed.
“Jewel made it,” Rowan informed them. “Her hands are covered in cuts.” His voice rang with admiration, as though blood and gore were badges of honor.
“We’ll treasure it,” Kit told the girl. Taking the box, he reached to squeeze Rose around her waist. “Won’t we?”
“Absolutely.” She tingled all up and down her side where he’d pulled her against him. “Thank you so very much,” she told Jewel. “I had no idea you worked with glass.”
Jewel hid her scarred hands behind her back. “Mama and my little brother both make jewelry. I got tired of doing the same thing. I was looking at the windows in a church, and Papa told me how the lead is soldered like some of Mama’s jewelry. I thought I might like to try it.”
Chrystabel moved around Rose, plucking the last of the love-knots off her gown. She took the glass box from Kit, lifted the lid, and dropped the little red bows inside. “It’s over,” she said with a long, drawn-out sigh.
Rose wished it were over. She wanted to be alone with Kit. “It was a beautiful wedding, Mum.”
Chrystabel sighed again. “I never really got to plan a big wedding. I shall have to do so for Rowan. A nice, long betrothal—”
Rose’s laugh interrupted her. “Have you considered that Jewel might want to plan her own wedding? Or Jewel’s mother might—”
“Jewel?” Rowan’s eyes widened in alarm. “I’m not going to marry Jewel!”
Kit gave the boy an indulgent smile. “Wait till you’re older—”
“Never!” Rowan looked at Jewel with such horror, the girl shrank back.
Rose pulled Kit aside. “May we leave now?” she asked.
He confused her by glancing toward the river again. “I don’t think…ah, yes. Here’s our transportation.”
Rose turned and stared at the beautiful, gilded barge rounding the bend and approaching Trentingham’s dock. “This is how we’re getting to Windsor? What about your carriage?”
“Ellen and Thomas accompanied me here. I sent them home in it. You wouldn’t have wanted to ride back with them, would you?”
“Not really.” She liked Kit’s sister well enough, but she was anxious to begin her wedding night—and she didn’t want company. “This is Ford’s barge. Was it his idea?”
“Violet’s, actually. Who knew a romantic heart hid inside that intellectual exterior?”
“Violet,” Rose said low, “lost her virginity on this barge. She told me all about it on the way to your house last week.”
“All about it?”
“Well, perhaps not all. But there’s a bed inside the cabin.”
Kit’s gaze heated. “Well, let’s go then,” he said loudly, turning back to her family.
“You know,” her father said for the third time, “it’s traditional for a girl to spend her first married night at her parents’ house.”
“I’m only questioning convention,” Rose shouted.
Her mother smiled. “When are you going to London, dear?”
“The queen’s birthday celebration is Friday, so we’re thinking probably Wednesday.”
“Windy?” Father frowned. “Yes, the wind does seem to be picking up.”
“It certainly is, Father.” Rose shared an amused glance with Kit. “I think everyone should hurry inside.”
A few hugs and kisses and tears later, Rose and Kit crossed the lawn to the river and climbed aboard the barge. He pulled her close, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. They turned to bid farewell to her family, happy to be alone at last.
Well, almost alone. There was a crew, of course, to guide the vessel to Windsor. And a young man playing a violin, sheltered from the weather by the tall wall of the cabin that sat in the barge’s middle.
Heat thrummed through Rose’s veins. She forced herself to stand at the rail, waving at her family until the barge pulled away. The wind was indeed picking up, whipping her skirts and hair. Her heart seemed to speed up to match until it beat in a wild frenzy. Beside her, Kit felt warm, a temptation worthy of the devil himself.
“Inside,” she demanded the moment they cleared the dock. She couldn’t get him into the cabin fast enough. No sooner had they slammed the door behind them than she threw herself into his arms.
The kiss, hot and out of control, left no doubt that Kit was of the same mind. Violin music swirled through her head as his tongue swept her mouth. She returned the favor, tasting him, breathing in his scent and feeling a little thrill
