She sighed, half with memories, half with pleasure. “I knew this match was right.”
“And here I thought the prewedding night worked,” he teased, one hand fondling a breast while the other trailed between her thighs.
“It did,” she breathed. “But I think a postwedding night is in order, anyway.”
SEVENTY-THREE
“LOOK AT ALL the people crowding the balconies!” Rose exclaimed.
Everyone who was anyone seemed to be at the queen’s birthday celebration. Musicians played at the far end of the chamber while courtiers danced, all dressed in their finest and wearing every jewel they could lay their hands on. From the upper level, more aristocrats and dignitaries looked on.
Kit watched Rose’s gaze sweep the classical white and gold room and the stunning ceiling painted by Sir Peter Paul Rubens. “Good God,” she said, “this must be the most beautiful building in all of England.”
“More beautiful than mine?” he teased, enjoying her reaction to Whitehall’s Banqueting House. In truth, he only hoped to build something as magnificent as Inigo Jones’s masterpiece someday. While Rose would be happy here for hours, he couldn’t wait to leave and begin their journey to the Continent, where he’d finally get the chance to study the architecture that had inspired Jones.
And yet, this appearance was somewhat of a triumph for him, too. “Shall we dance?” he asked and guided his new wife into the throng. And there he was, plain Mr. Christopher Martyn, dancing at Queen Catharine’s birthday ball.
Rose felt like heaven in his arms, tall and slender and his. He could still hardly believe he’d won her.
When Nell Gwyn waved at her and winked, she grinned back. “Imagine,” she mused. “Nell was born in a bawdy house and ended up the mother of one of the king’s sons.”
“Very like me.” Kit whirled her around. “I was born in a cottage and ended up wed to an earl’s daughter.”
He’d meant it humorously, but it seemed she was in a reflective mood tonight. “It’s odd, don’t you think, the way people crave the opposite of what they have? Nelly makes Charles happy because her house is his home. A regular home, and a real life when he’s with her. She throws parties where he’s a guest, not a king. None of his other mistresses do that for him. They take what he has to offer without giving back in return.”
Delighted, Kit gave her a quick kiss, right there in front of the king and queen and everyone. “And where did you come by all this information?”
“The ladies here at court. They like me very much, you know. Ever since I started supplying them with lurid sonnets.”
He laughed. “The men like you, too. A bit too much for my comfort.”
“No need to worry on that account. I don’t even see them anymore.” She closed her eyes and leaned into him. “For me, you’re the only man in this room.”
He laughed again and kissed her again, and thanked God again that he’d won her. He couldn’t remember ever feeling this happy.
“Even the queen looks happy tonight,” Rose said, as though she were reading his mind. She smiled in Catharine’s direction. Dressed in a magnificent cloth-of-gold gown, the queen danced with Charles, gazing up at him with calm satisfaction. At thirty-nine, she finally seemed content in her unusual marriage.
But William of Orange and his new princess didn’t look so happy. Kit watched them move desultorily around the dance floor. William was shorter than Mary and seemed to have a consumptive cough. Although he was only twenty-seven, deep lines marred his face.
“Poor Mary has been crying again,” Rose said with a melancholy sigh.
“Again?”
“I saw her on her wedding day in London. She looked terribly unhappy.”
Kit drew her closer. “Their marriage was arranged for diplomatic purposes. Neither of them really had a choice. That’s the fate of the important.”
Her mood seemed to lighten. “I’m so glad you’re not important.”
Once that might have hurt, but rank now seemed insignificant next to the joy of wedding Rose.
When they came off the dance floor, Christopher Wren was waiting and handed them both glasses of champagne. “To our queen,” he said. “And your successes. The chapel turned out beautifully, just as I’d envisioned it.”
Kit toasted him back. “You gave me excellent plans to work from.”
“But Windsor’s dining room was your own. A masterpiece.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m sorry about the appointment.”
“That’s water under the bridge,” Kit said, meaning it. He had a new life, new plans.
The Earl of Rosslyn sidled up, a champagne glass in one hand and his ever-present walking stick in the other. “Martyn,” he slurred.
Kit wrapped an arm around Rose’s shoulders. “Rosslyn. I take it life is treating you well?”
“I find myself overburdened with too much work.” He drained the glass and snagged another from a passing maid. “So sad that I won the post in your place.”
Kit shrugged and began to turn away. The man had won the post fair and square, but that didn’t mean he had to listen to his backhanded boasts.
“A shame you miscalculated the length of that span at Hampton Court,” he heard Rosslyn say behind him.
Swiveling back, Kit exchanged a startled glance with Wren. The older man knew Kit had done all his measurements and calculations in private—that besides the two of them, only the perpetrator would know exactly what had been wrong with the building. And Wren had promised to keep that knowledge to himself.
Aghast, Kit turned on Rosslyn. “What sort of man would sabotage another’s reputation in order to obtain an appointment?”
Rosslyn was drunk and slow, but Kit saw the horror dawn in his eyes as he realized he’d given himself away.
“You set the fire, didn’t you?” Kit pressed. “And altered the plans at Hampton Court. I expect you counted yourself lucky that Harold Washburn’s greed took care of Windsor for you. By purchasing inferior materials, he lined his pockets and delayed a project without you lifting so
