Rose (Flower Trilogy) by Lauren Royal

when do you spend your time reading?”
    “Since you went stark raving mad and decided I had to spend half the night watching you work. Since then.” ’Twas dark as hell, too dim to see her expression, but he could hear the pout in her voice. “Why will you not let me stay home?”
    “I would let you stay home if you would stay home. But I know you, and you won’t. I’d return to find you’re at the pawnshop again.”
    “I love him,” she said for the hundredth time. Or maybe the millionth.
    “I want better for you.”
    As they passed through the gate at Windsor, the drowsy old scarlet-uniformed guard snapped to attention. “Evening, Mr. Martyn.”
    “Evening, Richards.”

    The man narrowed his rheumy eyes. “Who goes with you?”
    “My sister.”
    “Pretty thing.” He smiled, displaying half a mouth of teeth. “Go on through.”
    “My thanks.” In the torchlight of the gateway, Kit glanced again at the book clutched to Ellen’s chest. “Where’d you get that? ’Tis not even English.”
    She clutched the book tighter, as though she were afraid he might snatch it from her hands. “You don’t want to know.”
    “Whittingham?”
    “Maybe.”
    “He’s a pawnbroker. Can he even read? Why would he give you a foreign book?”
    He thought perhaps she blushed, but they were still walking and had left the circle of torchlight, so he couldn’t be sure. “I am hoping your friend Rose can translate it for me,” she said, neatly evading his question.
    “She’s not my friend.” He didn’t want to be Rose’s friend. He didn’t want to be her brother, either. He hoped he’d made that clear earlier this evening.
    “You drew a picture of her.”
    “You weren’t supposed to see that.”
    “ ’Twas good,” she grudgingly said. “You should draw pictures more often. Of things besides buildings, I mean.”
    “I’m too busy trying to make you a good life.”
    Her answer to that was a sullen silence.
    He sighed as they skirted the Round Tower. “You cannot see Rose tonight. You’ll be at my construction site. She’ll be at Court.” He wouldn’t walk Ellen through the King’s chambers—they would take the long way around. “Ellen Martyn does not belong at Court. Until, that is, she marries a title.”
    “I’m marrying a pawnbroker,” she said.
    *
    *
    *

    Rose had kissed three men already—one behind the heavy velvet curtains in the huge bay window, one in the little unfinished vestibule, and one out on the terrace . . . and she’d loathed all three experiences.
    But at least her quest was getting easier. The first two men had been pleasantly shocked when she’d asked them for a kiss, but the third had come to her.
    And here came another, swaggering her way. Trying to appear casual, she leaned a hand on the solid silver table by the wall where she stood. It felt cold—and very expensive—under her fingers.
    “Lovely, isn’t it?” the man asked, coming to a stop before her. She looked him up and down. Although he wasn’t any taller than she, he wasn’t shorter either, and he had a pleasing face.
    “The engraved top is nice,” she said, unable to summon yet another charming and flirtatious reply.
    Her face hurt from smiling so much.
    He tried again. “Louis the Fourteenth has silver furniture like this all over Versailles.”
    “Does he? Gemini, that palace must be even more over-blown than this one.”
    He appeared nonplussed. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of an introduction.”
    She lazily waved her fan while she considered him. His hair was covered by a long, curled periwig, but she guessed from his fair complexion that it was blond. That was, if he wasn’t bald underneath—but she could hope not. His periwinkle suit wasn’t too ostentatious, adorned with just enough jewels to make known his wealth.
    He would do.
    “Lady Rose Ashcroft,” she replied with a calculated smile.
    He took her free hand and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back. A bit