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any debris is cleared—”

    “Of course.”
    “—perhaps we can divert his attention to the impressive decoration.”
    “I have everything under control,” Kit assured him. If necessary, he would comb the town for extra hands and have the men work overnight. Sufficient scaffolding would be erected to assure no safety concerns, and the site would look pristine, whatever it took to make it that way. “What time have you scheduled the visit?”
    “Noon.”
    “I’ll be ready by ten.”
    “Make sure you are.” Wren’s words were serious, but he tempered them with a small smile. “With any luck, we can pull this off.”
    “I’ve never put much stock in luck. Hard work and perseverance have done well by me so far.” Kit returned the smile with a wry one of his own. “But I suppose a little luck wouldn’t come amiss.”
    Wren rose and opened the door, giving Kit a companionable slap on the back as he ushered him through it. “I’ll do what I can.”
    “I’m counting on it,” Kit said. Hard work and perseverance. He’d always believed that with both, anything could be his.
    He headed back to his site. The castle grounds were quiet this time of night, the Round Tower on its huge mound of earth looming tall and imposing between the Lower and Upper Wards. His footfalls echoed off the cobblestones as he skirted the circular structure and made his way to Horn Court.
    Nodding a familiar greeting, the usher there opened the door to admit him to the King’s Staircase. Kit hurried up the steps and through the progression of chambers—rooms he didn’t belong in, if one went strictly by rank, but as one of the King’s architects, he had free access.
    Someday, he would have the rank, too.
    His mind on his project and what he would have to accomplish tonight to assure its successful completion, he fairly ran through the Audience Chamber and into the King’s Drawing Room, where Court was in full swing this evening. There, he stopped short.
    Rose Ashcroft was on the dance floor.
    His breath caught at the sight of her, a vision in wine-colored satin. The wide neckline bared her creamy shoulders. Her long sleeves were caught at intervals with jeweled clasps that left gaps, revealing tempting glances of a diaphanous chemise underneath.
    He had no idea how she’d come to be here, but she was dancing with some lucky bastard who was tall, blond, and exceedingly aristocratic.
    As she spun in the other man’s arms, he felt that punch in his gut again—and a ridiculous surge of wanting. Jealousy spurted through his veins. Absurd jealousy, both aggravating and unproductive.
    Mr. Kit Martyn was still years away from gaining the title that could give him access to Lady Rose Ashcroft.
    Wren hadn’t been knighted until well after he’d become Surveyor General. Deputy Surveyor was only the first step.
    Unless . . . what if he truly impressed King Charles with his abilities as a master architect? Windsor’s new dining room would prove to be spectacular, of that he was certain.
    The renovations at Whitehall Palace and the new building at Hampton Court—apartments for Charles’s long-time mistress Barbara, whom he’d created the Duchess of Cleveland, and his five children by her—could prove to be Kit’s making. Charles might be pleased enough to award him a knighthood along with the Deputy Surveyor post . . . speeding along Kit’s plans, and perhaps allowing him to win the stunning woman now gliding on the dance floor in the arms of another man.
    His jaw set with determination, he tore his gaze from Rose and strode through the glittering assembly, exiting the drawing room into the small, as-yet-unrenovated vestibule that led to his project.
    “Martyn.”
    Kit turned to see the Earl of Rosslyn follow and close the door behind him. The vestibule seemed quiet after the hubbub of Court, the music and voices muffled to a dull hum.
    “Yes, Rosslyn?”
    Slim, fair, and elegant in an almost effeminate way, Rosslyn shook his head