Kit looked up from the sketch he was making of Rose and quickly flipped it over. “What brings you here tonight?” The earl wandered the drawing room of Kit’s building-in-progress, touching a panel here, eyeing the level there. “Just seeing how you’re coming along.” He squinted up at the half-painted ceiling. “You’ve pulled it off, Martyn, haven’t you? I knew you could do it.” Kit glanced overhead at the fat, smiling cherubs the Duchess of Cleveland had requested, thinking, not for the first time, that they didn’t really fit her. The King’s longtime mistress was known to be anything but cherubic. “Something wrong up there?” “Not at all. ’Tis stunning, in fact.” Rosslyn lowered his pale blue gaze to meet Kit’s. “Mind if I look around?” “As you wish.” Kit lit a second candle and handed it to the man, then followed closely behind. Not that he had anything to hide. But the last of his men had just left, and he always checked everything one final time before leaving himself.
