Page 21 of Lord of Mistrust

She tossed her head back. “No matter. I have his name now and am not without resources of my own. I’ll find him, tell him I’ve met you, and see what is to be learned.”

He grasped her wrist. “I beg of you, don’t do that.” The last thing he needed was a public scandal. “There’s more than my neck at stake here. You’ve seen the manner of enemy we’re up against. Take my word for it that if I’m exposed, many innocent people may suffer. Pray, keep silent. Or marry me. I shall lay all I have at your feet, and try my utmost to make you happy.”

“A pretty speech, sir. But I won’t stir from my decision.”

He could tell from the glint in her eyes that she was becoming angrier by the minute. Mayhap he should excuse himself until she calmed down. Ye gods, if this was how she behaved when he offered to save her reputation, how would she react if she knew he’d drugged and searched her?

“If I swear not to mention your name to my father, will you tell me where he is?”

“I dare not.” He spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“Will you not tell me the nature of your dealings with him, then?”

“I cannot.” Robert felt wretched. He’d just made the biggest mistake of his life and was about to reap the consequences.

“Then, get out of this chamber, sir.”

“I can’t go. Not until we’ve resolved this.”

“Go. I never want to set eyes on you again.”

“Chloe.” He straightened his spine. “You’re being unreasonable.”

There was a sudden flurry of movement, and before he could react, she’d taken one of the dags from his luggage and was pointing it at him with a trembling hand.

“Wrong. Now, I’m being unreasonable. Get you gone. Send someone else to collect your chest. Be sure not to follow me to London—or ever again repeat your insulting suggestion that we be wed.”

Was she holding the gun that was still primed, or the one that wasn’t? He dared not take the risk. Flinging up his hands, he bowed his head.

“As you wish. Though I have to say I wish things were otherwise.”

“Go.” She waved the gun.

He went. He could see no other choice.

Chapter Sixteen

It had been some time since Chloe had last succumbed to tears. Yet as she shakily replaced the gun in Sir Robert’s luggage, hot drops coursed down her cheeks. Shame? Chagrin? She barely knew. The events of the past few hours would have overset anyone. But she’d been particularly hard on Robert. He was a vile seducer, liar, and deceiver, aye—but threatening him with a gun was not the way to find out her father’s location. He’d probably never tell her now.

She collapsed on the bed, head in hands. Foolish wench! She should have gone along with his proposition, played the same covert game he did, lulled him into a false sense of security, and gradually wheedled his secrets out of him. Should she chase after him and declare she’d changed her mind? Was she capable of such duplicity?

Forcing herself to her feet, she crossed the room and washed the tears from her face. She must put on a brave face and get her plans in order for her return to London, putting the recent unfortunate events behind her.

There was a knock on the door. Her heart leaped to her throat. Had Robert returned?

But it was only the potboy, Sim. Her shoulders sank.

“Begging your pardon, Mistress. Sir Robert said you was to break your fast in your room as soon as may be. He’s ordered a litter for you at eleven of the clock to take you to London. ’Tis all arranged, he said, and paid for.”

As Sim turned away, eager to be about his business, Chloe caught the flicker of a wink, and her cheeks flushed. Should she hasten after the boy, and bribe him to say naught of the association between herself and Robert? If the man was known to be ordering transport for her, surely tongues would wag as to the reason why? People would draw the wrong conclusion about their relationship.

For an unsettling moment, she wished for her mother. Dela Riviere was exactly the kind of worldly woman who’d know how to deal with an impossible situation.

Ah, well. Mayhap Chloe would feel more herself with food in her stomach.

Half an hour later, after mulled ale—which she drank with great caution—manchet and eggs, she felt much revived. Robert’s chest had been collected by Master Hazelthwaite, but there was no sign of the man himself. The wench who’d brought her repast told her the mended alum cart had left earlier for London, carrying all its passengers with it.

Assuming Robert and his baggage had gone along, too, Chloe was thus thrown into confusion when she entered the taproom to see a familiar figure occupying the settle.