Page 32 of Lord of Mistrust

He chuckled. “Then I shall bribe him again to keep his lips sealed. I’m sure no one else knows you’re here.”

As he spoke, he stroked Chloe to soothe her, then slid an arm around her waist to draw her into his embrace. At her pull of resistance, he realized what he was doing and immediately released her. Why did it feel so natural to touch her? They were in trouble enough already, without him making things worse.

“I must dress and see Tilshead, or he’ll be wondering what’s going on. Now, my lady—let’s see a smile from you, not that miserable frown. I swear there’s nothing to worry about. Your reputation shall remain unsullied.”

She eventually raised her eyes to his, searching his face. A pox on’t! The woman looked stunning with her color up and her eyes shining. It was a battle not to send propriety to blazes, and do what his body urged.

“Still not smiling,” he chided, folding his arms across his chest.

She blinked at him, then immediately looked away. But not before he’d seen the glitter of tears on her lashes.

“Chloe, what’s amiss?” How he longed to kiss those tears away and cover her drooping mouth with his.

Shaking her head, she shoved past him toward the door.

“Nay!” He put a restraining hand on her arm, and she glanced up expectantly.

“I must be sure there’s no one outside. I won’t tempt Fate, as she seems somewhat at odds with me at present.”

He poked his head outside, but there was no one in sight, nor any sound of approaching footsteps.

“Go. I shall see you anon, and tell you what is to be done.”

To his astonishment, she flung past him, keeping her head averted, and slammed into her own chamber, locking the door loudly behind her. He gaped after her a moment, then retreated into his room.

What had he done to distress her this time? Surely, the sight of a man’s naked body wasn’t enough to make a woman cry? He had the uncomfortable feeling he’d committed some terrible sin, either by something he’d said—or neglected to say.

He’d taken advantage of the daughter of the man to whom he was in debt. He’d led her into danger, almost got her killed, and threatened her reputation. And now, he’d upset her deeply.

It looked as if his dealings with Mistress Chloe Emmerson were far from over.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chloe dragged herself up to respond to the rapid knocking on her door. “Who is it?”

“Need you ask?” was the soft response.

Robert! She had known he’d come to her, sooner or later, so why did she feel so ill-prepared? Why were her lungs working as if she’d run a mile?

“One moment.” She splashed cold water on her face and quickly dried it. He must never see the marks of the bitter tears. Her heart had suddenly opened for him, ready to welcome his affection, but his interest in her as a woman had died. He hadn’t renewed his offer of marriage to save her reputation, despite the compromising scene witnessed by Master Tilshead—and worse still, he hadn’t held her when she’d most needed it.

Only yesterday, she’d flirted with the idea that she might marry the infinitely preferable Sir Robert Mallory and escape the clutches of Lord Brooke. Now, the idea had become a necessity—Robert was her hero. Robert had saved her. She wanted to marry him because she couldn’t imagine ever feeling this much for any other man. She was overwhelmed and drowning.

He stepped in as soon as she opened the door, took one look at her, and said, “Why, Chloe, whatever is the matter? Forgive me, I didn’t mean to abandon you, but I needed to hear Tilshead’s report.”

She turned her back on him and retreated to the bed, hoping the light blazing through the window behind her would shadow her reddened eyes.

“You’ll want to hear it, too, I wager,” he added, settling down next to her, his thigh pressing against hers. He laid his hand over her trembling fingers and stroked them reassuringly.

She tried to make herself feel reassured, but her mind was in turmoil, her body in a torment of need. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.

“Tilshead informs me our one remaining traitor has been seen on an ox wagon heading east—toward Sussex, mayhap. One of Walsingham’s men, by the name of Mercer, is following at a discreet distance, to see what can be learned from the fellow’s movements. Though I think the Spaniard at the mill was the lynchpin in the local network, I wouldn’t be surprised to find he had a superior with a close connection to that arch-conspirator, Mary, Queen of the Scots. If our prey knows not that he’s being followed, he may lead us to that man, and they’ll both be dealt with as they deserve.”

She couldn’t help but shudder. Had she known the world was full of such treachery and violence, she’d never have ventured into it alone. But the deed was done now. At least she was forewarned.

“Of course, I shall get word to you when the entire clutch of serpents is destroyed. But should you ever catch sight of a man with a torn ear, be on your guard. And go nowhere without a powerful-looking servant by your side.”

“Robert—you’re not making me feel any better.”