Page 48 of Lord of Mistrust

Robert’s jaw tightened. It was exactly the kind of rout Sir Mortimer would expect him to attend in order to collect intelligence and spy on Lord Brooke. Yet watching Brooke and Chloe dancing together was the very last thing he wanted to do.

“I’m not sure I’m fit to dance.”

“Well, no one’s expecting you to do the galliard, with your sore arm. But you could manage a stately pavane, surely?” Chloe’s hazel gaze had become penetrating, as if she saw through his bluff denials to the true nature of his feelings.

He rubbed a hand across his brow. This was becoming awkward, and he knew not how to respond. “Forgive me, ladies, but I’m ashamed to admit I tire easily. Would you excuse me?”

Before either woman could respond, he bowed deeply and retreated back upstairs to his chamber. It was there that Whiteley sought him out some quarter of an hour later, after the front door had closed on their visitors.

Though his status was not so high as Robert’s, and Robert his superior when it came to the chain of command amongst Walsingham’s men, Whiteley had become a bosom friend. As such, he evidently had no qualms about speaking his mind.

“What ails you, sirrah? I would have thought you’d be delighted to see Mistress Chloe again.”

“Nothing ails me. I have my reasons, which I’m unable to vouchsafe to you.” He didn’t like concealing the truth from his friend, but he was determined to prove himself true to his word. A lot depended on him keeping his promise to Sir Mortimer.

Whiteley took several turns about the room, then halted in front of Robert and looked him squarely in the eyes.

“Mistress Emmerson and I are friends—or mayhap I should say, fellow conspirators, since I contrived to bring her to your house in an effort to save your sorry skin. I would have thought she deserved a little more thanks for her efforts.”

“You think me ungrateful, do you?” He couldn’t keep the edge from his voice. Whiteley was shooting wide of the mark.

“It looks like it, aye. Chloe slipped out of her house into the dark streets of London—risking grave consequences from her family if she was caught—to bring you succor. Her tisane broke your fever, she cleaned your wound and banished the infection. You should have seen her face, Robert, when she worked with those maggots—she hated every minute of it. That woman is made of strong stuff.”

Not strong enough to evade the suit of Lord Brooke. Indeed, she’d sounded almost as if she relished that traitor’s attentions.

“I’m in no doubt of Mistress Chloe Emmerson’s admirable qualities. If you think I appeared churlish, I shall send her a note of apology.”

“Send her a note?” Whiteley looked as if he was about to explode. “What the devil is going on? That young woman’s in love with you. Can’t you be a bit more gallant about it?”

In love with him? By the rood—if only that was true! But even if it was, he couldn’t act upon it. Frustration made him churlish.

“So, you’re her confidante, are you? Why would she tell you her innermost feelings? Am I not worthy to hear them for myself?”

“Mayhap you were too ill to see what I thought plain. She didn’t need to confide in me—I thought her feelings obvious. And I believed them reciprocated. So, evidently, did our little clutch of traitors, when they used her as bait to capture you.”

Robert sat on the edge of his bed and leaned forward, cupping his head in his hands. “This is a sorry mess. Had I not decided to take on Sir Mortimer at cards to raise coin for my sister’s dowry, I would even now be free to offer for Chloe.”

“But there’s more to it, isn’t there?” Whiteley came to stand before him. “Will you not tell me what this is all about? I detest melancholy. And subterfuge, even though I’m involved in it every day.”

“I’ve sworn to tell no one. Besides, she’s now betrothed to Lord Brooke, and seemingly content with him.”

Whiteley emitted a groan. “Whoever said love was blind didn’t know the half of it. She’s trying to make you jealous, of course, because you cast her off.”

“I did not cast her off! I hadn’t even begun to court her.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t arouse her expectations. Did you not offer for her, to save her reputation, after you put up together at the White Hart?”

“It wasn’t quite like that.” Robert stared at the oak floorboards, wishing his heart was not so full. How could Chloe have responded so ardently to his kisses, then thrown herself into the arms of another, one she purported to despise? Many women he knew were fickle and manipulative. But was Chloe Emmerson like them? One of the things he’d most liked about her was the fact that she was not.

“Do you really think she cares for Brooke? You should regard her more highly than that.”

Robert shook his head. “Forgive me, sir. I have a mistrustful nature, which constantly interferes with my happiness. ’Tis a fault which only I can remedy.”

Whiteley moved across to the hearth and stirred the ashes with his booted foot. “So, what will you do now? I could tell Chloe was disturbed by your behavior toward her.”

“I have not dealt well with her, sir, not well at all. I think, under the circumstances, she would be well rid of me.”

“I disagree, though ’tis not my place to play matchmaker. You will break her heart, you know, if you do nothing. Why not attend that masque at Whitehall Palace? I’m certain Walsingham could get you admitted. Chloe’s mother all but invited you.”