Page 50 of Lord of Mistrust

Chloe picked up a pewter plate and stationed herself in front of a mountain of blancmange, surrounded by a quivering lake of cubes of jellied milk. And felt a tingle down the back of her neck.

Robert was on the opposite side of the table. His blue gaze bored into her, and she sucked in a breath. This was when emotion must be put aside, and her own personal masque must begin. She acknowledged his presence with a slight nod of her head, then turned her attention back to Brooke.

“How can anyone make inroads into the dessert? It is so piled up that the blancmange will suffer an avalanche if anyone dares show it a spoon.”

Brooke snorted. “If you’re feeling brave, Mistress Emmerson, mayhap we should attempt it later. You may make the first cut, while I stand poised to drag you out of harm’s way should the whole lot begin to tumble.”

He was trying to amuse her. She laughed, too loud, and too long, holding his gaze as long as she could. When she glanced past the towering blancmange once more, Robert was gone.

Whatever hurt she felt at the fact that he’d made no effort to approach her was soon swallowed up in the excitement of the queen’s arrival. As soon as the horns sounded, everyone scrambled for their places on the benches, then bowed low or curtsied as Gloriana and her glittering entourage swept past. Brooke kept herself and her mother entertained by naming virtually every one of the courtiers who accompanied her. Chloe wondered how he’d come by such knowledge, as he was no courtier himself. For one who disapproved of extravagance and a queen who appeared to embody that vice, he was oddly well-informed.

Chloe gazed around the hall, trying to discover where Robert had gone, but he seemed, at least for the moment, to have vanished. It wasn’t until some shockingly scantily clad nymphs and satyrs had performed their dance for the queen’s pleasure, that she spotted him again, arms folded across his chest and watching the dancing.

As soon as she saw him turn his head in her direction, she leaned toward Lord Brooke—affording him an excellent view of her cleavage—and commented on the musicians’ skill. When she sat back to watch the dancing once more, she noticed Robert was no longer standing where he had been.

Moments later, Brooke excused himself and disappeared. Her mother immediately shuffled up close to her.

“Your performance is most convincing, Daughter. Trust me, I know—I’ve seen many. You have Lord Brooke dangling on a ribbon.” She paused, then inquired, “Have you seen your young gentleman?”

“Aye, I’ve seen him.” They’d agreed never to refer to Robert by name, lest Lord Brooke overhear. Robert’s warning still rang in Chloe’s ears, though she didn’t understand why he didn’t want Brooke to know of their association.

“And did he see you?”

“I believe so.” Though with barely a blink of recognition.

“Smiling or scowling?” Dela glanced around to make sure no one was listening.

“I would say scowling.” But even when glowering, Robert was the most handsome man Chloe had ever seen, and she instantly recalled the heat of his lips against hers. And ached with all her being to taste them again. A curse upon it! It would have been better not to see him at all, not to bring back those delicious, forbidden memories.

“Another glass of wine, fair ladies?” Brooke’s smile almost reached his eyes as he handed both Chloe and her mother another drink. He leaned close over Chloe as he handed her glass to her, and she felt the waft of his hot, foul breath on the exposed tops of her breasts. Fie on the fellow! For all his puritanical aspect, he was as lecherous as the next man. Suddenly, she needed a moment to compose herself.

“I beg your pardon. I will be back directly.”

Gathering up her flimsy silk skirts, she stood and hastened off toward the banqueting table. Perchance more food would give her courage, and enable her to continue with her ploy of encouraging Brooke so she could make Robert jealous. But not sugared fruit, or gilded nuts, or dates in marchpane. Something filling and plain. A manchet roll and butter would be perfect.

She was just reaching for one, when a familiar voice whispered, “A word with you, Chloe.”

Spinning around, she met Robert’s penetrating gaze. He was too close, setting her a-tremble. She tried to admonish him for startling her, but her words tangled in her throat and nothing emerged.

“Go out to the gardens. I’ll find you in but a moment. ’Tis imperative we talk. Anon.”

Before she could muster a response, he’d slipped away. So, her plan was working faster and better than expected. He was jealous! Seething with it, in truth. She’d done her job well. Now all she need do was reap her reward.

She broke the white roll, spread some butter on it, and took a bite, then meandered toward the main door of the banqueting hall. She dared not look to see if Lord Brooke was about—it would arouse suspicion if she seemed self-conscious. She was just a guest at a royal masque, having a bite to eat, and taking the air. The very chill air.

Several couples were strolling around the gardens, and soft whispers came from the areas where the light of the flambeaux failed to reach. Feeling somewhat adrift, she found a bench where she sat down to wait, hoping she’d be clearly visible when Robert sought her out.

Her fists clenched and unclenched. Was this the moment for which she’d waited so long? Had her scheme—and her mother’s—goaded him into repeating his offer for her? Though she wanted it more than anything else in the world, she was now terrified. Would she do or say the wrong thing? What if it wasn’t what he had in mind at all?

Suddenly he was there, catching her around the wrist and drawing her into the shadow of a high yew hedge. She felt his presence, warming her like a cloak, making her forget the cold night air. She gazed up and knew this was the only face she wanted to see, the only man who could truly make her happy.

“Robert.” Her voice was breathy, seductive. She’d been practicing all night on Lord Brooke, but now she was no longer pretending.

“Despite my warning—and my promise—you’re allowing Lord Brooke to lavish attention on you. Not just allowing, but positively encouraging him.”

How very unchivalrous. Was this all he had to say to her, after all this time? She felt as if a chasm had opened beneath her feet, and she was teetering on the brink of it. Robert surely knew he didn’t have to warn her off other gentlemen? All he need do was repeat his offer of marriage, and everything would be perfect. What was stopping him?

Anger supported her teetering emotions. “Why should I not encourage Lord Brooke? You have given me no reason. What, pray, is your interest in the matter?”