Page 52 of Lord of Mistrust

“Release me, I pray. You have forgotten how a gentleman behaves.”

“That is because he’s no gentleman.” Robert’s voice was cold with fury.

Chloe saw an arm snake past her nose, and then Lord Brooke was sprawling on the sward, his eyes staring in dazed confusion at the night sky. Robert stepped over the fallen man and took her in his arms.

“I’m so sorry you had to witness that, my love. But when he began pawing at you, I couldn’t help myself. Now, forgive me, but I must go. If I cannot remedy this, I may have just struck the most costly blow of my life.”

With one last, searing kiss, he was gone.

She didn’t know what astonished her most—the fact that Robert had called her “my love”, or that he’d hit Lord Brooke. Why had he run off and left her to deal with the bleeding nobleman? Feeling slightly sick, she fished for a handkerchief and pressed it under Brooke’s nose, then called for assistance.

As the groaning man was helped away by other guests, she thrust his cloak to the ground and stalked back into the banqueting house to find her mother.

“My dear girl, whatever has happened?” Dela broke off her conversation with a well-dressed gentleman, who appeared to be hanging on her every word. “I beg your pardon, Sir Francis. I think we must say our farewells.”

“One moment, Mistress.” The gentleman rose, a slender, dark-eyed fellow, soberly dressed. He made Chloe his bow. “So, this is Mistress Chloe Emmerson?”

She gave a tut of annoyance. She was in no mood for small talk with strangers.

“It is, indeed,” her mother answered, sounding proud.

“Francis Walsingham, at your service. I understand your escort is indisposed, and you may welcome some protection on your journey home.”

Faith! How did he know about Lord Brooke? Did this man have eyes and ears in every corner? If so, he probably knew Robert had hit the man, too.

Walsingham gave her a thin smile. “I’m always happy to oblige a lady, Mistress Emmerson. How fortuitous I should be here at this moment—I don’t normally attend such routs.”

How did one talk to a man with so fearsome a reputation as Sir Francis Walsingham? And did one even need to talk at all, when those eyes seemed to penetrate one’s very thoughts?

He released her from his probing gaze for a moment and helped both herself and her mother on with their cloaks. Then he opened his scrip and produced some masks. “I prefer to travel incognito. We are revelers, returning from this classically themed masque, still wearing our Grecian masks of Tragedy and Comedy. Permit me.”

Chloe submitted to having the mask tied on, as did her mother. Both immediately looked as if they belonged to the company of nymphs who had performed the entertainment before the queen. Fortunately, Bess had already vanished into one of the anterooms at the top end of the banqueting hall, else it would have been the height of discourtesy for them to leave before she did.

Walsingham threw a cloak about himself, donned a tragic mask, then stole a decorative wreath from one of the sconces and placed it on his head.

“And thus the next act begins,” he announced cheerfully as he ushered them from the building.

Chapter Thirty-Three

“A pox on it, Whiteley! I fear I’ve ruined everything.” Robert gazed gloomily into his wine cup.

His colleague stood by the window, sipping a tankard of small beer. He’d informed Robert it was far too early in the day to be drinking anything so strong as wine, but Robert felt he’d explode if he didn’t have something to calm his nerves.

“I suspect you’ve ruined Mistress Emmerson’s chances with Lord Brooke, from what you’ve told me. And probably the man’s noble nose in the bargain. You should expect a summons to a duel this morning—if I’m not mistaken.”

Robert rested his head in his hands. “That would please neither Sir Mortimer nor Walsingham. Although I hope the fact that I found and delivered another of the Catholic traitors to the latter last night will appease them somewhat.”

“Well done! But how could you have done that and not involved me? Haven’t you learned yet you can’t be trusted to work alone? Did you deliver the man with all his pieces still attached?”

Robert huffed out his indignation. “But of course! He was already missing a part of one ear—punishment for some earlier misdemeanor—but I was gentle with him. He was acting as a courier and piloting one of the tilt-boats up and down the Thames. He doesn’t swim too well, I discovered. There was little fight left in him by the time I fished him out of the river.”

He paused. He was relieved to have rounded up one of the few remaining conspirators in this particular nest of vipers, but he’d acted without seeking permission.

“I doubt I’ll receive any more commissions from Sir Francis or Sir Mortimer. I have an unfortunate habit of not following orders.”

“What has Sir Mortimer to do with it?” Whiteley came to stand over him. “If you don’t tell me what all this is about, I may be forced to choke you.”

With a sigh, Robert decided he had little to lose by informing a trusted member of Walsingham’s team of spies. So out came the whole sorry story—his gambling debt to Sir Mortimer, the fact that Chloe was Sir Mortimer’s daughter, and his promise to covertly watch over Lord Brooke, so he could be relieved of his debt.