by Julia Latham
“Did you have much to write?” Robert asked with faint sarcasm.
“Enough. We are proceeding slowly, but the pace is necessary. You toured the castle with Sarah today. What did you learn?”
Robert explained their conclusions, but found himself hesitant to talk about her denial that she was Drayton’s mistress. It might sound like he was defending her, as if he’d let his supposed instincts as a womanizer influence him.
“I spoke a bit more about Sir Anthony with Simon Chapman, for Francis’s guardian has another strong motive for murder.”
“The man is a knight, well respected at court.”
“Murderers can’t be well respected?” Robert asked, a smile tugging one corner of his mouth. “Then I went over the account books with Sir Daniel.”
“And Sarah, too.”
“Aye, I kept her with me for her reactions, and the treasurer’s reaction to her. There was nothing suspicious from either one of them, and the ledgers were flawless.”
“Then ’twould seem that the treasurer has no motive to harm his lord.”
“True,” Robert admitted.
And returning to the topic of Sir Anthony, he told Walter that the guardian had made no changes in running the estate since he’d taken over.
“That means nothing, of course,” Robert added. “If Sir Anthony killed Lord Drayton, he would be foolish to alter things so quickly. He has Francis’s whole childhood to do as he wishes. And if Francis somehow dies before he comes of age, all the better for his guardian.”
Walter only nodded.
Robert found himself wanting to insist that Sir Anthony had just as much of a motive as Sarah, but he did not need to press the point. He felt conflicted, angry, as his brain and his loins seemed to fight over Sarah.
Walter took a breath. “Sarah came to speak with me as you were leaving on the hunt.”
Robert tensed, which surprised him. He had never been one to worry about things not in his control.
“We spoke of nothing important, but I sensed something…different…about her. Have you spoken to her about being a suspect?”
“Nay, not specifically,” Robert said. “But she knows everyone at Drayton Hall is a suspect until we’ve ruled them out. Yet, we had a discussion that might have made her realize the precariousness of her situation. I spoke to her about being Drayton’s mistress, and she denied such a relationship.”
He waited for Walter to express some kind of surprise or curiosity, but there was nothing. Did the man not even care that the League might be wrong?
“She seemed genuinely stunned to me,” Robert continued, “if her scarlet blush meant anything. And shocked, too, that her friends would believe such a thing of her.”
“In this matter, I believe she’s telling the truth.”
Robert stiffened. “But that is against everything the League told us.”
“I spoke with Drayton’s personal valet.”
“I haven’t even met him yet.”
“He is a very private man, above participating in gossip of any kind, even to deny a rumor. But he reluctantly admitted to me that Drayton never took Sarah Audley to his bed. The viscount did not have a mistress at all.”
Robert sat back in his chair, feeling stunned and trying not to show it. “And you believe him?”
“I do.”
“But that changes everything the League wanted us to do.”
“Does it? Perhaps Sarah wanted to be his mistress, even planted the rumors herself to induce Drayton to succumb. Her chambers were connected to his. In some ways she probably felt like his wife, especially since she was caring for his child. Did she want more, and when he wouldn’t give it to her, she killed him?”
He just couldn’t imagine the Sarah he knew as that cold and calculating. But those were his personal feelings, and not something that mattered in their investigation.
Yet—was he truly beginning to think she might be innocent?
He had to speak up now, regardless of what Walter thought his motivations were. “I need more proof if I’m to be certain she’s the murderer.”
The Bladesman said nothing.
“We came here with specific instructions because the League had deduced that Sarah Audley was our target. We were only to gather the final proof, and carry out her punishment, if there wasn’t enough evidence to bring her openly to justice.” He looked into his partner’s eyes. “But Walter, the League’s determination of her guilt was based on incorrect assumptions. She was not Drayton’s mistress. We came in here with preconceived notions, when we should have been impartial.”
“You have looked from the beginning at the others in the household.”
Was that a compliment? “It isn’t enough. I want to broaden the list of suspects. Anyone could have used that arsenic. I haven’t fully investigated the steward yet, and who knows? Perhaps someone was Drayton’s secret mistress, letting Sarah take the blame, and we just haven’t found her yet. And I have a special interest in Sir Anthony Ramsey. With his cousin’s death, he came into control over a very large group of estates.”
“But only temporarily.”
“Aye, but a boy’s life is fragile, and Ramsey’s control could become permanent. Money is a powerful motive,” he said, remembering the treasurer’s words.
“You are in command,” Walter said.
“Yet I’m going against what the League wished of us.”
“’Tis your choice, and you will have to abide by the results.” He stood up. “Robert, be careful not to call attention to your skills.”
“My singing was that impressive?” He held up both hands, smiling. “I know, you mean during the hunt. I will be more careful. You only learned League skills as an adult, where I’ve had them bred into me since childhood. Just remember, the only hunts I’ve ever been on have been with Bladesmen, a most competitive group when all together.”
“I know,” Walter answered.
He turned and left without even a good night. Robert thought that didn’t bode well. Walter seemed to be rigidly adhering to the assignment from the League, and obviously wasn’t impressed that Robert was altering it. Did Bladesmen never show initiative? But he’d been taught to do so, for a Bladesman never knew what he might face on his own.
Butting heads with Walter made Robert wonder if the League would have even chosen him if he hadn’t spent his childhood being trained by them. Perhaps as an adult he hadn’t proven worthy.
He felt a sharp pain that was almost physical, but wasn’t. Grief?
Nay…loneliness.
He’d never felt it before. He’d always had his brothers. But Adam was married, with an earldom to rule, and Paul was simply…gone. Paul, who was almost another side of himself. Their friendly competitiveness with each other had carried him through endless lessons, forcing him to do his best.
Robert ran a hand through his hair, feeling exhausted. Now everything rested on him, including a partner who didn’t believe in his methods and conclusions. He was truly alone.
But whatever the outcome to his own career with the League, he had to treat Sarah with fairness. If she was innocent, he would prove it and find the real killer, working against the League if he had to.
Chapter 13
Sarah didn’t sleep well. Too many nightmares about murder and imprisonment—then too many dreams about Robert’s sweet kiss, and what might have happened between them.
After mass, as they all broke their fast in the great hall, Robert watched her, smiling. He only nodded at the maidservant Athelina, who displayed her disappointment far too obviously by flouncing from the hall.
Sarah escorted Francis to his studies with the tutor, and helped raise the boy’s excitement by promising that he could begin thinking about having his own pony.
Francis clapped his hands together. “Really, mistress? At last, my own pony?”
“You have shown yourself ready,” she said, smiling.
She was startled when he threw open the door to the chaplain’s quarter
s.
“Father Osborne, guess what!”
The priest looked up from the books spread at his table, his balding head gleaming in the sun that shone through the windows. He winced at Francis’s exuberance, and Sarah gave him an apologetic shrug, even as she backed out and shut the door behind her. The poor priest would have to be the one to calm the boy down.
“Good morning.”
She jumped and gasped, then heard Robert chuckling behind her. She slumped back against the stone wall, hand to her chest, even as he loomed above her, his face full of smiles.
“Robert!” she cried, though she had enough of her wits not to speak too loudly. She looked both ways down the corridor, but saw no one observing them. “My heart beats so loudly I fear it will burst.”
Without thinking of the consequences, she took his hand and put it over her heart. “See what you did?”
His charming smile faded and her eyes widened as she realized his palm rested on the upper curve of her breast. Her startled nerves transformed into a jumble of confusion and yearning. His hand was warm even through her clothing, so large that if he slid it lower, he could cup her entire breast.
Then he removed his hand and spoke as if she hadn’t just forced him to touch her.
“I have something to tell you. Where can we speak in private?”
She almost suggested her own bedchamber. She was shocked at her own bold thoughts where Robert was concerned. What was wrong with her? Was her mind playing tricks, making her think his pretend flirtation was real?
“I know not,” she murmured helplessly. “These chambers are for other servants of the Drayton estate.”
“And none are empty?”
“Oh, well, since Master Frobisher is also the bailiff of this castle, not just the steward, there is one chamber not in use—”
“Take me there.”
She hurried away, feeling him follow her closely. She was nervous and could barely lift the latch on the door, but at last they were inside. The room smelled stale and unused, with a few simple furnishings. Robert closed the door behind him and just looked at her, his white teeth shining in the gloom. She opened a set of shutters nearby so that she could see him better.
“Is something amiss?” she asked.
“Lord Drayton’s valet confirmed that you weren’t Drayton’s mistress.”
Thoughtlessly she clutched his hands, ignoring his startled expression. She stared at him with such hope and gladness that she felt as if only his touch held her tethered to the ground. Did this now help remove her from his list of suspects? She had to hear the truth from his lips, not just assume what he—and Sir Walter—thought about her.
“So you could not take my word on this?” she asked, trying to distance herself just a bit. “You had to question another?”
“Sir Walter spoke to Drayton’s valet.”
“And you would have believed me without such proof.”
When he said nothing, she let go of his hands. But she couldn’t blame him. He was here at the king’s behest.
“This was something Walter needed to hear,” Robert continued.
“Because I am a suspect in my lord’s murder.”
“Everyone is, Sarah. You know that.”
“But Robert, if you both thought I was Drayton’s mistress, then that must have made me even more suspicious in your eyes. Tell me the truth.”
“I care not for suspicions that have no proof.”
“Then you believe me?”
He said nothing, but his jaw clenched and he closed his eyes. A struggle was obviously going on inside him, between duty and—and what?
“Robert, do you believe in me?” She whispered the words now, cupping his face with both trembling hands, her chest tight with an ache she couldn’t describe, couldn’t begin to understand. But just touching him soothed her.
And then it was as if something in him released in a giant rush of movement. He turned and pressed her up against the wall, his expression harsh and urgent. His mouth covered hers, and the sweet kiss of yesterday was gone, replaced by one of fierce hunger. She parted her mouth because his demanded it, felt the sweep of his tongue, the roughness of his hands holding her still. Never before had a man kissed her as if he would die if he couldn’t have her, and it was this kind of desperation she sensed in Robert. His body held hers immobile, but instead of feeling frightening, it made her light-headed with arousal. He explored her mouth with greediness, even as his hands moved restlessly from her shoulders to her sides to her hips. He cupped her buttocks, pulling her closer. Helplessly she parted her thighs, felt the pressure of his leg so intimately against her. She moaned at the sensual contact, the heat, the movement. With his mouth he captured every sound. Her hands slid up his arms and across those shoulders, so broad and bunched with muscle. She returned his kiss with equal passion, stroking his tongue with her own, leaning up into him, wanting more, needing more.
The sheer overwhelming temptation of it all was what finally penetrated her foggy brain. She broke the kiss, gasping for air, for sanity.
“This is wrong,” she whispered.
She felt his chest expand with his own need to breathe.
He growled the words, “This doesn’t feel wr—” Then he broke off, his expression almost angry, but she sensed that he wasn’t angry with her.
She couldn’t move, and he didn’t release her. His body he pressed deeper between her thighs, until his erection against her most sensitive flesh made her shudder. She licked her dry lips, gasping for air, even as he watched her mouth.
“If anyone sees this,” she whispered, “it will only make me look more guilty.”
“They won’t see it, because it won’t happen again.”
How could he say that, when the desire that simmered between them seemed uncontrollable? Her reputation, her very life, was at stake.
“Sarah, I’m not—I can’t be the man you—” He gritted his teeth on a groan.
She knew so little about him, had thought he was a man who enjoyed himself, even though he had a serious mission. But now, looking into his eyes, she thought she saw more, a man under assault by forces she didn’t know about. What had shaped him—what had harmed him?
She tossed her head, needing to challenge him. “Then I guess I’ll have to dream about Simon.”
His frown was forbidding. Even his nostrils flared. Then he took her mouth in a rough, wet kiss. “Has he even tried to kiss you like a lover?”
“He is a gentleman.”
He slid his hands up her sides, until they just touched the outer curves of her breasts. “I am no gentleman.”
They stared at each other. Though Sarah wanted to revel in this heated moment, there was a part of her that could not forget her danger. He hadn’t said he believed in her innocence, and surely, Sir Walter was not convinced. Robert might be her only chance to save herself, but he was fighting what they felt. She needed him to be sympathetic to her.
“Perhaps I prefer a gentleman,” she said breathlessly, aware of his fingers so close to her breasts. “Simon is a persistent man, and I cannot just…spurn his advances. We’re eating a meal today away from the castle, out of doors.”
He gave her a rakish smile. “Why, thank you for inviting me to join you.”
She was relieved at his persistence. She felt a wave of regret and sadness, knowing she might be using Robert and his feelings for her, but also knowing she had no choice.
For a moment, he leaned down as if to kiss her again. She waited, barely breathing. He closed his eyes and stepped away. It was as if she had forgotten how to hold herself up. She remained slumped for a moment against the wall, staring up at him, and was relieved when he put his hand on the back of a chair to steady himself. She wasn’t the only one overwhelmed.
“Do we leave just before dinner?” he asked.
She could only nod.
“I’ll be waiting.”
And then he was gone, and she was left to remind herself of all the reasons why she’d be
en happy with Simon’s courtship. Foolishly, she’d once thought because he’d been careful and restrained as he pursued her, that he was safe, that he wasn’t pretending to desire her, as her husband had done. She’d been trying to be so cautious—
But now she didn’t even remember caution when Robert was near. He put her in danger, physically, mentally, emotionally—and she couldn’t stop herself from wanting him.
Even though he might still think her a murderer.
Robert felt dazed as he departed the chamber, as if he’d left part of himself behind. He’d gone to relieve some of Sarah’s anxiety, and instead, he’d put her against a wall to have his way with her.
Where had that come from?
He walked the corridors, nodding when he passed the occasional servant, but it was all by habit. His mind was too busy trying to understand how he’d let himself succumb so quickly, so completely, to his passion for Sarah.
Again, he felt like he was a child’s toy, spinning out of control, not knowing which way he would land the next time. How soon would it be before someone else in the household saw his surrender—before Walter saw it? This was his last chance to prove himself to the League, and he was destroying it. He had to remember what was most important to him.
He found himself outside by habit, knew he should be in the tiltyard this morn. Hard work would help clear his mind, help him focus on strengthening his body for any battles to come.
And then he saw Simon Chapman, the man who opposed him for Sarah’s interest, donning his gauntlets in preparation. Robert had known he should let Sarah and Chapman have their time together. It would be better for all if Sarah turned away from Robert. But the dark demon of jealousy yet raged inside Robert, and had won a battle.
As Robert approached, Chapman glanced up, his helm tucked beneath his arm. “Sir Robert,” he said in that formal, even voice of his.
“Sir Simon,” he answered pleasantly. “A perfect day for a meal in the countryside.”
