by Julia Latham
And Robert hadn’t told her.
Her dismay and sadness were quickly erased by a growing feeling of confused anger. Why had he lied to her again? Perhaps his attention to her was only so that he could find more proof that she was guilty.
Or was the only attention he paid her because she’d been throwing herself at him?
She wasn’t sure of anything.
“Perhaps we should look for Sir Robert,” Sir Anthony said as he studied her. “Last I knew he was with Lady Ramsey in the sewing chamber.”
“The sewing chamber?” she echoed in disbelief.
Though she wasn’t yet certain of her strategy for confronting Robert, she followed Sir Anthony through the castle corridors until they reached the large chamber that was Margery’s domain. They found the maidservants all atwitter with laughter, Lady Ramsey looking amused and charmed, and Robert in the center of the adoring women.
Chapter 20
Robert had the faint feeling that something was wrong, just by the expression on Sarah’s face—or perhaps it was the absence of expression. He was surrounded by chattering, flirting women in the sewing chamber, something he’d been taking advantage of. If people feared him, they wouldn’t reveal things so easily.
But Sarah had accompanied Ramsey here—to find the man’s wife? Lady Ramsey had been Robert’s true reason for being here, of course. By knowing the wife, he might get to know the husband. But she’d been friendly and utterly guileless. He’d learned nothing new about Ramsey.
Ramsey looked down at Sarah with concern. Robert felt tense, worried about her, even as he forced a laugh and held a maidservant at arm’s length.
“Thank you, Sir Robert, for brightening everyone’s day,” Sarah said, her smile obviously false.
“Oh, he did,” Lady Ramsey gushed, coming to take the arm of her amused husband. “He was gracious enough to accompany me here.” She lowered her voice. “I had avoided the sewing chamber after dear Lady Drayton died. It brought back too many memories. But now I believe that was a mistake, for memories of happy times can also bring comfort.”
Robert smiled. “Lady Ramsey, glad I am that I could help you remember your way.” He glanced at Sarah, his uneasiness increasing. “Mistress Sarah, how was Francis’s first pony ride outside the castle?”
“He wants to tell you himself, Sir Robert. Would you care to accompany me?”
After promising to visit with the seamstresses again, he nodded to Ramsey and followed Sarah from the chamber.
When they were away from prying ears, she slowed and said in a quiet voice, “You seemed outnumbered there.”
He chuckled. “I had things well in hand.”
She didn’t say anything else, just walked at his side.
“Lady Ramsey is very inquisitive,” he began. “She’s a little too interested in the investigation.”
“Can you blame her? After all, you interviewed her husband as a suspect in a murder.”
“True.” She was walking almost too fast, and he touched her arm. “Sarah? Is something wrong?”
“More wrong than it’s been since you arrived?”
He frowned, even as she heaved a sigh.
“Forgive me,” she murmured. “This isn’t about you. ’Tis about me, and the pressure I’m feeling, and all the uncertainty. Are you any closer to discovering the truth?”
“Wishing I would leave?” he asked, still smiling but half serious.
Her eyes widened and she bit her lip.
“You do not have to explain, Sarah. I cannot imagine how you’re feeling.”
She began to tell him about Francis’s pride in his horsemanship. But something was still wrong, and she didn’t trust him enough to explain what it was. That frustrated him more than he thought possible.
After supper, Sarah found herself confronted by Margery, who looked over her shoulder at everyone else in the great hall.
“Ye look guilty, so ye didn’t tell Sir Robert about the accidents, did ye?” the seamstress said in a low, stern voice.
Sarah sighed at how easily her friend could read her. “Nay, I did not. I’ve caught him in lies, Margery, and I’m not certain I can trust him.”
Margery groaned and rolled her eyes.
Sarah leaned toward her. “Just because he and I…feel something for each other, does not mean it’s anything more than lust. And perhaps his feelings are all about keeping me close and proving me guilty.”
“Oh, ye cannot believe such a thing!” she protested. “I have seen him watchin’ you, and ’tis not with suspicion.”
“He is very good at masking his true thoughts. And the plan from the beginning was to flirt openly with me.”
“Ye need to show him yer trust, Sarah. Ye need help. Yer only other choice is to leave here, because someone is tryin’ to make you look guilty.”
“I don’t care about myself!” she hissed. “’Tis Francis I fear for. And I’m also not finished with Robert. I have to know for certain if he trusts me, if he believes in me, and it is not so easy to ask him.”
“Sarah—”
“I’m still so afraid for Francis,” she interrupted, her eyes going to him where he played chess at the hearth with Lady Ramsey.
“Ye’ve been watchin’ him close, ’tis true.”
“Will you—” She hesitated, afraid how this would sound, but knowing she had no choice. “Will you sleep in my bedchamber tonight, and keep the door open between my chamber and Francis’s?”
Margery’s eyes widened, and although she was obviously full of questions, she didn’t utter them. “Aye, Sarah. Ye can trust me.”
Sarah nodded and left Margery. For the rest of the evening, she stayed on the fringes of the hall, watching over Francis, staying away from Robert. She saw his questioning looks that he covered with cheerful behavior. Was she really able to see beneath the masquerade?
But what kind of man was he?
The minstrels played for the crowd again, and he claimed a dance from her. She let him flirt with his eyes and his smile, as he did with every other woman.
And before she let him go on to the next, she leaned in and whispered, “I’ll be waiting for you in the corridor beneath your lodgings after the stroke of midnight. Come down to me.”
She felt his body tense, but then she turned away without looking into his face.
After midnight, Sarah wasn’t even trembling as she waited below the guest lodgings. The candle flame burned steadily, her heart didn’t pound. Somehow she was going to truly discover if Robert believed in her innocence.
He appeared at the bottom of the circular staircase, a shadow come to life, without his own candle to guide him. She inhaled sharply, startled, but she’d been expecting him, hadn’t she?
He stood in front of her, that irrepressible smile gone. His eyes watched her, waiting, dipped down to the neckline of her gown, to the hint of cleavage. His nostrils flared.
She felt a wave of heat and trepidation shimmer inside her. She put a finger to her lips, saying nothing. Beginning to turn away, she glanced back at him over her shoulder. With her eyes she begged him to follow, and he did. He moved soundlessly, though she could hear her own steps. But she didn’t look back again.
She took him farther along the corridor to the final guest lodgings, vacant now. She went slowly up the circular stairs, knowing he was watching her from behind.
She didn’t stop on the first floor, but continued up to the second, to the largest bedchamber, as far away as possible from the chance of being overheard. She’d prepared a small fire in the hearth to warm up the cold stone of the castle. She set the candleholder down near a pitcher of wine and turned to face him. He watched her from the shadows, his blue eyes glistening, his faint smile reminding her that he was not like any other man she knew.
Words failed her in the face of the desire in his eyes. His gaze went past her to the bed, and she realized how all of this looked. He thought she’d planned an assignation.
Heat flooded her—along with nervous
ness and passion intertwined. She was frozen, desperate for the solace of his embrace. But he’d always resisted her.
Should she press her advance? Would he stop resisting?
Suddenly, he reached toward her and tugged at the laces at the front of her gown. She caught her breath. Freed, the bodice sagged open with the too bountiful display of her breasts beneath her smock. His chest rose and fell with his quick breathing.
When she trembled, it wasn’t with fear. She felt…desired, and if she weren’t careful, she would forget everything else that was important as she succumbed to the heady sensations.
This is what had been building between them for days, even as she’d stoked his jealousy, hoping to bind him to her. Should she stop it now, before it went too far?
The laces loosened farther, and the gown began to fall, baring one shoulder, the smock caught at her breasts. She watched, dry mouthed, as he loosened the laces on the front of his doublet, parting it so that she could see the fine cambric of his white shirt, gathered at the narrow band at his throat. The laces came free, the doublet parted, and it fell from his shoulders and down to the floor. The shirt covered him to his upper thighs, and feeling flushed, she wanted to see below.
She gasped as her gown fell to her feet. She wore not a lady’s sheer delicate smock, but hers was a comfortable cut that hugged her curves.
He moved closer, until his body just touched hers. There was little between his chest and her breasts but two thin garments. The brush of him against her nipples made her softly gasp and half close her eyes as she swayed against him, feeling, experiencing. She’d never known how sensitive her body could be.
She took another step closer, flattening her breasts against him, pillowing his erection in the softness of her stomach. She let her hands slide from his hips and up beneath his shirt, feeling the rippling curves of muscle, the scattering of hair, all of it intoxicating her. Her hands went up his broad, smooth back until she reached his shoulders.
He leaned forward and kissed her with so much heat and need that her knees weakened. She held herself up by the strength of his body as she devoured him, tasting him with her tongue and lips, moaning into his mouth. He walked her backward until she hit the bed with her legs. She tumbled down and pulled him with her, spreading her thighs to take him even deeper against her.
He suddenly propped himself up on his hands and looked down at her. She pulled on his shirt until it billowed over his head. He yanked it off and tossed it behind him. His powerful shoulders were tense above her, his arms like two giant columns on either side of her. She could have felt intimidated by all that strength poised above, but she wasn’t.
He seemed to be hesitating, studying her, his smile long gone. Where was that playful man, the one who loved women? Was this the real Robert, and he was showing himself to her? Was there a serious side of this man, one he’d learned to hide because he’d had no one in his life to trust, no one to protect him? Had laughter been his shield?
Though she knew it might be hopeless, she ached to love him. She bent her knee and brought it up along his hip, feeling her smock slide down her skin. Her thigh gleamed in the candlelight, and she knew he was watching it, too.
She arched her body against his, felt his hips hard against the depths of her, his body far too obvious with its need.
He tugged at the laces of her smock, baring the upper curves of her breasts, even as the garment caught on the hardened peaks. His gaze was riveted on the display. She rubbed her hands along his arms, reveling in his strength. She caressed his shoulders and neck, then pulled his head down to her, those wavy dark curls fluttering through her fingers. He bent willingly, his open mouth on the skin just below her throat.
The laces parted further, revealing one breast to him. She gasped, barely able to breathe. Her body aflame, she lifted herself toward him. She wanted him to take her now, to make her forget—
So she could use him.
She was using him as her husband had used her, though the reasons differed.
She tensed, dropping back onto the bed, even as he held himself above her.
This wasn’t the way to solve her problems. She would never know the truth of their relationship if she let him take her like this.
She covered her face with both hands, ashamed of herself. He slid off her and rested at her side, still touching her, sharing his heat. She felt him gather the laces of her smock together to cover her.
She rolled into him then, burying her face in his chest. His arms came around her, comforting her, though she did not deserve it.
What was she going to do now? Being intimate with Robert didn’t mean she could trust him to care for Francis, to believe in her.
She dropped back onto the cushion, looking up at him with beseeching eyes. Why was he keeping important secrets from her? She always felt he had things he didn’t share, and now that she knew some of them, she could only imagine that other secrets might be worse.
He smiled as he gently brushed a stray curl back from her forehead. “Sarah, I am weakened in the face of your charms.”
She tried to return his smile, though she felt her lips tremble. “I can hardly believe that. You have women flaunting themselves at you.”
His fingertip dipped down to her cleavage. “Remember, when I was a child, I had no woman to hug me as you do Francis. I think I grew up starved for a feminine touch.”
“I think you’ve more than made up for that,” she said dryly.
He chuckled. “You know ’twas not the same. Those sorts of women are nameless, soulless in the sense that I knew nothing about them. We didn’t care about each other’s thoughts, were only using each other for pleasure and companionship and to get through the long nights. ’Tis not the same with you.”
Using each other, she thought despondently. People who used each other lied to each other.
She wanted to tell him of her fear for Francis, but it all froze in her throat. Every man in her life whom she’d trusted had let her down in the end, even her beloved father. She didn’t know how to cross the line and trust with her whole heart. After all, he was here to find a murderer.
Robert could sense Sarah’s pain. He wanted her body with an ache he could barely ignore—but he wanted her trust more, and he didn’t have it.
They lay still, not speaking, as he freed her hair from its ribbon so that he could comb his fingers through the soft, red curls. The outside world, the danger and uncertainty, seemed so far away.
But perhaps that wasn’t true for her, he thought, watching as her gaze focused on the candle, whose flame glimmered deep in her worried brown eyes.
Did he want to spend every night like this with her? He’d spent these last weeks focusing on the League, on tightening his grip of it before it could slip away from him. He hadn’t thought beyond it to his real life, the one he’d have fifty weeks of the year when he wasn’t on his yearly assignment with the League—should they choose to keep his membership.
What had he planned to do with all that time? Linger in London, lying with women, feeling only an eagerness for the next drink, the next bed? It seemed so empty to him now.
Or could he have Sarah every night?
He didn’t know, for he was uncertain what her behavior tonight meant. She was hurting, obviously confused about what she wanted. Hell, he was confused. He’d been resisting her appeal since the moment he’d arrived, and tonight…Tonight, he hadn’t been able to keep himself from touching her. Yet he wanted her glad surrender, not this wild need that seemed forced.
This must truly be love on his part, because he could easily have seduced her this night, but he hadn’t.
I love her, he thought letting the back of his hand caress her cheek as the words sank into his mind. I love Sarah.
But she didn’t love him. Or if she did, it was buried beneath her fear and mistrust. He would have to be so patient to win her. It would be worth it.
“Let me take you back to your bedchamber,” he whispered.
&n
bsp; Her eyes returned to him, searching. Then at last she lowered her gaze and nodded. Though he knew it was for the best, he felt an ache of disappointment.
Sarah kept Francis at her side all the next morning and into the afternoon, always staying near crowds of people. She canceled his lessons with the chaplain, who frowned but did not question her. Francis was thrilled to have her constant attention, and wanted her to play games with him, to chase him out in the lady’s garden, to help him sort his rocks.
But she had not forgotten how his father died, how the little boy was now in grave danger.
For meals, she told him she was teaching him to understand how a lord’s food was prepared. They invaded Cook’s kitchens, so she could teach Francis where to find a plate, how to choose his own loaf of bread and slice a piece of meat from the lamb roasting on a spit. The scullery maids looked at her as if she had lost her mind, but she didn’t care.
As the day wore on, she felt more and more fearful, knowing she, a mere woman, could not protect him forever.
During a mock melee on the tiltyard, where numerous knights fought for Drayton or for Ramsey before a small, cheering crowd, one man suffered a bloody cut beneath his arm, where the armored plates separated. She was almost glad, for at least now she had something to think about other than her fears.
When she went to fetch her tray of herbs and potions, she took Francis with her, much to his disappointment. She pretended she didn’t hear Lady Ramsey’s offer to watch him. As she marched through the corridors, holding his hand, her mind raced—Robert wasn’t at the tiltyard. Where was he? He was so competitive, so talented—would he not compete in such a melee?
In her bedchamber, Francis stomped about, pouting. She uncovered her tray, checking for crushed yarrow leaves. She would have to boil water to make a poultice to draw out any inflammation. Was there enough? She spread wide the tiny sewn bag to better see the contents, then something gave her pause.
