She tried to make herself feel reassured, but her mind was in turmoil, her body in a torment of need. She couldn’t trust herself to speak.
“Tilshead informs me our one remaining traitor has been seen on an ox wagon heading east—toward Sussex, mayhap. One of Walsingham’s men, by the name of Mercer, is following at a discreet distance, to see what can be learned from the fellow’s movements. Though I think the Spaniard at the mill was the lynchpin in the local network, I wouldn’t be surprised to find he had a superior with a close connection to that arch-conspirator, Mary, Queen of the Scots. If our prey knows not that he’s being followed, he may lead us to that man, and they’ll both be dealt with as they deserve.”
She couldn’t help but shudder. Had she known the world was full of such treachery and violence, she’d never have ventured into it alone. But the deed was done now. At least she was forewarned.
“Of course, I shall get word to you when the entire clutch of serpents is destroyed. But should you ever catch sight of a man with a torn ear, be on your guard. And go nowhere without a powerful-looking servant by your side.”
“Robert—you’re not making me feel any better.”
He hung his head. “I’m not used to having gentlewomen involved in such weighty affairs. I only want you to be safe. I meant not to frighten you.”
It was too late for that. But she’d feel less frightened if he was to offer her the protection of his name again. And the protection of his arm, for he was a fearless fighter.
“How is your arm? I forgot to ask!” She flushed with guilt.
“It stings like the devil. But I’ll get it seen to when we get to London.”
When “we” get to London? He was coming with her?
“I’ve arranged to travel alongside you, and Tilshead is coming, too, so you’ll be well defended on the road. Are you fit to ride? I thought you might feel less vulnerable on horseback than in a litter. We’ll rest whenever you need to.”
A pity that Master Tilshead was accompanying them. But she supposed it was for the best.
Robert clasped her hand. “I beg of you, worry not about your family—I shall accompany you all the way home and meet your guardians. You needn’t say a word—I’ll do all the talking. I’ll try to make sure you don’t have to dissemble—I shall just omit anything that might be painful or embarrassing. You could nod your assent from time to time. Trust me—your uncle will be more concerned that you’re safe and in no further danger than he will be in the details. Your aunt may require a little more information, but we’ll take things as they come. In time, I know that you, too, will forget the fear and the peril of the last few days.”
Chloe sniffed, struggling to keep back the flow of tears. Forget? How could she forget the biggest adventure of her life? How could she forget the man whose presence scrambled her thoughts and made her heart pound like a blacksmith’s hammer?
But he was not yet finished. “Although I know you would not wish it, my offer to you still stands. Should there be any link between your name and mine, if there’s even the slightest whiff of scandal, I will scotch it. And if I cannot, we will be married—on your terms, whatever they may be.”
Her heart leaped, and she met his earnest gaze, unable to hide the mixture of pleasure and relief his words brought her.
His eyes darkened and he groaned softly. “Never look at a man like that, Chloe, unless you’re prepared to take the consequences.”
When his lips found hers, her heart soared. He clasped her around the waist and pulled her closer, deepening the kiss. Ah! Such sinful pleasure! He treated her to the full wealth of his expertise, teasing and tempting her, answering her prayers in a passionate onslaught that left her breathless. Her whole body focused on the movement of his mouth against hers, and the multitude of sensations he was arousing.
With a groan of defeat, Robert lowered her to the mattress, then lay alongside, pressing her down with his thigh. She quivered at the intimacy of the contact, then reached up and wantonly tangled her hands in his hair. It was as soft and fine as she’d imagined. Sliding a hand behind his neck, she pulled him down, urging him to kiss her harder, as all inhibition left her body and was replaced by pure desire.
There was a knock on the chamber door. The intrusion of reality was like a wash of cold water. Robert tore his lips away, and she sat up, flushing.
“Who’s there?”
Curse the man! He should have let her answer—then no one would have known they were ensconced in her chamber together. Pray God whoever it was didn’t need to come in.
“Tilshead, sir. We are ready to leave.”
“I’ll see you in the stable yard forthwith.”
Chloe didn’t know how Robert could keep his voice so steady and commanding when he’d just been kissing her as if his life depended upon it. When he’d just been kissing her. She couldn’t prevent the blissful smile that stole across her lips.
“We must go.” Robert rose and held out his hand. “It won’t do, alas, to keep the horses standing.”
Her hands flew to her hair—she would soon be exposed to the public gaze, and what kind of state must she be in?
Robert leaned across and stroked a stray curl under her coif. “You look fine, my darling—mayhap too happy considering you’ve just had such a perilous adventure. A little more solemnity will serve our cause better, I think. I know that sounds hypocritical, considering the satisfied grin on my face.”
He pressed one hand to his heart. “I swear to behave like a gentleman for the remainder of our journey, and give you no cause for complaint. Your reputation shall remain as pure as the driven snow.”
Only, now, she didn’t want it to be. But he was already out the door, her baggage swinging from one hand. In a moment, he’d be involved in the hustle and bustle of packing, they’d be surrounded by servants, and Sim would be grinning at them, wondering if he could earn another groat before they left.
There would be little privacy to be had on their journey back to London. How would she ever get the chance to show how much she cared for him?
Chapter Twenty-Five
It wasn’t long before Chloe wished she could have been alone in a carriage with Robert. That kiss had lifted the lid on her desires, and it was a torment of the very worst kind to be riding so close to him, yet not be able to touch him.
Mayhap it was just as well, and that Tilshead rode with them, performing—whether he was aware of it or not—the role of chaperone. For who knows what might have happened between her and Robert had they been alone? She flushed at the memory of his glorious naked body and wondered—admittedly, not for the first time—what it would feel like to run her hands over his skin.
She made a small choking sound and, instantly, Robert, who’d fallen behind to speak with Tilshead, cantered to her side.
“What ails you? Not caught a chill from being bound in that damp mill, I hope?”
“Nay.” She flushed, averting her face. “Just a bit of dust from the road, I expect.”
Robert glanced at the sky, and she stole a glance at his handsome profile. How easy it was to love him. How desperately difficult, too—she knew so little about the man.
“We’re going to take a shortcut through this wood,” he told her. “I don’t like the look of that grey cloud bank heading our way. If it rains, the trees will at least give us a little shelter.”
As she turned her mount off the road, Chloe discovered that the trees grew so close to the path, it wasn’t safe to ride three abreast. Robert elected to remain at her side, forcing Tilshead to take up the rear.
“How do you fare? Are you warm enough? You look worried.”
Nay, just full of yearnings she was struggling to control. He probably shouldn’t have kissed her. She probably shouldn’t have let him.
He edged his horse closer. “Have no fear. Do you smell that smoke?”
She nodded.
“That is the smell of a charcoal burner’s fire. And you can see all around you the heaps of ha
zel wands and logs. These woods are well-managed, and full of normal men going about their business. No brigands or traitors here. You’re perfectly safe.”
She returned his smile, and saw his eyes soften. Mayhap now would be a good moment to question him.
“Tell me about these traitors, and about Walsingham. You promised that you would.”
“And a gentleman never goes back on his word, does he?” Robert’s eyes sparkled, sending a delicious shiver up her spine. “I cannot tell all, however, as the information I have is of huge import. You already know, I’m sure, of the schemes devised to topple Elizabeth from the throne. The Ridolfi and Throckmorton plots posed the greatest threats, since foreign powers were invited to intervene. No patriotic Englishman—or woman—would want to see French or Spanish troops rampaging around the country.”
Chloe nodded her understanding. “Is the plot you’re dealing with of similar importance?”
“Alas, I cannot tell you that. I ought not, even though I know you can be trusted.”
“But it involves the Spanish, for sure. I recognized the accent.”
He pressed a finger to his lips and held her gaze. “Pray speak not of that, to anyone but me, Whiteley or Tilshead. It would not do to panic the populace.”
Robert’s mission must be vital, indeed. Surely, if he told her more, she could help?
“So, what is your role in all this? Are you a spy, a messenger, or a soldier?”
He rolled his eyes. “Sometimes, it seems I am all three. But when you met me in Southampton, my role was principally that of messenger. I cannot have been as circumspect as I’d hoped, since our enemies evidently knew my identity and stole my dispatch. I deeply regret that I gave them any cause to imagine that you were involved with me. You would be safely back with your family by now had I acted differently, had I trusted you and taken you at your word. I fear I am my own worst enemy.”
“But there are still things you can do to stop those traitors, aren’t there?” He’d shown himself a courageous and resourceful man. He must have some plan of action.
“There are, but I won’t endanger you further by telling you anything more—you’re too precious to me. I pray, ask no further questions, my dove. We are coming back onto the road now, and who knows who might overhear us? But be assured—Walsingham is a clever man, and his agents are willing to risk their lives for him, and in the cause of our queen. No further harm will come to you.”
At that moment, their path rejoined the highway, and Tilshead rode up beside them. The opportunity for more questioning—or for any further indication of Robert’s feelings—was lost.
Whiteley rendezvoused with their party shortly before they reached Chloe’s home in Moorgate. He entered into a heated discussion with both Robert and Master Tilshead from which she was, to her annoyance, excluded. As a result of this, it was Robert and Master Whiteley who accompanied her home, while Tilshead headed off to fulfill his duties.
Chloe’s mind had worked feverishly during the rest of the long journey back to London. There were some challenging tasks ahead of her—she must soothe the ruffled feathers of her aunt and uncle and confess she’d met her mother and knew her sire’s identity. She must also admit to having had a couple of hair-raising adventures in the company of Sir Robert Mallory. All of these revelations had to be made without revealing any state secrets.
The explanations she needed to give to her astonished but relieved guardians ought to be accomplished with a serious and penitential mien. This would be the hardest thing to achieve, however, since Robert’s kiss had elevated her to another plane of existence. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, nor his enticing, glorious nakedness. She’d been through so much and survived, that she now felt more alive, more confident, and more certain of what she wanted. This made it a struggle to wipe the smile off her face and look duly chastened when she embraced her aunt and uncle.
Having introduced himself and Master Whiteley, Robert took up the story, leaving out the more salacious details, of course. Between them, the gentlemen managed to play down the degree of peril in which she’d been placed, and give the impression that they—and their helpers—had always been in command of the situation.
Aunt Philippa and Uncle Matthew were left—Chloe hoped—with the understanding that she’d made a foolish journey to see her mother, but had fortuitously met the noble Sir Robert, who’d appointed himself her protector. No mention was made of traitors, spies, recusants, or Mary, Queen of Scots, and the villains who’d abducted Chloe were reduced to the status of regular footpads.
Aunt Philippa fanned her face with her hands. “My heavens! I’m quite overcome. Best we finish this in the garden—I need air, gentlemen, if you please.”
Chloe dutifully stepped forward to take Philippa’s elbow, helping her outside and through the arched gateway to the walled garden. She settled her aunt onto a bench and indicated a couple of turf seats for the gentlemen.
“You’ll be wearied from your journey. I’ll send for refreshment.” Uncle Matthew had a martial glint in his eyes as he glanced at Chloe.
She shuddered. Your reckoning will come, that look warned her—but the diatribe would not be delivered in front of their visitors. Besides which, the fact that she’d sneaked off to meet Mistress Dela Riviere—who ran a bawdy house—was not something for strangers’ ears. Nor those of the neighbors.
Robert and Whiteley were happy to accept leather jacks of small beer, cold hunks of herb omelet, and slices of minced hogget tart with apricots. Chloe struggled to eat—she was too anxious about what the morrow might bring. For all she knew, her guardians would lock her up and refuse all visitors. Or drag her to the altar with Lord Brooke, keen to get their troublesome charge off their hands.
The truth of the matter was, she couldn’t blame them. But the fault wasn’t all on her side. They should never have kept the identity—or the existence—of her parents a secret from her. She had a right to know something of such great import.
“I think the likelihood of such misadventure happening again is practically nonexistent,” Robert was saying. “If Mistress Emmerson is always accompanied, she should be able to make any future journeys in safety.”
He was charm itself, and she could tell by the fluttering of Aunt Philippa’s eyelashes that she was impressed by him. She avoided meeting Robert’s eyes, certain she’d give her feelings away with a blush or inadvertent gesture.
Talk revolved around less serious matters until the repast was over. Then came the moment she’d been dreading—Robert and Whiteley stood to take their leave.
Robert bowed deeply. “I trust, sir, that both myself and Master Whiteley may return in the future, to inquire after Mistress Chloe’s health?”
Her aunt answered for Matthew. “Oh, Sir Robert, need you even ask? Of course, there would be no objection, indebted to you as we are. You’re welcome at any time, gentlemen, both of you. It sounds as if you’ve treated Chloe with every courtesy, and we’re grateful for the protection you’ve given her. Will you come back through the house, or shall I have a servant fetch your cloaks?”
“Have our cloaks fetched, if you please. We’ll let ourselves out through the back gate, since that’s where our horses are tied.” Robert bowed again, pressed Aunt Philippa’s hand, then came to stand beside Chloe.
“You and I will speak ere long,” he whispered. “Pray—do not embark on any further adventures. Adieu.”
A brutal pain struck at her heart. He was going, and she didn’t know when they’d meet again. It was too much to bear. “I’ll show the gentlemen out and return forthwith,” she announced. She’d prolong his departure if she could.
Her uncle’s suspicious gaze darted between her and Robert, but she plastered on a mask of innocence. Uncle Matthew contented himself with shooting her another warning look, then took his wife back into the house.
Nothing was said as the men donned their hats, cloaks and sword belts. Chloe walked to the gate beside Robert, with Whiteley keeping a discre
et distance ahead of them. As soon as he disappeared through the door, Robert stopped just inside and clasped her hand between both of his.
“I must have an interview with Walsingham next, my dove. I beg of you, do naught about contacting your father until you and I have spoken again. There’s something you must know, which I don’t have time to reveal now. Nay, ’tis naught to do with Walsingham or spies—well, not directly. ’Tis a personal matter concerning my sister, Meg, and my family situation. Do I have your promise you’ll not progress your plan to see Sir Mortimer before I return?”
It was the last thing to which she wanted to agree. Robert had piqued her curiosity, the accursed rogue. What had his family to do with hers? And why had he left it until now to mention it? His revelation blasted a hole through her happiness.
“How long must I wait?” She tried to keep the irritation from her voice.
“Only for a day or so, I’m certain. After my business with Walsingham is done, I’ll talk to your father and explain everything.”
What? Robert meet with her sire before she did? Where was the fairness in that? “But—”
He laid a finger on her lips. “No more questions, I pray. I must be gone. Be of good cheer, sweeting. Our paths will cross again ere long, and I trust I’ll be bringing you tidings you wish to hear.”
He kissed her fingers, swept off his hat with an elaborate bow, and strode out to the street. Tempted though she was to watch him until he was out of sight, she feared being missed and hastened back to rejoin her aunt and uncle.
Robert had said that he hoped to bring good news. Did that mean he’d intercede for her with her father? Persuade him to acknowledge her as his child, and permit her an audience? Was Robert planning to seek her hand in marriage, thinking it was more important to square the matter with Sir Mortimer before appealing to Uncle Matthew? How was she to know? Mayhap he intended to repeat the annotated tale of their dealings together, so that neither he nor she would be the subject of Sir Mortimer’s wrath.
Lord of Mistrust (Trysts and Treachery Book 4) Page 12
