Page 11 of Lord of Mistrust

It might be the truth. Unless he’d had the thing all along and was trying to hoodwink her.

“So, you allow that you’re wrong about me?”

His gaze shifted before returning to her face. “You’re innocent of the theft, certainly. With regard to my other supposition—” He ran his eyes over her in a way that warmed every inch of her skin. “I confess myself disappointed if your charms are not to be bought, but remain strong in my resolve to proposition you no more. I behaved shamefully and disgracefully. It won’t happen again. Indeed, it cannot, for what sin could my lips commit beneath the censorious gaze of our fellow passengers?”

He had a point. Indeed, Sir Robert looked truly contrite. It was hard not to be taken in by those radiant blue eyes and the hopeful expectancy on his face.

“Very well. I accept your protection—temporarily. But any discourse between us must be commonplace. We shall forget what has passed.”

“Magnanimous lady—I would kiss your hand were it not for the curious eyes upon us. Come, let me fetch your bag and assist you back onto the wagon.”

The sensation of his hands around her waist as he lifted her effortlessly onto the cart kept Chloe preoccupied for some time thereafter. Despite their truce, she couldn’t relax in his presence, alarmed by her body’s traitorous reaction to his touch. Curse it—she liked the feel of that powerful, confident grip. It made her feel more of a woman. Here was a real man—not a cold-eyed, limp-handed, scrawny rake of a man like Lord Brooke.

She glanced up as the wagon rocked again, and the final passenger clambered up, a slender fellow with a weaselly aspect and unkempt beard. He settled himself next to the woman with the eggs, stared intently at his fellow passengers and then, content with a nod at each, folded his arms, and appeared to fall asleep.

The wagon lurched as the great horses took the strain. Chloe settled herself back against her bag as comfortably as she could as the cart got underway. Sir Robert unbuckled his sword and sat cross-legged opposite her, using his leather jerkin as a pad between his back and the nearest barrel. He leaned one elbow on a small chest beside him, which was presumably his luggage.

As the wagon headed out of Southampton, Chloe forced herself to stop thinking about him and take an interest in her surroundings. After all, she didn’t often get the chance to travel so far from home, and the world beyond London was just as interesting as the capital, in its own way. It was also pleasant to rest her eyes on the gently rolling hills and wooded valleys of the Hampshire landscape. There were some intriguing clumps of trees on the ridges, leaning in close like crones gathered around a cauldron.

All the same, it took great effort not to steal the occasional glance—or several—at Sir Robert. His incredible blue eyes reflected the intensifying color of the late summer sky, blinking but rarely, for he seemed wrapped in thought. As the sun rose higher, Chloe noticed the creases that furrowed his brow and the laughter lines at the corners of his eyes. He was older than she’d first thought, and more careworn—though he hid it well beneath his flirtatious grin and devil-may-care attitude. His face drew her eyes like a lodestone—he must surely be accounted exceedingly handsome, with his high cheekbones and straight nose. In truth, she’d never seen a better-looking man.

As if sensing her perusal, he turned suddenly toward her. “You see that great hill yonder, Mistress? Aye, the one just ahead. That is St. Catherine’s Hill, whereon stands a great earthwork from ancient times.”

“What manner of earthwork?” She didn’t know what an earthwork was but had no intention of displaying her ignorance.

“A pagan temple, mayhap. How is one to know? It could have been put up by the Romans or by the Druids who preceded them. A place of wickedness and death.”

She refused to be frightened. “Why were the Romans vicious and cruel to their enemies? They seem so sensible in other ways, so civilized. I sometimes wonder if they knew and worshipped God in their own way, but called Him by many different names.”

He grinned. “Some of them were as ungodly as you could imagine. Take the Emperors Tiberius, Caligula, and Nero, for example. But as military tacticians, the Romans were unbeatable. I’ve studied Caesar’s works and learned much about strategy from them—’tis as viable on today’s battlefields as it was then.”

Chloe was interested in talking about the Classics—fascinated, even. Her own education had barely progressed beyond the practical. As a woman, she didn’t need to know much of history, politics, or warfare. But she refused to give Sir Robert the satisfaction of seeming impressed by his knowledge. Instead, she feigned a yawn, then unwrapped what remained of her provisions and concentrated on breaking a knotted biscuit into bite-sized pieces.

Hearing a snort of amusement, she looked up, but Sir Robert was staring at the scenery, a faint frown between his brows. Hah! He didn’t like being ignored, did he? He might pretend not to care for her good opinion or attention, but it appeared he did. Vain coxcomb!

She smiled and stared past the horses’ nodding heads toward the horizon. They were nearing Winchester, and she couldn’t wait for the chance to stretch her limbs and walk about a bit.

But, of course, she wasn’t permitted to enjoy her walk alone. No sooner had she alighted and strolled across to admire the pale stonework of the minster, than a familiar voice sounded at her shoulder.

“A great pity we have no time to explore this remarkable edifice. You seem to take a great interest in the things around you, Madam Mystery.”

“And you want to give the impression you know all about them,” she replied curtly. “Tell me—is your idea of protection to follow me at every step?”

His mouth twitched. “Certainly. Who knows what vile tricksters might be lurking around the corner, ready to prey on an innocent young female?”

He put an emphasis on the word “innocent” that made her roll her eyes. Just because she’d visited Mistress Riviere’s establishment didn’t make her a bawd. Why wasn’t there a pile of fresh horse dung when one wanted some? She felt much inclined to push Sir Robert into a heap of it.

“Apologies if my following you makes you uneasy. I do it to deter predators. My blade is yours to command, as would my longbow be—if I had it with me.”

Predators, indeed! She could easily accuse him of being one such, with his feline ability to appear silently at her side. And like cats, his pounce—as she knew to her cost—was decisive. Before she could prepare a cutting rejoinder, there was a shout behind them, signaling that the wagon was ready to trundle off again.

Sir Robert was still limping, she noticed, as they returned to their fellow passengers. But there was naught wrong with the strength of his arms as he hoisted her onto the cart.

She had dreaded his touch, but it was unavoidable without causing a scene. The sensation of his hot hands around her waist filled her with all manner of wayward imaginings. These included daydreams about kisses and the things she’d seen in paintings at her mother’s bawdy house. Furious at herself, she leaned back as soon as she’d resumed her seat and pretended to be asleep. Although she could feel Sir Robert’s gaze on her, she refused to open her eyes and, instead, set herself to the problem of what she could do next to find her father and escape Lord Brooke.

Which was why she was completely unprepared when the wagon suddenly lurched and precipitated her forward, right on top of Sir Robert Mallory.

Chapter Nine