Page 17 of Lord of Mistrust

And that kind of action always carried consequences.

Chapter Fourteen

Chloe paced the floor. She’d undressed for bed, but her mind was working too frantically to allow for sleep. Sir Robert was clearly involved in some clandestine business. She knew so little about him—how could she be sure she’d helped the right man? Maybe Weasel Face was the righteous one in this case, and Sir Robert, the evildoer. Though it was hard to believe so refined and handsome a nobleman could be a villain.

She had, for a brief spell, entertained the idea that Sir Robert wasn’t traveling on the same cart as her by accident. But if he had been following her deliberately at first, it was now evident that he had a more significant mission—which had naught to do with her.

Or it hadn’t, until that petrifying moment in the stable.

Her candle sputtered out with a sizzle, making her jump. A blackbird chortled sweetly in the ash tree outside and, detecting a faint grey light around the edges of the shutters, she threw them open. To her relief, she saw a subtle lightening of the sky to the east. The prospect of daylight, followed by human wakefulness and activity, helped banish her nighttime fears and imaginings.

A board creaked in the passageway outside and, a moment later, she heard a scratching on her door. She put her ear to the crack and listened, taking a firmer hold of the firearm she’d kept close at hand all night.

“Mistress Emmerson? Chloe? Are you awake?”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Is that you, sir?”

“Robert Mallory, aye. Do you not recognize my dulcet tones?”

He sounded in good humor—whatever he’d done after leaving her must have been a success. Curiosity overcame any caution, and she unlocked the door to let him in.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, and he brought with him a waft of chill morning air as he limped across to her bed and seated himself. He gave her a weary smile. “Well, that’s another enemy of the state safely stowed away. We can all sleep a little easier in our beds.”

“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?” She didn’t like the familiar way in which he’d taken possession of her bed. Then recalled that it should have been his.

“Unfortunately, the secrets I keep are not my own, and the less you know, the safer you’ll be. Suffice it to say that I, and others, have garnered some advantageous information from my assailant, upon which we mean to act as soon as possible.”

He reached inside his doublet and withdrew his packet, gazing on it with satisfaction. “And I’ve retrieved this, which will keep me out of trouble with my superiors.”

Tucking the item back, he rose, hobbled across to his chest, and withdrew a costrel, which he offered to Chloe.

“After tonight’s shenanigans, you might like a drop of this to steady your nerves.”

She didn’t want brandywine—she wanted answers. But he was right about the nerves. She took a manful gulp, but it caught in her throat and precipitated a coughing fit.

Sir Robert was there immediately, rescuing the costrel and rubbing her robustly on the back until she ceased choking.

“Steady, Mistress. Anyone would think you’d never tasted the stuff before.”

She hadn’t, much. It was not the drink of well-bred young ladies.

“Your limp is worse.” She pointed to his foot and took a step away, freeing herself from his disturbing touch.

“Aye. I must have ridden twenty miles this night, so little wonder. Tell me—have you had any sleep at all?” He cut off her retreat and caught her chin between thumb and forefinger, tilting her head up. “You look as exhausted as I feel.”

“I was concerned.” She thrust the dag at him. “Anyone who leaves a woman with a firearm—albeit an unloaded one—must have fears for her life. I found those difficult circumstances under which to sleep.”

He frowned and replaced the costrel and the gun in the chest. “I apologize for embroiling you in this. I confess, I initially thought you had my document, but I believe our enemy appropriated it when our wagon cracked its axle.” Glancing toward the window, where the light was intensifying by the minute, he added, “I fear we’ve forfeited our night’s rest. And yet, ’tis too early to break our fast. How shall we occupy the next hour?”

There was a glint in his eyes that belied his claim of exhaustion. A predatory glint.

She backed toward the door. “I hope you’re not having any lascivious thoughts, sir. I’ve told you time and time again that I’m not what you think.”

He followed her and as she reached for the latch, his hand came over hers. “Pray, don’t decamp just yet, Mistress. You have not yet explained your presence at Mistress Riviere’s, nor why you were dressed as a boy one moment and a charming woman the next. I beg you, indulge me. Fill my empty moments by telling me your story.”

Curse it! He was far too close, his blue eyes alight with mischief. And with promise. She gulped.

“Step back, sir. You’re trying to take advantage of me. If I saved your life tonight, you should be showing me your gratitude, not… not looming over me.” And not looking like he wanted to kiss her, threatening to reawaken all those wicked imaginings she’d had earlier.