Page 31 of Lord of Mistrust

Robert’s head snapped up, and his shoulders stiffened.

Don’t turn around. I beg you, don’t turn around!

But it was too late. Nothing could remove the image now etched permanently into her mind.

Chapter Twenty-Three

What in the name of Mercy was Chloe doing in his chamber? The dagger slipped from Robert’s fingers, landing dangerously close to his bare feet.

A muffled snort emerged from Tilshead, who seemed unable to tear his eyes from Chloe’s sun-haloed figure.

“This is not what it seems, sirrah,” Robert growled. He grasped Tilshead by the front of his doublet. “So, you can take that leer off your face.”

The other man sobered. “I—my message can wait a moment or two more, I daresay.” He blinked, and Robert released his grip.

“Wait for me in the taproom. I’ll be with you as soon as I may.” Robert shut the door, locked it, and looked over his shoulder at Chloe.

She’d turned to face the window, and her hands were clasped about her in mute distress. Not the behavior of one who’d entered his room with seduction in mind—sadly. Her response was that of an innocent young woman, shocked by her first sight of a naked man. Pressing his lips together, he wound the sheet about his waist and sat on the edge of the bed.

“You may turn around now.” His voice sounded brusque. It was folly to intrude on his privacy like this, thus compromising them both. As if it weren’t bad enough that she was Sir Mortimer Fowler’s daughter.

She moved slowly, looking as if she were praying that the floorboards would part and swallow her. Her face was crimson. But instead of apologizing, she pointed an accusing finger at him.

“How was I to know you didn’t wear a nightshirt?”

He stared at her, nonplussed. Then threw back his head and laughed.

“I apologize for offending your sensibilities. Had I known you’d invaded my territory—” He would have behaved differently? Nay. He would have done precisely the same. Shame on him, but he was starting to enjoy her mortification, her heaving bosom, and the roses in her cheeks.

But there was a glint of anger in her eyes.

He squared his shoulders. “Any doubts I may have had about your profession or your character, have now been completely dispelled. If only you could see yourself now. Your expression is beyond price.”

“How fortunate that you find this amusing.” Her glare sliced him like a knife. “You may not have a reputation to damage, but I fear mine is irretrievably sullied after my recklessness in coming to see how you were.”

“You came to see how I was?” He fought down the urge to look smug. “Whatever for?”

“You were wounded, so I was worried. And you hadn’t risen yet, and there was the threat of that man who eluded capture—”

“So, you came here to protect me, armed only with a key? I must chide you for such foolishness. What if there had been an enemy at my throat? What could you have done?”

“Don’t tease me, Robert!” Her voice caught. Had she been genuinely concerned about him?

“You can make a jest of it if you will.” Her hands were clenched. “But you will see that I’m not laughing. Whatever will people think of me?”

She stepped around the bed and hurried to the door.

Nay—she mustn’t go like this. He rose, putting himself between her and the door, and squared his chin at her. “Sit down, Chloe. We must discuss this.”

“Nay!” She ducked her head, avoiding his gaze, and tried to push past him. He grasped her arms, cutting off her escape.

“We must speak of this, lest there be consequences. Forgive my amusement. I meant no offense.”

“You sounded so angry.” She refused to meet his eyes but made no attempt to pull away. Good. He was enjoying holding her so close. Sleep had numbed his senses, but now they were waking up to her scent, to the feel of her and her soft, feminine warmth.

“Be not downcast—I’m not angry anymore. And fret not about your good name. I’m sure Tilshead won’t say anything—in fact, I’ll make sure of it. How did you come by the key to this chamber?”

“Sim parted with it for a small bribe.”