Page 45 of Lord of Mistrust

He could see moisture welling in her hazel eyes, and wished with all his heart he didn’t have to hurt her so. He flicked a glance at Whiteley, who glowered at him a moment, then left the room.

Robert gentled his voice. “I cannot tell you now. But you must let Brooke court you. You have my word you won’t have to marry him, but you must do as I ask. Forget you ever knew me. Treat me as a stranger. Never return here.”

He fell back against his pillows, exhausted. His emotions were in turmoil—he was hurting her and couldn’t tell her why.

“Forgive me.” He attempted a smile.

But it was too late. She sucked in a breath and then, bosom heaving, flung at him, “I hate you, Robert Mallory! You’re a knave and a scoundrel and a flea-bitten, ungrateful cur!” With that, she gathered up her skirts and ran sobbing from the room.

Chapter Thirty

Luckily William knew his way around the London streets well, for Chloe was too distressed to have any idea where she was going. It took more strength than she knew she had to return to the Moorgate house, looking as if nothing was amiss. She bore her aunt’s probing questions about Lord Brooke as well as she could, but every time that man’s name was mentioned, it was as though she heard the knell of doom in her mind.

Alas! Her heart and head were full, and there was no one to whom she could unburden herself. Claiming a headache, she crept up to her chamber and gave herself up to silent tears.

How could Robert be so cruel when she’d risked so much to save him? What value was his promise that she would not marry Lord Brooke if he wasn’t prepared to offer for her again himself? He’d sent her from his sight with not one word of hope, not one word of kindness. Surely, she couldn’t have imagined what had passed between them in Hampshire? She felt it deep in her core, a connection she’d thought could not be broken, an affection that would, given but a little time, blossom into love. In her case, she was certain that it had, but it looked as if her love had fallen on stony ground.

When Robert had rescued her from the mill, he’d held her, kissed her, used such sweet words. His eyes had burned with ardent desire, yet today, he couldn’t wait to be rid of her. Forbidden ever to see him again—how was she to accept that? Was she not to know even if he lived or died?

There was a scratching at her door. She sat up abruptly and scrubbed at her face with her handkerchief. She had some trials ahead of her if she was going to keep her feelings hidden from her aunt and uncle.

“Who is it?”

“Your aunt. We have an unexpected guest. When you feel better, will you come down? Shall I send up a brew of willow bark?”

Aunt Philippa sounded unusually agitated. Who was the visitor? Not Robert, obviously. Nor Lord Brooke, for she’d quite tired him out with her meanderings earlier.

“I’ll come down. No willow bark. But some wine would be welcome. Or sack.” She couldn’t countenance food, however, despite the gnawing emptiness within her.

Some ten minutes later, she felt it safe to make her way to the parlor, from whence she could hear animated conversation. Surely, she knew that voice.

“Chloe! My dear girl!”

She was pulled against a substantial bosom and enveloped in a cloud of rosewater. When she was released, she shook her head in disbelief.

“Mother?”

“Call me Dela, please. ‘Mother’ makes me sound so old. I would have come sooner, but ’tis so hard to find someone trustworthy to run one’s business in one’s absence. From what Philippa’s been telling me, you had an eventful journey back from Southampton. And met a couple of handsome young men, too, I hear.”

“Dela, please. Chloe is courted by a most respectable gentleman. These others were chance meetings and of no import.”

Dela linked her arm with her daughter’s. “You were always too straitlaced, Philippa. I’ll let Chloe tell me her story in her own fashion, rather than hear your dull, puritanical version of events.”

Chloe was too astonished to speak. No one ever talked to Philippa Emmerson in so familiar away, not even her loving husband. Dela seemed oblivious to her sister’s chagrin.

“Are we not to have refreshment, Matthew? I’ve traveled a long way to see my only child. I know, I know—we agreed when you took her in that I was to play no part in her life. But as she has clearly shown, she’s a woman old enough to make up her own mind, and she made up her mind to call on me. I wrestled with my conscience a long time after sending her from my door, and my conscience won. Every girl needs her mother. Is that not so, my peach?”

“Well, actually—” Aunt Philippa had been as good a mother as any child could wish for, even if she wasn’t as voluble or as demonstrative as Dela.

“I’ve no complaint about my guardians’ care of me. But that doesn’t mean your interest in me is unwelcome.”

How cold, how formal that sounded! She felt all at sea—first the shock of Robert’s rejection, and now this.

“I’ll sit and refresh myself while you make up a chamber for me, Sister. Then I shall enjoy a coze with my daughter.”

Philippa’s jaw dropped, but she quickly recovered herself. “Of course. Do you mean to stay for long?”

The room was silent for a fraction of an instant as everyone held their breath. “Oh, no more than a seven-night or two. I cannot feel comfortable away from home any longer than that. Ah, but I am so looking forward to chaperoning Chloe about town. For a young woman of marriageable age, she should be going out and about far more than I understand she does.”