Page 51 of Lord of Mistrust

“He is, at the very least, a rogue and a scoundrel. He has few friends since no one can stand him.”

She wasn’t surprised. “He does have some friends, of the lesser sort.”

“What do you mean?” Robert had taken her elbow in a powerful grip. She shook herself free.

“Only that I saw him give something to the boatman who brought us down to Whitehall. It looked as if they knew one another, and it wasn’t merely payment.”

“What? What did you see?”

Why were they talking about Lord Brooke? This was not the conversation she’d hoped for. “Damn you, Robert Mallory. Why are you questioning me as if I were one of your traitors? And if you genuinely think I’m throwing myself at Lord Brooke, you don’t know me at all. I’m almost inclined to hate you and your suspicious nature.”

She turned away, so he wouldn’t see the angry tears, and headed back toward the banqueting hall. But she’d barely taken two steps when he took her by the wrist again. He pulled her back into the shadows.

“Forgive me. I cannot explain myself. What did this boatman look like?”

“He looked like he’d been pilloried—and had his ear nailed to the post. But what has that to do with anything?”

“It could be the answer to my prayers.” Robert was grinning now, his face so close to hers that his breath caressed her cheek.

She struggled in his grip. Abominable knave! If he was keeping a secret from her, if he knew something about Lord Brooke, she had a right to know.

When he failed to release her, she tilted her chin and glared at him. “Let me go.” Her voice, though soft, held a warning.

He ignored it. “Forgive me for this, too.”

Before she could react, he’d released her hands, cupped her face, and pressed his lips hungrily over hers. She gulped and tried to pull away, but his merciless fingers dug into her shoulders, and he began his onslaught once more. His desire hit her full force, like a dam breaking, his need encompassing her, unstoppable, irresistible.

Digging one hand into her hair, heedless of the elaborate coiffure which completed her classical costume, he pressed her head against his and deepened the kiss, working his mouth back and forth over hers. She gave way under the pressure and parted her lips to let him in.

Her breath was tight in her throat, her blood thrumming through her veins. When his hands slid down to her waist and boldly pulled her hips hard against his, she didn’t try to move away. She was overcome by the strength of his need and shocked at the urgency of her own. Under the relentless probing of his kiss, she felt like one drowning.

With a little moan, she slid her hands down to his waist and then around his back to pull him closer. Reaching up on tiptoe, she kissed him back with a fierceness that surprised her.

She felt a tremor pass through his body. He lifted his head and gently disentangled himself from her embrace. Then he stepped back, maintaining his grip on her wrists.

“That should never have happened. I’m an intemperate fool. Forgive me.”

“Mistress Emmerson? Are you out here?”

The blood pounded in her temples—Brooke had come in search of her. She had succeeded in making Robert jealous, quite patently, but the last thing she wanted was a confrontation between the two gentlemen.

“Robert—”

But she was alone beneath the yew hedge. How had he managed to disappear so quickly and completely?

“Mistress, ’tis chill out here. And the gardens are full of unscrupulous drunkards and lechers, no doubt. Just because a man is a courtier and dressed like a peacock does not make him a gentleman. Here, take my cloak. See how chivalrous I am!”

She sagged with relief. Lord Brooke gave no sign of having spotted her with Robert. She was grateful for the shadows which hid her blush, her bruised lips, and her—doubtless—damaged hairstyle.

Brooke was definitely leering at her as he removed his cloak. She didn’t like the way his hand brushed her breast as he swung the garment around her shoulders. Expecting to be escorted back to the masque, she was puzzled when he made no move to return indoors.

“It is so rare for us to have time alone, Chloe. You always seem to have a relation in tow, or that dratted boy, William. I cannot wait to make you my own, so we may be together without interruption. Then I can show you the delights of being wed to an experienced man.”

“You are too forward, sir.” He was holding her close, using the cloak to trap her. His eyes were fastened on her mouth.

“Not at all, wench. ’Tis not unusual for a man to sample the wares before he purchases them.”

What had he said about lechers and drunks? When Lord Brooke was in his cups, it appeared he was no better than those he had earlier decried.