Page 7 of Lord of Mistrust

Robert smiled grimly. “I should not have expected honesty from your kind. I thought you above the level of guttersnipe but, clearly, I was mistaken. Now, will you give it to me, or must I take it?”

Claude shook his head, his face going pale.

With a shrug, Robert caught him by the upper arms and jerked him forward, then heard him suck in a breath.

“Don’t even think about yelling out. I could snap your neck in the blink of an eye. Now, you know I’m stronger than you. Just give me my locket and no harm will come to you.”

Claude struggled in his grip. “I know naught of any locket. Let me go—that hurts!”

It hurt? The boy really was a soft-bellied cur. Nonetheless, Robert relaxed his grip. Lowering his voice, he leaned close to the young pup’s ear. “I shall tell you one more time. Give me my locket and I’ll let you go on your way. I won’t cast you into the arms of the Watch, nor take you to the constable, much though you deserve it. Return what you took.”

The lad’s voice came out in a frightened whimper. “I’ve taken nothing.”

“Then I shall have to search you.” Robert grasped a fistful of the boy’s collar and thrust a hand between his shirt and doublet.

And encountered the unmistakable swell of a female breast. Dumbstruck, he felt around some more and discovered that Claude was possessed of a fine pair of dugs, yielding and ripe.

He was so astonished that he didn’t think to move his hand until a sharp pain in his right cheek alerted him to the fact he’d just been slapped. Removing his hand, he whipped off Claude’s coif and cap. A tumble of long, curly hair cascaded about the boy’s shoulders.

Robert felt like a jester’s deflated balloon. He’d been taken for more of a fool than he’d initially thought. The pickpocket, Claude, was a woman.

Chapter Six

Chloe had never felt more vulnerable in her life. She groaned aloud, wishing desperately she’d never left Aunt Philippa’s doorstep. Not even a few decades with the crusty, puritanical Lord Brooke could be worse than what was coming to her now. Unless, of course, she could slide Sir Robert’s sword from its scabbard and pierce him with his own blade.

Pah! She’d no idea how to handle a sword. She’d probably break her finger and just enrage the man further. Mayhap she could knee him in the codpiece—that was a trick her mother had taught her during their few hours together. Now, she fervently wished Mistress Riviere had taught her more such robust deterrents.

“What’s this?” Sir Robert spread his hands, gesturing toward her.

“A disguise.” Fear made her angry. “Obviously.”

“But why do you dress as a boy? Are you a player?”

“Of course not.” Players were lowlifes, and though fun to watch, actors, tumblers, and jugglers had terrible reputations. “I’m a private citizen. As I said, I’ve been visiting my grandmother. I felt it safer to travel as a boy since I hadn’t enough coin to hire a horse or someone to accompany me.”

“Visiting your grandmother?” Sir Robert was standing much too close, and she could still feel the tingle in her breasts where his hot hand had lingered.

“In a brothel?”

Ah. He knew, damn his eyes. But how?

“No, not there. My business is not your concern. Very well—I made up the tale, I confess it. Now, I must be on my way.”

“Where are you going? Won’t you spend the evening with the other whores?”’

Shock speared through her. He thought her one of them?

“Nay.” She shoved at him furiously, but he was as steady as a rock. “I am not one of them, and I’m leaving town on the morrow.”

“Then where will you rest your head this night?” He ran a hand over her hair, twining a lock between his fingers. He was taking advantage, admiring her charms, the dog. Perchance it was time to utilize that trick with the knee.

He didn’t wait for an answer. “Why not come back to my dwelling? You could return my locket and start telling me the truth.”

But it wouldn’t end there, would it? She’d learned a great deal from her mother and had listened to some alarming disclosures about marital relations that Aunt Philippa should have revealed long ago.

“Sir—I’m no sixpenny whore. Nor a courtesan, nor a would-be mistress. I’m a respectable gentlewoman who made a grave mistake. That’s all you need to know.” She slapped his hand away from her tresses, retrieved her coif and cap, and tucked her hair away. “I have a room at the Red Lion, so there’s no need for you to proposition me further.”

“The Red Lion? Then why are you heading away from the quay? You need to take that street.” He pointed the direction out to her. “You’re not too good at finding your way, are you, Mistress—”