Page 24 of Lord of Loyalty

Chapter Thirteen

“Forgive me. I should control myself better. This is not the behavior of a gentleman.”

Will looked down as Isobel rubbed her thumb across his clenched knuckles. Her touch was sensuous, tender, too. Yet, it made him feel worse.

“It is of no matter. You must tell me what this Master Mathieson said.”

He collapsed onto a bench and ran a hand through his hair. “He took in a packet addressed to me, sent as payment for my assistance to Leicester. And, in some sense—though the earl ought to know he can trust me—to buy my silence over that issue with the Mayor of Grave. Leicester somewhat foolishly used his own seal, which, of course, Mathieson recognized. Apparently, he’s been making inquiries in my absence, and has proof positive I was with the earl on that ill-fated expedition.”

“As were my brother and many others. Does your neighbor mean to threaten them all?”

Will heaved out a sigh. There was comfort in holding Isobel’s hand, though he knew she could do naught to help him.

“Nay, only me. His daughter, he claims, has expectations where I’m concerned, and he’d be heartbroken to see her disappointed. I swear to you—I never gave her cause to hope.”

Isobel settled on the wooden bench beside him. “I’m sure you didn’t. I could tell from watching her, she was making calf’s eyes at you, but there was nothing in your aspect to suggest you were encouraging her. She must be besotted, however, if her interest hasn’t dimmed in over half a year.”

“I can take no responsibility for that.” He’d never paid any attention to Paulina beyond the usual courtesies, as far as he was aware. He’d thought her little more than a child, despite her curves, because she so often behaved like one—eager for attention, mercurial in her moods, and the possessor of a high-pitched giggle that would send his wits begging if forced to cope with it for more than a few minutes.

“You wouldn’t even consider plighting your troth to his daughter? You have no wife, and are of an age where you might think of acquiring one.”

He resisted the urge to leap from his seat and pace around the room. Isobel would let go of his hand if he did. “The devil I will! I mean—I have no objection to wedlock. But my spouse must be my own choice, not one thrust upon me by another. I don’t mean to be the type of husband that packs his wife off to the country while he pleases himself in town.”

“She’s very comely.”

Not so comely as you. “If I want to attract attention, I’d rather do it with jewels and status than a strumpet on my arm.”

Isobel laughed then, a deep, throaty giggle he’d never heard before. His wrath eased.

“Just because she flirts with you doesn’t make her a strumpet. However, with what exactly has Master Mathieson threatened you?”

“He’ll make it known to all and sundry that I’m Leicester’s man. So, I must partake in the man’s fall and also bear the brunt of the queen’s disfavor. Any hopes I might have of bettering myself by my connections at court would be dashed. My family name would be dishonored and vendors would refuse to offer me credit—should I ever need it. I might even be deprived of my title, which has been in my family for generations.”

Isobel returned the strength of his grip. “But favor, once lost, can be regained, can it not? It has long been thought Elizabeth and Robert Dudley, Earl of Leicester, were lovers, so she might carry the candle for him still.”

“A woman as strong-willed as Queen Bess? I doubt it. She’ll put her throne and her country above any personal consideration. But I thank you for your words of comfort—they mean much to me.”

He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles in a salute of gratitude. At least, that’s what he told himself it was.

“A solution must, and shall be found. I apologize—but Mathieson made me so angry I needed to talk to someone.”

“What about Master Maybury? Could he not help?”

“I’m not certain.” It stung to have to seek help from another—he’d been used to shifting for himself for many a long year. And then he’d let himself become beholden to Leicester. The last thing he wanted to do was be in debt to anyone else.

“You may be right.” He released her hand and stood. When his emotions ran this high, he feared he’d do something he might later regret. “Enough of my troubles. How do you fare?”

She rose as well and went to gaze through the window to the street beyond. “Well enough, I thank you. Mayhap a little wearied.”

“Unsurprising. Are you still willing to remain here while Pike is found and brought to justice? I don’t seriously expect you to work as my servant.”

He gazed at her, unsure they would succeed in their deception in any case. Even dressed in an unadorned bodice and skirt, there was no mistaking she was a woman of quality. Isobel Marston simply couldn’t help the way she held herself, with straight spine, and shoulders well back. It would be a feat of acting for her to look servile.

“Will these garments serve, do you think?” She looked down at herself. “I worry they’re too well-fitting for a servant.”

“Many men pay their servants in cloth and have their clothing made for them. To have one’s people go about town in rags would not do. So, ’tis meet your clothing should fit.” It made the most of her figure which, he thought, required filling out after her ordeal. If only he knew more about how she’d been treated at Pike’s hands—if he’d been depriving her of food, it would add to the case against him. Should he use some of Leicester’s coin to bribe Pike’s servants? Nay, he’d prefer to take his horsewhip to Flinders than put gold in that man’s hand.

“You’re scowling. We must find me something plainer to wear.”