The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [108]
His expression revealed nothing.
My voice rose despite myself. I flung my next words at him as if they could humiliate, bruise, maim. “Northumberland posed no threat; you knew she would never have him. But Robert Dudley was another story. Only he had a claim on her more powerful than your own. Only he might have curtailed your influence over her. And it was that, more than anything else, which you could not bear.”
“Careful, my friend,” he said softly. “You may go too far.”
I’d finally struck a nerve. I should indeed be careful, for the only thing more dangerous than his friendship was his enmity. In that moment, however, I no longer cared.
“Not as far as you. You knew the moment the king died, the duke would put an end to you because of what you knew. His Majesty had told you he wanted Elizabeth as his heir. Putting Jane Grey on the throne might prove a deadly error, but it was possible the duke would still succeed, that Mary might escape, or the lure of power would prove too great and Elizabeth would succumb to Robert. If any of these occurred, you could disavow yourself completely.”
I paused. His pale eyes were now fixed on me.
“You were willing to abandon her, to turn coat and feign support of whoever won—including Mary, though in your heart you loathe and fear her more than the duke himself.”
At this, Cecil raked his fingers across the chair arms. “You insult me. You dare insinuate that I would betray my own princess?”
“I do. But no one will ever know, will they? No matter what, your hide is safe.”
He came to his feet. Though he was not a tall man, he seemed to fill the room with his presence. “You should be an actor. The profession would benefit from your flair for the dramatic. I should warn you, however, that before you even think of entertaining Her Grace with this preposterous tale, you should consider she’ll require more than unsubstantiated charges.”
My every muscle tensed. I was right, and the revelation stunned me. I had not thought to be so taken aback, so shocked, by what I had discovered. In some part of me, I had held on to the desperate hope that none of it was true.
“She is no fool,” I told him. “It’s clear to me, as it will be to her, that you let her and her sister walk into a quagmire of lies, completely unprepared for what might befall them.”
An odd light flickered in his eyes. The violence I had glimpsed had vanished, replaced by disturbing levity. Uncoiling his hands, Cecil started to clap. The sound was rhythmic, reverberating against the oak-paneled study. “Bravo. You have exceeded my highest expectations. You are everything I had hoped you would be.”
I stared. “What … what do you mean by that?”
His regard was all encompassing, merciless. “In a moment. First, let me say you’ve a rare gift for deciphering intrigue. For you are correct: I did want Mary dead and Elizabeth on the throne. She is our last hope, the only one of Henry the Eighth’s children worthy to inherit his crown. I may have failed in my goal, but it is an untimely delay of the inevitable. She was born to rule, you see. And when her day comes, nothing—nothing—will be able to compete with her destiny.”
“Not even her happiness?” I said. A hard lump filled my throat. “Not even love?”
“Especially not love.” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if he spoke of a color she must never wear. “That, above all, would be disastrous. She may have been born the wrong sex, but in everything else she is the prince that her father longed for. Only she has his strength, his courage, his drive to conquer any obstacle thrown in her path. She must not give in to the weakness in her blood—a weakness she inherited from her mother, who was ever one to indulge herself. I’ll not see her sacrifice her future for Dudley, whose ambition is