The Tudor Secret - C. W. Gortner [60]
“I’m sure someone is,” said Elizabeth. “We’re talking about John Dudley, after all. By now he’s made more enemies than Mary ever could.”
“Then we mustn’t press your luck further. I’ve friends nearby who can help us get you away. Even His Majesty’s close companion Master Fitzpatrick is—”
“No.”
For a moment, the last of the fireworks popping in the distance seemed to pause.
“No?” I echoed, thinking I must have heard wrong.
“No.” Her face set. “I’m not leaving Greenwich. Not yet.”
Kate said quickly, “Your Grace cannot mean to stay after what we’ve just heard. It would be madness. We promised Master Cecil you would—”
“I know what we promised. I said I would consider his advice. Consider, Kate, not comply. Now, I must see this through. I couldn’t live with myself if I did not.”
“My lady,” I ventured and I received the full force of her stare. “I beg you to reconsider. You cannot change the duke’s course, no matter what you do, nor can you hope to save His Majesty. Under the circumstances, you must now save yourself, for England.”
Her mouth pursed. “That’s Cecil speaking and I like it not. Be yourself, Prescott. I prefer you that way—impudent, rash, and determined to do whatever it takes.”
I might have smiled, had the matter not been so serious. “Then, impudent as I am, I must emphasize how dangerous it would be to keep your appointment with my master. Lord Robert aims higher than Your Grace knows. He will deceive you in any way he can. He has refused to go after your sister because he believes you will accept his proposal of marriage.”
Her expression underwent a change. It was almost imperceptible, but I saw it, the tightening of the sensitive skin about her mouth, a flash of something livid in her eyes.
“And I,” she said softly, “know best how to deal with him.” She raised her chin. “Besides, it’s too late. Here he comes now.”
I spun about. Kate grabbed me, pulled me back. “Go,” she hissed. “Hide!”
I scrambled over the balustrade, dropping with what sounded like a deafening crash into the hawthorn bushes. “Graceful,” muttered Peregrine. He and Barnaby had crept up unheard, each armed with daggers. Peregrine handed me one. I remembered my old dagger, which Master Shelton had given me. Stokes owed me, if only for stealing my knife. As for my cap, it seemed I had finally lost it for good.
Through the leaves, I watched Robert swagger down the pathway. He had asked me to make sure to return to help him dress tonight. Despite my absence, he’d done well enough, resplendent in a doublet of gold brocade studded with opals that must have cost an estate. He paused, removing his jeweled and feathered cap as he stepped up the stairs into the pavilion, his legs sheathed to his thighs in cordovan boots with gold spurs.
He dropped to one knee before Elizabeth. “I’m overwhelmed to find Your Grace safe and in good health.” Even in the openness of the pavilion, his musk perfume was overpowering, like the breath of a magnificent beast in its prime.
She did not extend her hand to him, nor give him leave to rise. Slipping her handkerchief into her cuff she said, “I can’t complain about my health. As for my safety, that remains to be seen. This court was never a place of refuge for me.”
He glanced up. She’d spoken lightly, almost offhandedly, but even he could not have mistaken her tone. He reacted as if he had, however, replying huskily, “If you let me, I will make this court and all the realm places of refuge and glory for you.”
“Yes.” She smiled. “You would do so much for me, wouldn’t you, my sweet Robin? Since we were children, you have always promised me the sun and the stars.”
“I still do. You can have anything you desire. Ask for it and it shall be yours.”
“Very well.” She stared at him. “I wish to see my brother before he dies, without fearing for my life.”
Robert stiffened. Still relegated to his knees, he took longer than