Chapter 18 #3
I pressed my hands to my stomacher, chilled.
“I haven’t quite decided I trust you, James.
I know nothing about you—not who your people were nor why you do not remain in Shropshire puttering about your estate.
I do not see in you the feverish obsession of a fanatic, and so I must wonder what you gain by helping Elizabeth. ”
We squared off, Colby’s face taut with the effort of holding in his temper.
“What must I do to gain your trust?” he asked in wariness.
“Tell me the truth. You are not an idealist, like Thomas Wyatt. You are not a cocksure courtier, like Robert Dudley. You do not have ruthless aspirations to rule through a puppet-queen, like Northumberland.”
Colby’s gaze flicked from mine to the wall behind me. “You ask too many questions.”
“Because you refuse to answer them. I will therefore have to give you my conclusions, and you will not like them.”
Colby’s brows drew down as he focused on me again. “I have no interest in your conclusions.”
I stepped to him and wound a lock of his hair around my first two fingers. “Tudor red.”
Colby moved impatiently, disentangling himself from me. “Many a man in England has red hair. It is not unusual.”
I touched his chin. “You remain clean-shaven, and you do not put yourself forward. You are taller than he was and quite slim, but when you are out of temper …” I drew back. “I should take care with that, were I you.”
Colby’s voice went hard. “You know nothing, Eloise.”
“You cannot trust me with this secret?” I demanded. “You trust me with so much, and not, I believe, because Lord Robert assured you I had integrity.”
“My secrets are dangerous.” Colby glared at me, his expression so like Elizabeth’s when she was in a temper. “Everyone who knew this secret is dead, save me.”
I remained close to him, with no desire to run. Colby’s body was warm, his strength apparent. I placed my hand on his chest to feel his heart beating beneath my palm.
“I must know one thing,” I said calmly. “Do you plan to overthrow her, or rule through her? Or blackmail her to keep it secret that Henry has a living, male son?”
Colby grew very still. When he spoke, his voice was deadly quiet. “If any of that were my intention, I would kill you before I left this house.”
I drew a sharp breath. “Then the fact that I remain alive means you have no designs on the throne?”
“None whatsoever.” Colby’s lip curled. “Why should I?”
“For one thing, Mary would not be queen and planning to marry a Spanish prince.”
Colby shook his head, and the tension in him eased slightly.
“I would have to fight hard for the crown, and even if I won, I could not prove my claim. I was never acknowledged. My true mother was a milkmaid of Gloucestershire. I was taken off her hands and given to the Colbys of Shropshire to raise, and I never saw my mother again. She is dead. The Colbys are dead as well, and so is Henry.”
“Such difficulties never stopped men with lesser claims,” I pointed out.
“Aye, that is so,” Colby acknowledged. “But I have observed the men and women who surround these pretenders to the throne. I have no wish to be jerked about and manipulated by ruthless people for their own gain and then executed when their plans go awry.”
Something tight in me began to unwind. “You have some inkling how Elizabeth feels, then.”
Colby rested gentle hands on my shoulders, his gaze holding mine. “Why do you believe I’ve appointed you as her guardian? To keep our lady safe and distant from the plotters, to have her head remain intact. You are an excellent watchdog, Eloise.”
“A fine compliment,” I said in my ironic tones. “I thank you. Does Elizabeth know any of this?”
“I have told you. As I say, everyone else who knows is dead. Except you.”
I understood that Colby was capable of strangling me and leaving me here on the stone floor—silly Eloise, who ran off into the woods alone to meet a stranger.
It would be my own fault. I’d allowed myself to be caught up in the rivalry between Elizabeth and Mary, proud that I’d been chosen to watch over Elizabeth. I’d lauded myself for perfecting the scheme of using stitching to convey messages into and out of Elizabeth’s house.
Not only that, but I’d found it exciting to meet a handsome man like James Colby in out-of-the-way corners.
I knew he had no lover, because I’d have heard the gossip, nor any woman with whom he liked to dally.
The only lady he spoke to intimately was me, and I’d pretended to myself that his interest in me went beyond taking care of Elizabeth.
I’d been a fool. I made myself let my ridiculous fantasies about him go, and met Colby’s gaze squarely.
“No one listens to the prattling of Eloise,” I said. “Even if I blabbed far and wide that you were Henry’s bastard, no one would believe me.”
Colby’s grip tightened. “Perhaps not at first, but they’d begin to look twice at me and to wonder. I am in your power now, Mistress Rousell,” he finished softly. “What must I do to ensure you will keep my secret?”
“Nothing.” I put truth in every word. “I would never, ever betray you to a soul.”
Colby’s dangerous expression relaxed into perplexity. “Why not? Knowledge like this could give you much power.”
I smoothed his cloak where it lay against his chest and then turned from him and caught up my own. “I will not tell you why not. That will be my secret.”
I believe he guessed because he tugged me back to him and pressed a brief, warm kiss to my lips. It was a sincere kiss, a kiss of gratitude, not an offering for my silence.
“Be well, Eloise,” he whispered.
I told him I would and departed.