“What’s the total sum?” Robert asked cautiously.

“Nothing, to such a great man as you. A mere three hundred pounds. But a worry for me.”

Robert nodded. “You can write to Sir Thomas Gresham at Antwerp, and say you are my wife’s cousin and I am asking him to act in this matter,” he said easily. “He will oblige me by looking into it for you, and then you can tell me what he concludes.”

“I am most grateful, cousin,” Mr. Scott said warmly.

“It is my pleasure to be of service to you.” Robert bowed gracefully, and turned to kiss Mrs. Scott and then to Amy.

At the moment of his leaving her, she could not hide her distress. Her face drained of color and her fingers trembled in the confident clasp of his warm hands. She tried to smile but her eyes filled with tears.

He bent his head and kissed her on the lips, and felt the sad downward curve under his mouth. Last night, underneath him, she had been smiling as he kissed her, she had wrapped her arms and legs around him and whispered his name, and the taste of her had been very sweet.

“Be happy, Amy,” he urged her, whispering quietly in her ear. “I hate it when you are sad.”

“I see you so seldom,” she breathed urgently. “Can’t you stay? Oh, please stay, just till dinner time…”

“I have to go,” he said, holding her close.

“You’re hurrying away to see another woman?” she accused, suddenly filled with rage, her voice a hiss in his ear like a serpent.

He pulled away from her grasp. “Of course not. It is as I have told you. Be happy! Our family is on the rise. Be happy for me, please, send me away with your smile.”

“As long as you swear to me on your mother’s honor that there is no one else.”

He grimaced at the exaggerated language. “Of course, I promise,” he said simply. “Now you be happy for me.”

Amy tried to smile, though her lips trembled. “I am happy,” she lied at once. “I am happy for you in your success and I am so happy that we are to have a house at last.” Her voice dropped. “If you swear you have kept faith with me.”

“Of course. Why else would I want you to make a home for us? And I will meet you at the Hydes’ at Denchworth, within a fortnight or so. I will let you know by a note to Mrs. Oddingsell.”

“Write to me,” she urged him. “I like it when they bring your letters to me.”

Robert gave her a little hug. “Very well then,” he said, thinking it was like pacifying a child. “I will write to you and seal it, and it can come to you and you can break the seal yourself.”

“Oh, I never break them. I lift them off the page and I keep them. I have a whole collection of them in my jewel-box drawer, from all the letters you have ever sent me.”

He turned away from the thought of her treasuring something as trivial as his sealing wax, and ran down the steps and vaulted into the high saddle of his horse.

Robert swept his hat from his head. “I’ll say farewell for now,” he said pleasantly. “And look to our next meeting.” He could not bear to meet her eyes. He glanced at Mrs. Oddingsell and saw that she was nearby, ready to support Amy once he had gone. There was no point in prolonging the farewell. He nodded to his company of horse and they fell in behind him, his standard-bearer ahead, and they trotted off, the noise of the horses very loud as the street narrowed toward the end of the road.

Amy watched them go until they turned the corner and were out of sight. Still she waited on the steps until she could no longer hear the clatter of the hooves and the jingle of the bits. Even then she waited in case he miraculously changed his mind and came riding back, wanting a last kiss, or wanting her to go with him. For half an hour after he had gone, Amy lingered near the front door in case he would come back. But he never did.

Robert rode the long way back to court in a circuitous route at breakneck pace that tested the horsemanship of his escort, and the stamina of their mounts. When they finally rattled into the stable yard of Whitehall Palace the horses were blowing, their necks darkened with sweat, and the standard-bearer was gritting his teeth on the pain in his arms from riding one-handed at a half gallop for almost an hour.

“Good God, what is burning the man?” he asked as he fell from the saddle into the arms of one of his companions.

“Lust,” said the other crudely. “Lust or ambition or a guilty conscience. That’s our lord in a nutshell. And today, seeing that he is riding hell for leather from his wife to the queen, it’s guilty conscience, then ambition, then lust.”

As Robert dismounted, one of his household, Thomas Blount, stood up from where he had been lounging in the shadows and came forward to hold the horse’s reins.

“Some news,” he said quietly.

Robert waited.

“At the Privy Council meeting, the queen tore into them over the treaty of Cateau-Cambrésis failing to return Calais to England, and not forcing the French princess to surrender the English coat of arms. They agreed to build two new warships, by subscription. You’ll be asked for money, as well as everyone else.”

“Anything else?” Dudley asked, his face a mask.

“About the church. Cecil to draw up a bill to go through parliament to decide what the services are to be. Agreed that they should base it on King Edward’s prayer book with some small changes.”

Dudley narrowed his eyes, thinking. “Did they not press her to go further?”

“Aye, but Cecil said that anything more would provoke a rebellion from the bishops and the lords. He couldn’t promise to get it through as it is. And some of the councillors said they were opposed anyway. It’s to go before parliament by Easter; Cecil hopes to work on the opposition by then.”

“Anything else?”

“Nothing of matter. Some outburst of jealousy from the queen about Philip of Spain’s marriage. And some discussion among themselves when she was gone that she would do best to marry Arran. Cecil in favor of Arran. Most of the council in agreement, especially if Arran can deliver Scotland. Some harsh words against you.”

“Against me?”

“For distracting her from marriage plans, turning her head, flirtation, that sort of thing.”

“Just hard words?”

“Norfolk said you should be sent back to the Tower or he’d run you through himself and think it a job well done.”

“Norfolk is a puppy; but watch him for me,” Robert said. “You’ve done very well. Come and see me later today; I have some other business for you.”

The man bowed and faded into the background of the stable yard as if he had never been there. Robert turned for the palace and took the steps up to the hall two at a time.


“And how was your wife?” Elizabeth asked sweetly, the demure tone quite contradicted by the sharp glance she threw at him.

Robert was too experienced a philanderer to hesitate for a moment. “Well indeed,” he said. “Blooming in health and beauty. Every time I see her she is prettier.”

Elizabeth, who was ready to crow over any admission of Amy’s imperfections, was caught unawares. “She is well?”

“In the best of health,” he assured her. “And very happy. She is staying with her cousin, a very prosperous lady, married to Mr. Ralph Scott, a London merchant, a very successful man. I had to drag myself away from them; they were a merry party indeed.”

Her dark eyes snapped. “You need not have put yourself to any trouble, Sir Robert. You could have stayed as long as you wished in— where was it?—Kendal?”

“Camberwell, Your Grace,” he replied. “Just down the road from London. A pretty little village. You would like it. I’m surprised you have never heard of it. Amy adores it there and she has wonderful taste.”

“Well, you were not missed here. There has been nothing here but courtships and suitors and romancing.”

“I don’t doubt it,” he said, smiling down at her. “For you missed me so little that you thought me in Kendal.”

She pouted. “How am I to know where you are, or what you do? Aren’t you supposed to be at court all the time? Is it not your duty to be here?”

“Not my duty,” Sir Robert said. “For I would never neglect my duty.”

“So you admit that you neglect me?”

“Neglect? No. Flee? Yes.”

“You flee from me?” Her ladies saw her face alight with laughter as she leaned forward to hear him. “Why would you flee from me? Am I so fearsome?”

“You are not, but the threat you pose is dreadful, worse than any Medusa.”

“I have never threatened you in my whole life.”

“You threaten me with every breath that you take. Elizabeth, if I let myself love you, as I could do, what would become of me?”

She leaned back and shrugged. “Oh, you would pine and weep for a sennight and then you would visit your wife again in Camberwell and forget to come back to court.”

Robert shook his head. “If I let myself love you, as I want to love you, then everything would change for me, forever. And for you…”

“For me what?”

“You would never be the same again,” he promised her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Your life would never be the same again. You would be a woman transformed; everything would be …revalued.”

Elizabeth wanted to shrug and laugh but his dark gaze was utterly hypnotic, far too serious for the flirtatious tradition of courtly love. “Robert…” She put her hand to the base of her throat where her pulse was hammering, her face flushed pink with desire. But experienced philanderer as he was, he did not attend to the color in her cheeks but to the slow, revealing stain that spread from the base of her neck to the tips of her earlobes where two priceless pearls danced. It was the rose-red stain of lust and Robert Dudley had to bite his lip not to laugh aloud to see the virgin Queen of England as red as any slut with lust for him.