Free The Tudor Conspiracy by C. W. Gortner Page B

intent on trying to wrestle her pet into obedience, barely glanced at her elegant companion.
    I took a deep breath and sauntered over to them, swiping off my cap as I crouched down to pet the little dog. He leapt up to lick my face.
    “Blackie,” Jane exclaimed, “stop that!” She flushed, giving me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do with him! He won’t listen to a word I say.”
    The dog lavished me with affection even as I examined the knot tying the lead to the collar. The knot was weak, as I had supposed, and easily loosened.
    “Poor thing,” I said. “All this noise and so many people-it must be terribly confusing for him.”
    “You have a way with dogs,” Jane remarked.
    “Yes,” I replied with a smile. “I sometimes prefer them to people.”
    Jane frowned. “They warm our bed on a cold night and keep fleas at bay, but they are soulless creatures. How can you prefer them to us?” I heard a rustle of skirts as Sybilla turned to us.
    “There are some who claim that those who prefer the company of animals are apt to be the most honest,” she said. “Is that the case with you, Master Beecham? Her Majesty seems to think so. She has spoken rather highly of your integrity and valor.”
    I couldn’t take my eyes from her. She was, if possible, even more beautiful in candlelight, the flickering shadows heightening the smoky lapis of her eyes and the carmine of her lips. Her mysterious half smile was also unmistakable. I knew that look. I’d seen it before on other women’s faces-a seductive invitation.
    I rose to my feet. “I am honored by Her Majesty’s praise,” I said carefully.
    “As well you should be,” she said. “And I hear you may soon be granted a post in Ambassador Renard’s service. He, too, has been quite a favorite of the queen’s.”
    I detected an undertone in her voice, alerting me to a motive I couldn’t decipher. Was she warning me or merely making conversation? I sensed the latter possibility was unlikely. Sybilla Darrier struck me as a woman with a purpose for everything she did, and as I saw her gaze shift to where Elizabeth sat immobile on her chair, I tensed.
    She said, “Differences of faith can tear apart even those who should be closest.”
    Her words caught me off guard, as did Jane’s vehement response. “She hardly deserves our pity. Everyone knows she’s a heretic who has refused to convert, though the queen has ordered her repeatedly to submit.” She stared at Sybilla. “Were she not the queen’s sister, I daresay she’d be in the Tower by now. And you, my lady, should be more careful, given your family’s history. Surely you, of all people, would not wish to defy our sovereign.”
    I caught my breath at the malice lacing Jane’s voice. Sybilla, however, seemed unperturbed. “My dear,” she said, “you speak without thinking. Admirable as such fervor be, it ill becomes a maid, especially if one still has hopes to wed.”
    Jane’s expression faltered. At her side, Blackie started barking again. I did not betray my curiosity as I leaned over to pet the dog. The contention between Jane and Sybilla intrigued me, as did the fact that Sybilla’s time abroad could be due to a familial disgrace.
    “Ah,” said Sybilla, “and now it appears we’ve aroused Don Renard’s interest.” Following her glance to the group with the queen, I caught sight of the ambassador staring at us, his eyes smoldering as he took in Sybilla’s and my proximity. Bent over Blackie, ruffling his ears with one hand, I lifted my gaze. This time, I found covert complicity in Sybilla’s regard.
    “
Audentes fortuna juvat
,” she whispered, and her eyes gleamed.
    Fortune favors the bold.
    She had seen my hand shift surreptitiously from Blackie’s ears to his collar. Without looking away from her, I untied the lead. With a high-pitched bark, Blackie dashed forth. Jane came to her feet with a cry of dismay; I watched with my heart in my throat as the dog made