Read Online The Spymaster's Daughter by Jeane Westin - Free Book Online

tried to move away, but there was no more room on the end of the dais, so she stared straight ahead with what she thought was disinterest.
    That did not stop Lady Stanley’s amused insistence. “You are in a court where fortunes are made on receiving admiration from the right people, especially a noble and most handsome earl.” She caught her breath. “One who has vowed to bed all the queen’s ladies and is some way on toward that end.” She stifled a giggle with her hand.
    â€œNot this lady, madam,” Frances whispered. She heard another slight giggle from behind the fan.
    Still, she had to look so that she would stay well away from this earl, who wanted to despoil a lady’s reputation to increase his own manhood. He was easy to identify as she scanned the crowd. There in the front, leaning against a vine-entwined pillar, one very long leg crossed in front of the other, stood a tall young man scarce beyond her own years, and exceptionally handsome. He was glorious in satin, with velvet ribbons at his elbows and knees, the very model of a young courtier who was aware that his every move was watched. And yet there was something of innocence in his swagger, something in his eyes that struck Frances as curious. Though it was well hidden, he was very watchful. For what? she wondered. He wore no giant codpiece like some of the young cockerels parading about the presence chamber, although his tight hosen left little doubt that his manly gifts were abundant indeed.
    He was descended from Mary Boleyn, Henry VIII’s mistress, and carried a suggestion of Tudor red in his autumn-brown hair haloed about his beardless face. He had Henry’s height and swagger, which made his appearance even more a memory of the old king. It was no wonder to Frances that this youth had intrigued the queen, as had his well-favored appearance and knowing style.
    â€œThey say,” Lady Catherine continued, near breathless with information and rumor, “that he looks much like Robert Dudley in his youth.”
    Well-done, Frances thought; how better to attract an aging queen than with memories of her legendary father and Dudley,now Earl of Leicester, the man she had loved as a young queen new-come to the throne? No wonder the queen treated his rutting disobedience as she would a spoiled child’s. As Frances watched, he raised a finger and smoothed his ruff, which only brought all eyes to its many starched pleats, each one toiled over by some washerwoman in the bowels of the palace.
    She bit her lower lip to keep from smiling at the man’s knowledge of his own appeal. What arrogance! Yet she couldn’t help but notice that he was looking at her in a hot way Philip never had, and he seemed to have no care that others saw, even the queen. It was beyond arrogance, to a dangerous degree of self-confidence. For a moment, fear for the young fool grabbed at Frances’s throat. Would his youth and looks keep him safe forever? She continued to guard against any awareness on her face, though he was looking full at her and smiling, clearly inviting recognition.
    She stared past him, but she doubted he was fooled. His obvious self-regard would not allow it.
    Frances heard little of the shire petitions, or the ambassadors from foreign lands with gifts and appeals from their rulers for aid against the Spanish, or more favorable trading terms for their country’s wares…a reduction of port taxes was desired by all. The crowded chamber grew hot and the air heavy with perfume. She was relieved when the queen stood suddenly and waved her ladies into line, motioning for the young earl to escort her to the royal apartments.
    â€œMy lord Essex, you have busy eyes this morn. We can put them to better use.”
    â€œTo my joy, Majesty,” he replied, his face as innocent as a babe’s.
    Elizabeth looked somewhat appeased and was soon laughing at his murmured jests spoken near her ear.
    As they reached the