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whether he spoke true. A young and too handsome face was harder to read than a cipher. “Perhaps, my lord.As yet I do not know what hours the queen will need me.” She gently removed her hand from his grasp. “I must go now.”
    â€œSoon, lady, but I beg you, let us talk on for yet a time. I greatly admire your husband. I write some poor poetry of my own; of course, nothing to qualify me as his equal, though I will say the queen does me the honor of reading it.” He tried to look humbled by the tribute, but he succeeded only in trying.
    Here was a man who was clever, Frances thought, and believed everyone must love him. But she, being demure, kept her body straight and drew away from him as much as the cushioned alcove seat would allow. He was probably right about the feminine interest he aroused, except in this instance. She had not come to court to play romantic chess games with handsome young lords, though she doubted that any such argument would sway this earl.
    She stood. “I must take my leave, my lord. My servants are unsupervised, and I would see to the further unpacking of my chests and caskets.”
    He stood, again towering above her. “Your servants are idle, if that fellow is any indication.”
    Frances followed his gaze and saw Robert Pauley standing at the head of the corridor leading to her rooms. He was not staring in her direction, but she suspected he was watching every move. Was he spying on her for her father as a duty, or for himself? And why would she even think the question?
    â€œI will soon put him to his tasks. Excuse me, my lord.”
    Essex held out his hand. “Lady Frances, I would escort you to your rooms.”
    Her answer was sharper than she meant it to be. “I have a servant for that!”
    He knew how to look the hurt boy, and no doubt the talent had served him well in the past, and might have served again had she not been forewarned.
    She softened her tone. “How kind, my lord Essex. Another time…perhaps.”
    Frances walked away, sensing his gaze burning into her back. What would she do if he followed and insisted on being her escort?
    â€œRemember me to your husband when next you write,” he called softly after her.
    R obert Pauley saw her frown as she approached.
    â€œWhere have you been the morning long?” she demanded.
    So her ladyship would have him waiting inside her apartment door, jumping to her every waking command…
bring this, take that
…early and late. He was in her service, yes, but for quite another reason. The court could be cruel, and, though she had a ready spirit, she would need a champion. Why he had named himself, he refused to consider, though he knew he would think on it when he took to his pallet for sleep.
    â€œI see you have made a new
friend
, my lady, but have a care.”
    â€œI can ensure my own safety, Master Pauley.”
    â€œOf that I have no doubt, my lady. I was more concerned for the earl.”
    His response was so droll and unexpected that she had to smother an urge to laugh. Robert Pauley did not need her encouragement. Besides, she had heard quite enough from clever men for one day. “You have sharp eyes for everything but your duties, Master Pauley.”
    He bowed. “My humble thanks to you, my lady. Every now and then I must be reminded of my place by even the most gracious of mistresses.”
    She was shamed. He had waited for her when she could have been trapped in the earl’s doubtful company. Her tongue was not usually so sharp. Why couldn’t she just be grateful?

CHAPTER FOUR

    â€œO Moon…
    Are beauties there as proud as here they be?”
    â€”Astrophel and Stella, Sir Philip Sidney

    September 15
    T he scrap of vellum slipped under her door had been written with a fine hand, and she had no doubt who had held the quill. What youth, other than Essex, would be so arrogant as to use her own husband’s poetry to try to capture her