The Marriage Game by Alison Weir Page A

through the grounds of Greenwich Palace toward the bowling alley.
    “If I am, it is because you have made me so,” Robert answered. “I would be nothing without you.”
    “You mean much to me, Robin,” she replied, “but take care. I will not have you rule me.”
    “I would never presume to do so,” he said. She sensed that he was riled, and she was right. He could not contain himself. “But I wish that you esteemed and trusted me sufficiently to give me some high office—maybe a seat on the Privy Council,” he went on.
    “Do you not ride high enough as my Master of Horse, Robin? I would have you know that it suits me to keep you where you are, an influential presence at my court and in my counsels. You are my eyes, ever watchful on my behalf. Yes, I like to think that, and I shall call you my Eyes, because you are—and because yours are very fine!”
    Robert forced a smile. It was no compensation, she knew, for not being raised to any formal political role. She could not explain that her decision was for his own good. Aware that her nobles thought him an upstart who had got much above himself, she knew it was wiser not to advance him further just yet. But there were other ways in which favor could be shown.
    That night, Robert was awoken by his servant.
    “What time is it?” he groaned, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
    “One o’clock, sir. The Queen has commanded that you attend her.”
    The Queen! Was this yet another late night summons to discuss some matter of state that was troubling her? Surely it was too late forthat. Or—and he hardly dared hope—was she summoning him to her bed at last? He all but leapt to his feet and hastened to dress.
    Mistress Astley admitted him to the royal apartments, her face wearing its usual mask of disapproval, and led him to a small paneled closet where Elizabeth sat writing at a table of mother-of-pearl. As he entered and made his courtly bow, she looked up, laid down her quill and smiled.
    “Robin, my Eyes! Forgive my late summons. I find I come more clearly to decisions in the middle of the night, and I would have your advice on the proposals of marriage I have received. Thank you, Kat. That will be all.” Kat withdrew with a vicious swish of damask skirts. The door closed reproachfully behind her.
    Robert’s eyes met Elizabeth’s, and they both started laughing.
    “She does not like me,” he said.
    “She would not approve if Our Lord himself descended from Heaven and began paying court to me,” Elizabeth said. “Be at peace, Robin. She is like a mother hen protecting her chick. She sees all men as predators.” And had every reason to do so, she realized.
    “I trust you tell her that my intentions are honorable,” he said.
    “Indeed I do, but I tell her nothing about mine!” She smiled.
    “You will pray tell me, though,” he pleaded.
    “Not tonight, sweet Robin. We must get down to business,” Elizabeth said. “The business of my marriage. Of all my advisers, your opinion is the one I would most appreciate.” There was a faint flush on her cheeks.
    “You might not like it, Bess.” Robert took a step closer to her, near enough to catch the faint scent of rose water and marjoram that she always carried with her.
    “Don’t tell me, you think I should have accepted Philip!” she countered.
    “You think that I, of all people, would advise that, my Queen? No, of course, I see you but jest.” He grinned.
    “But what is your advice, dear Eyes?”
    Robert bent and pulled her to him, clasping her in his arms. “That you marry
me
,” he said boldly, staring searchingly into her eyes andseeing there a response that reflected surprise, desire—and something less welcome. Was it a flicker of fear?
    Again Elizabeth had the feeling that she was melting into this man who was almost her lover; he was pressed so close to her that she could feel his urgency through the stiffened fabric of their clothing. She had not expected him to be so bold, and the sudden