Her bottom touched softness, and Isabella realized she sat on the edge of the bed. Damien gently eased her backwards until her head touched the pillow, then lifted her legs onto the mattress. He was so kind, so gentle, she thought dreamily. She waited eagerly for his moist kisses.
He removed her shoes and dropped them on the floor. Isabella winced at the loud noise they made. Damien pulled the pins from her hair and it spilled over the pillows. His knuckles brushed the nape of her neck. She moved her head so she could feel his strong hand against her cheek. How she loved this man!
“Damien?” she whispered.
“Yes, my dear.”
“I am going to be violently ill,” she said in a panic-stricken voice, sitting straight up.
Miraculously, Damien produced a porcelain basin in the nick of time. He thrust it under her chin and held her head firmly as she heaved up her liquid dinner. Her body spasmed as she retched a second, then a third time. When she had emptied the contents of her stomach, he wiped her face with a damp cloth. He pressed a glass of cool water into her hand and told her to drink it. Isabella took one small sip, then collapsed against the pillows.
“Feeling better?” Damien inquired in a sympathetic tone.
Isabella groaned. “I cannot decide which feels worse, my wretched stomach or my injured pride. I am simply mortified, Damien.”
“You drank a bit too much wine on an empty stomach, my dear, that’s all. There is nothing to feel embarrassed about. Close your eyes and try to rest. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”
Damien stretched out on the bed next to Isabella. He put his arm around her and drew her against his side. He kissed the top of her head and said softly, “Go to sleep, Isabella.”
She snuggled nearer to his warmth, closed her eyes, and promptly fell unconscious.
Chapter Twenty-one
Isabella woke with throbbing temples and a queasy stomach. Not daring to move her head from the pillow, she cautiously allowed her eyes to travel around the bedchamber. She discovered she was lying in her bed, beneath the covers, completely dressed except for her shoes. An almost agonizing sense of relief entered Isabella’s body when she realized she was alone. Her muddled brain sought valiantly to reconstruct the events of last night. Though all the details were unclear, she distinctly remembered certain occurrences with far more clarity than she desired.
The truth about her father. The wine. Damien. Isabella groaned loudly and pulled the pillow over her head. She had made an utter and complete fool of herself last night. And became revoltingly sick in the process. It was nearly unthinkable to imagine Damien’s opinion of her behavior. Isabella groaned again when she remembered the time she had chastised him for overindulging in spirits.
A noise in the hallway drew her attention, and Isabella sat up. What time was it? The heavy drapes were drawn shut, and the bedchamber was in near darkness. Swinging her legs off the bed, Isabella gingerly walked to the window. Slowly moving the curtain aside, she peered outside.
“Oh, God!” The sunlight nearly blinded her. Isabella instantly dropped the curtain as a shooting pain tore through her head. She staggered back to the bed with her eyes closed. Fearing she would never regain her feet if she lay down, Isabella remained standing, rubbing her pounding temples vigorously.
She wanted to die. Right here and right now.
The door to her bedchamber slowly opened. Isabella lifted one eyelid a fraction, summoning up the barest interest when Damien strolled nonchalantly into the chamber, carrying a silver tray.
“Good morning, my dear. I thought you might enjoy having breakfast in your room this morning,” he said cheerfully. He placed the tray on the same table where her untouched dinner had languished last night, then lifted the cover off one of the many platters.
Isabella’s knees grew weak when she smelled the eggs and broiled kidneys, and she sagged against the bedpost. She took several deep breaths, shuddering with the effort. This was even more embarrassing than last night. “Please take that away, Damien,” she whispered in a woebegone tone. “I vow to never eat another morsel of food.”
Damien laughed, but when she turned her head to glare at him, Isabella saw he was watching her with genuine concern.
“Have some water,” Damien suggested, handing her a filled goblet. “Use the first swig to cleanse your mouth, then drink the rest down.”
She obediently filled her mouth with the water, swirled it about her tongue, then spat it out into the basin he provided. The same basin, she noted with ironic humor, into which she had emptied the contents of her stomach last night.
“Better?”
“No. My tongue still feels three times its usual size.”
“That will pass. Come, at least sit and drink some coffee.” Damien graciously held out a chair.
“I will sit down on one condition,” Isabella said. “You must replace the cover on the food platter. Better still, you will remove all traces of food from the room.”
Damien obligingly picked up several platters and deposited them outside the room. As Isabella moved toward the chair with unsteady legs, she saw that he had left a rack of toast on the tray, but since it had no odor, her stomach did not object. She did object, however, when Damien threw open the drapes and flooded the room with light.
“Please, Damien, show a little mercy,” she begged, squinting hard to avoid the irritating sunlight.
“Sorry.”
