“You best remember,” she warned, “the king has bet upon the other cock.”
Chapter Fourteen
Thank God for the girl. If Linnet were not annoying de Roche with ceaseless chatter, he might notice how Isobel’s hands shook. Isobel tried to make herself listen to what Linnet was saying but could not.
How could Stephen return just when she had put all thought of him behind her? That was not quite true. Not nearly true. But having him in Caen where she would see him every day made it so much worse.
She heard Linnet mention Stephen’s name and almost missed the step. “What was that you said?”
“That my brother and I were very wicked to Sir Stephen.”
How easy it was to be wicked with Stephen!
When she saw him coming through the crowd toward her, his smile like a swath of sunlight, her heart leapt in her chest. He looked so pleased to see her, too. For a moment, she thought he would sweep her into his arms.
She half hoped he would.
Perhaps more than half.
But then, Stephen could play her for a fool without even knowing it. As she left the hall, she turned to see whom Marie de Lisieux was watching so intently. It was Stephen, of course. He was already laughing and whispering with that breathtaking courtesan. While Isobel was shaken to her soul at seeing him again, he forgot her the moment she was out of sight.
He would be making his way around the room now, adoring woman to adoring woman. Making each and every one of them believe she was special.
Not that Isobel cared what he did.
She would think of her future. De Roche was a handsome man, every bit as attractive as Stephen Carleton. Surely she would find his kisses just as exciting. She would. Her mind was set on it. And for once, Robert was not here to interfere.
They were at her chamber door before she realized she had not spoken a word to de Roche since they left the hall.
“Wait inside,” she whispered to the girl, giving her a gentle push inside.
She lifted de Roche’s hand to cup her cheek and looked steadily into his eyes. Seeing how quickly the irritation in his eyes shifted to lust, she smiled, pleased with herself. It had been easy, after all. She would get her kiss now.
When he kissed her cheek, she was disappointed. Nay, annoyed. But then he began to work his way down her neck. She closed her eyes and tried to concentrate on the soft lips and warm breath against her skin. Instead, she found herself thinking of his heavy-handedness in trying to get her to change her mind about taking Linnet. And his utter lack of feeling for the poor girl’s circumstances.
That Stephen had taken responsibility for the two orphans surprised her. And yet… it did not. Wastrel, womanizer, drunkard that he was, Stephen did have a kind heart.
She’d forgotten de Roche when, suddenly, she was slammed against the door, the latch poking painfully into her back. De Roche’s mouth was on hers, bruising her. With his tongue down her throat, choking her, she could not breathe. Panic surged through her as she tried in vain to push him away.
She fell backward with a shriek as the door opened behind her. De Roche caught her and leveled furious gray eyes at the cause of the interruption.
“M’lady, do you want these cleaned?” Linnet stood implacably in the doorway, holding a pair of boots in one hand. Not at all the humble maidservant.
“Thank you for escorting me,” Isobel said before de Roche could shout at the girl. She straightened and held her hand out.
“Until tonight then,” he said in a tight voice.
The gaze he fixed on her as he brought her hand to his lips held both anger and desire. She fought the urge to jerk her hand away when she felt his tongue on her skin.
As she watched him go, she wiped her hand against her skirts.
Claudette’s serene expression gave nothing away, but Robert saw the glint of annoyance in her crystal blue eyes as she crossed the room toward him.
“Thank you,” he said into her ear as he helped her into the seat beside him. “A woman’s touch was needed.”
“Stephen does need a woman’s touch,” she hissed. “That is precisely the problem.”
She smiled and waved delicate fingers at an acquaintance passing by. “I tried to reason with him, but reason does not work on a man who is thinking with his—”
