“I’ll not leave you,” Linnet whimpered against her.
“I shall be fine,” Isobel said in a firm voice. She led Linnet to the door and removed the girl’s arms from around her waist. As she pushed Linnet out the door, she whispered, “Go to your brother and do not return until morning.”
The bar made athunkas Isobel slammed it into place. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against the door. Nothing could save her now. She would be the wife of this dark and treacherous man until the day she died.
She would, however, get Linnet out of Rouen. She gathered herself and turned around to face her husband.
De Roche was already unfastening his belt.
Chapter Thirty-one
When the knocking continued, Isobel spun around.
“Linnet, stop this!” she called out loudly enough to be heard through the door. “You must go away now.”
A male voice answered, “Is Lord de Roche with you, m’lady?”
De Roche fastened his belt as he stomped to the door. After pushing Isobel aside, he slid the bar and jerked the door open. An elderly servant stood on the other side, rubbing his bony hands together and blinking nervously.
“What is it?” de Roche demanded.
In a high, quavering voice, the servant said, “The visitor you were expecting on the morrow, m’lord… he… he has just arrived and… and he is asking for you.”
Isobel was startled by the sudden change in de Roche. The angry impatience was gone, replaced by a palpable fear.
De Roche turned hard gray eyes on her. “Do not leave your rooms tonight.”
Without another word, he followed the servant out.
Isobel lay awake most the night, dreading the moment of de Roche’s return. She must have eventually drifted off, for she was in a deep sleep when Linnet returned in the morning.
Linnet looked sharply about the rooms with narrowed eyes. “Where is he?”
“De Roche had a visitor shortly after you left,” Isobel said. “He did not return.”
The tightness in Linnet’s face eased. “François did not come back, either.”
“Come, I do not know how long we have,” Isobel said as she led Linnet to the window bench. “I must tell you my plan.”
As Isobel expected, Linnet objected to the plan at first.
“We must save the king,” Isobel told her. “I shall have your promise that you will play your part, for there is no other way.”
They spent the rest of the morning holding hands and talking quietly of small, unimportant things. Nothing could be gained by talking more about the difficulties ahead.
Isobel prayed de Roche would not come to her bedchamber before Stephen’s visit. She did not want to have the memory of de Roche touching her when she saw Stephen for the last time. But what if Stephen did not come today? What if he did not come at all?
It was midafternoon when a servant came to tell Isobel that Sir Stephen Carleton was waiting in the hall to see her. De Roche, too, would be told of Stephen’s arrival. If she could get to the parlor first, she might have a moment alone with Stephen.
“Hurry, please,” she urged Linnet. Isobel tried to help with the headdress, but her hands were shaking so violently that Linnet slapped them away.
Isobel stared, unseeing, into the polished brass mirror as Linnet worked. She was so caught up in planning how to get the news of the murder plot to Stephen that she’d given no thought as to why Stephen wanted to see her. What reason could he have? Any news of Geoffrey he could have told her at the reception.
Could he be here to ask if she carried his child? She closed her eyes and swallowed. She’d been so sure Stephen understood her silent message.
“If I do not get to speak with Stephen alone, Linnet, tell him”—she said it with her eyes still closed—“tell him… there is no child.”
It hit her again. There was no child.
