Knight of Pleasure (10 page)

Isobel took a deep breath to fortify herself. Was it to annoy her or to tease Marie that he wedged himself between her and
Robert on the bench rather than take the chair opposite? He would amuse himself.

“I am glad you are here,” Robert told him. “I must leave for a time, and I do not like to leave Isobel alone. You know what
these people can be like.”

“I am surprised you brought her.” Stephen’s tone was sharp.

“Stop talking as if I were not here,” Isobel snapped. “I am not a child to be passed from nursemaid to nursemaid.”

She was so annoyed she could almost forget the heat of Stephen’s thigh against hers. Almost.

“Where are you going?” she asked Robert.

He winked one sea-green eye at her. “I’d rather not say.”

An assignation. Was he not getting a bit old for that? Of course, men like him—and Stephen—never stopped.

The two men stood and spoke in low voices. As they talked, Isobel noticed the lovely courtesan Claudette walk past the entrance
to the room and catch Robert’s eye. Robert took his leave then, and Stephen slumped into the chair opposite Isobel and folded
his arms across his chest.

To make conversation she said, “Sir John Popham mentioned again how much he values your assistance with the administration
of the town.” She’d been surprised by Popham’s effusive praise. Apparently, Stephen did more with his time than charm women
and drink to excess.

Stephen shrugged and scanned the room. Obviously, his work with Popham was not something he wished to discuss with her. He
did not, however, have to be rude. What was the matter with him tonight? It was not her fault he was stuck with her.

Despite herself, she felt hurt. She thought they’d become friends, of sorts, over the weeks.

A handsome older woman bedecked in jewels and crimson silk appeared at Stephen’s side. When the woman leaned down and whispered
in his ear, he squeezed her hand and nodded.

“Do not move,” he told Isobel as he got up. “I shan’t be long, but there is someone I must speak to.”

Speak to? Ha! She watched Stephen saunter out of the room with the woman. Who did these men think they were, telling her to
stay put while they cavorted with all manner of women?

She felt awkward sitting by herself. She had little experience with gatherings such as this. Visitors to Hume Castle were
few, and her husband rarely took her anywhere else. She was immensely grateful, then, when Monsieur de Lisieux rushed over
to join her.

“To abandon such a beautiful lady!” de Lisieux said, throwing his hands up. “Truly, your friends do not deserve you.”

The broken veins and blotchy color of his face showed the signs of excessive drink. Who could blame the poor man, married
to that wretched Marie?

“Perhaps you will let me show you the house while they are gone?” de Lisieux suggested.

“You are too kind.” She took the arm de Lisieux offered and smiled at the thought of Stephen returning to find her gone.

De Lisieux stopped at a side table to pour her a large cup of wine. He filled it so full she had to drink several large gulps
for fear of spilling it. As they moved through the crowded rooms, de Lisieux pointed out various features of the house. Isobel
made polite noises of appreciation.

Stephen was certainly taking his time.

She had a nodding acquaintance with a number of the guests from their visits to the castle. De Lisieux, of course, knew everyone.
Their progress was slow as they stopped to chat with other guests milling about. Along the way, de Lisieux picked up a flagon
of wine, and she let him refill her glass from it.

When neither Stephen nor Robert had returned by the time she and de Lisieux circled back to the front of the house, she was
angry enough to spit. Where were they? She was more than ready to leave. If she had to “ooh” and “ahh” at one more ugly family
portrait, she might scream.

“You must see the new stained-glass window I had put in the solar,” de Lisieux said as he led her toward the stairs. “The
craftsmanship is exquisite.”

Better a window than another portrait. De Lisieux must have refilled her cup, for she had to drink it half down again so she
would not spill it on the stairs. At least her host’s wine was better than his food. It took the edge off her hunger.

From the top of the stairs, she turned to look at the people milling about below. She did not see Stephen—or the woman in
crimson silk.

“The solar is here,” de Lisieux said, drawing her away.

Inside the solar, scarlet pillows with heavy gold tassels were strewn haphazardly across the floor. How odd, with guests coming.
Was it overly warm in here? She fanned herself with her hand. The servants must have made the brazier too hot.

“Excuse my pride, but is it not lovely?” de Lisieux said, leading her around the pillows to the window.

“Nice, very nice,” she murmured, though there was nothing special about the glass, save for its size.

Ha, Stephen would not think to look for her in here.
If
he was looking for her. The swine. She narrowed her eyes, thinking of what he was likely doing with the woman in the crimson
silks. She gulped down the rest of her wine. Without turning, she held the cup out for more.

What was de Lisieux saying? Something about tapestries? She’d ceased listening to his drivel some time ago.

“The one in the next room is most unusual,” he said, pulling her through another doorway. “You must see it.”

Her head began to spin. “I would like to sit, Monsieur de Lisieux.” She was embarrassed that his name came out sounding like
“Mi-shoe Di-shoe,” but he did not appear to notice.

Good heavens, could she be drunk? Hume’s drinking so disgusted her, she never overimbibed. How—

“Of course.” De Lisieux’s voice was solicitous.

Of course, what? She’d forgotten what she asked him.

“But first, look at the design of this beautiful tapestry.”

It was difficult to make out the pattern in the dim candlelight of the room, but Isobel dutifully put her nose close to it
and moved along the wall, squinting. A grimacing face, a horse’s haunch, a woman’s breast… Quite suddenly, she saw it as a
whole and for what it was. Too shocked to speak, she stared open-mouthed at the obscene mythological scene of satyrs having
intimate relations with human women.

With a sinking feeling, she looked over her shoulder. She was, as she feared, in a bedchamber. She had not heard him close
the door behind them. But closed it was. How had she gotten herself into this?

“You should not have brought me here,” she said and started toward the door.

De Lisieux tightened his grip on her arm, jerking her back.

She swallowed back her rising panic. Surely he would not dare—the house was full of people. And Stephen was here. Somewhere.

“Let me go,” she said as calmly as she could. “Sir Stephen is waiting for me.”

“Believe me, Carleton is busy elsewhere, my dear.”

Before she knew it, de Lisieux was on her. Wet lips against her neck, rough hands pulling at her gown. She screamed against
the hand clamped over her mouth. As she struggled to get her hand through the fichu of her gown to reach her hidden blade,
she could see it in her mind’s eye lying on the chest in her room. Damnation!

She kicked and clawed as he dragged her toward the bed. At last she managed to sink her teeth into his hand. She had only
a moment to savor his howl of pain. The slap was so hard her ears rang, and she saw bright pinpricks of stars.

As her knees gave way, de Lisieux released his hold, and she fell hard against the floor. She struggled to her hands and knees
and scrambled across the room, frantic to get away. A rhythmic smacking sound behind her caused her to look over her shoulder.

Stephen was here! He had de Lisieux against the side of the high bed, pummeling him. De Lisieux’s head flopped like a child’s
rag doll with each punch.

“Stephen, stop it!” she screamed. “Stop it!”

Stephen shook his head, as though coming out of a daze. He stepped away, letting de Lisieux slide to the floor.

Isobel sank back onto her heels and pressed her hands over her mouth. She was dimly aware of hearing high-pitched whimpers
before she realized the sounds were coming from her.

Stephen knelt in front of her and gripped her shoulders. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, unable to speak.

Stephen pulled her hard against him. “Are you sure?” he asked against her hair.

She squeezed her eyes closed and nodded.

Abruptly, Stephen pushed her back to arm’s length and fixed scalding eyes on her. “Sweet Lamb of God,” he said, his voice
shaking, “what were you doing in here with him?”

“Why are you yelling at me?” To her dismay, she was very near to tears. “You’ve no need to blashpheme.” Frustrated, she tried
again. “Blaphsheme. Blapsheme.”

“You are drunk?” he said, his eyes wide.

“You dare to criticize me”—she slapped her chest at the word “me,” to emphasize her outrage—“for too much drink! And ’twas
not my fault. Every time I turned my head, de Lisieux poured more wine into my cup and—”

“Come,” Stephen said, pulling her to her feet. “I cannot bear to be in this vile man’s bedchamber another moment.”

As he half carried her out of the room, she glanced at de Lisieux’s body slumped on the floor. “Is he…?”

“He isn’t dead,” Stephen said, his voice hard.

He led her to the window seat in the solar. After barring the outside door, he sat beside her and took her hand.

“I am sorry I got angry with you, but you frightened me half to death.” He stared straight ahead, jaw muscles tight, clenching
his teeth. Despite his obvious effort to be calm, his voice rose when he spoke again. “What were you thinking, getting drunk
and coming to de Lisieux’s bedchamber with him?”

“He was showing me the house.”

“Good God, Isobel, you are not a girl of fifteen! How can you be so foolish?”

“That is so unfair!” She wiped her nose on her sleeve and sniffed.

His shoulders sagged. “You are right. I should never have left you. I had business to attend to, but that is no excuse.”

“ ’Tis not your fault.” Even if it had been, what woman could not forgive Stephen when he turned those liquid brown eyes on
her? It would be like kicking a dog.

He gathered her in his arms and rested his chin lightly on the top of her head. Encircled in his arms, her cheek resting against
his hard chest, she felt safe. Protected.

“Why were you so vexed when Robert left me with you?”

“Because you and I should not be alone.” His chest rose and fell beneath her cheek as he took in a deep breath and let it
out. “You see, I am not good at resisting temptation.”

She leaned back to look at him. Truly, he had a beautiful face—the wide, expressive mouth, the hard planes of cheek and jaw.
She put a hand to it, wanting to feel the rough stubble against her palm.

For a long moment, he looked at her, eyes troubled. Then he whispered, “Sweet, sweet temptation,” as he lowered his mouth
to hers. This time they kissed not with the wild passion of that other time, but with a slow melting that made her insides
feel like warm honey.

When he ended it and tucked her head beneath his chin again, she heard his heart pounding in his chest.

“We should return to the castle now,” he said.

“Not yet.” She pressed against him to feel the heat of his body through his clothes. “Not yet.”

He unwound her arms from around his waist and kissed the top of her head. “ ’Tis wrong to take advantage of you when you’ve
had a shock and too much to drink…”

She let her head fall back, hoping for another kiss. “But I hardly feel the wine anymore.”

“You lie, Isobel,” he said with a grin. “You are drunk as a soldier after a night in town. Come, I must take you back before
I forget all sense of honor.”

Stephen hoisted Isobel up onto his horse and held her there as he swung up behind her. Good Lord, she was soused. She was
going to feel wretched in the morning. When she fell back against him, she felt so soft and yielding he had to pray to Saint
Peter to give him strength.

“What about Robert?” she asked without opening her eyes.

“To hell with Robert.”

Stephen was going to strangle him. If Robert knew he must leave for one of his clandestine meetings with the king, why in
God’s name did he take Isobel with him tonight? And to de Lisieux’s, of all places! The only explanation was that Robert planned
to leave Isobel with Stephen all along.

Now, that was curious.

Of course, Robert did not anticipate that de Lisieux, that horse’s arse, would attack Isobel under his very roof. But he did
know Stephen would be forced to escort Isobel back to the castle alone and late at night.

Nothing got by Robert. The man had eyes in the back of his head. Despite Stephen’s denials, Robert knew damned well something
had happened between Stephen and Isobel the morning he saw them just after… well, just after they rolled around on the floor
of the storeroom.

Was Robert deliberately putting temptation in his way? For the life of him, Stephen could not figure out why.