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“Her ladyship will be in bed a while yet,” he informed the chambermaid. “You may return in half an hour.”
Looking relieved, the maid curtsied and left.
“Drink the coffee,” he directed Isabella.
She stared into the cup. “Will it cure my headache?”
“No, but it will help.”
She took small sips.
“Have you reconsidered your stay here?”
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“I am capable of caring for myself,” she retorted.
“Your current condition begs to differ.”
“I have no intention of consuming the same quantity of wine, if it pleases you.”
“I shall rest easy when you are home safe with your father.”
Her petulance faded and she looked at him with more appreciation. “Are you truly concerned with my welfare?”
“Yes, especially as you have shown yourself to be careless and irresponsible.”
She made an aggravated sound.
“I reiterate my warnings of last night: Lord Devon is not suitable company and the Chateau Follet no place for a lady.”
“Are you not being hypocritical, Halsten? Do you consider yourself suitable company?”
“I would not have brought you here.”
“And Miss Sherwood? Is she no lady? Is that why you have no qualms with her?”
He felt unexpectedly angry. “Leave her be. She is not the subject of our discussion.”
“Then why have you not counseled her to leave Chateau Follet?”
His conscience stirred uncomfortably. That the accusation of hypocrisy should come from an immature source made it no less true.
“Have you your honor still?”
Her eyes doubled in size at his boldfaced question.
“It is none of your affair,” she fumed.
“I pray you did not surrender your maidenhead to Lord Devon. It is far too precious for that idiot.”
“I have not! My honor is quite intact.”
“But you were planning to gift it to Devon.”
She flushed, and were it not for the situation, he would have found her blush heightened her loveliness, even in her disagreeable state and her hair mussed from sleep.
“Perhaps,” she mumbled, then perked up. “Would you rather I present it to you, Halsten?”
