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“By myself?”
“Madame Follet will relinquish one of her maids to accompany you.”
Isabella was quiet. He sensed some reluctance on her part but decided not to pursue further discussion as she was still recovering from the shock of losing her maidenhead.
“Some rest after the bath would be beneficial,” he said as the chambermaid appeared.
He took Isabella’s hand and kissed it before taking his leave. She rewarded him with a wan smile.
“Does it—does it improve?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And will it be as blissful as what was described in the novel?”
“That depends on a great many variables, my lady.”
“Oh.”
“Isabella.”
“Yes?”
“If you should require anything, if Lord Devon should impose upon you the slightest discomfort, I am at your disposal.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Halsten.”
He bowed and left her room. In the hallway, he paused and considered seeing to Miss Herwood, but first he marched to Lord Devon’s room.
“I say!” Devon protested when Halsten entered without knocking. “A little politeness would be much appreciated!”
Devon had taken off his coat and boots. His valet was assisting with the cravat. Halsten dismissed the valet, who as if sensing something amiss, scurried away.
“I did not think you so desperate as to require a virgin for company at Chateau Follet,” Halsten began.
Devon straightened. “I had no idea Isabella was a virgin. She certainly did not conduct herself as if she were.”
“Was it not obvious? Or were you so lost in your own passion that you could not notice?”
“Well, it was a little late when I did. The surrender of a woman’s maidenhead is never painless. But no real harm has come of it.”
Halsten imagined drilling his fist into the pretty face before him.
“Lady Isabella is the daughter of the Duke of Trent. I would take proper care of her if I were you.”
“I do not mistreat my guests and take offense at your implications and your imposition.”
“If you harm Isabella, I will see that you are never welcome at Follet again.”
Devon stared at him, then pursed his lips. “Do not threaten me, Rockwell, lest you wish to draw swords at dawn. I do not fear you or the Duke of Trent. My father is the Earl of Kensington. I suggest you attend to your own guest, the lovely Miss Sherwood. It would be a shame if she were to feel neglected.”
Devon’s words struck a cho
rd. Halsten had noticed a look of disappointment upon Miss Herwood when he had chosen to escort Isabella to her room. It would do no good to come to blows with Devon, though he was more than tempted by the prospect of drawing swords with the man. Nonetheless, the best strategy was to keep him away from Isabella until one or the other could be removed entirely from the Chateau. Until then, what was he to do with Miss Herwood?
* * * * *
“Is something amiss, m’lady?” Bhadra asked as she assisted Deana out of her riding habit.
