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Isabel bit her lip. How far would this incident set their relationship back? What should she tell him? Did married people even discuss such affairs? She threw a clean shift back on and went back to her room.
Rhys paced the length of a carpet like a caged beast. He ran his fingers through his hair, looking distraught and confused.
“I did not mean to offend you,” he said as she came closer. “Perhaps I was too forward, and I shouldn’t have.”
Isabel raised a staying hand. “Rhys?”
He stopped, his breathing still accelerated, and waited for her to speak.
“Do you remember when you demanded the evidence of me not being in a delicate condition before we could consummate the marriage?” She pursed her lips so as not to laugh.
Rhys winced. “I know. I’ve been an arse—”
Isabel let out a chuckle, and he blinked, halting mid-sentence. “Yes, you were, but it’s not that. It’s just that you have your evidence.”
He ran his gaze down her body, then back to her eye level, still looking confused.
Isabel bit on her lip, still holding on to her laughter. “My courses started, Rhys. I’m sorry.”
