“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.
He tried to feel virtuous for withstanding the temptation. But what else could he do with Isobel three sheets to the wind? Still, it was not easy with the smell of her hair in his nose and her backside jostling against him with every step of the horse. He was hard as a rock—and desperate for some distraction.
“When I was little, I used to ride like this with my father.” Isobel’s voice had a plaintive, faraway quality. “He took me everywhere with him.”
Stephen checked his conscience; taking advantage of her drunkenness to learn her secrets did not trouble him at all.
He took the opening she gave him. “Was it your father who disappointed you?” he asked softly. “Tell me your story, Isobel; I want to hear it.”
She was silent so long he thought she had dozed off. When she finally spoke again, she seemed to have forgotten Stephen’s presence altogether.