“I am sorry to interrupt you,” she said.
“I am glad to see you before I leave. ’Tis a shame I must go just as you are better, but I cannot delay visiting my mother any longer.” Roche shifted his gaze and pulled on his ear. “I cannot have her hearing of our betrothal secondhand. You see, she rather dotes on me.”
So this was the reason for his delay in having the banns read! No excuse was adequate, to be sure. Still, she was relieved his motive was no more sinister than consideration for his mother.
“You are a good son,” Isobel said, pleased to learn it was true. “But should I not go with you?”
“Don’t be foolish! You’ve just risen from your sickbed,” he said. “I would not have you risk the roads again, in any case.”
They were interrupted then by one of his men-at-arms. “Lord de Roche,” the man said from the doorway, “the men are ready and await you outside.”
“I shall join you shortly,” de Roche said, dismissing the man with a nod.
Isobel sighed with relief; she could delay the unpleasant task of questioning him about politics a little longer.
“I can escort you to your chamber before I leave,” de Roche said, rising to his feet.
At the door he stopped abruptly, as if he had forgotten something, and went back into the room. His back was to her, but Isobel saw him take one of the parchments from the table and lock it in the drawer.
He took her straight to her rooms, his brisk steps conveying he was in a hurry now. Outside the open door of her solar, he kissed her hand and bade her an abrupt adieu.
When he turned to leave, something inside the room caught his attention. A wave of unease passed through Isobel as she followed the direction of his gaze. What caught de Roche’s attention—and held it still—was Linnet.
The girl sat on the window seat, head bowed over her needlework, sunlight shining on her fair hair. How had Isobel failed to notice? Linnet, like her brother, was growing up. Her emerging shape was a trifle too apparent in the too-small gown.
Isobel drew in a sharp breath when Linnet looked up and fixed her deep blue eyes on them. Heaven help the child. A girl so alone in the world should not be this lovely.
As Linnet’s mistress and lady of the house, Isobel could protect her from most men. But not from de Roche. If he was dishonorable enough to take advantage of a dependent, Isobel was powerless to stop him.
Well, perhaps not completely powerless.
“Philippe,” she said, pointedly using his Christian name.
He dragged his gaze away from Linnet to look at her. Forcing a smile to her lips, she took a half step closer and rested her palm against his chest.
She had his attention now.
Coy did not come easily to her. She tilted her head and looked up at him from under her lashes. “Must you go?”
De Roche wrapped his hand around hers and brought it slowly to his lips. “I fear I must,” he said, regret tugging at his voice. “I can delay no longer.”
Isobel took a deep breath and let it out on the single word “Alas.”
Roche ran his tongue over his lips as his gaze dropped to her breasts. For a long moment, she feared her act had worked too well. When he gave his head a shake and stepped back from her, she sent a silent prayer of thanks to every saint she could think of.
“I shall return in a week,” he said, raking his eyes over her one last time.
As Isobel watched him disappear down the stairs, she thought about what was in his eyes when he looked at Linnet. Not just lust, but possession. De Roche felt he had a right to take her. Isobel was not naive; she knew how it happened. The lord might give the serving girl a few trinkets or coins, but he would not allow her to refuse him.
Isobel would delay the inevitable no more. She would not protest that the banns must be read thrice.
When de Roche returned, she would go to his bed.
She was not vain enough to believe she could divert de Roche forever. Eventually, she had to get the girl out of his house. But she could buy time. When Robert came to visit, he could take Linnet away with him. How long before Robert’s promised visit? A few weeks? She could distract de Roche that long, if she tried.
Isobel could not save herself. But by the saints, she would save Linnet.
Chapter Twenty-eight