“You would rather I sit and twiddle my fingers like an idiot?”
“Yes, Had I not stated that you would not flirt with a member of the opposite sex?”
“What precisely happens in the East Wing?”
He reached for her to lead her back to her chamber. “You need not concern yourself with the East Wing.”
She eluded his grasp. “I confess a great curiosity to see it.”
He felt a tug at his groin. “You are far from ready to be in the East Wing.”
“Lady Isabella is a new guest.”
“If Lord Devon had any consideration, they would not be in the East Wing.”
He took her by the elbow and guided her back to her room more harshly than he had intended, for the thought of Isabella in the East Wing had made him angry.
“I will be back within the half hour,” he told her once they had reached her bedchamber. “Shall I send for Bhadra to attend you?”
“That won’t be necessary.”
Her curious gaze at him suggested she wanted to understand his intentions, but he was too agitated to delay the night with explanations.
“Half an hour,” he repeated.
“Is that a promise or a warning?”
“Both,” he growled.
Yanking her to him, he smothered her mouth for emphasis. He worked her mouth in selfish consumption, his ardor fueled by vexation. His tongue delved deep and he paid no heed to the fine lines of her lips. When he was done, the kiss had blurred and dampened the rouge about her mouth.
“Half an hour then,” she murmured between uneven breaths
.
She stepped inside and closed the door slowly between them. He stood on the threshold, tempted to throw open the door and ravish her mouth once more. But he could not leave Isabella to her own devices. With quick strides, he caught up with the group as they made their way through the halls of the East Wing, admiring the many erotic paintings that hung there.
“This painter adored the fleshy figures of Reuben,” Marguerite explained as they stood before a full-length painting of a woman standing naked beneath a waterfall, the water splashing over her heavy breasts.
He came upon Isabella. “A word with you, my lady.”
Lord Devon turned around with the intention of objecting, but Halsten silenced him with an icy stare. Devon moved on with the group as they strolled to the next painting of two men bathing.
“Where is your companion?” Isabella asked with an arched brow.
Ignoring her question, he said in a low and firm voice, “This is no place for you, Isabella.”
She fluttered her silk fan, the upward quirk of her mouth indicated she was enjoying his attention. “You know me too little to make such a statement.”
He had to acknowledge the truth of what she said. He would never have supposed her to be one open to the activities at Chateau Follet. Had he known, he might have pressed his suit with more passion. Though not required in a wife, a shared interest in his libidinous pursuits, married with other qualities he sought, would have made for a perfect match.
“Nevertheless, you know not what you do,” he countered. “The East Wing here is no place for a novice.”
“Ah, you have come to rescue me then?”
“I would have you reconsider. Lord Devon is a rake of the worst kind.”
She tapped her fan against his upper arm and gave him a teasing look that would have melted many a man. “It is not like you to be jealous, Halsten.”