She might have admired his audacity if she wasn’t practically sputtering with outrage. “And you can tell all this from a dress? What a unique talent you possess. What are my slippers telling you?” She gave him a sugary smile. “Let me give you a hint: it starts with go and ends with Hades.”

He didn’t seem to appreciate her sarcasm. “It isn’t just the dress; your behavior has made you the subject of unpleasant rumors. How do you think it looks when you and Despenser come tumbling out of an alcove in the middle of the day?”

He’d seen her? Joan flushed, although she had no cause to, blast it! She hadn’t done anything of which to be ashamed. She was using the tools she had in her power—turning what had once made her vulnerable into a strength—to find out important information that would help win this war. Her reputation was a small price to pay, but that didn’t give him a right to judge her.

“I don’t even want to think what your mother would say,” he added.

She bristled. That there was more truth to his observation than she wanted to admit only made Joan more defensive.

But remembering her role, and her supposed alienation from her mother, she said, “My mother is a rebel and traitor to the king who left me when I was twelve. What she may or may not have to say is irrelevant.” She gave him a hard stare. “You did not tell me you knew her—makes me wonder if there is a reason why. Perhaps you do not wish to remind people that not so long ago you fought for the enemy?”

The tinge of heat that flooded his face told her that her arrow had found its mark. He was a traitor—a man who had switched sides and betrayed his compatriots and king—and he thought to lecture her about appearances and behavior?

Was this judgmental, sanctimonious prig really the kind and gallant knight who’d carried her to her room last month? Perhaps she should thank him for curing her of all her illusions.

“This isn’t about me,” he said stiffly.

“How convenient,” she replied dryly. “I don’t recall making it about me either. Why should I not give my unsolicited opinion about your ‘behavior’? I wonder what my mother would say about your switching sides. I think I’d rather be thought a harlot than a traitor.”

The sudden darkness of his expression almost made her regret her words. The transformation was rather . . . extreme. She wouldn’t have thought it possible for the golden knight to look so scary. It wasn’t as difficult to imagine him as a nasal-helmed “Phantom” now.