“First, allow me to explain something, Lady Gwendolyn, and I will try my best not to suck at it. Your time here is infinite. I swear it on my life,” he said emphatically. “Now, as to something I am thankful for…I am thankful this torture is almost over, for I truly believe that you can cook.”

“I’ll cook for you whenever you’d like.” Gwen grinned as she reached for her coffee. Then she closed her eyes and moaned as the warm liquid slid down her throat. When she opened them again, Gavin and Isabelle were both staring at her like she’d lost her mind.

“Go on.” She waved her hand. “I dare you both to try it and not like it as much.”

Gavin took a small sip, then more as his eyes widened in surprise. “Lady Gwendolyn, first thing this morn, you’re to show Cook how you made this.”

“I told you,” Gwen returned. “Now try your omelet.”

They devoured their omelets, and Gavin and Gwen each had another cup of coffee after their meals. Together they cleared their dishes and placed them in the sink. But when Gwen tried to wash them, Gavin threatened to sit on her again, telling her that she’d done enough already.

The sun had just started to rise as Gavin hurried them upstairs. Since they were still in their nightclothes—or Greylen’s, in her case—she could tell Gavin hoped to avoid being seen by any servants who might be starting their duties.

When they stepped inside Greylen’s chamber, Isabelle told Gwen she was going to dress and would meet her in the great hall. Gavin quickly excused himself and followed after her.

The halls were still dark with just the soft flicker from the sconces, and he caught Isabelle just as she reached the steps of the landing. “Bella, wait,” he whispered, reaching for her arm. She looked up, her blue eyes wary and so disconcerting in their depth.

“I’m sorry I upset you earlier. ’Twas never my intention. I shouldn’t have…I shouldn’t have touched you, Isabelle. ’Twas wrong and I seek your forgiveness.” He felt as though his honor was at stake and hers as well.

Earlier when Isabelle had started to follow Gwen into the library, he’d pulled her back. He’d reached around her waist with one arm while closing the doors behind Gwendolyn with the other. “Gavin, why—” Her words stopped when her back came to rest against his chest.

“Shh, Isabelle,” he’d whispered in her ear. “Allow Gwendolyn to see this herself.”

He hadn’t said more and assumed Isabelle would have allowed Gwendolyn to live the rest of her days in the library, so long as he didn’t make her move.

He didn’t.