Then she said abruptly, "I bid you good night, Your Signory."
He drew back, shocked. "Madonna!"
"The same way you came will see you out."
"I but meant to praise your skill at diplomacy. I hope I have not given offense."
"A gentleman always knows when he is giving offense."
"I—I merely wish to clear—to set my mind at rest," Simon stammered. He cursed himself for his heavy-handed attempt to test her. It was true, the French were no good at intrigue.
"Rest your mind somewhere else." She went to the door and stood there, back to him. Was she going to call for help? How embarrassing it would be if he were caught here.
The beautiful curve of her back distracted and confused him still more.
"If you do not leave, I will," said Sophia, grasping the black iron door handle. "You may stay in this room forever if you wish."
What a brouillement I have made of this rendezvous. Casting about frantically in his mind, Simon wondered what his troubadour father, Roland, would have done.