If her being in his bedroom was supposed to be sexy, that effect, if it had any, would be entirely undone by the sickening smell of puke. Tristan entered the room, passed behind her and opened the window, trying not to pull a face. While she heaved over the chamber pot, he went downstairs, and returned a minute later with a cup of water. "You better stay down for now." He could already picture her fainting while carrying the chamber pot down. That thought was enough to make his own stomach churn. "Here..." he handed her the glass. "I apologise. I didn't think you'd be this hungover."