She was not mad.
“This is not happening,” she whispered in broken tones.
“Simone,” he frowned with obvious concern. “Are you ill?”
“I wish to return home.”
“But ...”
“Please, Gideon,” she pleaded, feeling as if she might shatter to pieces at any moment. “I must have time to consider what you have told me.”
He regarded her for a long moment. “What will you do?”
“I do not know.” She reluctantly forced herself to meet the dark, compelling gaze. “I truly do not know.”
Chapter 11
Tristan waited in the shadows as the frumpy maid neared.
His patience had been severely strained over the past few days.
When he had returned to London he had presumed it would be a simple matter to encounter Lady Gilbert and confront her with his ultimatum. After all, she was always gadding from one social function to another.
But strangely the usually flamboyant widow had cloistered herself in her home and refused to receive even her most devoted admirers.
The gossip had, of course, already started to twitter through town. The less vicious of the Ton implied that she was nursing a heart broken by Mr. Ravel, while others were convinced that she was attempting to conceal the fact that she was carrying his bastard.
Tristan was indifferent to her reason for retreating from society. His only concern was ensuring she realized the danger she faced if she did not give him what he desired.
After dawdling to speak with a local charwoman, the maid at last continued down the street and with silent steps Tristan moved forward to block her path.
“Ah, my lovely damsel in distress,” he murmured with a lethal smile. “I do hope you have recovered from your trying experience?”
Giving a small squeak at his abrupt appearance, the maid took a hasty step backward before realizing he was the gentleman who had saved her only a fortnight before.
“Oh, yes sir.”
“Good. I should hate to think those wretched men had harmed you.”
“Only thanks to you, sir.”
“It is always my pleasure to be of help to a lovely maiden,” he answered smoothly.
As expected the woman’s eyes widened with pleasure. With her plain features and hair more like straw than silk, he did not doubt he was the first gentleman ever to give her such a compliment.
“Lovely? Me?”
“But of course.” Glancing down at the basket she carried in her hands, he lifted a silver brow. “Are you returning to Lady Gilbert’s?”
“Yes, sir,” she readily admitted, unaware that he was carefully steering her in the direction he desired. “I fear she is feeling rather poorly and I nipped out to get a few of those pastries my ma bakes. They are favorites of her ladyship.”
“How very thoughtful of you.”
“I do not like seeing her so blue deviled.”
“No, indeed.” Tristan tapped his chin with a thoughtful finger, pretending a concern for the woman he intended to destroy. “I have missed seeing her about as well. Is she ill?”
“A lingering pain in her head.”
“Ah, how tedious for her.”
“’Tis most unusual. She has always been blessed with a steady constitution. Not at all like most ladies who are forever swooning and taking to their beds.”
“She will no doubt be up and about before long.” Tristan reached beneath his jacket to pull out a small package he had wrapped in paper. “In the meantime I wonder if you will give her this trifling gift that I purchased for her?”
Annoyingly the maid hesitated as she regarded him with a faint frown.
“Would you not rather give it to her yerself ?”
He resisted the urge to knock her to the ground for her impertinence.
“It might be several days before I am able to see her again. I hope this will brighten her spirits.”
With clear reluctance the maid took the package he offered. “Very well.”
“Do not delay in giving it to her,” he commanded in stern tones. “I am certain it will help to make her forget all about the pain in her head.”
“Yes, I will, sir.”
