If only she knew him better. Most knights would gladly wash their hands of any responsibility for their illegitimate children. She looked through the crowd at his fair head, heart beating like a drum. A count might do anything he wished.
Dear Heaven, Gawain—here in Troyes. This changed everything.
Lord, he was looking over his shoulder. Her heart leaped into her throat. He was looking right at her! Shrinking back, she trod on someone’s foot.
A woman scowled at her. ‘Watch it!’
‘My apologies,’ Elise muttered.
Turning away, she stumbled into the Rue du Bois.
Her mind was in chaos, but one thought dominated. Gawain Steward, Count of Meaux, was in Troyes, and he had seen her. Heart pumping, she kept her head down and pushed her way through a group of merchants talking by the entrance to one of the cloth halls.
‘Excuse me. My pardon, sir.’
‘Elise? Elise!’
Gawain was about twenty yards behind her and the air was full of noise—the braying of a mule, the honking of a goose—yet she heard the jingle of harness. Hoofbeats. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes fixed on a small girl clinging to her mother’s skirts. What was the point? She couldn’t outrun him. True, the street was busy and she might dive into an alley, but there were children here and that brute of a horse was trained to barrel its way through anything. Someone might get hurt.
Drawing in a deep breath, she turned. Her mind was a complete blank. She didn’t have the first idea how she would greet him. Lord Gawain, what a pleasant surprise. I trust you are in good health. By the by, I had a baby. I am hoping she will have your eyes. Heavens, she couldn’t say that. She didn’t want to tell him about Pearl. She needed time to think, but it didn’t look as though she was going to get it.
‘Elise? Elise Chantier?’
Elise stood quite still as he approached, steeling herself not to back away from that great bay. The animal might look ungovernable, but Gawain could control him. She craned her neck to look up at him.
‘Lord Gawain!’ She dropped him a curtsy. ‘What a pleasant surprise.’
There was a creak of leather as he dismounted and gestured at his squire to take the reins. He offered Elise his arm. ‘Walk with me.’
Elise tipped her head on one side and managed a smile. ‘Is that a command, my lord?’
He was taller than she had remembered. Larger. The sound and colour of the busy street faded as she looked at him. At those deep brown eyes—how could she have forgotten those grey flecks? Or those long eyelashes? And his nose, that aquiline shape was so distinctive. Elise had loved his nose. She had liked to run her finger down it as a prelude to a kiss. His mouth... As her gaze skimmed over it, she felt her smile freeze. His mouth was tight. He looked...not angry, exactly. He looked weary. How strange. He didn’t look like a man who had just inherited a vast estate.
‘Walk with me, Elise.’
‘Yes, my lord.’
Gawain glanced at his squire. ‘Meet me in half an hour, Aubin. Outside the castle gatehouse.’
‘Yes, mon seigneur.’
* * *
When Elise put her hand lightly on his sleeve, Gawain, Count of Meaux, let out a relieved sigh. Gawain had been looking for Elise and he was pleased—far more pleased than he ought to be—to have found her. He set off in the direction of the Preize Gate. ‘It will be quieter once we get clear of the streets round the market,’ he said.
Elise smiled and nodded and pushed her veil over her shoulder. Her cheeks were flushed. It was too warm for a cloak and Gawain could see the rise and fall of her breasts beneath her gown. He frowned. There was something different about her. Her eyes were the same, and her face...but something was different.
‘I didn’t expect to see you, my lord. I thought you were in the Ile-de-France.’
‘You heard about my uncle.’
She nodded and looked away. ‘I expect you will be leaving again soon.’
Something about her tone grated. Gawain frowned thoughtfully at her profile. ‘That would please you?’
Her colour deepened to crimson and he imagined he saw a flash of guilt. What could she have to feel guilty about? Last winter she had enjoyed their time together as much as he had. There was no question of that. He couldn’t have misread her so badly. She is hiding something.
‘Not at all, my lord,’ she murmured. ‘It is good to see you.’
Gawain decided not to probe. If she wanted to keep things from him, that was up to her. There was, after all, no real connection between them. Once he had reassured himself that all was well with her, he could forget all about her. He had his own life to lead. He was about to meet his betrothed, Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe. ‘You found the ribbon you were looking for?’
She shot him a startled glance. ‘You’ve been to the pavilion.’
Elise was walking discreetly at his side. There were several inches between them and Gawain didn’t like it. He was taken with the impulse to wind his hand round her waist and bring her closer. Instead, he gave her a curt nod. ‘A friend mentioned seeing you in Strangers’ City.’
She was silent for a space. ‘A Guardian Knight, I assume. I’ve seen their patrols.’
He nodded. ‘When I found your tent, the woman who lives with you told me you’d gone to buy ribbon.’ Gawain put his hand on her arm. ‘Elise, how have you been? Is all well with you?’
‘I am very well, my lord.’
‘That is good to hear. Did you find the success you were after?’
‘My lord?’
‘Your ambitions as a chanteuse.’
The colour went from her cheeks. ‘I...I haven’t done as much singing as I thought I would.’
‘Oh?’ Gawain watched her whilst he waited for her answer. It struck him that they were addressing one another as though they’d only just met. A potter hurried past leading a donkey laden with pots. The man would never suspect that they’d been lovers. Elise hadn’t answered and Gawain leaned in. The scent of her—a heady combination of musk and ambergris and warm woman—hit him like a blow to his stomach. He almost groaned out loud. Elise. She had been the perfect bedmate.
‘You left without warning,’ Gawain heard himself say. The words were out before he could stop them.
Dark eyes watched him. Large and unfathomable. She’d never been an easy woman to read. Except when they were in bed. She’d been a rare joy in bed. And not only that—she’d had enough experience to know which herbs to take to stop her conceiving. Yes, a rare joy indeed. But this woman staring up at him was unfathomable. ‘I had to leave.’ Slender shoulders lifted. ‘My time in Champagne was over.’
‘Because you’d found everything you
