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 needed to know about your sister?’
‘Yes, my lord. Once it was clear that Morwenna’s death had been an accident, I had no reason to stay.’ She smiled. ‘I had to get back to my singing. And my friends expected me to return. My life is with them.’
‘So you had no reason to stay.’
Those unfathomable eyes didn’t as much as blink. ‘Sir—my lord—what are you saying?’
Gawain took Elise’s slender wrist and tugged her off the street and under the eaves of one of the houses. A peculiar tightness was centred in his chest. He couldn’t account for it, although he suspected it had something to do with Elise.
‘There was nothing lasting between us,’ he muttered.
‘Gawain, why are you looking at me like that?’
‘God forgive me,’ he said, pulling her close. One arm slid round her waist and the moment her body was aligned with his, Gawain’s tension eased. Better. He caught her by the chin and tilted her face up—her mouth lay a mere inch away. He breathed in the subtle fragrance of musk and ambergris. Better still. Did she taste the same as she had done last winter? She’d been sweet as honey. His eyes fixed on her lips.
‘Gawain?’
His mouth met hers in a whisper of a kiss. There’d been nothing between them, yet he hadn’t wanted her to leave. And until this moment he hadn’t realised how strongly he’d missed her. How much he’d enjoyed his time with her.
‘Elise,’ Gawain muttered, as he came up briefly for air. She tasted just as sweet. Enchanting. And then he was kissing her again. Hungrily. Eagerly. She was more of an armful—more womanly—than she had been last winter. He liked the difference. A thrill shot through him as their tongues touched. It felt as it had always felt with Elise, that she had been made for him.
He slid his hand down the curve of her buttock and lifted his head with some reluctance. ‘Mon Dieu, Elise. I know we made no vows to each other, but you didn’t even say goodbye. I worried about you.’
She was breathless and it was pleasing to see the roses back in her cheeks. She wasn’t unmoved. He hadn’t liked to think that she’d found it easy to walk away without as much as a backward glance.
‘I...I am sorry, my lord.’ She eased back, fingering her mouth, which was flushed from his kiss. ‘Was...was that a farewell kiss?’
As Gawain released her, he noted with surprise that it went very much against the grain to do so. Lord, this woman was a trial to him. She had been from the beginning. A quiet shy woman who had him in knots without even trying. He would have liked to continue kissing her, but of course he shouldn’t have kissed her in the first place. It hadn’t helped. It had made him long for more, which was impossible. He must think about his future. He was going to marry Lady Rowena de Sainte-Colombe. However, it was hard to think about Lady Rowena, whom he had never met, when Elise was looking up at him with that dark, hard-to-read look in her eyes. She fascinated him.
He leaned his hip against the corner of the house. ‘You may call it a farewell kiss if you wish. Elise, I came to find you because I need to know you are well. That woman you live with—’
‘Vivienne. She’s a good friend.’
‘You’ve known her for long? Is she