“Your name, fair lady?” Sir Elliot entreated to the laughter of all the men below who watched his performance. He was on the widow’s list. The very widow who was watching them now. He could feel her penetrative gaze, waiting for him to react to this situation as he should and introduce Flick.
Flick looked back at him. “What do I do?” she whispered.
“Answer him, or he’ll keep going. Or I can, if you wish. Or we can just leave.” But they couldn’t—not really. Not with so many witnesses and Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s heavy attention.
“Tristan,” she said, her voice soft and pleading. Her voice sank through the stone wall around his heart, and he almost flinched.
“Whatever you want me to do, I’ll do.”
“I’ll meet him. I suppose that is what I should do.” A flush of red washed over her upper chest, and her breathing quickened. “I must face this.”
“You don’t need to.”
Sir Elliot was a perfectly fine gentleman. A patron of the theatrical arts. Two thousand pounds a year and only thirty-six years of age. Why was he here so early?
She stood, sending a smile to the fool. A cheer rose. Sir Elliot began to climb the stairs dramatically, as if they really were on a stage, performing for his audience. She smiled at his antics, and Tristan stood, prepared for the most grueling introduction he’d ever make, but the widow, still standing at the top of the stairs, beat him to it.
“This masked maiden is a special guest of mine, Sir Elliot. You may not know her name. You’ll have to earn it.”
Murmurs spread at her words, and Tristan bit back a curse. Flick was now a game for them.
Sir Elliot bowed low.
“Ay me!” she said.
His face brightened as he stood. “She speaks. O speak again, bright angel—”
“That’s enough,” Tristan cut in.
Sir Elliot glanced around her to him. “Mr. Chase, an unexpected pleasure.”
“Mr. Chase has agreed to squire my special guest around for a few evenings and ensure she has a lovely time,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon warned the gamblers.
“Indubitably,” Sir Eliot agreed.
Tristan rolled his eyes.
“May I escort you to the floor? How shall I address this fair maiden?”
“Uh, you may call me . . . Lady Mystery.”
“Perfect,” Mrs. Dove-Lyon agreed.
Tristan wanted to groan, but now he was relegated to follower as Flick accepted Sir Elliot’s offered arm. She was still wound tight, a slight tremble in her voice, but she went with him. As they descended to the main floor, she looked back once at him, briefly smiling. Tristan smiled back. He couldn’t stop her, and he bloody well wouldn’t discourage her. This is what she wanted—what she needed. He had to accept it anyhow. It wasn’t as if he could offer for her himself.
Chapter Five
Her heart waspounding, but as Sir Elliot squired her around the floor, explaining some of the games and offering introductions to some of the other gentlemen, albeit older and likely married, Felicity calmed. He had lovely auburn hair, thick, and styled in the Brutus fashion. His eyes were green and vibrant. He wore clothes so fine she couldn’t name the fabric. Was his jacket made of blue velvet? These wealthy men were so polished and colorful. They reminded her of birds.
She could do this. She could be amongst a crowded room of men and feel... not relaxed, but not like she was about to be attacked. She never used to feel this way. She had enjoyed outings in her home village, helping her neighbors, baking for the village fair, and helping her father during services.
She’d never had to be afraid before. Not until Chadwick Revere. He’d shown her the truth, the things her father had alluded to like wickedness, evil, and sinning. It wasn’t until after her attack that she realized those sins were unfairly applicable only to her. When she’d needed help, when she was lying in pain in her darkest moment, her father had blamed her for Chadwick’s actions.
Shewas the wicked sinner.Shehad done something terrible, for which now onlyshehad to repent.
Felicity found herself staring down at the floor, being jostled by passing gentlemen. She immediately looked to Tristan, and he was there, just behind her.
“We can leave whenever you’re ready,” he said, close enough to her to not have to say it loudly. Her other hand was still wrapped around Sir Elliot’s elbow.
