Turning about, he darted downstairs and made for the kitchen. The room was chilly – completely devoid of life. There was no longer any doubt in Simon’s mind. Miss Strong was gone. She’d left him and…
Dear God.
What if she’d been taken? What if the man who’d attacked her last night in the alley had followed them here after all and snatched her away? She’d been alone, completely without the protection he’d promised he would provide. And he, damnable fool, had assured her she’d be all right here until he returned. He’d thrust a pistol into her hand and left her.
With a surge of panic prompting him to imagine the worst, Simon stalked through the house while searching for signs of a struggle. What he found was an unmade bed, a discarded cookbook in the library, and a biscuit tin on the kitchen counter along with a half empty teapot. He paused at that. She’d made tea for herself. A frown knit his brow as he glanced around with increased scrutiny. There were no signs of a struggle, no indication she’d been hurt or taken. And yet, he refused to believe she’d decide to walk away without even bothering to leave him a note.
Although it did appear as though this was precisely what she had done.
The panic started to simmer, then boil, until it turned to anger.
Here he was, an idiot holding a very expensive bouquet of flowers, almost desperate for the company of a woman who was by all accounts beneath him in every conceivable way, and she had the audacity to quit their partnership without having the decency to face him?
He ought not be surprised. Good God, she was a fallen woman, for heaven’s sake. Although he would have expected Matthew to have raised his daughter with better manners and—
“Oh. You’re finally here.”
Simon spun around so fast he almost lost his balance. He wobbled slightly, regained his footing, and stared at Miss Strong, who’d somehow materialized directly behind him in the hallway. “Where the hell have you been?”
She crossed her arms and raised both eyebrows. “I was hungry, so I went to get something to eat.”
Simon’s anger deflated. A knot formed in his gut. It was hard for him to remember when he’d last felt as small as he did in that moment. What had he been thinking?
“Christ,” he murmured, recalling the lovely breakfast he’d enjoyed hours earlier. He dropped his gaze and considered the tips of his shoes. “An obvious slight on my part for which I can only hope you’ll accept my sincerest apologies.”
Cretin.
He wasn’t used to setting up houseguests and hadn’t spared food a thought. At home it was simply always there and ready at the allocated hours.
“You’re as much of a fish out of water as I am, I suspect.” She offered a smile. “Change takes time to get used to.”
“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”
“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Those are lovely by the way.”
He blinked, followed her line of sight, and recalled the flowers he still held in his hand. “Right. I mean, yes. They’re for you.” He handed them to her. “Not in a romantic or seductive way,” he quickly added when her eyebrows rose in surprise. “I just…thought you might like them. That’s all.”
Her smile widened. “Thank you. I’ve never received flowers from anyone before.”
Just as he’d suspected, then. A rush of warmth filled his chest, fanning out until it encompassed his whole body. There was something wonderfully satisfying about making Miss Strong happy. Perhaps because of how appreciative she was of things most women he’d known took for granted.
“Come on. Let’s find a vase.” She glanced over her shoulder at him while heading toward the kitchen. “How are your cooking skills, Lord Fielding?”
“My what?”
“Never mind. I’ll find out for myself soon enough.”
Simon dared not begin to imagine what she had in mind, but he followed her anyway, though not without a great deal of apprehension and a very succinct, “God help me.”
After appeasing her hunger with a steak and kidney pie she’d bought from a small shop two streets over, Ida had purchased all the ingredients she required for the stew and tea buns she wished to make. She’d set the basket she’d used for her shopping aside on the kitchen counter as soon as she’d walked through the door and heard Simon yelling. While it had not been her intention to make him worry about her, it warmed her to know he had.
“Would you please unpack the shopping for me while I see to the flowers?” Whatever his reason for buying them for her, she truly appreciated the gesture.
“Where should I put everything?”
“On the counter. Or on the table. Wherever there’s space.” She was sure she’d spotted a vase in one of these cabinets earlier when she’d been hunting for food. Ah yes, here it was.
She turned, and immediately blinked in response to the long neat row of items he’d laid out on the table. “It doesn’t have to be so organized.”
