“I didn’t,” he said equally flatly.
“So why are you here?”
“Circumstances have changed.”
“They’ve changed for you. I hear you asserted your claim to the title with minimal fuss.”
After deploring his disinheritance all these years, he hardly cared anymore whether he was Viscount Hillbrook or plain Jonas Merrick. Both were pitiful sods. “Once the clergyman’s signature was confirmed, all barriers crumbled.”
“Congratulations,” she said with no warmth, although with no spite either. It was as though she didn’t care. This new Sidonie didn’t seem to care about much. “Is being a viscount all you expected?”
“It has its benefits.” He couldn’t immediately think of any when he stared at the woman he wanted but could never have. “It means dealing with a lot of toadies and sycophants.”
“So it’s not worthwhile?”
He shrugged. “It’s what I was born for.”
“Yes.”
An awkward pause fell. He’d descended upon her certain of what he meant to say and how he meant to say it. But this wan, impassive girl vanquished his domineering intentions. He’d thought Sidonie vulnerable in Newgate when he’d played the bully fit to rival William. This woman before him now was so fragile, she looked as if she’d shatter into a million pieces if he so much as touched her.
She sidled toward the path, carefully keeping her distance. “I’m glad you got what you wanted, Jonas. I’m glad you’ve reclaimed your name and your parents’ honor is no longer in question. I wish you well. I know you won’t believe it, but I only ever wished you well.”
She must think him the biggest slow-top in Creation. Fragile or not, he wasn’t letting her go like this. “Not so fast, bella.”
The endearment slipped out inadvertently. He cursed his reckless tongue. He’d promised himself no matter how livid he was, he’d be calm and reasonable and treat her as a beautiful stranger. He’d persuade, not coerce. He’d prevail without unleashing either rage or hurt.
Jonas should have known she’d shoot good intentions to hell. She always shot good intentions to hell.
He mightn’t trust himself to touch her, but nonetheless he reached for her arm. Through the cloak, he felt its thinness. His grip gentled, although he’d meant to be stern with her, not tender.
She didn’t withdraw. He had a horrible feeling she hardly noticed his touch. She’d always noticed his touch. Three months apart had turned her into someone he barely recognized. She stood docile under his hand as if nothing united them, as if that tumultuous, radiant week had never existed, as if they were indeed strangers.
Anger stirred but he ruthlessly reined it in. He had a task to accomplish and losing his temper wouldn’t help. “Don’t you have something to tell me?”
She didn’t look at him but her face under the ugly bonnet went deathly white. “No.”
“Don’t lie, Sidonie.”
“I have nothing to say to you, Jonas.” Slowly she turned to him, her eyes glassy. Trembling in his hold, she raised her free hand to her bloodless lips. “Please let me go.”
“Not on your life,” he said grimly, tightening his grip.
“Please… I beg of you.” To his alarm she started to sway. Her complexion developed a green tinge to rival the Serpentine. “Please.”
The Sidonie he’d known would defy him, insist he remove his hand. This woman spoke in a faded voice that made him want to smash something.
“Hell, Sidonie, you break my bloody heart.” He caught her as her knees crumpled and she slumped toward the dry winter grass.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sidonie basked in warmth and safety. She knew immediately that Jonas’s arms held her high against his chest. How she’d missed this feeling. She’d been cold, so cold since he’d gone away. With an inarticulate sound of contentment, she pressed her cheek into the fine wool of his coat. If this was a dream, she didn’t want to wake.
Reluctant awareness pricked like a knife. Jonas only carried her because she’d collapsed at his feet. How humiliating. How distressing. How… revealing.
Her beautiful fantasy where Jonas wanted her shattered into bitter reality. She cursed her weakness. She’d tried to eat breakfast, but she’d felt too tired and ill to do more than swallow a few mouthfuls. Last night, she’d forced herself to eat but hadn’t been able to keep any food down.
Why, oh, why hadn’t she gone north immediately after leaving Wiltshire instead of staying within Jonas’s reach? But she was so sick all the time, the long coach journey wasn’t feasible. And she was grimly aware that if Jonas wanted to track her down, the likelihood was that he would.