“How can I resist?” He flashed a smile at her. She suspected he was trying to be charming. Unusual for a gadje. Few outsiders were interested in Romani women.
“Have you coin?”
“Of course.”
She skimmed her gaze over his clothing. Despite the eyepatch, he was dressed well enough. He would have coin and likely more than she would ever have.
“Please enter.”
Orelia motioned into the tent and adjusted her headscarf. Her mother had always dressed deliberately with large earrings and bright scarfs, so she attempted to do the same. Unfortunately, most visitors expected some wise old woman to tell their fortune and even a few scarfs would not make up for her lack of wrinkles.
The man sat on the tiny chair. He seemed to occupy her tent to capacity. His shoulders were broad and filled the deep brown wool coat. His legs were long too and when she sat, her bare feet brushed his shins. His teeth flashed again.
She turned up the lamp and held out her hands. This was always the difficult part. She was a fairly talented liar—it came with the territory—but she sensed this man would not be easily fooled.
He offered her his hands, but she shook her head. “You’ve never had your fortune told before, have you?”
He chuckled. “No. I suppose I tend to make my own.”
“You must cross my palms with coin.”
“Well, that is one way of saying I must pay you.” He pulled out a coin and held it for a moment. “But if I do not like my fortune?”
“I can only tell you what I sense. That is what you pay me for. Whether you take away a positive experience, that I cannot guarantee.”
He placed the coin in her palm and she closed her fingers around it before slipping it into the purse on her belt. Then she laid out her hands again and motioned for his. They were warm and soft, far softer than her own. The hairs on her arms prickled, and she had to glance away from him for a moment to gather herself.
Orelia looked back at him and at the confident, slightly lopsided smile on his face. He didn’t look away. She closed her eyes, unable to stare into that one eye for any longer.
Using the moment to gather what she had seen of him, she took deep breaths and rolled her head from one side to the other. “What is your name?”
“Shouldn’t you—?”
“Your name.”
“N-Noah.”
There was uncertainty there. Strange for a man who walked and talked as though he owned the world. His accent was refined too. From his soft hands and nice clothing, she imagined he worked with words. A lawyer perhaps. A writer. Or perhaps a doctor.
No, he was too young for that and far too handsome. Doctors, in her limited experience, were old and ugly, and terrifying.
“I sense that you are reaching a busy time in your life.”
He said nothing, so she opened her eyes to gauge his reaction.
“You use paper a lot in your daily business.”
“I suppose.”
“And ink.”
Though there were no ink stains on his fingers. Oh dear, had she been wrong? Why could her mother not have done this? Why did everything always have to be left up to her?
“I write letters at times, yes.”
“You work with numbers too.”
He lifted a shoulder. “Certainly.”
“An accountant,” she announced.
He grinned. “You are very good.”
Orelia relaxed a little. What a gamble that had been. “You have had trouble with women, though.”
“That is true.”
“You would like to find your true love.”
“Always.”
Was it her imagination or had his grip on her hands tightened ever-so-slightly?
“You need patience, but she is waiting for you. It shall take time, however.”
“How might I find her?”
“Wait. She shall come to you.”
“And what of my work? Shall I find success there?”
She paused for effect and closed her eyes for the briefest moment. Then she smiled. “You shall indeed. I see a great need for your line of business. You shall find yourself busy and wealthy too.”
“Goodness, wealth and love. It looks as though I am in for a lucky year.”
“You are indeed, sir.”
She tugged her hands away from his and he leaned against the table. “If I am in need of more advice, should I return?”
Orelia clamped down on the tiny whirl of excitement dancing in her stomach. She was merely excited about the prospect of more money. That was all. It had nothing to do with his deep, enchanting voice or that dashing smile.
“I am always happy to offer advice.”
She would have to spend the rest of the night considering what else she could tell him, however. Most of those who wanted their fortunes told were usually happy to hear they would find love and grow richer. But not this man. She tilted her head to view him. He really was not at all the usual sort of man to frequent her tent, so what did he think he would gain by returning?
Chapter Three
Well Reed could thoroughly blame himself for making no progress with his investigation yesterday.
He slipped on his cap and adjusted his eyepatch before slipping out of the back of the house. The gypsy fair was two miles down the road, hence the quartermaster asking for his help. He’d rather prefer to think of himself as indispensable to the Secret Service—especially considering all the successes he’d had in France, exposing Napoleon’s plans and tracking down French spies deep in the gut of England—but the government’s attempt at stopping Napoleon being murdered was half-hearted at best. At least if they put him on the job, they could say they tried, but he suspected they would not much care if he was killed while under their care, even if it did cause contempt between their two countries.
He strolled down the village lane and admired the golden light flickering across the countryside as the sun lowered. Slashes of pink mingled with it, meaning they were in for a wet day tomorrow. He would not much like to be living in a gypsy camp when the skies opened. None of those wagons looked particularly cozy or watertight.
Setting a brisk pace, he came to the outskirts of the field on which the gypsies had made camp. Reed shook his head at himself. He was losing his touch. He should have come away with enough information to move forward in his investigation. Instead, he’d spent too long listening to that girl’s terrible fortune-telling. He had little idea if such a skill existed but if it did, she certainly did not have it.
Several locals milled around the camp. Since the gypsies had come to Hampshire they’d been greeted with a mix of fascination and fear. Some demanded they move on instantly while others wanted to watch them, a little like a circus act or stage play. Reed was aware that some of the finer ladies in the area visited because of some morbid fascination with the Romani way of life. A drop of excitement in their dull lives perhaps. He couldn’t blame them. Not long in England and he was already seeking out adventures.
And certainly not those of the marriage variety.
He picked his way across the camp and found himself heading directly toward the girl’s tent. He’d hardly been aware he was doing it. A smirk lingered on his lips. What would his mother say if she knew he was spending time with a gypsy girl rather than some fine, well-bred, and dull lady? After their argument yesterday about her antics, she had upped and left for London. With any luck, she would stay there for some time. As much as he loved her, he could do without her interference, especially during an investigation.
The tent flap remained closed and he picked it aside only to find it empty. He tried not to be disappointed. After all, it merely meant he could find someone else to question. What would a young gypsy girl know of plots to kill emperors anyway? The scent of flowers and heather lingered in the tent.
The smell had remained on him last night too. He had gone to bed, breathing it in, and recalling how attractive the girl had been. Her skin was dark, though
not as dark as many of the gypsies. He had to wonder if she was all Romani or if one of her parents was English. And her hair... It was glossy and brown, with wild curls in it. He’d longed to thrust his fingers into it and feel its texture.
Reed forced himself past the tent and into the maze of wagons. The wooden vehicles were of varying colors and worn from travel. But the interesting style of them distracted from the chipped wood and dilapidated wheels a little. To most of his fellow countrymen—who were a darn sight less travelled than he—they would look exotic with their curved roofs and wooden decorations.
He eyed the vehicles, glancing between them. He wasn’t entirely sure what he was searching for. Someone to talk to, perhaps. Mingling with gypsy society was not nearly as easy as slipping into French society. The gypsies did not trust outsiders. He could not blame them really. They had been treated poorly indeed in the past and would likely continue to come up against discrimination in future.
French nobility, however, was much the same as the English. They admired courage, arrogance, and wealth. He had all three and was quite apt at showing it off. None of those would appeal to these folk, however.
It had not even seemed to appeal to the girl.
Damn it. He needed to focus.
A scream pierced the air.
His heart immediately took to hammering, his senses on alert. Reed twisted in the direction of the sound and raced through the maze. He barreled to a stop when a man burst from one of the wagons. The fortune-teller from yesterday was already on the ground, hands shielding her face. An older woman stood at the top of the stairs to the wagon, screaming at the girl, but Reed could hardly make out what was being shouted.
The brute of a man, who appeared unsteady on his feet, bore down on the girl. Reed could wait no longer.
He sprinted forward and placed himself between the girl and what was surely a drunkard. The haze of alcohol was so pungent that he had to wonder if the chap had not bathed in the stuff. The man’s eyes focused in on him.
“Get out the way, gadje.”
“If you have a problem with the lady, you can take it up with me.”
He snorted. “Lady?”
“Do we have a problem?” Reed asked, his voice cool. The man was wide, though not as tall as Reed. Still, Reed had every confidence he could lay him out with one punch, particularly given his drunken state.
“Get out the way!” the drunkard demanded, a pungent breath escaping him. “This has nothing to do with you.”
“If you are trying to harm the lady, it certainly does.”
“Noah,” came a feminine plea from behind him.
He almost forgot he’d told her that was his name until she tugged his arm. The brute attempted to push him aside to get to her so Reed came at him with a swift punch. It was not intended to do damage, just stop him in his tracks. And it did. The man staggered a little and stumbled back onto the steps. The woman screeched and hastened down to his side.
“Look what you’ve done, Orelia,” she wailed at the girl.
Reed turned his attention to the girl—Orelia, he assumed. An ugly bruise was already rising on her cheek. He curled a fist and faced the man. Thrusting a finger out at him, he snarled, “Touch her again and you will pay for it.”
The drunk, nursing a sore jaw while the woman fussed around him, narrowed his gaze. “She is a little whore. Needs a good beating. You cannot stop me.”
“Bast—”
Orelia yanked on Reed’s arm and tugged him away. He wouldn’t fight her, not after what she had just been through. When they were far away from the scene and tucked between the wagons, he turned her to face him. What little glow from the various vehicles there was revealed the full extent of her injury. He lifted her face and she let him.
“That’s a mighty fine bruise.”
She curled her arms around herself and shrugged. “It will fade.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
A sad smile curved her lips. “Not often.”
“But it does happen.”
“Simen is a terrible drunk.”
“Is he your husband?”
“Certainly not!”
“Your father.”
She shook her head. “He is my mother’s lover. My father died years ago.”
Reed studied this beautiful woman. And she really was beautiful. Her hair hung loose around her shoulders and she wore that ridiculous colored scarf around her head and those huge earrings but there was no distracting from the striking look of her features. Wide, full lips, and dark, almond-shaped eyes framed by arched eyebrows that gave her this ridiculously exotic look. Her lashes were long too and every time she fluttered them, she appeared to be beckoning to him.
“He’s a brute.”
Orelia nodded and chuckled. “That he is. I thank you for your help.”
He took his cue to step back though he could not help wanting to touch her face some more. Her skin was so damn soft. “You could do with a cold steak to press against that.” He nodded to the bruise on her cheek.
She laughed. “And where should we find one of those?”
Likely at his house, but he could hardly tell her that.
“The river then, the cool water will help.”
“It will be fine. I should get back to work.”
“You still owe me another fortune telling.”
Inwardly, he kicked himself. His mission had not changed. He still needed to find out who these gypsies were that had been on the ship bringing supplies to Napoleon. If he could track them down, he’d have his culprits.
But Orelia flashed a bright smile. “So I do. Come on then.” Then she grabbed his hand.
It was such an innocent move. A delicate palm in his. He’d had women thrust their breasts at him, even grab his hand and press them against their curvaceous bodies. He’d experienced enough sordid pleasure to taint everything. Yet he could not deny the touch of her hand, curled trustingly in his, sent a torrent of heat through him.
It had been the same when she’d been telling his fortune. That ribbon of desire had woven carefully through him, entwining around his insides and making him forget himself. Of course, he had gone along and agreed with everything she had said. If she knew who he really was, the game would be up. He doubted she would recognize him without the ridiculous fake moustache and eyepatch, but some people would.
She led him into the tent and lit a lamp. They were enclosed in their own tiny world and he could not think how easy it would be to...to what? Kiss her? Perhaps.
He suspected she would like it. But he did not need the distraction. He had to remember that.
Palms open, mischievousness glinted in her eyes. He gave an exaggerated sigh and sat. Offering the coin, he pressed it into her palm and closed his hand over hers. “I hope this wealth I have been promised appears soon. I shall find myself desperately poor at this rate.”
“Well, if you do not let me tell your fortune, how can I say?”
He released her hand and immediately missed her touch. Thankfully she took his hands again, staring deep into his one eye. He suddenly longed to be rid of the damned disguise. At least if he wasn’t wearing an eyepatch, he’d be able to stare back properly.
And admire her fully.
She went through the same act as the previous day, closing her eyes and taking deep breaths while smoothing her fingers over his hands. Her own hands were work-worn but pretty. Certainly not made for arduous work. What a pity.
Reed found himself watching the movements of her lips while she took in those breaths. She parted them slightly then closed them, parted then closed. It was like some miraculous dance designed to make him as frustrated as possible. Those lips would taste spectacular, he could just tell.
“Your riches shall be with you soon, but you must work hard for them.”
He hardly heard a word. In his mind, he was pushing aside the flimsy table and drawing her hard against him. Kissing her. Touching her.
“The answers you seek are there
, but you must try something different.”
He stared at her mouth. Touching. Stripping. Tasting.
“Your usual plans will not work. If you are to succeed, you must accept help.”
Kissing her deep. Taking her hard. Making her cry out.
“Are you willing to accept help, Noah?”
“Oh yes.” The deep, sensuous tone of his voice surprised even him. He snapped his gaze to hers. “I mean, yes. Of course.”
She looked at him intently and he had to wonder if she had not miraculously gained the power to see his future. Before he could say anything, the tent flap opened, and he jumped to his feet. Simen snatched Orelia and dragged her out of the tent. Reed follower her out, ready to lay out the man a second time if needs be. The mother was there too and already screaming at her daughter. Orelia tore herself away from Simen and the two women began talking over one another. Reed hardly knew what he should do so he stood between her and the drunk.
“You are too much trouble, Orelia.” Her mother thrust a finger at her.
“You’re just going to let him treat me like that?”
“If you would just behave...”
“I do behave, Mama. I have been working hard since we arrived. All you do is sleep and drink and—”
Simen stepped forward, forcing Reed close to Orelia.
“You treat your mother with respect,” Simen demanded.
“Why?” Orelia whirled on him. “She does not treat me with any.”
Her mother lifted her hands and shook her head. “Well, it does not matter anymore. I have found a new home for you.”
Orelia dropped back a little. “What do you mean?”
“Cappie wishes to have you. He said he would give me coin for you. I’ve told him you’re a hard worker, so you had better prove me right. You are too much trouble for me.” Her mother gave a weary shake of her head.
The pain written across Orelia’s face stung. Who was the person? And what sort of a mother would sell her daughter? It was clear Orelia had been dealing with much more than he had realized.
“You have sold me?”
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