Chapter Eight
Orelia could not help but smile when Reed pressed the moustache over his lip, donned the eyepatch and placed on his floppy cap.
“What exactly am I to call you?” she asked as they made their way from the house back up to the field they had walked across the previous night.
In the morning light, the house appeared even more grand. If that was possible. She had spent most of the morning pacing around the outside of it. She only managed three laps before he joined her. She still could not quite understand why one family needed so much house and why everything had to be gold or marbled or covered in sumptuous fabrics.
Though, she had to admit, she would not complain about the bedding. She couldn’t recall the last time she had slept so well. It was certainly more pleasant than sleeping on a straw mattress next to her mother whose alcohol-tinged breath used to fill the small space so quickly that Orelia felt like she was suffocating.
“Noah, of course.”
“Oh yes, I forgot.”
“It was the first thing that came to mind,” he confessed.
“I did not see him this morning.”
“He was likely eating in the study. Noah enjoys nothing more than a morning of pouring over letters.”
“And you do not.”
He gave a mock shudder. “Not particularly.”
“I imagine that does not make you a very good duke. I do not know much about what a duke does, but I always imagined it meant lots of letters.”
“My brother makes an excellent replacement for me.” He grinned.
She peered at him. His rather casual approach to being a nobleman seemed forced somehow. She could not quite fathom how or why, however.
Orelia glanced over his body, taking in the plain brown clothing. She was back in her own basic gown—that was at least now clean. He still looked dashing somehow. Although perhaps that had more to do with the knowledge she had seen him in exquisitely made breeches and a waistcoat.
The sight of him standing in the drawing room, his hands clasped behind his back while he waited for her to sit as if she really was a lady had made her heart flutter. No, more than flutter. Dance...reel...jig. Something like that, anyway.
“What am I to tell people of our acquaintance?” she enquired.
“You can tell them I’m your fiancé.”
She blinked at him. “I cannot say such a thing!”
“Why not? I’m sure word of our deal will have spread. I highly doubt your mother nor your intended will have kept it quiet.”
“But...” He was right of course. Blasted man. He had a slightly smug smile on his face too, as if he was quite enjoying pretending to be betrothed to a gypsy girl.
“I shall be ruined, you know,” she muttered.
“Do you really intend to travel on with them once I have paid you?”
She shook her head. Of course, she didn’t. How could she when Cappie would think her an easy mark after her ‘husband’ had vanished and she had no mother to protect her virtue. Cappie had been talking of making her his wife for years. It wouldn’t be hard for him to force her.
She drew in a breath of clean spring air. Would her mother even miss her? Likely not.
“You can take your earnings and start afresh,” Reed suggested. “No one shall know anything of us. You can even find yourself a handsome husband.”
“I have little intention of doing that.”
He offered a hand to help her over the sty and she took it before she even realized what she was doing. She snatched her hand back and jumped down. Her ankle twisted slightly, and she stumbled. Reed gave a chuckle and she narrowed her gaze at him when he nimbly made his way down.
“Why not?” he asked.
“First, I would have to give up my money to him. Secondly, I have yet to meet a man I would be willing to spend every day with.”
“Perhaps you have not been spending time with the right men.” A grin cracked his face. “I do believe we have spent quite some time with each other at this point and you are not fed up with me.”
She thrust a finger at him. “We have hardly spent days together. Two fortunes and an evening is not exactly the equivalent to married life. Besides, you are paying me to tolerate your company.”
He affected a wounded look and came to her side while they traversed the narrow path down the side of the field. “Come now, my company is not so terrible, is it?”
“I have met worse,” she admitted.
“What a compliment.”
She laughed. “For a duke, you’re not easily insulted, are you?”
“Am I going about it wrong then? Should I be insulted? Tell me, Orelia, how should a duke behave?”
“Usually like he has a stick up his arse,” she declared, then clapped a hand across her mouth. “I mean—”
“You mean the upper classes all behave like stuffed shirts.”
“Well, I suppose—”
“You would be right about many of them but not all of us are so bad.”
“No, of course not.”
“Sometimes even us noble folk have bad reputations.” He gave her a little nudge with his elbow. “I hope you shall not judge us as all the same.”
Heat burned her cheeks. Had she not complained about the very same? Most folk saw her people as nothing more than the scourge of the earth but even before Reed had enlisted her help, he’d been charming and pleasant. Now she was doing the same to his people—marking them all the same.
The point on her arm where their bodies had briefly connected felt more singed than her cheeks. She rubbed it absently. “Forgive me.”
“Nothing to forgive.”
“I don’t think you have a stick up your arse.”
He paused and looked at her. “I like that.”
“What?”
“How you say arse.”
Orelia covered her face with her hands. “Oh dear.”
He gently tugged her hands away and looked at her, his eyes warm and bright. “I seldom hear a woman say coarse words. It’s refreshing. Besides, you say it so beautifully.”
“Beautifully?”
“Arse.” He tried to mimic her, his voice soft and high.
“Oh dear Lord,” She giggled.
“Arse, arse, arse.” He offered her his arm and she looped her arm through his before she had even considered what she was doing. “It has quite the ring to it.”
“I suppose it does,” she agreed with a smile. “You know, arse is not the only bad word I know.”
He clapped a hand over his heart. “There’s more? How shall I survive it?”
“And here I thought gentlemen wanted delicate ladies who never said more than two words, and certainly did not curse.”
“Well any gentleman who does is a fool. I cannot understand why ladies are encouraged to be dull, and why gentleman are persuaded to seek dullness. Isn’t it bad enough you have to spend a lifetime together?”
“You know, you might be the richest man in England, but we are not so different I think. Why consign yourself to a life of boredom for the sake of civility?”
“Seventh richest,” he corrected.
She rolled her eyes. As if that made any difference. They still could not be further apart in circumstances. For the moment, however, it didn’t seem to matter.
She let him help her over the second sty. Why, she didn’t know. He really was dangerously charming. If she was not careful, she’d find herself softening completely to him. That would not do at all.
Smoke from the various campfires curled into the sky. The maze of colorful wooden wagons didn’t offer the same comfort as usual, not when she knew she could see her mother or Cappie. How he would react to another man effectively outbidding him for her, she did not know. He liked to use his fists.
Though she had seen Reed fight. For a noble, he certainly knew how to brawl, something she would not have expected from a duke. She supposed his time as a spy must have taught him a thing or two. She so did want to know more of
what he did in France. How envious she was that he’d travelled across the sea and visited other countries. Maybe one day she would do the same. Without Reed’s money, she could never have even considered doing such a thing. At least something positive had come out of this experience.
“Who do you recommend talking to first?”
“Marko might know. He did some work at the docks when we first arrived here.”
“Very well, let us find this Marko.”
They came out into the center of the settlement, where the tents and various craft stalls were gathered. “I don’t know how well he shall take to you. Perhaps you should make yourself busy elsewhere.”
“Afraid I shall sully your reputation.”
“Hardly, but if you want information, you must let me ask on my own.”
“Very well.” He nodded toward the ale kegs. “I shall keep myself occupied and wait here.”
“Don’t get into trouble.”
He lifted his chin. “I shall have you know I am rarely trouble.”
“I said ‘get into’. And I do not believe that for one minute.”
He cracked a smile and made his way to where the cheap, homemade ale was being served. She hoped he didn’t drink much. It was always made from the oldest of hops and often gave people a sore head.
Orelia went in search of Marko, who preferred to spend his time playing cards and trying to beat any visitors. She found him not far from the river’s edge, using an old crate as a table while he bested a young man at whist. She waited until he had beaten him and won his coin before sitting opposite the old man.
He narrowed grey eyes at her. “Little Orelia. Now, I know you do not gamble.”
“I wanted to ask you something, Marko.”
“Should you not be with your husband?” He glanced around as though searching for Reed and scrubbed a hand across his grey beard.
“You know of that already?”
Marko nodded. “Cappie is angry that you were given to someone else.”
She grimaced. She thought he would be. Another reason for her not to remain with her own kind. “My husband is having an ale,” she explained.
“I hope your mother has not given you away to a drunk. Everyone is still surprised she gave you to an outsider.” He leaned across the crate. “Though I heard he paid handsomely for you. I would hope a man willing to pay so much would treat you well.”
“He is treating me well,” she assured him.
“Good.” He picked up the stack of cards and shuffled them. “Good, good. You always were a good girl. Of course, what else could we expect when your father was an outsider?”
Orelia nodded but said nothing. Marko and many others were kind to her but there were many who didn’t like that her skin was lighter than theirs and that her father had not been one of them. She didn’t even remember him, so it always struck her as strange that people would hold it against her. After all, should she be blamed for her mother’s choices? And was that choice so bad? As far as she knew, her mother had loved her father very much. She suspected losing him was what had driven her to drink.
“Will you play?”
“No, I will not leave my husband for long.” Lord, how strange that lie sounded. “Marko, when we first arrived here, did any of the men go out on the ships?”
His brows furrowed. “Why should you wish to know such a thing?”
“My husband had some produce on a ship that sailed shortly after we came here. He said some went missing.”
“So you have married an outsider and now you believe what they say about us?”
“No, of course not. I wish to prove him wrong. I wish to show him that we are not all bad people.”
He made a dismissive sound. “He cannot believe you are bad or else he would not have married you.”
“We are not married yet.”
“And yet he has you doing his bidding already.”
“He is a smart man and knows you will not speak to him. Please, Marko, if you know who went on that ship, I shall be able to tell him that they had nothing to do with the theft.”
Marko shook his head. “You will have to be persuasive indeed to clear a Romani of theft.”
“Ree—Noah will believe me.”
“Unfortunately, I know nothing of any of our men on ships. You know how it is, little Orelia. The men come and go.” He lifted his great shoulders in a shrug.
She released a long breath. Of course, she had not expected it to be so easy to find out who had gone on the ships, but it would have been nice. Marko was right. Many of their people vanished and returned at times, following work and wherever their feet carried them. Since arriving in Hampshire, many Romani had left the camp and would return before they moved on again.
Rubbing a hand over his chin, he eyed her. “There is an inn in the town where some of the men go—The Red Lion. I heard tell that they were asking for deckhands last week.”
“But this was weeks ago.”
Marko lifted his hands. “That is all I can tell you, my girl. Your husband seems a rich man. Can he not hire someone to find his produce rather than leaving his poor wife to ask the questions?”
“I am not his wife.”
“Soon enough.”
A couple of men were milling around, and Marko turned his attention to them, no doubt aware he could make some money from them.
“Like your chances?” he asked them.
Orelia recognized her dismissal and stood. “Don’t beat them too easily, Marko,” she murmured. “You don’t want to get accused of cheating again.”
The old man lifted his chin. “Marko never cheats.” He wagged a finger at her. “Do not let that rich man be cruel to you.”
“I will not,” she promised.
She headed back to meet up with Reed. What should she tell him? The inn might be worth a visit, but Marko was frustratingly vague. They could ask some of the other men but if Marko knew nothing, she doubted anyone else would.
When she emerged from between the wagons, she stilled upon spotting Reed. Several women were gathered around him—Romani and outsiders alike. He held a mug of ale in one hand while he leaned against a stack of kegs. How was it that even with a ridiculous moustache and an eyepatch, women were still flocking to him? She curled her hands into fists and marched over.
“Noah.”
He ignored her and continued regaling the women with whatever tale he was telling them. They hung on his every word, mouths open, eyes wide, all leaning in. She could have sworn he could have any one of them with ease, regardless of their own situations.
“Noah!” she barked.
His gaze struck hers, but she saw it take a moment for him to recognize his pretend name. She came to his side and took his arm before smiling sweetly to the ladies.
“If you will excuse me, I have need of my fiancé.”
Mouths turned pouty and eyes disappointed before the women dispersed.
“Investigating, Reed?”
He chuckled. “Very much so.”
“Somehow I do not believe you.” She dropped his arm. “I don’t know why I am surprised that you were trying to charm those women while I was doing your work for you.”
His smile expanded. “Do you think I charmed them?”
“You know very well you did.” Heat began to rise in her chest. How dare he stand there, flirting with all those women when he was supposed to be her fiancé? She swiveled on her heel. She couldn’t stay here and confront him, not with too many prying eyes around.
“Orelia?”
She stalked off in the direction of the field, aware he was following. There would be no escaping him. Besides, she was walking in the direction of his house. Whether that had been a decision she’d made by choice, she was not sure, but she could hardly turn around now.
“Orelia.” He hurried to her side. “Slow down.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to tell me if you found anything out for a start. If you did not, we need to turn around an
d ask more questions.”
She kept her gaze head on. “I suppose you would enjoy asking those women a few more questions, would you not?”
He laughed and the anger brewing inside her felt as though it would burst out of every limb. “I’m glad you find it so amusing! It must be lovely to be able to pay someone to do all your work for you while you spend your time flirting and drinking!”
“Orelia.” He tapped her arm, forcing her to slow her aggravated pace before they reached the first sty.
“What?”
“There’s no need to be jealous.”
“Jealous? What makes you think I am jealous?” she demanded.
“I recognize jealousy when I see it.”
“Oh yes, I suppose it’s quite a hobby for you. What better way to pass your time than to make a woman jealous. Do you derive a lot of enjoyment from toying with women’s emotions, Reed, or has it become so commonplace for you that you only receive a mere jot of pleasure from it?”
“So you are jealous.”
His smug smile made her want to swipe her hand across his face and tear it off. The worst thing of all was that, deep down, she suspected her anger was driven by jealousy.
“I am not. I simply hate to see my sex toyed with.”
Reed inched closer. A tiny curl of soapy scent wafted her way before vanishing. She had to fight the urge to move closer and bury her head against his skin to find that enchanting fragrance once more.
He glanced around, likely surmised no one could see them between the backs of the wagons and the field fence and flipped up his eye patch.
“There is no need to be jealous, Orelia.”
“I told you, I am not—”
The gap between them shrank again. “There is no need to be jealous,” he repeated, “because whilst I was questioning those ladies, all I was thinking about was you.”
Orelia opened her mouth to answer then clamped it shut.
“I was thinking about your eyes and the way they spark when you’re angry. How in the early morning sun, there’s little streaks of amber in them. As I was speaking to those women, I could only think how their lips were incomparable to yours. None were as full, as beautiful or as kissable as yours. When they spoke, their voices were but a mere shadow of your husky tones. And as for their figures...” He smirked. “Well, none were as blessed as you. None were anywhere near as enticing as you.”
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