by Rue Allyn
“Did you enjoy my dance, my lord?”
He got to his feet. “Very much, but all the same I am ready to meet this new seer of yours now.”
Disappointment creased her features, but she led him away from the fire toward one of the wagons.
• • •
Delilah seated herself behind the small table and sought the orb of glass, her eyes into the past, present, and future. It warmed and tingled as it did each time she touched it. Before it could show her something of herself, she dropped her hands to the silky tablecloth to rest on either side of it. Tonight would be the first night she would see the future for a paying customer. The idea both thrilled and terrified her. She was careful to ensure the wagon remained shrouded in darkness, with only a meager candle illuminating the room. Her blindness was not something she was prepared for her customers to see, not yet anyway. What if something terrible showed itself to her? What if she detected nothing at all of the person? When the door to the wagon opened with a squeak and cool draft, she took a deep breath to still her nerves. She was grateful for the veil concealing her face as someone sat down across from her. A fresh minty scent mixed with horse sweat tickled her nose making her sneeze.
The stool across from her creaked under her guest’s weight. “Bless you.”
She froze, hands pressed to the table top. It cannot be. What is he doing here? Should she run? No, it was improbable she would escape because he sat between her and the door. Her only hope was to try and disguise her voice to fool him until she could get rid of him. She licked her lips and held out her hands. His warm fingers slid across her smooth palms. A sense of foreboding filled her as she placed his digits on the crystal ball. Why did the orb not show him coming? A warning would have been nice. Will he seek to have me returned to Augustus if he discovers my identity? Tingling spread into her hands and she was distracted by a cloudy image overtaking her thoughts.
Tyrone loitered in a crowded ballroom, talking to a beautiful woman. She turned away and held out her hand to another, younger man who tarried by her side. His face tightened with anger before he stalked away. Tyrone’s suit was rejected. She wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or saddened by the outcome. He was free to marry her now, if he wanted to. She bit her lip. I am not free.
“You are quiet. What do you see?”
“Shh,” she whispered. The scene faded and formed a picture of him mounted on a horse, searching the ground as he rode, as if looking for something. Me. He is searching for me. Hope flamed to life in her breast.
A soft nicker broke the tension. Delilah groaned. Why did the pony pick now, of all times, to wait at the wagon door for her? She was never ready to head back to the dancing fire before the lute sounded. He knew the new routine by now.
“Where did you get this animal?”
Panic surged through her and she clutched the cloth draping the table. If she answered him her identity in the darkened room would be given away. If she remained silent would he leave?
“I demand to know how you came by this pony, madame.”
A chill crawled down her spine at his lethal tone. I am trapped. There was no way to get past him and slip out the door. Uncle Deagan coming to her rescue would be her single hope to keep the earl from dragging her back to the baron. She groped for the flint, struck it, and then patted the table until her fingers touched the rim of the second candle holder. A tiny sizzle, a flicker of warmth, and the mild sweet smell of the beeswax candle filled the room. She removed her veil. “He is mine, my lord.”
The stool scraped and then clattered to the floor as the wagon rocked. The idea of Tyrone now towering over her, gave her pause. She fell silent under the force of his rapid questions.
“Delilah? What are you doing here? What kind of game are you playing? I have been scouring the country for you.”
“I have been here, with my family, the whole time.” She swallowed and forced a smile to her lips. “Jester, fetch Uncle Deagan.”
“Uncle Deagan?”
She nodded and listened for the soft tread to confirm the pony left on his errand before answering. “My Uncle Deagan’s command brought me here.”
“I thought you have no family? Why would your uncle bring you to live among the gypsies?”
“Sit down, my lord.” Delilah waited until the stool creaked under his weight before continuing. “I am guilty of deceiving you but not for the reasons you think. I thought Augustus would help me. I was wrong … ”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Delilah rubbed her temples. “Why not just arrest Augustus?”
There was a slight pause before Tyrone answered. “It would simply be your word against his. We have no evidence of his treachery. There is a possibility of having the marriage annulled however, as long as he … as long as you remain … ”
Face burning, she said the word he seemed unable to. “As long as I am still a virgin?”
He cleared his throat before answering, and she grinned. “Yes, a virgin; however, I do not believe it will stop the baron from trying to get what he wants.”
“If the marriage is annulled, he has no grounds to take control of my inheritance or estate.”
“That is not exactly true, according to Deagan.”
She pursed her lips. It seemed clear to her, but why did he hesitate? “What do you mean?”
Deagan shifted across from her. “I should tell her, my lord, not you.”
“Tell me what?”
Her uncle’s rough fingers cradled hers. “The night you were conceived was also the night the baron was.”
“I do not understand.”
Deagan sighed. “The night was crystal clear and warm. The wine, music, and opium flowed free and plentiful the night of the harvest moon. Your father and adoptive mother were not the only visitors to the encampment that night. The former baron and his wife were there, too. Your father and the baroness had been in love many years before and they indulged themselves freely, as did many couples.”
Delilah gasped. “Are you saying my father slept with the baroness and Kata, and they both conceived that night?”
“Yes.”
The world she constructed around her shattered and fell in jagged shards before her beliefs. Augustus is my half-brother. Disgust rolled in her stomach, pressing a wave of nausea to the back of her mouth. With effort she forced it back down, gulping great mouthfuls of air.
“Delilah, I am sorry. I did not know, or I would not have forced his suit on you. I was only trying to do what the king asked of me … I am sorry,” Tyrone repeated.
She shook her head and turned away. “I … I do not know what to think, say, or … who I am.”
“Delilah — ”
“Please, Tyrone, just leave me alone. Please.”
Deagan squeezed her hand. The stool beside him creaked. A draft of heavy air brushed the loose tendrils of hair about her cheeks as the door closed behind the earl.
“My little jewel, I did not mean to shock you. I wanted you to know your heritage. Perhaps I was wrong to tell you. Perhaps I am just a selfish old man. Please forgive me.”
“I forgive you. Please, Uncle Deagan, leave me be. I need to be alone.”
“I understand.” After a soft kiss on her forehead he was gone.
A weaker woman might have cried, wailed, and uttered vengeful curses down on all their heads; instead Delilah examined the bits of her past with a calm detachment. I am a gypsy’s daughter, wild and free. I no longer have to conform to a normal life. In exchange for annulling the marriage, she would give it all to Augustus with her blessings. Let him be known as the bastard child of the squire. Let him face the shame of their pasts. No longer would she be Delilah Daysland — she would just be Delilah, the seer. She could disappear into a world of music and lightness with no cares. There was nothing stopping her from walking away. Except Tyrone. No, not even he would want to stop her, for she was a bastard, illegitimate and impure. An earl didn’t marry the likes of her or fit into her new world.
/> Light strains of music carried through the open window. She was a gypsy and it was time she started living as one. Determined to embrace her heritage, she dressed in the dancing outfit trimmed by tiny jingling bells, pulling the soft blouse down to rest just across the tops of her breasts. Time to live life to the fullest.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and whistled for Jester. By the time she stepped onto the soft grass he was there, brushing against her tinkling skirt. “Fire, Jester. Tonight I shall end everyone’s pursuit of me. No longer will anyone dictate my future but me.” After tonight she would no longer be pure and therefore unfit to marry the Romo baro’s son.
Her heart was pounding by the time they reached the fire. She could sense many eyes on her and fixed a bright smile on her lips to conceal her nervousness. Jester stopped near enough to the fire its welcome warmth caused her flesh to prickle. Someone pressed a thick wineskin into her hand as she released his harness. The pony moved off and she raised it to her lips, drinking long and deep of its sweet, potent nectar. It would give her the courage to dance with abandon tonight.
“Delilah?”
She waved Tyrone away and held out the half full skin. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, sending a little shiver up her spine. “Drink.” She would have her way with him tonight, before she said good-bye. At least she would have a little of him to carry near her heart when he left to find a suitable wife. The music began to pick up tempo and she raised her arms to move with it. Closing her eyes she allowed the music free her soul, flashes of memories and bright colors stimulating her senses. Around and around she spun, undulating her hips and swaying in the most seductive way she could imagine.
A hand touched her shoulder. “Delilah, I think you have had far too much to drink.”
She shook off the Tyrone’s hand and pressed herself to him, smelling the wine on his breath. “Dance with me, my lord.”
“You should come sit down.”
Shaking her head, she rubbed her body down his, grinning as his manhood swelled and hardened between them. “I want to dance, my lord. Dance with me.”
“Delilah, this is most unseemly.”
“No, ‘tis not, my lord. I am a wild gypsy, willing to share what is mine with you this night.” On her tip toes she reached for his head, pulling it down until her lips found his. He remained stiff and passive under her caress until she ran her tongue across his lower lip. With a groan he opened and devoured her mouth with his. Her hands roamed his body and he began to move with her to the music. His response, the seductive moan of the violin and the sense stimulating skin to skin contact inflamed her desire. Heat seeped into her core, becoming like hot molten lava. She wanted him too much to be shocked or afraid when he pulled her from the fire. Kissing and stroking, they made their way into the shadows. When he made to pull away she wrapped her arms around his neck and explored his mouth with her tongue. With a strangled groan he eased her down onto a soft blanket.
“This is wrong.”
“No. I am a gypsy. I choose to make love to you as is my right according to my birth,” she lied. To prove her claim she maneuvered herself to straddle his hips. With a boldness she never before possessed she ran a hand over the bulge in his breeches, inciting another tortured groan from him. “I claim you as mine tonight to do with as I please.”
“Delilah — ”
“Shh. No talking,” she whispered against his lips, her fingers stroking his rod beneath the restricting cloth.
“You are an innocent … don’t know what you’re doing … ”
She chuckled against his lips, rubbing her heated core against him. “Nay, I know full well what my touch does to your body, for it is the same for me.”
He groaned. Arms shaking, he buried his head against her neck, licking and nuzzling her heated skin. “I want you so much, to feel you, taste you, and make you cry out my name.”
She sighed as his lips brought forth the most delicious sensations while he cupped her breast and teased the sensitive nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.
The simple gesture took her breath away. For many moments she was unable to string together any coherent words. Then he slipped his hand beneath her skirt and replaced his teasing fingers with his lips at her breast. “Oh, good Lord!”
He chuckled against her moist nipple and she arched against him with a primal howl of desire. “Make me your gypsy lover this night, Tyrone, for I can wait no longer.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The steady pounding of his head and paper dry mouth was a rude awakening. Even more annoying was the cheerful prattle of a bevy of birds somewhere in the trees above. Tyrone rolled over on the soft blanket with a groan and reached for Delilah. He patted the emptiness once harboring a warm, sensual body. Frowning he opened his eyes and sat up. A whiff of smoke curled from the charred remains of the bonfire. Where is everyone? Alarm quickened his pulse. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he scrambled to his feet. Did he dream it all? He sorted through the hazy moments of the night before. Delilah, a seductive temptress, rousing my body into a state of almost painful eagerness. Groaning he willed his manhood, already rising at the thought, to be still. How could he have permitted her to have her way with him? Disgust turned his stomach worse than the over indulgence of wine. How could I have seduced such an innocent? He frowned. Did he seduce her or had she seduced him? Oh, what does it matter? Either way the king will have my head for it. What kind of cad have I become? When he would have stomped across the clearing in search of his horse, his abused noggin protested. Putting a hand to his head, he took care to move slowly and carefully.
The animal was as he left him, dozing in the shade of the row of trees. After tightening the cinch, he stepped aboard and turned it back onto the path along the creek to the road. He needed to catch up with the gypsies. They couldn’t have gone far. First he must see Delilah’s marriage to the baron annulled, and then he could marry her. It was the right thing to do whether she saw it or not. If she refused him he could at least see she returned to her rightful place at Westpoint Manor until he could court and woo her properly. If she desired romantic gestures then that is exactly what he would give her.
Half slumped over the saddle in misery, he caught up with the slower moving wagon train a little over an hour later. Delilah rode on Jester next to her Uncle Deagan. At Tyrone’s approach the older man excused himself and kicked his heavy horse into a lumbering trot.
“Delilah, what are you doing?”
She jumped, but kept her sightless gaze fixed above her pony’s head. “I am traveling to the next town, my lord. It is what gypsies do.”
He slowed his horse to keep step with her shorter legged pony. “You are not a gypsy.”
A light snort escaped and her lips thinned. “I choose to be now.”
Tyrone resisted the urge to sigh. Her mind was set; he could tell by her ramrod stiffness and determined expression. How was he to change it? It occurred to him he didn’t have to change her mind. She was obligated to do as he commanded by the king’s order. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps attempting to force compliance out of her was not the way to go, at least not if he wanted her to marry him.
“Delilah, we need to talk about last eve.”
Her jaw tightened. “There is nothing to talk about, my lord.”
“I beg to differ. And please, could we drop the formality?”
“I see no reason for informality, my lord.”
With growing frustration, he tempered his reply. “After sharing our bodies with each other last eve, formality seems fairly hypocritical, do you not think?” He reached down and grabbed Jester’s headstall, yanking the pony to a halt.
Her sightless scowl unnerved him as no other able one could. “Why am I suddenly good enough to warrant such a display of gallantry now? Is it because your betrothed jilted you? Am I just a consolation prize?”
His breath hitched in his chest. “How did you know?”
“I am a seer, rem
ember?”
“For God’s sake, Delilah, you are not a gypsy and possess no such fictional powers.”
“Did you not seek a seer last eve? If so, then how can you claim not to believe? Besides, I saw her jilt you in a ballroom.”
His senses reeled at the idea she could have seen what she claimed. “I was not seeking a vision last eve, I was searching for you.”
She turned her face away. “Why?”
The words he wanted to say clogged his mouth, choking him into silence. He cleared his throat. “I did wrong by you and wanted to make it right. I was concerned for your welfare.”
“You can see I am fine, now unhand me.”
“You call this fine? You are living the life of a penniless beggar.”
She leaned forward, seeking his hand, and then snatched it from Jester’s head stall. “Just because I choose a path different from yours does not make my life any less.”
“I did not say it does — ”
“I will never be like the rest of the ton; I never fit in their world and I never will. Now leave me be!” she kicked Jester into a rough lope, but not before he noted the tears in her eyes.
“Delilah!” He groaned as pain stabbed his liquor muddled head.
Helpless, he allowed her to go. What could he say? She believed she didn’t fit into his world, nor he in her new one. Was she right? Perhaps he should just annul the marriage and leave her be with her own people. It seemed the kindest thing to do … for her anyway.
• • •
“To what do I owe this unpleasant visit, Lord Frost?”