The Gypsy Bride

by Sandra Madden

  Her pulse raced, her stomach constricted. The warm honey liquid spread like a river of fire throughout her body.

  Lucien filled her, burying himself deep within her. He filled Henrietta with sensations she’d never felt before. Her heart soared as she knew the magic of becoming one.

  His gentle thrust brought a stab of pain.

  She gasped. It quickly passed.

  “Are you ... ?” His voice was husky and edged with anxiety.

  “No ... no. Don’t stop ... I beg you, Lucien.”

  He nuzzled her ears and neck with tender kisses and slowly began a scintillating rhythm. Throwing inhibitions aside, she joined his sensuous dance, meeting each thrust, arching her back, thrilling to each new and more powerful sensation.

  “You are so beautiful, so lovely. You deserve to be bedded on a bower of roses,” he murmured thickly.

  She could not reply. She soared on the wings of a magic deeper and higher than she could ever have imagined. No illusion could match the magic of being one with Lucien.

  Higher and higher her sorcerer urged her until at once, with a gasp of breath, her very being shattered. She cried out in exceeding joy. A mighty shudder swept Lucien’s body. At peace, hot and limp, Henrietta drifted languidly in Lucien’s arms, floating from a summit higher than a poet could imagine. He dusted her lips and eyelids with tender kisses, she snuggled against him.

  The last candle still burning sputtered and gave out. The room plunged into darkness, but the scent of roses and love overpowered the acrid smoke.

  Lucien ran his fingers through the thick mass of sorrel curls that spilled over his shoulder. Henrietta hovered somewhere between waking and sleeping. He wanted more of her, and yet he had already taken too much.

  “I cannot bear for this night to end, Lucien.”

  He felt the same. He felt exhilarated and saddened. He had wanted her for weeks. Now that he had made her his, the thought of losing Henrietta tore at him. But lose her he must.

  “We will not leave the inn until dawn.” “Then we shall have time for more magic?”

  “Much more,” he assured her.

  She was traveling to a new country, but now she would always be a part of him. Lucien knew he would always feel the loss of Lady Hadley.

  “I know you are promised to another ... but if ever, if anything should—”

  “Sshhhh.” He dared not dwell on impossibilities. His duty was clear, and this night would not change anything. “Let us think no further than this night. Tonight is ours.”

  “Tonight,” she repeated. “I have never known such a glorious night. I shall never know such a glorious night again.”

  “I only hope you will not someday regret what has passed between us.”

  “Never!”

  He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand. He had never known a woman so beautiful, so determined and brave.

  She had given him the most sacred gift of all. At the start, he hadn’t been certain of her innocence, she had told him she knew what to expect. Still, he had sought to be gentle with her. A simple enough objective, but made exceedingly difficult when his desire for the lady raged out of control.

  Suppressing his own needs in order to give Henrietta the utmost pleasure had at first taken a supreme act of willpower. But his self-control had been well rewarded.

  She had come alive under his touch—he had come alive. He felt everything more keenly, every touch, every caress. He was acutely aware of the delicate minty taste of her, the sweet rose scent of her.

  Lucien hadn’t realized the consequences of being the first man to make love to Henrietta. He hadn’t understood the joy he would take in her happiness. He hadn’t been prepared for the way his heart thundered, nor the strength of his own climax. He’d expected to be satisfied, instead he only wanted her more.

  Sadly, he wasn’t comfortable with words. He did not know quite how to express his feelings. He only knew he should make an attempt

  “What you have shared with me, what we have shared together, I will always remember. I will never forget this night or—”

  Before he could finish his fumbling recitation, Henrietta’s lips were on his. She kissed him with a fiery ardor he could not deny. He would love her again, he would love her all night long. Lucien vowed to hold her in his arms every night until they must part. And after parting, he knew he would always hold her in his heart.

  Her full lush breasts pressed against his chest. Her palm stroked his inner thigh. Lucien’s throat closed. His heart slammed against his chest. The fiery ache in his loins stirred fresh desire, stronger and more urgent than before.

  Tomorrow was hours away. Tonight, he truly felt like a king.

  * * * *

  The light woke her. Bright sunlight streamed through the yellowed lace curtains. Henrietta moved in a languid mist, a woman thoroughly content, enveloped in the dusky scent of a night of love.

  Lucien lay on his back beside her, his broad shoulders and a magnificent muscled section of his chest visible above the coarse horsehair blanket.

  Gently, with her fingertip, she drew a loop, a wide number eight in the crisp mat of curls sprinkled across his chest. Blowing softly in his ear, she teased him awake. His lazy smile made her heart swell. In contrast from when she first joined the caravan, Lucien smiled easily, more frequently.

  “Do you know what day this is?” she asked.

  He made a pretense of being in deep thought before answering with utmost certainty. “Tuesday.”

  “Yes ... and”—smiling, she paused for dramatic effect—” ’Tis my birthday.”

  Lucien rolled over, pushing up and planting a light kiss on her lips. “Happy birthday, Lady Hadley. We must make this a special day.”

  “How could any day be more splendid than what we shared last night?”

  With a low growl of pleasure, he gathered her in his arms. “It may not be possible, but we should make the attempt. What would you like to do?”

  “What can we do without being seen?”

  “Birmingham is a large city with many diversions. Perhaps we could lose ourselves in a crowd.”

  “Perhaps we could lock ourselves away in this room all day,” she suggested boldly.

  “A splendid thought, but dangerous perhaps. I had thought to leave the inn before dawn.”

  “You must return to the caravan.”

  “More than likely I have not been missed as yet”

  Henrietta smiled. After spending only one night in his arms, she knew how much she would miss Lucien during the long lonely nights ahead without him. “I assure you, you are missed.”

  He flicked his wrist as if he were waving away a bothersome bee. “Tell me, Henrietta, if you could have anything in the world, what would you wish?”

  “If I could have anything, I should choose to spend the entire day with you.”

  “An entire day? I would be missed!” he grinned.

  “Then let us return.”

  But once dressed and departing from the inn, Lucien led the way into the city. “We’ll hide carefully in plain sight.”

  He bought her daisies from a cart girl. Riding on, they came upon a small tea shop. Lucien ordered tea, Henrietta’s favorite raisin scones, apple tarts and berries with cream.

  “This is the most delicious meal I have had in months, perhaps years,” she managed between mouthfuls. Their night of love had left her ravenously hungry.

  “I noted a poster over in the corner. The Birmingham players are presenting Twelfth Night this afternoon. Would you care to attend?”

  “I would love to!”

  He grinned. Blinding white teeth against dark skin, Lucien’s was the most breathtaking smile in all the world. And as he moved among the townspeople, she realized that no matter where he was, or how he was dressed, Lucien’s galvanizing figure and flashing eyes commanded attention.

  It was not only with the tribe that he exuded an indisputable air of power and authority, it was here on the streets of Birmingham, it wa
s everywhere. His riveting masculinity attracted glances of admiration from men and women alike. He was not a man who could go unnoticed.

  Henrietta knew they should return to the anonymous safety of the caravan, but being alone with him gave her a heady pleasure. Her feet seemed not to touch the ground. As they strolled the crowded streets, she simply floated beside her tall, handsome Lothario.

  The makeshift, open-air theater presented the finest production of Twelfth Night she had ever seen. Not only because of the superb acting, but because Lucien’s body brushed against hers on the hard wooden bench they shared with strangers. He laughed with her, applauded with her. Even his heart beat in time with hers. She inhaled him, she hungered for him.

  “Have you ever seen a play in the open?” he asked when the whimsical comedy had finished.

  “No. But I enjoyed it very much. I favor Shakespeare’s comedies over the more tragic dramas.”

  “As do I,” he agreed. “Although his dramas provoke thoughts and emotions other playwrights cannot seem to capture.”

  She nodded her head, but to carry on the conversation at the moment meant to shout. The hubbub of the crowd grew louder as the playgoers dispersed.

  With his hand on her back, Lucien guided her toward the road.

  “Wait! Wait ho!”

  Henrietta turned, as did several people around her.

  A young man, not many years older than she, waved and approached. She stopped.

  “Do you know this man?” Lucien asked.

  “No. But he has hailed me down.”

  Lucien’s arm went around her waist “Come.”

  But she knew her manners. Bewildered and not wishing to be rude, she did not budge. The red-haired young man with freckles dancing across his cheeks came to a halt.

  “Were you hailing me?” Henrietta asked.

  “Yes, but...” His voice trailed off as his forehead creased in a deep frown. “I thought you were someone I knew.”

  “I do not believe we have met.”

  “My wife does not know you,” Lucien added brusquely. “Come, dear.”

  The young man shifted uneasily and scratched the back of his head. “My apologies. I thought I had seen you somewhere.”

  “You have not. Come.” Lucien propelled Henrietta ahead with such force that she stepped on the heels of the stranger walking in front of her.

  When they reached the stable where Bay waited, Henrietta was out of breath, but still clutching her bouquet of now wilting daisies. Lucien’s lighthearted mood had disappeared. His eyes were blacker than coal, his lips pressed tightly one against the other.

  “What is it, Lucien?”

  “We shall purchase some bread and cheese and leave at once, before dark.”

  “Back to the camp?”

  The sharpness in his gaze eased. “On the outskirts of town there is an abandoned cottage where we can spend the night.”

  “Why must we rush of a sudden?” But then she knew. “Do you think the young man has seen a poster? Do you think he recognized me?”

  Chapter Ten

  Was it his Gypsy blood? Had he been swept away in the passion of his father’s people who took pleasure in the act of love? Pleasure in a pair of sky blue eyes and full warm lips? Pleasure for pleasure’s sake?

  Damn! What kind of man was he?

  He’d stolen Henrietta’s innocence and could not offer marriage.

  He was no better than the worst scoundrel. Lucien had put the beautiful innocent at risk of being captured because he would do anything to make her happy, and all she had asked for was a day with him. Together. Alone.

  “Damn!” he cursed aloud. He deserved to be locked away in Bedlam.

  “Lucien? Is something wrong?”

  “I, ah, twisted my ankle.”

  She cast a disbelieving eye as he deposited the wood he had gathered to build a fire. Tonight they would sleep on the floor of this dilapidated old stone cottage with only one half of a thatched roof.

  Because he had not thought far enough ahead, because he had wanted to spend time alone with Henrietta, they would lie on a floor of cold hard dirt tonight like peasants. Wrapped in a blanket, he would hold his lady in his arms throughout the night. She would not complain, and he would not suffer from insomnia. And it would be their last night together.

  ****

  Dawn had not yet broken when Lucien woke Henrietta.

  He softly brushed his lips against her eyelids, and then her lips. “We must return now, my lady.”

  Her lashes fluttered. Her eyes were dark with the last of her dreams. She gave him a sleepy smile and stretched her lush body against his. It was all he could do not to take her again in the first hazy rays of the sun.

  Henrietta rode in front of him astride Bay, resting her head against his chest. A feeling of contentment he’d never known flowed through his body like sweet warm cream.

  Too soon the feeling would end. Their time together was fast drawing to a close.

  “Have you ever been in love?” she asked.

  “Yes. Once,” he replied warily.

  “Who was she?”

  “She was an English lady, like you.”

  “Was she beautiful?”

  “Fair, she was a fair maiden with pale skin and blond ringlets.” He had not spoken aloud of her in years. Still, he was surprised to find no pain in remembrance. The memory had brought pain for a long time.

  “What was her name?”

  “You ask many questions,” he hedged. “Does your mind never rest?”

  She let out a sigh as if much put-upon. “It is a failing of mine, I’ve been told. Her name was ... ?”

  He paused, weighing the prudence of revealing too much. But then he trusted Henrietta. She would not ridicule or wound him in any way. He was as certain of that as where the sun would set come evening.

  “Charlotte. Her name was Charlotte. A village girl. The daughter of a solicitor. I had an eye for her before I was out of the schoolroom.”

  “And what happened?”

  “She returned my fondness. We rode together until my twenty-first year.”

  “And then?” Henrietta prodded.

  The crisp spring air gave promise of later warmth. Gray clouds streaked a charcoal sky and shadowed the sun. Only the birds were awake, and an occasional jumping trout as he guided Bay along the river back to camp.

  “She discovered I was part Gypsy, dreadfully unsuitable for a husband,” Lucien added, attempting to make light of a situation that had broken his heart.

  “How awful for you!”

  “The lady thought my inherited wealth left me to raising horses to pass the time. She believed I spent my summers touring abroad,” he chuckled at the irony. “Charlotte was shocked when I told her the truth.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “I never saw her again.”

  “She broke your heart,” Henrietta offered softly.

  “No woman has ever broken my heart.”

  “So ever since you have guarded your heart,” she stated quite simply.

  She had come to the truth. One moment Lucien felt comforted by the thought the English beauty could know him so well and in the next the same thought vexed him!

  “You assume too much, or is this the result of another of Mila’s lessons?”

  “Like palm reading?”

  “Or divining what’s in a man’s mind through a crystal ball?” he countered.

  She shook her head. “Neither. It is a sense, I think. My heart feeling what is within yours.”

  “Even Gypsy magic cannot do that.”

  They had reached Mila’s tent. In parting, Lucien brushed his lips against Henrietta’s hair. He wondered if she felt his touch, or knew what was in his heart at the moment.

  He dismounted and helped her from Bay. It was a reason, an excuse to touch her again, to feel her small lithe body between his hands, to feel the warmth and charm of her dimpled smile.

  “Good day, Lady Hadley.”

  �
�Good day, Lucien.”

  An odd emptiness came over him as he watched her turn and disappear into the tent. There must be a solution to this dilemma. She going one way, he the other.

  The answer came to him as he led his mount away.

  * * * *

  “Oh, Jassy. He is beautiful!”

  Henrietta held the bear cub in her arms as if it were a human infant. As soon as Mila told her the news, she had run to the wooded area where the van built as a bear cage was parked.

  Jassy’s remaining bear, Ivy had given birth during the night. Much to her relief, the old woman did not ask about or mention Henrietta’s prolonged absence.

  The bear trainer’s eyes sparkled with delight. “Ike left something behind with me, eh?”

  “Oh, yes. He left you the best gift possible!” Henrietta wanted to hold the baby’s fuzzy wiggling warmth all day. But that was impossible.

  Lucien had given the order, by noon the caravan must be on its way. She knew he worried that she had been recognized by the freckle-faced lad, or that Betty would tell the tale and the hunt for Henrietta would be on again.

  They were traveling to Seddly, a small village between Birmingham and Stoke-on-Kent where it had been prearranged to meet Steffan.

  “And I am such a stoopid man,” Jassy exaggerated. “I did not know Ivy was with child until last eve. And then, I thought she was sick.”

  From the corner other eye, Henrietta caught Mercury watching her carefully. He’d followed her and sat in the shadows, jealousy gleaming in his big green eyes. Since she had rescued him from the tree, the feline considered himself Henrietta’s pet. She shot him a quick smile.

  “What will you call this darling babe?” she asked Jassy.

  “I am waiting for Mila to consult her crystal and give me a name that will bring fortune and good health to him.”

  “Ah, here she comes. Perhaps she has done so and comes with a name.”

  “Are you not afraid of mama bear, girlie?”

  “I would not be holding him if Jassy had not agreed. Mama bear is exceedingly weary today. She is fast asleep. Look for yourself.” Henrietta pointed to the wagon where Ivy slept.

  “Giving birth is tiring,” the old woman sighed.

  “Mila stayed the night with me out here, watching and helping Ivy,” Jassy said.