Fortunately, Lisette didn’t pry too much into the nature of Zoe’s investigation. The reason for that became clear when Lisette admitted that Tristan had agreed to let her come along only if she didn’t badger Zoe about it.
Zoe’s heart fluttered a little over that. Clearly he’d known how persistent his sister could be. And if he could keep Zoe’s secrets even from his obviously demanding sister, then surely he would keep them from just about anyone.
By the time they arrived at the camp, Lisette had begun to treat Zoe like an old friend, relating her fears about the upcoming birth of her child and waxing poetic about her apparently wonderful and generous husband.
Envy stabbed Zoe. If she went through with her plans to marry Jeremy, could she ever hope for such a warm partnership? It seemed unlikely, if her cousin preferred debauchery to social events.
Then again, that would make him like half of the other husbands among the ton. The thought was lowering indeed.
The carriage halted. A ramshackle row of houses stood near the road, skirting an ice-crusted field crowded with tents that didn’t even reach as high as Zoe’s chin. The smoke of many fires filled the air as Gypsies and Londoners alike wandered the paths trodden into the ground between the tents.
The minute she and the duchess got out, they were swarmed by bronze-skinned children dressed in colorful rags, who seemed oblivious to the cold. And to their poverty as well. Unlike the poor sullen urchins she sometimes saw begging on Bond Street when she shopped, these little ones were laughing and gabbing in some unfamiliar tongue, probably Romany.
Zoe could have sworn they were talking about her clothes, for they kept gesturing at her bonnet and muttering the word staddi.
“Please, miss,” one bold boy finally said in accented English, “where did you buy such a fine hat?”
A voice from beyond them answered, “Somewhere you could never afford, chavvi.”
Tristan strode up to the children and spoke a few words. When he then tossed a handful of coins onto a nearby frozen patch of ground, the children screamed with laughter and ran after them, deserting the coach.
Zoe gaped at them. “What did you say?”
“That the fine lady was a princess, and that whichever of them could produce the most beautiful neckerchief for her before we left would get another handful of coins.”
“That’s incredibly generous of you,” Zoe said softly.
“Hardly,” he said with a shrug. “The best way to keep a lot of children out of your hair when you’re trying to get something done in a Romany camp is to give them money and a purpose. Now they’ll spend their time plaguing their mothers for neckerchiefs for the lovely lady. And they’ll leave us be.”
As he walked over to speak to the duchess’s coachman and footmen, Lisette leaned close to whisper, “Don’t let him fool you. He’s trying to impress you.”
“I doubt that,” Zoe said. Yet her heart gave another of those annoying little flutters that he seemed to incite whenever he was around.
Especially when he was dressed like an adventurer, in a rugged greatcoat and mud-spattered top boots, with a battered beaver hat that made her wonder how many wild excursions it had seen. How many he had seen. For it was clear that he was daring enough to brave any terrain on a mission.
It gave her an odd sort of thrill to think that he’d taken on her mission.
Upon his return, he stared pointedly at his sister. “I know you’ll want to buy some goods while you’re here.” He gestured toward a path that twisted through one end of the camp. “Your best bet is down there. That path leads to an excellent ribbon merchant.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Lisette glared at him. “I can’t go gallivanting about a Romany camp alone.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Grown too lofty for that now that you’re a duchess?”
Zoe caught her breath at the barb, but the duchess merely laughed. “Yes. I believe that I have. So you’re stuck with me.”
“Not a chance, little Miss Meddler. We’re going another way, and you’re not invited.” He snapped his finger, and one of the duchess’s footmen approached. “Besides, you won’t be alone.”
She looked as if she might protest further. Then she let out a dramatic sigh. “Oh, very well. I do enjoy a good ribbon merchant.” And she stalked away, with the footman at her side.
Tristan offered Zoe his arm, and as she took it he murmured, “Sorry about having to bring her along. I had hoped to meet you at the Bond Street shops and take you off with me, but she flat-out refused to help me, as she put it, ‘seduce a lady of quality.’ ” His voice tightened. “She seems to think I have no scruples.”
Zoe let him lead her down the main path between the tents. “I can’t imagine where she would get such a notion. Perhaps from your willingness to take visitors on ‘tours of London debauchery’?” When his eyes narrowed on her, she cursed herself for bringing that up and added, “Have you learned anything about Drina?”
He let her change the subject. “Not yet, I’m afraid. I didn’t arrive here much before you. I’ve asked around, but without a family name it’s difficult to learn anything. Someone did mention that I should talk to the folks camped on the far end, so that’s where we’re headed.”
For the next hour, they went among the tents, speaking to anyone who would talk to them. With some, a mere word or two in their language turned them effusive. With others, it took a few coins.
As it turned out, everyone they consulted knew a Drina somewhere, but inevitably the female turned out to be too old or too young, or to not have been pregnant at the time specified, or to have some other problem that excluded her.
In the course of their questioning, Zoe learned that Gypsies tended to keep to certain counties, so a Drina who was part of a Surrey clan, for example, wasn’t likely to have ever been in Yorkshire. And the lack of a family name was a bigger issue than she would have guessed. Each clan comprised only a few families, so knowing that name would have vastly helped Tristan find the woman.
As they left a tent after encountering yet another dead end, she murmured, “The Romany are not what I expected.”
“In what way?”
She glanced over to where a young woman was scrubbing sheets furiously behind a tent. “For one thing, they’re much cleaner than I’d always heard. And the women are not . . . well . . .”
“Little whores?”
“Sly,” she said with an arch glance.
“It must come as quite a shock to you to find that Gypsies aren’t all dirty and wild thieves,” he said, with an edge to his voice.
She colored. “One does occasionally hear of those who are.”
“Right.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “One hears an astonishing amount of information about the Romany, when you consider that few people have ever had any firsthand dealings with them.”
“Perhaps if Gypsies weren’t so clannish and wary of strangers, people wouldn’t make those assumptions.”
“The people we’ve been dealing with today haven’t been like that,” he pointed out. “It’s only when they’re bullied and driven from pillar to post that they grow wary of strangers. But they can tell that we’re respectful of their customs.” He stared ahead, more somber than before. “And in winter, they’re desperate enough to talk to anyone who might give them a chance of making some money.”
“Yes, I noticed some of the men asking if you know where they can find work. I always heard that Gypsy men were lazy.”
“It’s easy to apply that word to a people one doesn’t understand, with unusual customs and strange beliefs. They’re nomadic, so they like to roam, and they believe in living for the moment, so amassing a fortune isn’t important to them. We English are the opposite, so we assume that their rootlessness and lack of ambition translates to a hatred of work, when really it’s just . . . rootlessness and a lack of ambition.”
Something suddenly occurred to her. “You defend them because you’re like them. You have no roots and you
like to roam.”
“I defend them because they’re generally good people. Or at least as good as anyone else you run across. That’s the only reason.”
They walked a moment in silence, with him stiff and stony-faced beside her.
“Did I insult you somehow?” she finally ventured.
“Certainly not.”
She had. She was almost sure of it. But uncertain of how, she figured it was better not to press him.
A young woman standing near a tent smiled hesitantly at Zoe, and Tristan halted to question her in Romany. With an apologetic smile, she shook her head. They moved on.
“I take it she knew no Drinas?” Zoe asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
Wanting to banish this tight-lipped, wary Tristan, she said, “I have to admit, your being able to speak their language has been very helpful.” When he cast her a veiled glance, she teased, “Go ahead and gloat. You were right. You were obviously the appropriate choice for this assignment.”
His stiffness finally melted, and he said lightly, “I do so love it when you eat crow, princess.”
“Don’t—”
“Call you that. I know.” He gestured down another winding, muddy path. “I can’t help myself.” He raked her with a sidelong glance that took in every inch of her. “Especially when you’re dressed like a princess.”
“I didn’t have a choice, you know. Aunt Flo would have been suspicious if I’d gone out shopping with a duchess wearing my roughest clothes.”
“Believe me, it’s fine. More than fine.” For a moment his gaze held hers, smoldering with just enough heat to singe her. Then he jerked it back to the path. “Because this actually works out better. They’re in such awe of you that they’re eager to say whatever will please the elegant lady.”
She burst into laughter. “No one has ever called me elegant.”
“Why not?” He seemed genuinely surprised.
“Because I’m about as elegant as a lamppost. Aunt Flo says I am too sturdily built for elegance.”
He shook his head. “We’ve already established that your aunt is a fool.”
“Oh, she doesn’t mean it to be unkind. She also says I have excellent teeth and a pretty nose.”
“Rather like a fine horse,” he quipped.
“Exactly. My aunt would probably prefer putting me up for auction at Tattersall’s to gain me a husband. It would be so much easier than squiring me around to parties.”
“Trust me, if she did that, you’d have enough bids to put the lie to her claims about your lacking elegance.”
The compliment warmed her. “Would you bid on me?” she said lightly.
“In a heartbeat.” This time his heated glance did more than singe. It inflamed her senses.
She forced herself to look away. “Yes, well, you’re used to buying women. Just how many brothels did you and my cousin visit last night?” The words were out before she could stop them.
He eyed her consideringly. “That was not my idea, and you know it.”
“Yet you happily went along with it.”
Oh, Lord, stop talking about it, you fool!
But as usual, she ignored all sense when it came to him. “My cousin was still abed when I left, so I daresay the two of you had quite the night.”
His eyes gleamed at her. “You’ll have to ask him about that. When I last saw him, he was being welcomed into a brothel with open arms. I figured he could handle the women on his own, so I went home.”
She snorted. “You honestly expect me to believe that.”
“Which part? The part about your cousin? Or the part about me?”
“The part about you, of course. I know my cousin must have been doing something to come in so late.”
“He did it alone, I swear. I knew I had to be on my toes for today’s jaunt, so I retired at a decent hour.” With one of his irritating smirks, he laid his hand on the small of her back and leaned in close. “How intriguing that you care. You don’t seem the least concerned that I left your cousin at a brothel, yet you’re determined to find out if I was there with him. Jealous, are you?”
Pulling away, she walked a little ahead. “Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t care what you do with your evenings.”
“If you say so, princess,” he drawled in that self-satisfied tone that so provoked her.
She could feel his gaze on her; he was probably looking at her arse again. “I already know what sort of man you are.”
“Do you really? And what sort is that?”
“A rogue.”
“Yes, indeed.” He said it as if it were a badge of honor!
“And a . . . a seducer,” she snapped.
He laughed outright. “That, too, when I get a chance of it.”
His smug amusement and utter lack of shame were suddenly too much to bear. She halted to look at him. “And a horse thief.”
The blood drained from his face, and his smile vanished.
Her pleasure at having unsettled him fled. Hadn’t she already decided that he was not a horse thief? And even if he were, hadn’t she decided not to question him about it until he’d done his job for her?
“Or so I was told,” she added hastily. “Though I’m sure it was only—”
“By whom?” His voice was sharp, distant.
“What?”
“Who told you I was a horse thief?”
Botheration. “Well . . . I, um, heard it sort of secondhand, actually—”
“Mr. Bonnaud!” A boy came running up to them. “Mr. Bonnaud! You must come talk to my father’s aunt!”
Still staring at her expectantly, he said to the boy, “About what?”
The boy was breathing hard. “About the man you asked about this morning. Milosh Corrie.”
Tristan’s attention instantly shifted to the boy. “Does this aunt know where Milosh is?”
“Where he works at night. Yes. She was sleeping when you asked about Milosh before.” He tugged on Tristan’s arm. “Come, you must talk to her now. Before she naps again.”
“Of course.” Tristan glanced at Zoe. “Why don’t you stay here while I—”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m coming with you.”
With an exasperated look, he threaded his fingers through his hair. But he must have realized he couldn’t leave her there alone while he wandered Lord only knew where, for he muttered an oath, then gestured to her to accompany him.
The boy was already rushing off, back in the direction from which they’d just come. As they hurried to keep up, she murmured, “Who’s Milosh?”
His jaw went taut. “A man I grew up with. I told you, the Romany used to camp on my father’s land.”
“And will he help us find Drina?”
“He might,” he said noncommittally. “The Yorkshire Romany probably all know each other, and he is of that clan.”
“Oh, that’s good.” But how odd that he hadn’t mentioned this Milosh fellow before.
She prepared herself for a renewal of their conversation about the horse thieving, but he looked distracted now.
He wasn’t the only one. Her mind whirled with all the information she’d learned today. Seeing how meanly the Gypsies lived made her realize just how lucky she’d been that her parents had bought her. If they even had. She began to understand why Tristan had scoffed at the notion.
Despite the children’s poor attire, she’d seen not one instance of cruelty to them. They roamed the camp freely and happily. Everywhere, there were babies—being nursed, being dandled on knees, being sung to. It was hard to imagine those doting mothers selling any of their children.
Within a short while, they had returned to the row of tumbledown houses near the road. When it became clear they were headed for one, Zoe looked over at Tristan. “Why do some reside in tents if there are these?”
“Taking a house in the city, even a mean one, is expensive. Only a few of the Romany can afford it, and usually those who can belong to large families, with lots of able-bodied me
n able to contribute to the rent.”
They entered to find themselves in a barren room furnished only with bedrolls, cushions, and a fireplace. Several women milled about, preparing food, dealing with children, and cleaning.
The boy drew them over to a wizened old woman huddled before the low-burning fire. She was swathed in shawls of exotic colors, one of them wrapped about her gray head. Her gap-toothed smile included them as well as the boy, who spoke a few words to her in Romany. She gestured to Tristan to come closer, and they began to converse in her language.
Until now, Tristan had always begun the conversation in Romany to gain the person’s trust but had quickly changed to English for Zoe’s benefit. Not this time. And the longer the conversation went on, the more annoyed she became. She heard the name Milosh several times, but not Drina.
When at last there was a pause, she said, “What does she say about Drina?”
A shadow crossed Tristan’s face. “I haven’t asked yet. I was easing into it.”
He spoke to the woman in Romany again. Her face darkened, and she shook her head no, then muttered a few words and put her head down on her chest. It was not the reaction they’d been getting from others.
Apparently Tristan thought so, too, for he asked her something else, but now she wouldn’t speak to him at all, just kept shaking her head.
The boy faced them, his expression apologetic. “You must go now. Auntie is tired.”
Zoe’s heart dropped into her stomach. “But—”
“Go!” the boy said, with a worried look at his aunt. “She will say no more.”
Taking her by the arm, Tristan began walking toward the door.
“Tristan!” she cried. “She knows something.”
“She says she doesn’t. And badgering her won’t get us anywhere.” When Zoe dragged her feet, he added under his breath, “I’ll speak to Milosh. If he hasn’t heard of Drina, perhaps he’ll help us convince the old woman to tell us what she knows. But for now, we’re done here.”
Only then did Zoe let him lead her outside.
As they hurried down the path, she glanced at him. “So she did reveal where Milosh is.”
How the Scoundrel Seduces Page 13