Sweet Seduction hmtl

by Patricia Pellicane

  "Everyone wants to hear the same thing. Tell them they will someday be rich and will soon find someone to love."

  Meg laughed at the absurd notion. She couldn't do it, of course, no matter how intriguing the idea. She simply didn't have the nerve. Meg had watched with no little amazement these last two hours while her cousins had sat inside the tent and gazed into a crystal ball, telling everyone who had entered what lay in store. Even if they used no supernatural powers but made up all they said, Meg doubted she had the nerve to do as much.

  The curtains billowed as she was shoved with some force into the tiny enclosure. An anxious young woman stood just inside, and Meg swallowed hard while wondering which of them was more nervous. A moment later she pointed to a chair. The woman sat and Meg slid behind the small table, sitting opposite her.

  She cleared her throat and prayed her voice wouldn't tremble as she whispered low and throatily, "Vot do you vant to know?" Did she sound mysterious? Lord, she hoped so. Meg almost laughed aloud she realized she was praying. Good Lord, was there another with half her audacity to pray for help while swindling some unsuspecting soul out of her money? Meg couldn't believe she was doing this.

  The lady before her blinked with surprise, shouldn't I cross your palm with a coin first?"

  Drat! What kind of Gypsy was she? She'd forgotten to ask for money. Hadn't she watched her cousins do as much for hours? Why then hadn't she remembered? Luckily for her it was fairly dark inside this tent. She hoped the woman wouldn't notice her blushing ignorance, nor the trembling in her hand. Meg held out her hand and waited for the coin to drop into her palm. A second later she dropped the coin into her lap, not knowing where else to put it.

  Mumbling, she hoped, Gypsy-sounding words, she moved her hands above the glass ball and looked deep into the crystal. Of course she saw nothing but jar own reflection peering back at her. Now what? it in the world was she supposed to say?

  "You vant something special. You vant it very much." That was easy enough. Most people wanted something, Meg reasoned.

  Meg sighed with relief as the woman nodded vigrously.

  Oh God, don't tell me I have to guess what it is! Meg silently cried.

  A moment later she almost groaned with relief as woman said, "A baby. Tell me if my husband and I are going to have a baby."

  Meg could hear the desperation in the woman's voice. Even in this dim light, she could see it in the woman's eyes. Her first impulse was to tell her to go to a physician. But no. That wasn't what this woman wanted to hear. Good Lord, Meg wondered, how she could help her? What comfort could she offer? She couldn't say yes and possibly give the woman false hope, and yet she couldn't crush all hope by telling her no. What in the world was she supposed to say?

  "You've been to a doctor?" Meg asked.

  "No. I've only been married a month." Meg sighed and almost collapsed with relief. A month. Thank God. "You have much time. Why do you worry?"

  "I'm not worried, exactly. It's just that my mother couldn't have children."

  Meg's dark brows raised in skepticism. She looked at the young woman, her eyes sparkling with humor. The beginnings of a smile trembled the corners of her mouth. She fought a valiant struggle to keep her laughter at bay. "Couldn't she?"

  "I mean, before and after me."

  Meg grinned and took the woman's hand in both of hers. And then the words slipped out before she knew she was going to say them.

  "Don't worry. I see two little girls with blond hair pulling at your skirts."

  Meg almost gasped in amazement at the sudden picture in her mind. A picture so clear it might have been happening at this very moment. How had she seen that? And worst of all, how had she the gall to have told this poor woman such a thing?

  "Do you?" The woman was obviously hanging on to Meg's every word. The excitement in her voice was unmistakable. "My husband has blond hair. Do you really see them?"

  Meg was helpless against the woman's enthusiasm. She couldn't take back the words. She hadn't lied. She had seen them. Meg felt a shiver of fear. Nothing like this had ever happened to her before. What did it mean?

  Meg closed her eyes, trying to collect herself. Still holding to the woman's hand, she saw them again. She couldn't stop the words. With a will of their own they came to her lips. "I see two and a boy. An older boy." Meg forgot her accent, so intrigued was she by the pictures flashing in her mind. She nodded, some-positive, as ridiculous as it might be, that she seeing this woman's children.

  "Oh thank you, thank you," the woman said as she jumped to her feet, reached across the table, and mugged Meg fiercely. "I can't tell you how happy you've made me."

  Meg shook her head, embarrassed at the woman's and grateful display. Joy radiated in waves from sparkling blue eyes. Meg could only pray that the tiny glimpses she'd seen were truly in this woman's future. She couldn't say more. Her own eyes were suddenly filled with tears. The tightening of her throat prevented further words.

  "Do you see any more?"

  Meg merely shook her head. She didn't, and she wouldn't have said if she had. Meg didn't know what come over her. It frightened her terribly and she never wanted anything like this to happen again.

  The woman smiled and said, "Thank you" at least three more times before she left the tent.

  Meg followed the woman out. She had to get some air, get away. She wanted to run and hide from the eerie vision she'd had. Her entire body trembled, and her heart pounded. Unexplained tears misted her black eyes, causing them to glitter almost hysterically, for she felt only fear and bewilderment.

  "You have the gift, child," Nanna said, her voice husky with emotion, standing suddenly beside the trembling younger woman.

  Meg breathed a deep lungful of air, trying to ward off this surprising and unsettling need to cry. "You heard?"

  Nanna nodded.

  "What happened to me? I couldn't stop my mouth from spouting the most ridiculous gibberish."

  "Gibberish?" the old woman repeated, clearly in doubt. "Do you believe that?"

  "I want to. To believe anything else is impossible." Anything else scared her senseless. "I'm afraid."

  "I know. The first time it happened to me, I was also afraid."

  "It happened to you?" Meg turned to stare at her great-grandmother, her eyes enormous, filled with confusion. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean you have the gift."

  Meg shook her head, suddenly afraid to ask what she meant. "It was only a game. I was supposed to make something up."

  Nanna nodded. "Most often it is done that way. But sometimes, sometimes it happens."

  "And then?"

  The old woman shrugged. "Then you can't say anything but what is in your heart. No other words will come."

  "I won't do it again."

  "Don't be afraid, little one. It's a gift from God. It cannot harm you."

  "But I am afraid."

  Nanna smiled and took the young woman's hand. Again her eyes grew sad as she looked deep into the dark eyes before her. She smiled gently. "You will be afraid, yes," the old woman said, "but you will never be in danger. Someone who doesn't yet know his love will protect you."

  Meg smiled, knowing her great-grandmother was trying to calm her. Amazingly it worked. She did feel calmer. A soft sigh of sorrow escaped her lips at the thought of returning home. She didn't want to leave this woman. Not now. Not when she'd finally found her.

  "This is a party child, and at a party everyone should enjoy themselves. Go." She gave Meg a small shove toward the fire and the group of friends and relatives who danced around its center.

  Nicoli played the fiddle while most of the dancing women clapped their hands or shook tambourines were gaily decorated with long, brightly colored ribbons. The women teased their partners with seductive movements, oblivious to the gathering crowd.

  A raised skirt, a flash of a naked thigh, a come-hither look from over a shoulder, a taunting smile and a sway of hips caused blood to race in each dancer. The men moved closer, occasi
onally reaching for their partner, only to see their women spin away as the beat of the music slowly captured all present, taking control of their bodies, their minds. It beat to the rhythm of their hearts and caused even those who watched a hunger unlike anything they'd ever known.

  "Dance for me, Gypsy," said a deep voice from behind and above Meg.

  Startled, Meg turned quickly to find its source and was stunned into immobility at the warm brown eyes that looked down into hers. For some unknown reason, her heart slammed with a powerful jerk against the wall of her chest while a pulse beat furiously in her throat, silencing her.

  Her mouth opened and closed, but no words would come. Meg never noticed her inability to speak as her eyes got caught in the depth of his gaze. She'd never seen a man so handsome. Flickering firelight danced over his even features. His darkly tanned skin told of many hours spent under the sun. Clear brown eyes, etched at the corners with squint lines, were filled with humor. His lips curved into a gentle smile as he realized the effect he was having on her. Silently she cursed her reaction, for. she'd never before stared so boldly at a man. But she'd never before seen a man to compare to this.

  Meg felt a thrill of fear shiver through her. She wanted to move away, yet found herself helpless but to remain in place. Without touching her, he held her with his gaze. How could that be? How could a man hold such power with only his eyes?

  Her mouth opened in a silent plea to be released from a hold she couldn't break. Tristan saw the shiver that raced through her body and understood. His smile was gentle as he watched her, his voice tender when he spoke. "I would pay you well if you dance just for me."

  Meg felt the first inklings that something was wrong here. What did he mean, pay her well? The others danced for the pure enjoyment of it. Why would he pay her to do the same?

  "I don't know how," she answered honestly.

  Tristan grinned. "A Gypsy who doesn't know how?" he asked in amazement. He shook his head in belief. "Dance for me, Gypsy."

  Meg shook her head. "No. When I dance it will be for . . ." Meg couldn't finish. She wasn't sure what she'd been about to say.

  "A lover?" he completed.

  Meg blushed. Something was happening here. Something she didn't understand. Something she couldn't find the courage to face.

  The truth was that Meg didn't know how to dance, at least not this kind of dancing. And even if she knew the movements, she could never have relaxed and grown so sensual, so seductive before anyone's eyes. Her body wouldn't move like that. She was sure it wouldn't. But if this man was eager to spend his money, there were other ways. "No" she shook her head again, "I won't dance, but I will tell your fortune."

  Tristan grinned. Better yet. It would give him a chance to get her alone, and right now he wanted nothing more than to be alone with this woman.

  Tristan followed her into the tent and sat, at her nod, in a chair. He pulled it closer, so they were almost side by side, rather than across from each other.

  Meg shot him a quick look of annoyance. The man was far too bold, and she didn't like it one bit. But her look of disapproval merely brought a twinkle of delight to his eyes. Meg silently vowed this man was going to pay for his arrogance and pay dearly. She held out her palm and said, "If you vant to know vat da future vill hold, cross dis Gypsy's palm vit gold." Meg almost laughed aloud. Her lips quivered as she forced back a grin. That wasn't half bad. She was almost enjoying herself or certainly would have been if this man weren't leaning so closely.

  Tristan grinned as he dropped a guinea into her hand. Meg's eyes widened with surprise. A guinea! Good Lord! He'd dropped the money into her palm as if it meant nothing when all others gave no more than tuppence. Either the man was a fool, or he was far, richer than he deserved to be. Meg was happy to relieve him of the heavy weight. She dropped it into her lap.

  "Vat do you vant to know?"

  Tristan's eyes narrowed. It was amazing how she'd suddenly acquired an accent. Outside when he'd heard her talking to the old woman and then when she'd suggested telling his fortune, her voice hadn't been nearly so deep, nor so accented. He grinned as she raised her dark eyes to his in question. "If you're truly a Gypsy, why not tell me vat I vant to know."

  Meg ignored the teasing mimicry and breathed a long sigh of disgust. It was easy enough to see by the glitter in this man's eyes what he wanted. Meg might never have had a serious relationship, but she hadn't spent the last twenty-four years in a convent, after al1. She knew interest in a man's eyes when she saw it. Only this man's showed a bit too much interest. He needed a good setting down. Meg's mind searched for the perfect way to go about it. "You want to know how to find your lover."

  "I think I just did," he returned as strong white teeth caught his bottom lip, harnessing a laugh. Her mouth pinched into a tight line. Meg was dying to tell this one a thing or two, but she held on her temper. He was far too cocky and confident. Certainly the man had much to be cocky about, but he'd chosen the wrong woman, if he thought to make an impression on her.

  Wise enough to know any anger on her part would add to the aggravating humor that already danced in his eyes, a plan began to form. Meg was determined to relieve him of a goodly amount of that arrogance, for his own good, of course, and if her luck held, perhaps she could relieve him of more of gold as well. Surely the Sisters of St. Joseph would be most appreciative of her donation.

  "Tonight," she said, her voice low as if telling a great secret. "You vill find her tonight."

  Now all he had to ask was where and she'd hit him another fee.

  Tristan's eyes darkened with interest as he imagined the husky sound of her voice against his ear as moved into that lush body. She knew what he wanted and was willing. He grinned at the roundabout way she was telling him. "When tonight?"

  Meg might have smiled but forced back the need, knowing it would ruin everything. She held out her hand, silently asking for more of his gold before he'd be allowed an answer. Another gold piece was dropped into her palm. Her eyes glowed with satisfaction as she silently promised herself that when the sisters again needed money she would put up a tent at their next function and tell fortunes. "Ven the clock strikes one, it vill be done." Meg lowered her head and bit at her lips, lest a giggle escape.

  Tristan nodded. He could wait a few hours for this one. Delicately tapered, long-fingered hands lay relaxed upon the table, one on each side of that ridiculous glass ball. His gaze dropped to her breasts and the tiny waist that was wrapped in the gaudy green scarf. By the looks of her, the wait would be more than worth it.

  "How much will it cost me?"

  Meg's gaze snapped from the glass ball and clashed with his. "What do you mean?" she asked, forgetting her accent and the low pitch of her voice in her confusion. She couldn't for a minute imagine what in the world the man was talking about.

  Tristan grinned at the sudden lapse in her playacting. He imagined that this one was probably a worse actress than the one he was supposed to have seen tonight. "For her time. I will want her for the whole night and a good part of tomorrow."

  It took a moment, but Meg realized at last his meaning. It was with superhuman effort that she forced aside the impulse to blast the man with a sample of her temper. She blinked, straining for control, but for a long moment couldn't force the words from her mouth. At least not the words this man was anxious to hear. She'd never been so insulted in her whole life. Just who did he think he was to proposition a lady like herself?

  And then Meg remembered the part she played. He didn't know she was a lady. Still, how dare he suppose a Gypsy woman to be so free with her charms? Just because their customs were a bit different did that mean they jumped into a man's bed at a whim? Meg knew they did not. According to what she'd seen so far, all unmarried women were guarded carefully.

  Her smile was only a bit tighter than usual as she pushed aside the need to attack this lowlife with her bare fists. How much? Idly she wondered what the current rate for a lady's time was.

  Rememberi
ng in time the currency difference, she said, "Fifty pounds," while shooting him a dark, mysterious smile. A smile that promised all his dreams would come true if he agreed to her price.

  Tristan whistled through his teeth. His surprise was obvious. He hadn't expected her to ask for more than a pound or two, considering what he'd already given. His mind raced on to the night that stretched ahead. The thought of spending that night in the arms of this delicious woman was worth every cent he had on him. "Done." He got to his feet. "One o'clock."

  "The money first."

  Tristan was just about to leave the tent. He turned back and grinned. "Now, you don't take me for a fool, do you woman?"

  Meg wasn't about to take this man at all. But since he was to her way of thinking indeed a fool and so eager to part with his money, she knew the sisters would greatly benefit from his wasteful and, yes, sinful ways. Her head was pounding with the disgust that filled her being as she murmured, "You pay now."

  "Are you afraid I won't show?" He could have told her she needn't worry. Nothing short of a catastrophe could keep him from their appointment tonight.

  Meg shook her head wishing she knew how to convince this man with coquetry but merely repeated, "You pay now."

  Tristan grinned. "Not a chance, sweetheart. I'll pay at one o'clock and not a minute sooner."

  "But . . . but ... I have to leave the money here." She was desperate. Since she had no intentions of meeting him, how was she to get hold of his money? How could she convince him? "My ... my papa will be angry if . . ." Meg shuddered. Lord, but that was an understatement if ever there was one. She didn't want to think what her father would do if he ever found out what she was up to. Twenty-four or not, he just might take a stick to her for this bit of nonsense. Purposely she let the sentence hang, hoping he'd take pity. He didn't, the beast!

  Tristan shook his head. "I'll give it to you at one o'clock."

  Meg bit her bottom lip. Drat! For just a moment she wished she had some experience along these lines. How did a woman convince a man to see the error of his ways? How was she going to get him to part with his money? Somehow she knew nothing less than losing his money would make an impression on this one.