by Sahara Kelly
“Travel with us, sweetheart. See the world at our side. We are on our way to London to meet up with our friends, but after that we’re free. The world awaits us.”
“I…I…” The words stuck in her throat as she allowed herself the luxury of imagining such a life.
“With our music and your voice we can make our own way. We’ll be dependent on no one, except ourselves. It’s a free life, Prioshka, not elegant or easy…but free.”
Priscilla snorted. “I never wanted elegance.”
“Yet you deserve it. And so much more. More than we can give you. All we have to offer is this humble caravan and…ourselves.”
Mat’s eyes were pleading as she faced him and Luk.
“It’s more riches than you can possibly imagine, Mat. But…are you sure?”
“We are sure.” Luk’s voice was firm. “There is much we have yet to see, love. Now that the war is over, Europe beckons. Come wander a while with us. Practice some of your language skills. Learn Hungarian the right way. In bed with us.” A wicked grin curved his lips.
Priscilla sighed. Good lord, these two were…wonderful.
“How I would like to. But…” She paused. “A time will come when you’ll both want to wed. To settle down with families of your own. I don’t think I could bear it. And yet I know it must happen.”
Two frowns crossed two faces. “Never, Prioshka. Children of our hearts? Perhaps. Children of our flesh—no.”
“I don’t understand.”
Mat drew in a breath. “Prioshka, we do not know who we are. As orphans, there were no records of our parentage. We made a promise to each other a long time ago that we’d never father children who might, through no fault of ours or theirs, end up in the same situation.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but Luk forestalled her. “You see, love, we have a very small piece of land, not far from Eger, that we quietly bought a few years ago. It’s covered with untended vineyards right now, but eventually we shall return to it. The war got in the way of our plans, but it didn’t really matter.”
“It’s not large, but there is potential there. We intend to go back soon. And once there…”
“What?” Priscilla couldn’t help the question
“Once there,” continued Mat, “We shall open our own orphanage, but this time there will be food. And love.”
Priscilla blinked as the pieces fell into place. They were going to give other children the chance they never had. To make some kind of sense of their past. Use their experiences to better other lives. And they wanted her to be a part of it.
“It sounds…like heaven.”
And indeed it did. To live in Hungary, to love these men, all the while tending to children desperate for affection, with minds crying out for knowledge and a helping hand…Priscilla’s eyes filled with tears once more.
“Then come and be a part of our heaven. We need an angel. And…truthfully neither Mat nor I can imagine it now without you.”
Luk held out his hand, as did Mat.
They were offering so much. Did they realize it? Had they any idea that their simple plans had opened up a new world for this sheltered governess? That their loving had opened her heart and their passion had opened her soul?
There was only one answer she could make.
She placed her hands in theirs. “Yes.”
*~~*~~*
Their newfound partnership lasted all of two hours.
“You haven’t thought this through,” complained Priscilla as she clambered onto the seat of the caravan between Luk and Mat.
Mat gritted his teeth. “There is nothing to think through, Prioshka. You are with us now. End of story.”
“But…what will people think? You’re going to London. There might be people there who could help fund your project. They’re not going to want to come anywhere near you if they think you’re…we’re…well…if I’m…”
“If you’re what?” snapped Luk. “Our lover?”
Mat couldn’t help the grin as once more the hot color flooded Prioshka’s cheeks.
“Exactly.” She may have been blushing but she wasn’t about to back down from her arguments.
“Who cares? We don’t.” Luk clicked up the horses.
Priscilla sighed gustily. “It’s just that I don’t want my presence to be a hindrance. I love you both too much to want to harm you in any way.”
Luk’s severe countenance relaxed. “Sweetheart, we love you too. It took no time at all for you to climb into our hearts. You’re there now. Permanently.”
“Say goodbye, Prioshka.” Mat grasped her hand and folded it into his.
“Goodbye?”
“Goodbye to Mistress Priscilla Hill, governess. She is no more. Behold a new person—Prioshka Eger. Beloved woman of the Eger brothers. Lover, friend, playmate, teacher…all that and more.”
“But what of your friends?” Prioshka’s voice was weakening under the touch of his hand and the press of Luk’s shoulder on her other side.
“Our friends?” Both men shared a chuckle.
“They’ll love you as we do, darling. Never worry your head on that score. We’ve been through too much together to ever be critical of each other at this date.” Luk nodded at Mat’s words.
“We spent several years in France, Prioshka…” His voice tapered off.
“You did?”
Mat heard the curiosity. “We did.”
And over the next few hours he and Luk shared some of their stories, bringing a gasp to her lips as they told of missions accomplished, lives saved—and occasionally lost.
“You mean you actually…”
A sharp lurch interrupted Prioshka, and both men swore sibilantly.
Reining in the horse, Luk clambered down as Mat leaped to the ground from his side. Further curses echoed along the lane.
“Damned linchpin,” muttered Mat.
Prioshka scrambled down into the road and joined them, staring at the cracked wood. “Oh dear.”
“‘Oh dear’ is right,” growled Luke. “The damn wheel will have to come off.”
Shortly thereafter, the wheel lay prone at the side of the road, while two shirtless gods muttered and mumbled to themselves as they attempted a repair. Prioshka looked on, helpfully passing a tool when needed.
Mat couldn’t resist the opportunity to tease her. “Enjoying the show, love?”
She grinned back. “Indeed I am. I have the best seat in the house too.”
“I can think of a better one,” added Luk. His hips slanted forward slightly, showing a nice bulge in his breeches.
Prioshka hid her smile and pursed her lips. “Work first, play later.”
Mat gave a theatrical sigh and returned to his task, shaping a new pin from a convenient branch with his knife.
The sound of a jingling harness made them all look up to see a large traveling carriage approaching. The driver reined in the horses at a command from its occupant.
The door opened and a woman stepped out. She surveyed the scene, letting her eyes linger on the two shirtless men.
“May we be of assistance?”
Her voice was cool, her demeanor even more so, and she glanced at her driver, who climbed down and moved over to the group looking at the damaged wheel.
“Thank you, Ma’am, but I believe we have things well in hand.” Prioshka’s voice was brisk.
Mat suppressed a grin of amusement. Their Prioshka was a possessive one, all right. He was profoundly glad of it too.
The woman turned, and then paused. “I am traveling to London. There’s a…friend there I am seeking. Might either of you gentlemen know a Gyorgy Vargas?”
She turned into the sunlight and three mouths dropped as the rays hit a pair of pure china blue eyes.
Mat gulped. “Indeed, Ma’am. He’s a good friend of ours.”
The lips curved up into a small smile as she took one more look at the honed and sweaty bodies. “Somehow, I had a feeling that might be the case.”
Luk straight
ened his shoulders. “You are a friend of Gyorgy’s? He is well?”
The elegant head tilted slightly. “Indeed yes. And probably in London by now. Which is where I intend to find him. I must suppose that you two are his companions in your musical group?”
Both men bowed gracefully, ignoring their bare chests. “We are the Egers, Ma’am, Lukasz and Matyas. And this…” Mat held out his hand to Prioshka. “This is Prioshka Eger.”
Prioshka dropped a polite curtsey as her cheeks colored up.
“A pleasure to meet you all,” said the woman. “I am the Dowager Duchess Kirkwood. Marie-Claire to my friends.” She nodded towards her carriage. “Why don’t you let me take you to London, and my footman will see to the repair of your caravan? You can tell me where I may find Mr. Vargas in exchange for the lift.”
The three exchanged glances.
“You may rely on my man. He’s very knowledgeable about such things. If you’ll give him a direction in London, he’ll see that your belongings are kept safe.”
Mat sighed. “I don’t see that we have much choice. Other than stay here for several more hours trying to do it ourselves.”
Luk agreed. “I don’t relish spending the night here by this road, that’s for sure. And there are no guarantees we’ll be finished before dark.”
“Will we not be taking you out of your way, Ma’am?” Prioshka’s hesitancy was evident in her voice.
“Not at all. Other than finding Mr. Vargas, I only have one task to accomplish in town.”
“And that would be…” Prioshka’s question hung in the sunlight between them and Mat held his breath, wondering if this woman with the strange eyes would answer.
She gazed at them contemplatively then took a breath. “I’m going to kill a man.”
*~~*~~*
The carriage swayed as it lumbered its way along the London road. Prioshka nervously smoothed the skirts of the colorful outfit Mat and Luk had insisted she wear, and glanced at the woman next to her.
How could anyone be so composed? So cool? And what did she think about a woman traveling with two such handsome men?
The Duchess caught her gaze. “You are very lucky, Miss Eger.”
“I am?”
“Indeed. To be so loved by such men.”
Prioshka’s jaw dropped and she looked over at Mat and Luk. They were grinning at her as if they hadn’t a care in the world.
“I…I…we…”
Marie-Claire smiled, and with a gesture that seemed strangely awkward for her, she touched Prioshka’s hand. “A blind man could see the affection between you. I envy you. If these two are anything like Gyorgy…” Her voice tailed off.
“He is special to you?” She couldn’t hold the question back.
“Oh yes.” Marie-Claire’s amazingly blue eyes drifted to the window. “I didn’t realize how special. Just one night, Prioshka, that’s all it took.”
Stunned by the fact that she was holding hands with a Dowager Duchess who had just casually used her first name, Prioshka gulped. Then a slow smile began. “It only takes one night with men such as these.”
A laugh was surprised from Marie-Claire and she too glanced over at their companions. “Hush now. Any more of this and their heads will swell.”
“Agreed.” Prioshka rested her head against the cushions and felt the tension seep out of her. This woman understood. She was in love with Gyorgy Vargas, friend to Mat and Luk. She knew the power of such a man’s touch. It made them sisters of a sort, women who shared a knowledge few were privileged to possess.
A thought came to her, and comfortable with her surroundings, she dared voice it. “I take it that you are not going to London to kill Gyorgy?”
Marie-Claire blinked. “Good God, no.”
Luk leaned forward. “May we ask who you intend as your target, Marie-Claire? Killing a man is a difficult thing. Not something to be undertaken lightly.”
Marie-Claire’s expression firmed into a mask. “Believe me, friend Luk, I do not take it lightly. It is a man who deserves to die. But perhaps the less you know of that, the better.”
Silence fell between them as they sensed Marie-Claire’s reluctance to tell them more.
“Well, if you need help, just let us know.” Prioshka folded her hands complacently on her lap. “From what I understand, these men look upon themselves as family. And now that I…” She blushed. “…I am one of the family, I’ll stand by them. And you.”
Luk and Mat seared her with their gazes as her little speech concluded. They knew exactly what she meant.
Her decision was made, her objections overcome. She was theirs.
Forever.
__________________________________________
And so the adventures of the Gypsy Gentlemen continue as they gather in London with their new-found loves.
They have made some plans, and will welcome the arrival of Mat, Luc and Prioshka. How Gyorgy will respond to the appearance of Marie-Claire? Well that is yet to be determined.
But one man has yet to make an appearance.
Fabyan.
He of the mysterious silence and forceful personality; the man who brought five willful strangers together and molded them into a band that would not accept injustice or tolerate unkindness.
What of Fabyan and what revelations lie ahead for him?
Find out in Book III – Endings and Beginnings – available at Amazon.com.
Here’s a brief excerpt:
Fabyan Szabo felt his smile spreading from ear to ear.
His friends clustered around him, hugging him, clapping him on the shoulders, wringing his hands with theirs and generally making affectionate nuisances of themselves.
He loved it.
Finally, he held up his hand and motioned them all back to their chairs, pulling up one of his own. Anyone would think they’d been parted for years instead of a couple of weeks.
With simple gestures, he encouraged them to talk, and listened intently as they took turns imparting their news.
So Viktor had married, as had Pyotr. And both happily by the looks of them. Not to mention the fact that Pyotr had finally accepted his heritage and become Lord Peter Chalmers once again. That was good. A man should face his past demons some time and lay them to rest.
Peter had shared his secrets with Fabyan one drunken night, and Fabyan knew it was only a matter of time before Peter’s nature forced him to deal with the pain that lurked in his heart. Apparently falling in love with Freddie had done the trick. And Gyorgy?
Well, there was a man in the throes of passion if ever Fabyan had seen one. He had that “look” about him that told the world he was on a mission, and wouldn’t rest until he had his woman where she belonged. In his bed.
Fabyan hid a private smile with his hand as he stroked his moustache.
He listened to their stories, their adventures and their embarrassed explanation of how it came to be that in such a short time all three had succumbed to a particular woman.
He just shook his head and let his eyes tell them of his happiness for them.
He held up two fingers.
“Lukasz and Matyas?” said Viktor. “I don’t know. Haven’t heard from them. But I’m sure they’ll arrive soon.”
Peter chuckled. “Probably busy enjoying the favors of a variety of country lasses across the home counties.”
Fabyan nodded and then raised one eyebrow.
None of the men present missed the question.
“Yes, we’re plotting.” Peter looked apologetic. “Not like we did in Europe, but plotting just the same.”
Fabyan leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees, folding his hands together and waiting. He was very good at waiting.
“There are two men, Fabyan. Two men who have shown themselves to be beneath reproach. Both names are known to you…Lord Alfred Eventyde is one.”
Fabyan’s jaw tightened.
“Yes indeed,” continued Viktor. “Our host on that eventful night. And the other is his guest…Fra
ncis Hucknall.”
Fabyan gave one short nod. These were indeed men whose existence soiled the ground they walked on. Viktor and the others could have no idea how much Fabyan wanted Eventyde dead.
It was his secret—his alone, and had remained his secret for many years.
He turned his attention back to his friends and listened as they detailed their plans. They were sound. Efficient, lethal and effective. At least where Eventyde was concerned.
He rested his hand inquiringly on Gyorgy’s arm as the conversation turned to Hucknall.
“I don’t know, Fabyan,” sighed Gyorgy. “I don’t know about Hucknall yet. We can’t touch him financially—he’s too shrewd to let himself fall into that trap. And the man has no reputation left to destroy. I do know that he holds a great deal of power over a number of people. He makes a habit of buying up their vowels, calling them in and accepting their properties in exchange for the debt.” Gyorgy’s expression was one of distaste.
Fabyan made a light motion with his fingers, as if holding a hand of cards.
“Maybe…” said Viktor thoughtfully. “The clubs he frequents are not reputable gaming houses, that’s for sure. He seems to know when someone has lost heavily at the tables…but whether he plays or not himself…Gyorgy?”
Gyorgy pondered the question. “I don’t know. I can find out.”
Fabyan nodded.
“And you, Fabyan…will you stay here?” Peter looked at his friend.
Fabyan shook his head and pulled out a small card bearing a nearby address.
“Oooh. Very nice, my friend. This would have impressed the hell out of Napoleon’s troops.” Peter grinned.
Fabyan punched him in the shoulder.
“Good. You are near enough to keep in touch. We need your counsel, Fabyan,” said Viktor as he glanced at the card. “And I know you’ll want to meet Freddie and Madelyne.”
Fabyan smiled again at the warmth in his friend’s voice. He did indeed want to meet these two women who had knocked two such confirmed bachelors off their feet and into matrimony.
They made plans to rendezvous once more the following evening, and parted, Fabyan enjoying the hugs and handshakes as he left Viktor’s home. Truly he was blessed to have such friends.