Chapter Ten
Tyrone leaned back in the chair, staring at the barren study hearth. Little by little the squire’s vast wealth was being siphoned off — how and by whom he did not know. It appeared worse less than the ledger led him to believe. With a snort he tossed the useless book back on the desk. How pathetic was a servant who professed to love and protect his blind mistress and then stole everything out from under her? It was lower than low in his opinion. He finished his drink and stood, crossing to the window to look out over the gardens.
The moon rode high in the evening sky, its hazy glow promising another stifling night with little relief from the ever present sticky beads of perspiration. Patches of light fell here and there, leaving the shrubs and bushes in partial mystery. Something short and bulky moved from the bushes into the path of a stray moonbeam. The bulk took on the form of the pony, trotting with purpose toward the kitchen door. Did the creature sleep where the food was prepared? Good Lord, I hope not.
The pony paused as if he knew he was being watched before continuing on to the herb garden gate. A billowy figure materialized from the shadows. The pony and the figure melded into one, turning away from the manor.
Who was about at this time of night? Tyrone glanced at the mantle clock, noting the hour was indeed well past one. Turning his attention back to the garden, he sought out the mysterious apparition, at last picking it out from the row of bushes by the back gate close to the woods. The objects before his eyes seemed to blend in with the gate and then vanish.
Turning away from the window, he sprinted out of the room and down the hall to the back door. He exited the house and jogged through the garden, slowing his pace when he neared the back gate. Pausing, he listened for any sound before lifting the latch to exit.
The woods stretched out before him at the edge of the lawn, cool and dark. Straining for a sound, he loped across the grass, at last catching the faint thud of the pony’s feet on the pine needle carpeting of the forest floor. He turned in the direction of the sound, feeling his way with caution along the darkened path. He tripped, trying to make his way through the dark, and winced, fearing his clumsiness would alert his prey. For a moment he thought he lost them, until the slight thud again emerged from the normal night noises of crickets and frogs. In time, the rush of the little waterfall replaced all other sounds. The air cooled and took on a welcome, refreshing dampness. Keeping to the cover of the bushes lining the pool, he observed the figure separate from the pony. The covering of clouds obscured Tyrone’s view. Long hair flowed loose down the woman’s back as she stepped to the bank and slipped her dress over her head. She bent to sit on the edge, glancing over her shoulder, as if sensing him there and then waded into the water.
It appeared his wood nymph was back. Stepping forward he tugged off his breeches, shirt, and boots. This time he did not intend to let her go as easily. As quietly as possible he eased into the water. She took no notice of him as she floated toward the fall on her back, her pert breasts catching the moon’s rays before once again slipping behind the clouds. Sinking under the water he swam in her direction, resurfacing an arm’s reach away.
With a gasp she flipped over and tread water. Her face turned to him, her features indistinguishable in the dark. “Who is there?”
He smiled. “It is just I, sweet wood nymph, come to pay homage to your glorious beauty once again.”
“You. Leave me be.” Tilting her head as if listening she tread water with one hand, crossing the other over her breasts.
His smile fled as he recognized the familiar lilt. Miss Daysland is my mysterious wood nymph.
Intrigued he swam closer, reducing the distance between them. “Why? I have permission to wander this forest.”
“I think not.”
Reaching out he grasped the arm covering her breasts and yanked her to him.
A squeal of outrage laced with fear fled her lips. “Unhand me! What do you want with me?”
“I merely desire to pick up where we left off.” Before she could protest his lips found hers. He covered them, licking the tiny droplets of water from their plump surfaces. She shivered, whimpering as he stroked his tongue along her bottom one, and then sighed. Seeing his opportunity he slipped his tongue between her lips to explore her inner recesses, pulling her in full against his nakedness as he did so. She stiffened and for a moment he thought she would fight him, but instead her arms encircled his neck, her fingers playing with the little curls at the nape. Growing bolder he deepened his kiss, moving his hand to play with the tight nub on her breast. This time she tore her lips from his with a startled gasp.
Flailing in the water, she splashed his face. “Release me this instant.”
The tremble of her limbs and the high note of alarm in her demand compelled him to step back and release her. As he opened his mouth to apologize he lost his footing on the slick, rocky bottom. Down he went, under the water, fumbling to find purchase on the pool bottom. By the time he found firm footing, she reached the bank. After scrambling up it she tugged on her discarded dress.
“Miss Daysland, wait!” He waded to shore. “I am sorry, I did not mean to behave in such an inappropriate manner.”
She leaped aboard the waiting pony and jabbed her bare feet into its sides. Her howl of outrage did nothing to appease his guilt as she galloped recklessly from the clearing.
“Damn it!” Snatching up his clothing and hopping on one foot, he attempted to shove the other into the leg of his trousers. He swore again as she rounded the curve in the path and disappeared from sight. Clutching his boots, he bolted after her.
A startling shriek added urgency to his stride. He rounded the bend in time to see the riderless pony slide to a halt and then carry on in the direction of the house. Fear clutched Tyrone’s chest. Even in the dark he knew the shape lying across the path was Delilah. He reached her side out of breath and knelt down. Please let her be all right. He said a silent prayer as he rolled her face up. After brushing away the twigs and leaves stuck to her face, he put his ear to her mouth. To his relief she moaned, her sweet breath skimming his cheek. “Miss Daysland?”
Her eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes.
He breathed a sigh of relief. “What happened? Are you all right?”
“I am fine … just knocked the wind … out of myself.” She sat up and then shoved him away. “Why did you pull me from Jester’s back? You could have seriously injured me.”
He stared at her for a second, lost for words. “I did nothing of the sort. The pony spooked and dumped you.”
“Nay! You pulled me off. I felt you grab the back of my dress.” She scrambled to her feet.
“I did no such thing. I swear. The pony spooked.”
“Liar!” she hissed. Turning her back on him, she stalked off down the path.
He hurried after her. “Look out.” Grabbing her hand, he steered her around the trunk of a tree just before she would have walked into it. “I never lie, Miss Daysland.”
With a snort she accepted his guidance but remained rigid and silent.
It was useless to defend himself against her claims. When her anger abated maybe then he could make her see reason. Resigned to her silence, Tyrone led her down the path back to the garden gate. Once there she wrenched her arm free from his grasp and marched up the steps. Stiff backed, she crossed the veranda and stomped into the house. The door banged behind her. He cringed at the sound. It seemed every conversation they entered into ended in a slamming door. Shaking his head, he turned back to the path to the woods to search for whatever spooked the pony. Perhaps he could prove his innocence.
Why did the woman insist he was out to hurt her? There was nothing for him to gain by her injury or death. It was not as if he needed her money. Guilt niggled at him. That was not precisely true. Wasn’t he marrying Miss Deval for financial and political gain? Nonetheless, surely Miss Daysland knew he would never stoop to hurting someone for monetary reward. He groaned. No, how would she when her own servants
seemed to be after her inheritance?
Jester materialized by the garden gate as if nothing was amiss, startling him. Tyrone opened it and let the pony in. The beast appeared no worse for wear, he noted before shutting the gate behind him and heading for the trail through the woods. An hour later he returned, none the wiser as to what caused the pony’s flight.
Chapter Eleven
Delilah made her way downstairs later than usual the next morning. Caution stilled her steps as she entered the breakfast room, listening for any sign of the earl. When no noise drew her attention she made her way to the buffet. She groped for the lid on the first warming tray, lifted it off, and sniffed. The buttery aroma of scrambled eggs greeted her. Running her fingers along the edge, she located the spoon and slid a plate closer. After placing a spoonful of eggs on the plate, she replaced the lid and felt for the next tray. A deep inhale of its contents made her smile. Ah, honeyed ham, one of my favorites. She stabbed a couple slices and added them to her plate, along with a flaky croissant and a pat of creamy butter. Then she heard it, a soft sound most wouldn’t have noticed: the scarcely detectable “shush” of material upon material, as if someone crossed their legs. Delilah spun around, dropping the lid with a metallic clang. The light scent of mint reached her.
“I did not hear you enter, my lord.” She tried to keep her tone light but couldn’t help the slight hint of outrage at his presence.
“I did not mean to startle you. I was reading the morning paper here all along.” As if to prove his claim, the newspaper crinkled.
Snatching her plate from the side board she angled toward her chair, counting the steps to the edge of the table. She set the plate down, grimacing when its clink betrayed her mood. “Good manners dictate one would give notice they were here upon my entry.”
A soft chuckle escaped him. “I thought you would have heard my presence. Besides, I enjoy watching how you take pleasure in the simplest sounds, smells, and textures of the world around you.”
“I am glad to know my antics amuse you, my lord.” Snubbing him, she sat and speared a piece of ham, popping it into her mouth and chewing with exaggerated attention. It appeared her attempt to avoid the earl was foiled for the time being, a fact that did not please her in the least. She jabbed another piece of ham on her fork and lifted it to her lips.
“I thought last night’s dinner party went rather well, do you think?”
She frowned, dropping the fork with a clatter, her tidbit forgotten. “Rather well? I have never been more uncomfortable in my life. I will never forgive you for so callously putting me on display, like a pathetic, lame broodmare paraded about for inspection. Did I not tell you how it would go?”
“You cannot expect a man to offer for you when you sabotage yourself,” he pointed out with a haughty air.
She clutched the lace tablecloth in her fist. “I do not expect or want any man to offer for me, as I have already told you. Is it so obscene to you?”
“It is not obscene to expect someone to desire you. You are smart, witty, beautiful, and remarkably self-sufficient. You seem the only one who thinks an offer is impossible. Makes me wonder if you use your blindness as an excuse not to marry.” The harsh edge in his voice softened. “Are you afraid you might find someone who will love you?”
His words held an element of truth she was reluctant to admit to anyone, least of all him. “Why can you not leave me be?” she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Why must you persist in this? No good can come of it.”
When his chair scraped across the floor she swiped the tear away, steeling herself for his denials and pleas. Instead his footfalls came around the table, his minty smell filling her nostrils. His warm, calloused hand enclosed hers where it rested, still squeezing the table cloth between her fingers. She jumped when his finger stroked her cheek with gentle intimacy.
“If only I could show you what I see. You are a woman like no other, proud, strong, and so deserving of a man who will cherish and make you happy.”
Delilah was woefully tempted to fall into his arms and allow him to kiss her again. Her tongue slipped out to moisten her lower lip of its own accord and his finger followed its path. Struggling to find her voice she whispered, “Show me … ” Tilting her face to him she waited, her heart pounding against her breast. Her eyes closed and for the tiniest moment she almost laughed at the irony of the lashes lying against her cheeks. Why close her eyes when she couldn’t see? Then his breath tickled her lips. Damp and warm, they moved over hers, sensual and light. With a sigh of longing she opened for him, inviting him to play. He took her invitation with the slightest of groans, deepening his kiss. The thrill of the forbidden contact made her toes curl inside her satin slippers. His fingers slipped down to cup her jaw. With a sigh she slipped her arms along the plains of his velvet waistcoat to twine around the thick column of his neck. He tasted of eggs, salty ham and the familiar mint. Slipping his mouth from hers, he kissed the hollow, sensitive area behind her ear. She dipped her head to give him better access.
“I would marry you if I could,” he whispered, the breath from his words brushing her damp skin atop his lip’s caress. He pulled away with a tortured moan.
Her heart leaped into her throat at the thought. “Why not?”
His breathing was irregular and deep as he retreated to his chair. “I have already entered into a courtship with another.”
The apologetic hint in his tone unleashed her wrath. Shoving her plate away, she leaped to her feet. “Bastard,” she spat and fled. She made her way to veranda, exited the house, and whistled for Jester. He was at her side within moments. Lost in a turmoil of emotions, she allowed him to lead her where he chose. They went down the steps and crossed to Jester’s favorite napping spot beneath the old apple tree.
When Jester laid down; Delilah settled herself beside him, resting her head against his neck. “What has come over me?” she mumbled. “I practically threw myself into his arms and he rejected me. I should have known he would. I do not know why I was angry at his reaction. Oh Jester, papa would be mortified by my display of wantonness.”
• • •
Tyrone headed for the study but paused when he passed the window over-looking the back lawn. Beyond the window pane the sun cast a cheery feel across the landscape. Deciding it was far too nice a day outside to be stuck indoors he changed course to the veranda instead. As he shut the door behind him he spied Delilah curled up on the grass beside the dozing pony. Perhaps he should apologize and explain the situation to her. Maybe he could appeal to her practical nature and convince her marriage to some suitable gentleman was not the end of the world. With firm resolve he descended the steps and crossed the lawn. He was only a few feet away when he realized her lips were moving. He assumed she was talking to the pony and stopped to listen.
“I am in such turmoil. When my father was alive everything was comfortable and routine, now, with the earl here … well, one moment I find myself enjoying the company and other times … Oh! The man seems determined to drive me noddy. I cannot seem to make him see reason on this marriage idea. What is so wrong with wanting things to stay as they were? Why must I marry, just because I am a woman? It seems a silly rule, if you ask me.” Delilah lay back against the pony.
“I suppose marriage would not be so bad, I mean if I could find a man who could see me and not my affliction. Perhaps someone who would allow me to follow my own pursuits, liked the same things I do, and would not drag me to one humiliating social function after another. Someone like my father.”
She sat up. “The earl thinks I use my blindness as an excuse against marriage. Do you think I do, Jester?” The pony blew through his nostrils and Delilah bit her lip. “I think he may be right, though I would never admit it to him. Oh dear. I fear I frightened every man within reach away with my behavior last night. Maybe the earl was right and I should have given them a chance. Now what will I do? I suppose I owe his lordship an apology, though it serves him right for springing the whole si
tuation on me that way.”
She twinned her fingers in the pony’s mane. “I liked his kisses, you know. I know I should not have; a well-bred lady does not go around kissing men in the woods, or the dining room for that matter. No one has ever kissed me before. Every girl wants to be kissed you know.” The pony snorted as if refuting his mistress’ claim. Delilah’s lips curved into a small smile. “It’s true. You can snort all you like, Jester, but what would you know of a girl’s desires? You only desire to eat, sleep, and go for a wander in the woods now and then. Your life is simple and uncomplicated.” Jester opened one eye and sighed before returning to his nap.
Tyrone stood, undecided whether to interrupt her musing by announcing his presence. Against his better judgment he stayed quiet and listened as she continued her one sided conversation.
“I am afraid as usual I have made a mess of things.” She buried her head against the pony’s neck. “I have no one to confide in but you, Jester, and you are not much help in matters of the heart I am afraid.” Her shoulders shook and muffled sobs reached Tyrone’s ears.
Maybe Delilah was not as prickly as she tried to appear. Did her fear and loneliness cause her to shield herself behind a sharp tongue? He couldn’t really blame her for being bitter at the cards fate had dealt her. Her affliction left her unsure and vulnerable, and the loss of her father would have been a deep blow. The obvious solution would be to wed Delilah himself, but that was not possible. He could not honorably cry off his courtship of Miss Deval, even if Delilah would have him, besides, the king would surely frown on the arrangement. The king ordered Tyrone to see Delilah suitably wed, not to court her himself. And there was also the matter of his political aspirations. Miss Deval and the king were his stepping stones to a brilliant political career.
Through Gypsy Eyes Page 6