“Allow me help you down.”
Even though she didn’t need his help, she permitted him to guide her to the forest floor. “You have not answered my question of why you are here, my lord.”
“I came to watch over you, Delilah.”
For a moment she pondered the soberness of his answer. He was worried about her, which meant he cared for her at least. “How did you know I would come here when the water is so cold?”
His warm hand slipped around to cradle the small of her back as he guided her to the pool’s edge to sit. “I didn’t. I was waiting to be sure the manor was asleep before I set up a watch on the property.”
“Oh.” With a grin she sat on the fabric he spread upon the bank, glad in the dark he wouldn’t be able to see how much his care pleased her.
He chuckled. “It pleases you.”
She let the smile slip from her lips. “How do you know?”
“I can sense it. You have taught me well to see without my eyes, Delilah.”
“Have I?”
Again he chuckled. “Most assuredly. I find my senses sharpened where you are concerned.”
She allowed the comment to pass and drew her knees up to rest her arms across them. “Soon it will be winter and I will not be able to venture very far from the house.”
His arm brushed hers as he sat beside her. “Then what will you do when your mind is too restless to sleep?”
“Other things.” She shrugged and rested her head atop her arms. It was nice here, with him. Comfortable and easy.
“Such as?”
The lightness of his tone told her he was teasing and she smiled. “Read, play my pianoforte, and dance.”
“Will you dance as you did at the gypsy camp?”
The idea of dancing again with wild abandon thrilled her. “Perhaps, though to dance by one’s self without music might be seen as a little noddy to the servants.”
“Indeed.” He shifted beside her. “Perhaps I shall dance with you.”
Her heart constricted at the idea of his embrace, knowing it would never be. Her sigh of despair lingered over the water. “If it could be. I suspect the king will seek to have me wed to some proper gentleman of his choosing before the snow flies, if he releases me from my agreement with Augustus.”
Silence stretched between them for many moments before he answered. “I will make him see the wisdom of an annulment, Delilah.” The cricket’s chirping mingled with the rustling leaves and tumbling waterfall. Delilah closed her eyes and her mind wandered back to dancing with him.
“Would you have me if I petitioned the king for your hand?”
Startled by his question she gasped. “What?”
“Would you marry me?”
Her heart soared. She would like nothing more than to be near him every day, yet doubt about his feelings made her temper her reply. “If I have to marry, I would choose it to be you.”
He was too quiet, and for a minute she wondered if he regretted his offer. “Then I shall ask the king when he arrives. Come, it is time you retire to the safety of your room.”
Though she didn’t want to return to her solitary room, she didn’t resist when he helped her aboard the pony and led the animal back along the trail. The silence stretched between them, thick with unsaid thoughts and feelings. Did they have a future together?
• • •
The next night found Delilah again unable to sleep, and in frustration she slipped down to the kitchen in hopes the cook left her a snack. She found the treat as easily as the cook intended and took it to sit on a stool by the rough table. With a deep sniff, she savored the sweet smell of apples and spicy hint of cinnamon. A slice of leftover apple pie, my favorite. She giggled, disturbing the silence. All foods are my favorite. The tastes and textures thrilled her senses, making every snack and meal an adventure. Breaking off a generous chunk with her fingers, she popped it in her mouth, savoring its stimulation of her taste buds. The flaky pastry all but melted on her tongue, the tangy bits of apple and spices making her moan. She smothered a second giggle as the seductive sound echoed in the room. There was much joy in the simple things. A shuffling noise made her turned toward the doorway. “Forgive me, Mrs. Smith, for interrupting your sleep. I was just enjoying the pie you so thoughtfully left me.”
“Enjoy it while you can, Miss Daysland.”
The sinister male voice made her freeze, her hand halfway to her lips. She choked on the crumbs left in her mouth. “Who are you and what are you doing here?”
“I am here to deliver a message,” the man answered.
She set down the pie. “From the earl? Has the king come already?”
“No. The baron sent me to fetch the beast and advise you to change your tale.”
Icy fingers of fear clawed her chest. “Jester? What have you done to him?”
“Nothing yet. If you recant your gypsy story and agree to let your marriage to the baron stand, he will be returned to you unharmed.”
“The baron will kill me regardless.”
“No, he has decided to let you live, but he’ll kill you both the first chance he gets if you decline his suggestion.”
There was no doubt in her mind Augustus meant his threat. Could she live looking over her shoulder? Could Tyrone protect her forever and keep watch for her sightless eyes? No, no matter how able the man, it was not possible. One day there would come a time when he would fail. She nodded, knowing there was no other choice. She owed it to Jester to protect him, as he protected her all these years.
When the door closed behind the mysterious man she pushed away her forgotten snack, laid her head on the table, and cried for the man she loved, whom she would never marry.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Tyrone rubbed a hand over the two days’ worth of stubble on his chin and blinked to refocus his bleary gaze. Two nights he had sat here in the shadows of the garden elm tree and seen no one, other than one man enter the kitchen from the stable and then exit a short time after. He presumed the fellow was a stable hand after a late night snack and found something to tempt his appetite in the cook’s pantry.
He glanced up at the sky. The horizon was showing a lighter strip of blue to mark the coming of the sun. The king sent word of his arrival this morning, a fact Tyrone both dreaded and welcomed. Would the king see the truth and take his side in the situation? He couldn’t be sure, but he needed to believe the monarch wise enough to see the evils of the baron’s words. Jamming his hat back on his head, he got to his feet and stealthily made his way back through the bushes to the forest. It was time to go to the inn and clean up before they all met with the king.
• • •
A quick glance in the mirror proved a bath, shave, and change of clothing erased most traces of his two days spent in the woods, except for the lingering dark circles under his blue eyes. Tyrone turned away and waited as his valet knotted the lacy cravat at his neck. When the piece of material was fastened as it should be, he shrugged into his deep blue waistcoat and dove gray overcoat. As much as he took pride in cutting a dashing figure, he would give it all away if it meant marrying Delilah.
Taken unaware by his own thoughts he frowned. Did he love her? Yes, there was no doubt in his mind his feelings were far beyond admiration for the raven haired beauty. Did he ever feel anything but appreciation for the woman whose hand he once sought before he met his violet-eyed gypsy? It was apparent he didn’t, for the woman fled his thoughts the moment he met Delilah, and he was never been able to go an hour without wanting to see her fascinating gaze.
The urge to whistle was strange and out of place considering the serious nature of the meeting to come, but he allowed his whim to take flight. Whistling a jaunty tune he headed for the coach waiting to take him to the courthouse. With any luck he would be returning to Westpoint this day with a wife-to-be.
The journey to the courthouse in the village took less than five minutes. Upon arriving he discovered a large crowd milling about in front of the building. Know
ing Delilah’s paranoia would get the best of her if she must brave the gawking bunch alone, he waited on the steps for her carriage. The crowd began to mumble as her conveyance, pulled by a modest two-horse team of bays, came around the corner and drew up at the base of the steps. He hurried to the door, opened it, and took her hand in his to help her down.
She was a sight to behold as she stepped from the carriage. A rose-colored silk dress draped her slender frame, showing off her tiny figure to perfection. The frilled neckline gave a tantalizing glimpse of her ample breasts and showed her flawless skin and swanlike neck to perfection. A light white fur stole nestled her shoulders, disappearing beneath rows of shiny black ringlets. Except for the palms of her hands, still wrapped in white bandages, one would never have known the elegant miss before him was ever in a fire, let alone danced before the flames in a gypsy camp with wild abandon.
He tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, wanting to tell her how beautiful she looked, but knowing now was not the time. Her fingers bit into the sleeve of his dress coat, her face pale and her breath coming in tiny gasps. She wobbled as they passed the onlookers and walked up the steps. By the time the door closed behind them and they crossed a less crowded foyer, she was shaking. He patted her hand and they followed a footman to the judge’s private chambers. She showed no sign of being aware of his support. They entered the chambers and found King George III already in attendance. Tyrone leaned close to whisper in her ear, “The king is here, just in front of you.”
A strained smile formed on her lips as she curtsied. Knowing how terrified she was, he bowed without releasing her hand. The baron rose from his seat against the far wall with a sneer when the king addressed them.
“I have been called here today to settle a dispute over the marriage of my ward, Miss Delilah Daysland. Is this correct?”
Tyrone cleared his throat. “Yes, Your Majesty. You requested I go to Miss Daysland’s home and see her properly chaperoned, cared for, and suitably married before the snow fell.”
The king frowned, his thick white brows bunching above his cold, blue eyes. “And I hear tell you have done just that, so what may I ask was so urgent to bring me out in the country during the last week of the London season?”
“The marriage was entered into under false pretenses on both sides, Your Majesty.”
“These pretenses, are they not something that can be rectified among yourselves?”
“No, Your Excellence, we thought the court could decide, but I believe your appointed judge has failed to see the seriousness of the claims.”
The monarch released a heavy sigh and then sat in a chair behind the judge’s desk. “Very well, do explain and do not take all day about it, Lord Frost, for I am a very busy man.”
“Yes, Your Majesty.” Tyrone took a deep breath, grateful to be permitted to tell Delilah’s side of the story.
Delilah released Tyrone’s arm and stepped forward. “Your Majesty, if it pleases you, I would like to withdraw my petition for an annulment of my recent marriage.”
Tyrone stared at her in shock. Did she know what she was saying? He glanced at the baron, who stood there with a smug look on his face.
The monarch’s brow rose. “God’s thunder! Are you saying you have no qualms about your marriage to Baron March, Miss Daysland? Have I been deliberately misled?”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “No, Your Majesty, after careful reflection I see it was nerves making me regret my decision.”
The king turned to Tyrone, bright spots of red forming at his temples. “Were you aware of this, Lord Frost? Is this some kind of jest?”
“No, no … Your Excellence, I was not aware … of this,” Tyrone stammered. Something was not right. Why did Delilah change her story?
She dropped her head. “Please, Your Majesty. Lord Frost knew nothing of my feelings. He did not deceive you, I did.”
The king looked back and forth between them, his eyes narrowing. “The story I was told was all made up then?”
Tyrone grasped her hand. “No.”
“Yes!” she refuted.
Augustus shot him a triumphant leer. “Yes.”
“I am very disappointed in you, Lord Frost. You have deceived me and wasted my valuable time.”
“Your Excellence, I did not deceive you. For some reason I do not understand, Miss Daysland has changed her story. Since I have never known her to be anything but honest and trustworthy, it alarms me. Please, press her further, for I know she is desperate to withdraw from her union with the baron. The marriage was not consummated and therefore it is not too late to undo it.”
The king studied him for a moment. “Ah, Lord Frost, I do see what is going on here. You fancy yourself in love with this innocent you seduced; however, her good conscience has made her see reason and honor the vows she took — ”
“Nay! ‘Tis not true, sire! He has done or said something to make her change her mind. They are half brother and sister and therefore to allow them to marry would be a sacrilege.”
“Enough,” the king bellowed, his face turning an alarming red tincture.
“But, Your Majesty — ”
“I said enough! There is no proof to your claim. You embarrass yourself, and me, with your ridiculous imaginings.”
A despair he never experienced before took hold of Tyrone and clouded his judgment. In desperation he jerked Delilah back against him. “I will not allow this to happen!”
The king stepped back wide eyed. “Guards!”
A dozen royal clad men burst into the chamber and surrounded Tyrone with guns drawn. It was over. Hopelessly, he released his hold on Delilah. “Why, Delilah, why?”
The guards subdued him and dragged him from the room. The last thing he registered was Delilah, weeping.
“I am sorry, my lord.”
• • •
A dream. It is all a bad dream. Numbness enveloped her body and senses. She registered the baron’s lips on hers. The king’s praise of her choice. The baron’s steadfastness in the face of her waiver. It made her want to retch. She moved in a haze. It does not matter. I did what I needed to do. The hurt and bewilderment in Tyrone’s voice stung like thousands of nettles stabbing her flesh. She would have run if she thought she could escape the sound of his pain, but it would ring in her ears forever. I am going to die. Not now, but soon. At least Jester is safe. I have repaid your kindness in this life, my friend. I hope to see you again in the next. Her mind succumbed to a filmy dreamlike state, not sleep, an empty place where she didn’t have to think or feel.
• • •
It was quiet and still when her mind slipped back to her. She was lying on a bed. Was someone with her? She listened for any indication of movement or breath. Deathlike silence made her shudder. I am alone. Or dead. And cold. It was not a bone-chilling cold, just cool enough for goose bumps to form along her arms. Why has Teresa not lit the fire? A clock ticked somewhere nearby, its steady tick-tock lending an eerie and otherworldly feel to the room. She drew a deep breath through her nose. Musty. There was no doubt she was not at home at Westpoint in her own cozy room, which always smelled of vanilla and citrus. This must be the room I occupied before at Augustus’. Bile rose in her throat and she would have retched if she was not too nervous to eat in the morning.
Bits and pieces of the meeting with the king surfaced. Oh God. Jester. Where is he? She forced her sluggish body to sit up. How long did she lay there? Was it day or night? An owl hooted outside her window answering her unvoiced question. A vague memory returned of a glass being held to her lips and the command to drink the bitter brew it contained. Was she drugged to keep her quiet? Sliding from the bed, she tried to recall the setup of the room. Chairs in the center. Fireplace on the far wall. Window … across from the bed? She held out a hand, shuffling forward until she met a wooden ledge and then cool glass. Turning left, she carried on, trailing her fingers along the wall to guide her steps. Two dozen and she came to the corner, another dozen steps and her hand touched a
wooden frame. She smiled. The door. Lowering her hand she groped for the knob, finding its brass surface with ease. It didn’t budge when she tried to turn it.
Imprisoned to await death. I never even got a chance to meet my mother. What words of wisdom would she have shared with me? Did she too possess the power of past, present, and future sight? Tears she didn’t bother to brush away trickled down her cheeks. What would happen to Jester after her murder? Would he be turned loose to fend for himself, or sold at market to pull a coal cart for some cruel master somewhere? Why did she not confide in Tyrone? Perhaps he could have taken her far away where Augustus couldn’t harm them. Would the king have believed her? Maybe not since the first judge doubted her story.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Why did she do it? As callous as any butcher, Delilah ripped his heart out and stomped it into the dirt. Did the woman have some kind of death wish? It was only a matter of time before the baron would find a way to “accidentally” rid himself of her. Until then the despicable lecher would make her pay, make her sheltered life a living hell. No matter how many times Tyrone rolled her refusal to have her marriage annulled around in his head, he couldn’t come up with an explanation for her about-face.
He shifted on the lumpy prison cot. Locked in here there was no way he could protect or save her from the baron’s evil. Though part of him wondered why he still cared. It was obvious she had no feelings for him. It was all a lie. Served him right for falling in love with a deceitful gypsy. A beautiful gypsy. He shook his head. Maybe she put a spell on him, made him think he was in love with her until she no longer needed him. Groaning, he sat up. It didn’t make sense. She needed him more now than ever. He swung his legs over the side of the cot and stomped to the little barred window in the door.
“I demand to be released!” He slammed his fist against the rough wooden surface as his voice echoed down the narrow passageway beyond. It was futile. No one was going to come along to hear his ranting. Who knew when he would be set free? Did his message reach Perry? Even so, he doubted Perry would be able to secure his release. For all he knew the king left orders to leave him in the dingy little cell until he rotted. He paced the tiny confines of his prison for lack of any other way to vent his frustrations.
Through Gypsy Eyes Page 19