Taming Her Gypsy Lover (2 page)

As soon as the words left his mouth, Chal began to regret them, just as he had begun to regret his offer to help the Beshaley family retrieve their lost boy. Though he’d felt in his heart that it was the right thing to do, he had no evidence that the boy would come willingly. Not if he viewed Amanda Hebden as his true mother. Taking revenge for the loss of him was an unwelcome complication in a fool’s errand.

Emma Hammond struggled to escape him, and Chal tightened his grip to show her how useless it was likely to be. “You don’t understand,” she said. “Nothing that happened was my fault. It was not me that made the decision.”

“It was your family.”

“That means nothing. I had no power to stop him. If I could have, I would. I am but a woman.” She twisted in his grasp, stumbling yet again.

Without thinking, Chal released her wrist and put a hand to her elbow, helping her to regain her balance, then damned himself for his own softness. “If you are a woman, then you have more power than you know.”
The power to make me behave like a fool, certain enough.
What did he mean to do with her, now that he had her? “I will hold you, and Lord Callandar will bring the boy to me in trade.”

She laughed. “Then we are both thwarted. If you take me, even for a night, he will not have me back. He will be glad to be rid of me, for any reason. Even a hint of dishonor will relieve him of the obligation to provide for me. He will not give you the boy, even though it makes perfect sense. He hated his daughter’s husband. And he hates Gypsies even more.” She said the last softly, as though it embarrassed her.

“And he takes it out on the boy?”

“He cannot very well take it out on Kit’s heir.” She glanced back at the house, and said thoughtfully, “That poor boy is frail enough. He will not last long, I fear. The whole family is weak, and there is little to be done for it. At least Stephen was strong enough to survive.”

Chal nodded. “It is the Romany in him, I am sure, and not the thin English blood.”

The eyes of the woman next to him flashed. “We are not all weak, no matter what you might think. It is only circumstance that makes us seem so.”

Perhaps she was right. Although she was fussy and overdressed for his taste, and probably soft and useless, he was sure that those were considered virtues by the worthless
gadjo
who would marry her. She was a pretty creature under the paint and ruffles, with high breasts, a small waist, hair that was near to black, and eyes as large and dark as a Romany girl’s. It was unfair that she should be forced to accept the mean charity of Callandar, when those more worthy than he remained alone because their tribes did not have enough women.

Chal smiled at her, pushing his anger to the side and using his charm to good advantage. “I will give him reason to hate Gypsies, before I am through with him. But you might find you have a taste for them, if you wished to know one better.”

Her eyes went wide with pretended shock at the idea. But he had seen the way she’d looked at him when they first met, and the interest she had shown. And now, beneath the shock, he saw the faintest flicker of rebellion. She would lie down with him quick enough if he asked her to, curious to try a Gypsy.

Then she gained control over herself, and gathered her indignation about her again. “I don’t know what you mean.” But she was blushing beneath her powder.

He gentled his grip on her arm, softening it so his fingers barely touched her, letting the tips play along the soft skin on the inside of her wrist. “Really? Then let me show you.” He pulled her to him, for a kiss.

Just as quick, her hand came up to strike him, and he caught it before it could cuff his face. But it was a halfhearted slap, as though she’d given little thought to defending her honor once an opportunity to sacrifice it might occur. Her mouth opened easily at the first touch of his tongue, and he accepted the invitation. She tasted sweet, as he expected she might, and seemed just as eager for him as he was for her, answering his kiss with one of her own.

He released her hand, and waited for a renewal of the attack. When it did not come, he touched her waist, then gripped it with both hands, spanning his fingers around it before moving them upward, waiting for her to take fright and break the kiss. But instead of fighting, she gave a small sigh of surrender and thrust her tongue hungrily into his mouth, pressing her body against his hands until they cupped her breasts.

He pushed her away, surprised at her brazenness, and the easy way she had manipulated him into giving her what she wanted. “As I said, you are weak. It takes only the sight of a willing man for you to forget yourself and spread your legs.” He had no proof it would have come to that, had he continued. But he could not seem to shake the image from his mind.

“I would not,” she argued. “It is just that it has been a very trying day. I am not myself, since I have come to stay here. And I should not be out alone in the garden, when I am needed to care for Amanda.” She glanced back at the house, yet made no effort to return to it. “But I could not be there. Not one moment longer. It is not a happy place, nor are the people in it destined for a happy future.”

It was a surprisingly astute estimation, and Chal wondered if Emma Hammond had some small gift of the sight. “They are cursed, you know,” he said. “It was Jaelle Beshaley, pining for her lover and her son. With her last breath, she cursed the Hebdens, their offspring, and anyone else involved in the crime. You are better off away from there, if you value your safety or that of your children.”

She laughed. “I have none to value. I am but a poor relation. A childless widow promised to Lord Callandar’s friend. And having to marry Geoffrey Burton to secure my future will be curse enough.” She was looking at Chal now, a puzzled frown on her face, as though she thought he might have some answer for her.

He dropped his eyes, for her gaze disturbed him, almost as much as her body aroused him. “And what do you expect me to do about it?”

“A shred of understanding would be most welcome. The boy you seek is gone. Amanda Hebden is beside herself with grief. She has lost so much that the poor woman is near unhinged. Her own two children will suffer for it, whether from your Gypsy curse or the loss and madness in their own family. If I could return Stephen to her, it might be some comfort. I tried to stop his removal, but without success. There was no reasoning with Geoffrey or Lord Callandar on the subject, nor is there any chance they will relent, should I ask again.” She opened her hands wide. “Nor can I bear, any longer, to be in the presence of a man who is so cruel as to punish a little boy for the accident of his birth.”

“Very well then. If Stephano is not here, I will go to this foundling home you speak of, to search for him.”

“Take me with you.”

When Amanda had first suggested it, Emma had thought it impossible to escape her fate. But the appearance of Chal Pannell had changed something in her. Or perhaps it was the stolen kiss that had filled her mind with strange ideas.

It would be easier to escape the city if she had an escort. If she could just get away from this house, into the open countryside, there would be time to think. She could take the jewelry that Amanda had offered, sell it and start her life over.

The Gypsy stared at her, as though searching the single sentence she’d spoken for some trap or hidden meaning. “Why would I take you away with me?”

“Because I can discover the name of the foundling home where the boy was placed. If you go alone, you might have to search the whole north of England to find him.”

“And when I do, your family will never see him again,” he said, easily finding a flaw in her logic.

“It is probably better for him, should Lord Callandar not know his whereabouts. But,” she said, “if you give me your word that you will return him here, just long enough so that he can say goodbye to the woman who raised him, it would be enough. She has done her best for him since he came to her, which is more than can be said for his father. Swear to me you will.”

“Swear?” The Gypsy laughed. “Are you telling me that you would take my oath?”

“Is there reason that I should not?” Perhaps she had proved she was a fool, since it had not occurred to her to think otherwise. But there was something about the man at her side that inspired her trust. He was hard, but he had given her no cause to think that he was not fair in his dealings.

“My word is as good as any, I suppose. And a damned sight better than this Geoffrey Burton that you speak of, if he could give the boy to stranger, rather than let him return to his true mother’s people. Yes. If you help me, you have my word that I will return him to this house, so that he might say a proper goodbye to it, and the people here.” Chal put his hand in hers to steal the bargain, and she felt a little jolt of heat, as her whole body responded to his touch.

He was looking at her now, slowly moving his gaze up and down, as though measuring her worth. “But why would I need your company?”

Because she wanted, suddenly and above all things, to go with him. To run, just as Amanda had suggested. Emma wanted to be away, just as much as she wanted the boy to return. “I already told you—I can lead you to the boy.”

His grip on her hand tightened, until it was almost uncomfortable. “I can have that information from you in a trice, should I choose to get it. The journey will take longer if I do not travel alone. What can you do that will make your companionship worth my effort?” He was looking at her with such intensity that she blushed.

“What can I do?”

“There is not much space in my tent or my life for a useless female. Do you have some talent or skill that would be of help in the journey?”

“I could pay you.”

“As you would a servant.” The corner of his mouth lifted in what could have been a sneer, but for him was just an ironic smile. “I can see that you have money.” He reached out and plucked the top stud from the front of her dress, as easily as picking a grape. He examined the simple mother-of-pearl button, another castoff of Amanda’s, when the family had deemed it time for Emma to put off her mourning clothes.

She felt the bodice gape, revealing the underdress beneath. “I could live happily for days, on the value of this one trinket,” Chal said. Then he tossed it aside. “But I serve no man, nor will I serve a woman. I am free.” He was looking at her again, with a wolf’s eyes. “Though there is one talent that all women possess.”

“And what might that be?” Although she knew very well, from the way he stared at her open bodice.

“You think you can buy your way into my life with money. But if you wish to accompany me, it will cost you something far more dear. The cot in my tent is big enough for two. I have no intention of sleeping on the ground, nor will you wish to forgo the comfort of a mattress. If you come with me, you share my bed. And I do not mean to sleep innocently with you, as brother and sister.”

More amazed than offended, Emma had no idea how to respond. He was totally without artifice or seduction. How could he even speak thus, with no preamble, to a woman he barely knew? She tried to imagine Geoffrey with the mistresses she knew he must have. She pictured his slyness, and the unctuousness of his propositions to them. They would be no different than his normal mode of communication. For somehow, he had managed to imbue even the polite and respectable offer he had made to her with something dark and unpleasant.

At least with Chal Pannell there would be no question of what would happen between them. The honesty of it was as refreshing as the summer breeze. So she replied with equal directness. “You wish to lie with me?”

He laughed. “You are a beautiful woman. Of course I wish to lie with you.”

“Thank you.” She responded to the compliment on her beauty, and then remembered that she should be insulted. She had not heard such words since her husband had died, nor thought that a man would ever find her person as desirable as her family connections.

The Gypsy laid the back of his hand lightly against her cheek, stroking downward in a way that was more than a little pleasant, and looked sympathetically upon her, as though he understood her dilemma. “While you are almost too quick to trust me, I have no reason to believe your words. The
gadje
have lied before to my people. You must prove that I can trust you not to lead me into the hands of your family, when it is time for me to take the child. Where will your loyalty lie then?” He placed a hand on the front of her dress, over the next of the pearl buttons.

She knew even before he moved what was going to happen. He undid the button, and the dress gaped further. She enjoyed the feeling of freedom, as the clothing opened and allowed her to breathe. “Think what you like,” she whispered. “But I cannot allow Lord Callandar to succeed in what he has done. It is wrong.” She closed her eyes and reached out to touch Chal’s hand. It was hard, not soft and overmanicured, as Geoffrey’s were. “If that is the price to earn your trust, then I am willing to pay it.”

His hands were strong. They pulled her close, into a rough kiss, that she was sure was meant to frighten her. She could feel her spirit awaken, groggy and confused, as though it had slept far too long. How long had it been since she had felt like this: desired, and exhilarated by the touch of another?

He pulled away from her, staring down with eyes darkened by passion, searching for hesitance or betrayal. “If you mean to call for help, you had best do it now.”

Interruption would be her undoing, for she would share the blame for whatever the servants found. If she was to be branded a wanton by the family, better it be after the act than before. She pressed her shoulders into the bark of the tree behind her. “And if you mean to take me to seal this bargain, then be quick about it.”

“Are you sure?” He glanced up to make certain they were out of sight of the windows. “Lord Callandar’s servants are nearby.” His hand paused on the fastening of his breeches, and his heavy-lidded eyes watched her, gauging her response. “The slightest noise will bring them to your rescue.”

Emma felt a strange thrill at the thought. “Then we had best be silent.” She closed her eyes against the sight of his undressing. She could feel the tug of his other hand, lifting the hem of her skirts and petticoats. The gentle touches of his fingers on her body made her bite her lip to prevent the very exclamation she feared.

He brushed against her again. “Silent, eh? I can manage it, I am sure. But suppose you cannot help yourself from crying out?”

She bit her lip harder, then said with a gasp, “You flatter yourself, sir.

“Do I?” He traced the folds of her with his fingertips. “I think it is more than that. You could have insisted we find shelter before you complied. More likely, the thought of discovery arouses you.”

She tried to make her mind distant, and uninterested in what was happening. But he had found the betraying wetness of her response, giving a soft chuckle as he stroked a finger over her, then slipped it inside her.

She could feel a cry rising in her throat, and clamped her lips tight to prevent its escape. Without thinking, she tightened her legs upon his hand as well, which caused him to thrust harder and rub her bud with his thumb.

“Cry out,” he whispered. “You know you want to. Bring the house down upon me. I will not stop, for I know what I want. And I mean to have you.”

She covered her mouth with her hands to trap the scream, panting around them as the feeling increased. When she opened her eyes, he had freed himself of the breeches, and was fully erect before her, large and ready. And she lost control, with a barely audible whimper.

Then he withdrew his hand and settled himself between her legs, sealing her mouth with his. And it was not fingers that she felt, but his manhood, hard and proud, touching her, spreading her, pushing, stretching her as he entered.

He came into her with short hard thrusts of his body and his tongue. His hands cupped her bottom, pinching, pressing, steadying, holding her to him even when she was sure that her legs would give out beneath her.

She could feel his release, as silent as he had promised, shuddering through his body until he went still against her. Then he dragged his lips from hers, resting them close to her ear.

“Is this how your
gadjo
takes you? Is this how he makes you feel?” Chal moved slowly in her, to remind her of what had just happened.

“I have never done this with him. Or anyone but my husband. It has been so long.” She had forgotten how it felt. And how much she enjoyed it.

“Then Burton is a fool, and your husband was a lucky man.” Chal kissed the side of her throat, withdrew from her, doing up his britches and smoothing her skirts back into place. He reached to the ground and found the button that he had cast aside, and pressed it into her hand.

“Tonight, I will leave London to search for the boy, with or without your help. If you wish to accompany me, I will wait here for a few minutes, at midnight. Do not be late, for you will not see me again.” He glanced once at the house to make sure he was unobserved before swinging up into the lowest branch of the tree, mounting the top of the wall and disappearing from sight over the side.