Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (205 page)

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and whistled for Jester. By the time she stepped onto the soft grass he was there, brushing against her tinkling skirt. “Fire, Jester. Tonight I shall end everyone’s pursuit of me. No longer will anyone dictate my future but me.” After tonight she would no longer be pure and therefore unfit to marry the Romo baro’s son.

Her heart was pounding by the time they reached the fire. She could sense many eyes on her and fixed a bright smile on her lips to conceal her nervousness. Jester stopped near enough to the fire its welcome warmth caused her flesh to prickle. Someone pressed a thick wineskin into her hand as she released his harness. The pony moved off and she raised it to her lips, drinking long and deep of its sweet, potent nectar. It would give her the courage to dance with abandon tonight.

“Delilah?”

She waved Tyrone away and held out the half full skin. His fingers brushed hers as he took it, sending a little shiver up her spine. “Drink.” She would have her way with him tonight, before she said good-bye. At least she would have a little of him to carry near her heart when he left to find a suitable wife. The music began to pick up tempo and she raised her arms to move with it. Closing her eyes she allowed the music free her soul, flashes of memories and bright colors stimulating her senses. Around and around she spun, undulating her hips and swaying in the most seductive way she could imagine.

A hand touched her shoulder. “Delilah, I think you have had far too much to drink.”

She shook off the Tyrone’s hand and pressed herself to him, smelling the wine on his breath. “Dance with me, my lord.”

“You should come sit down.”

Shaking her head, she rubbed her body down his, grinning as his manhood swelled and hardened between them. “I want to dance, my lord. Dance with me.”

“Delilah, this is most unseemly.”

“No, ‘tis not, my lord. I am a wild gypsy, willing to share what is mine with you this night.” On her tip toes she reached for his head, pulling it down until her lips found his. He remained stiff and passive under her caress until she ran her tongue across his lower lip. With a groan he opened and devoured her mouth with his. Her hands roamed his body and he began to move with her to the music. His response, the seductive moan of the violin and the sense stimulating skin to skin contact inflamed her desire. Heat seeped into her core, becoming like hot molten lava. She wanted him too much to be shocked or afraid when he pulled her from the fire. Kissing and stroking, they made their way into the shadows. When he made to pull away she wrapped her arms around his neck and explored his mouth with her tongue. With a strangled groan he eased her down onto a soft blanket.

“This is wrong.”

“No. I am a gypsy. I choose to make love to you as is my right according to my birth,” she lied. To prove her claim she maneuvered herself to straddle his hips. With a boldness she never before possessed she ran a hand over the bulge in his breeches, inciting another tortured groan from him. “I claim you as mine tonight to do with as I please.”

“Delilah — ”

“Shh. No talking,” she whispered against his lips, her fingers stroking his rod beneath the restricting cloth.

“You are an innocent … don’t know what you’re doing … ”

She chuckled against his lips, rubbing her heated core against him. “Nay, I know full well what my touch does to your body, for it is the same for me.”

He groaned. Arms shaking, he buried his head against her neck, licking and nuzzling her heated skin. “I want you so much, to feel you, taste you, and make you cry out my name.”

She sighed as his lips brought forth the most delicious sensations while he cupped her breast and teased the sensitive nipple through the thin fabric of her dress.

The simple gesture took her breath away. For many moments she was unable to string together any coherent words. Then he slipped his hand beneath her skirt and replaced his teasing fingers with his lips at her breast. “Oh, good Lord!”

He chuckled against her moist nipple and she arched against him with a primal howl of desire. “Make me your gypsy lover this night, Tyrone, for I can wait no longer.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The steady pounding of his head and paper dry mouth was a rude awakening. Even more annoying was the cheerful prattle of a bevy of birds somewhere in the trees above. Tyrone rolled over on the soft blanket with a groan and reached for Delilah. He patted the emptiness once harboring a warm, sensual body. Frowning he opened his eyes and sat up. A whiff of smoke curled from the charred remains of the bonfire.
Where is everyone?
Alarm quickened his pulse. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he scrambled to his feet. Did he dream it all? He sorted through the hazy moments of the night before.
Delilah, a seductive temptress, rousing my body into a state of almost painful eagerness
. Groaning he willed his manhood, already rising at the thought, to be still. How could he have permitted her to have her way with him? Disgust turned his stomach worse than the over indulgence of wine.
How could I have seduced such an innocent?
He frowned. Did he seduce her or had she seduced him?
Oh, what does it matter? Either way the king will have my head for it. What kind of cad have I become?
When he would have stomped across the clearing in search of his horse, his abused noggin protested. Putting a hand to his head, he took care to move slowly and carefully.

The animal was as he left him, dozing in the shade of the row of trees. After tightening the cinch, he stepped aboard and turned it back onto the path along the creek to the road. He needed to catch up with the gypsies. They couldn’t have gone far. First he must see Delilah’s marriage to the baron annulled, and then he could marry her. It was the right thing to do whether she saw it or not. If she refused him he could at least see she returned to her rightful place at Westpoint Manor until he could court and woo her properly. If she desired romantic gestures then that is exactly what he would give her.

Half slumped over the saddle in misery, he caught up with the slower moving wagon train a little over an hour later. Delilah rode on Jester next to her Uncle Deagan. At Tyrone’s approach the older man excused himself and kicked his heavy horse into a lumbering trot.

“Delilah, what are you doing?”

She jumped, but kept her sightless gaze fixed above her pony’s head. “I am traveling to the next town, my lord. It is what gypsies do.”

He slowed his horse to keep step with her shorter legged pony. “You are not a gypsy.”

A light snort escaped and her lips thinned. “I choose to be now.”

Tyrone resisted the urge to sigh. Her mind was set; he could tell by her ramrod stiffness and determined expression. How was he to change it? It occurred to him he didn’t have to change her mind. She was obligated to do as he commanded by the king’s order. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. Perhaps attempting to force compliance out of her was not the way to go, at least not if he wanted her to marry him.

“Delilah, we need to talk about last eve.”

Her jaw tightened. “There is nothing to talk about, my lord.”

“I beg to differ. And please, could we drop the formality?”

“I see no reason for informality, my lord.”

With growing frustration, he tempered his reply. “After sharing our bodies with each other last eve, formality seems fairly hypocritical, do you not think?” He reached down and grabbed Jester’s headstall, yanking the pony to a halt.

Her sightless scowl unnerved him as no other able one could. “Why am I suddenly good enough to warrant such a display of gallantry now? Is it because your betrothed jilted you? Am I just a consolation prize?”

His breath hitched in his chest. “How did you know?”

“I am a seer, remember?”

“For God’s sake, Delilah, you are not a gypsy and possess no such fictional powers.”

“Did you not seek a seer last eve? If so, then how can you claim not to believe? Besides, I saw her jilt you in a ballroom.”

His senses reeled at the idea she could have seen what she claimed. “I was not seeking a vision last eve, I was searching for you.”

She turned her face away. “Why?”

The words he wanted to say clogged his mouth, choking him into silence. He cleared his throat. “I did wrong by you and wanted to make it right. I was concerned for your welfare.”

“You can see I am fine, now unhand me.”

“You call this fine? You are living the life of a penniless beggar.”

She leaned forward, seeking his hand, and then snatched it from Jester’s head stall. “Just because I choose a path different from yours does not make my life any less.”

“I did not say it does — ”

“I will never be like the rest of the ton; I never fit in their world and I never will. Now leave me be!” she kicked Jester into a rough lope, but not before he noted the tears in her eyes.

“Delilah!” He groaned as pain stabbed his liquor muddled head.

Helpless, he allowed her to go. What could he say? She believed she didn’t fit into his world, nor he in her new one. Was she right? Perhaps he should just annul the marriage and leave her be with her own people. It seemed the kindest thing to do … for her anyway.

• • •

“To what do I owe this unpleasant visit, Lord Frost?”

Tyrone kept his face void of emotion and seated himself in the chair across from the baron’s desk. “I have come to bring you the papers requesting an annulment of your marriage.”

The baron scowled. “Now why would I want to do that?”

“Trust me, you want to.” Tyrone fixed him with an unwavering stare.

“You cannot dissolve my marriage, Frost. Only I or my wife can.”

“I know, March, which is precisely why you are going to be a gentleman and sign the paper.” He placed it on the desk.

The baron leaned back in his chair with a smug expression. “Again, why would I want to do that?”

Tyrone sighed. “I know your secret, March, and I am sure the king would frown on incest.” The slight tick starting in the baron’s right eye was not lost on him.

“What nonsense are you uttering now?”

“Deagan told Delilah and I everything.”

“You think the king will take the word of a lowlife heathen over me? You must be jesting.”

Tyrone leaned forward. “Think you the king will doubt
my
word?”

Augustus blanched. “You have no proof.”

“Would you like to wager on it?”

The silence hung in the air so hot and heavy, Tyrone couldn’t breathe as he waited for the baron to call his bluff.

“Take your so-called proof to the magistrate, Frost, and leave me be. Be forewarned if you do though, for I think the king would not like you taking advantage of your vulnerable ward.” The smug look returned to the baron’s face.

How was it possible the baron could know what happened between him and Delilah the night before? Tyrone pinned the baron with a venomous glare. “To what are you referring to, March?”

The baron shrugged. “Since you arrived to look after the welfare of Miss Daysland, it has been rumored she has been repeatedly harmed and her estate pilfered away.”

“Are you accusing me of something?” Tyrone leaned forward until he was scant inches from the baron. Only the desk checked his urge to throttle the man.

The baron met his gaze with a dangerous one of his own. “I am saying the king might find it a disturbing coincidence, do you not think?”

“The thefts began long before I arrived on the scene.”

“According to you. How do you explain the attempts on my wife’s life since you arrived?” The baron’s gaze narrowed, his lips twisting into a grotesque sneer.

“How do
you
explain them, March? Which of the Westpoint staff is in your employ?”

With a smirk the baron stared him down. “Why, they all are, or are you forgetting all my wife’s possessions are now mine?” His smirk broadened. “All of her possessions.”

The urge to strike him was almost overpowering. He drew back his fist and then let it fall at his side, knowing no good would come of it.
Oh hell, it will feel good.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he punched the baron in the face. Blood spurted red and warm onto the desk before the baron covered his nose with his hand. Ignoring the baron’s howl of indignation, Tyrone stalked from the room.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

There was an unmistakable feeling of festiveness in the night air as they made camp beside a shallow lake. According to Delinka, many other tribes were there, including the Romo baro and his son. Tonight she would meet the man everyone expected her to marry — and her mother. She both dreaded and looked forward to it. There were so many questions she wanted to ask Kata. But first Delilah would have to weather the anger directed at her once the gypsies discovered the truth of her betrayal. The door to her vardos opened, the light scent of smoke, herbs, and elderberry wine filling her senses. The smells were warm and comforting somehow, perhaps because it was part of her world these days.

“Belcher and I have come to ready you for your night, Delilah.”

She shook her head as Delinka entered with the gruff herbalist. “There is no need, drabardi, for I am not the pure one required to fulfill the gypsy prophecy.”

“Nonsense, I saw it in my visions. I have brought your ceremonial dress to wear.”

A silky material was placed in her hands. “Your vision was wrong, Delinka, for I did lie with a man just this week under the stars. There will be no ceremony.”

The woman gasped. “It is not true. You are afraid of the future and making up reasons to avoid your path.”

“No!” Delilah dropped the material and turned away. “I laid with the earl the night he found me here.”

Belcher released a groan filled with frustration. “Why, Delilah, why?”

“I do not want to be this leader of the gypsies. I want to be free.”

Disappointment and disapproval colored Delinka’s rebuke. “Your only hope of freedom laid within the circle of power. You have doomed yourself and our people.”

Delilah’s shoulders slumped. “I saw no other way. I do not love this Romo baro’s son.”