Edith Layton (10 page)

“I’m sorry I asked you,” she said truthfully.

“I’m sorry I answered,” he said as truthfully.

They stood in the soft, shifting sun-dappled shadows and looked at each other.

“I don’t know what got into me,” he finally murmured. He threw away the leaf he’d pleated in his fingers and lifted his shoulders from the tree he’d been leaning against. “Enough of me. What are you going to do now?”

“Me?” she asked, surprised at his sudden change
of subject. “Why, I’ll go on with my search for Rosie,” she said. She lifted her chin, though her heart sank. It sounded as though he was through with her. “With you or without you.”

“Without me?”

“You said your family would help us. If they won’t, and you won’t, I have to try on my own again. You should understand that.”

“And you don’t think you’ll be plucked like a pigeon? I’d say that was unwise of you.”

He walked toward her, stopping when he was only inches away. “I let Johnny ply you with liquor last night because I wasn’t going anywhere. I made sure that if you didn’t want him you wouldn’t have to take him. But whatever happened, at least you’d at last understand why you can’t be trusted on your own, and why you don’t belong on this chase. Look at you, Meg. I’ve known a lot of women in my time, and not all of them in what my friend the earl calls the biblical sense, either. I’ve known tough ones, of course. No other kind survives the slums and prisons, or gypsy camps, for that matter. But highborn females can be as strong. My mother is. If I thought you were like them, I’d agree with your scheme. But you’re not. You’re not cut out for it.”

She stared up into his eyes, her own blazing. “I saved you,” she reminded him. “I can think quickly, and act, as well.”

He nodded. “True.”

“I’m sorry about last night,” she said. “But I still must find Rosalind.”

“And you still feel competent to do that?”

“I’ve done some foolish things,” she admitted. “But I learn. I shouldn’t have gone off with those vile men. I’ll never do anything like that again, believe me. I shouldn’t have trusted your brother. I certainly won’t do anything like that again either. Come to think of it,” she said bitterly, “my only problems have come from trusting men. I certainly won’t do that again.”

His eyes grew sad. “I see. So that’s how you came to know so much about seduction.”

“What?” She blinked. “Oh, no. You mistake me.”

“Then how do you know so much about it?”

She couldn’t look in his eyes. He was too close, and her feelings were too jumbled. Instead, she looked past his shoulder.

“Who doesn’t know?” she asked. “It’s preached from every pulpit. Seduction is when someone makes you want to do something even though you know you shouldn’t.” She dared to look at him because now she felt on firmer ground. He was watching her quizzically. “Getting a woman drunk and seducing her is making her do something she ordinarily wouldn’t, that’s true. But that’s doing it by unfair means, and that is not seduction. A seducer addles a girl’s brains, but not with liquor. He does it with words and gestures and…such.”

“Oh, I’d say the ‘such’ is heart of it,” he said with a smile in his voice. “I see. You have personal experience of this?”

“Of course not!” she snapped.

He didn’t say anything. He just stepped closer. She used every last shred of courage to stand firm, though he was so close she had to lower her eyes because if she’d tried to look at him she was sure her eyes would cross.

“Coward,” she felt him whisper into her ear. Her skin thrilled at the slight touch of his breath.

“No,” she murmured, still not daring to look.

“No?” he asked, his hand lightly caressing her cheek. “No to what? To this? Or to being a coward?”

“I’m sensible,” she said with desperation, opening her eyes and looking directly at him. “Not cowardly. I know you’re just trying to make a point. I can protect myself, and you, too, for that matter. But of course I wouldn’t strike out at you. Oh, what am I to do with you?”

“Oh, this,” he said, bent his head, and covered her lips with his.

She’d been kissed in her time. But not like this. His mouth was soft and firm, warm velvet. It made her own mouth tingle; it made her whole body tingle. Now she could feel his smile.

“Open to me,” he whispered against her lips. “You’re not a child.”

She opened her mouth to tell him she wouldn’t, and she wasn’t, and she was lost.

His kiss had been warm, now it was hot. She felt the touch of his tongue on her lips, and gasped, and gasped again when she felt it on her own tongue. It was alarm
ing, and thrilling and delicious in ways she’d never imagined. He touched her breast. She wanted to pull away, and stepped toward him. He pulled her closer to his lean, warm body, and kissed her again.

All she could do was follow.

He was all tensile strength, gentle and yet sure, all knowing, too, because he knew just what pleased her. And that was everything he did and was. He tasted of sunlight and forest. He kissed her cheek, her neck, his kisses light and teasing. He only left off so he could kiss her lips again, and then his kisses didn’t tease, but were slow and dark and full of darker promises. He slowly lowered her gown so he could move his warm seeking mouth to her breast. All she could do was sigh, and hope he’d stop and pray he wouldn’t, all the while promising herself she’d stop, and soon, if he didn’t.

He didn’t.

Somehow, he’d turned her so her back now rested against the tree. She didn’t feel it, she only felt him. One of his hands cupped her bottom so she moved with his body as she clung to him. Though his movements were slow and calculated, she knew he was as excited as she was. She’d never felt anything so wonderful and so terrifying, so perfectly right and utterly wrong. Her heart pounded but she didn’t want to stop. Not when he lowered her gown further, not even when he pulled up his shirt so her naked breasts could peak against his smooth, warm, hard chest as his other hand raised her skirts, and stroked her, and moved higher.

But with all it was, it was all new to her, and however delicious it was, it was daylight. And when she opened her eyes she realized who he was and where they were and who she was.

“Daffyd,” she said when he moved his mouth to her other breast. She looked down at the dark rainbows spun by the sunlight in his clean soft, inky hair. “Daffyd,” she said with a sigh. “Stop.”

And he did.

He stood back and looked at her, his eyes darker than the night sky, bluer than asters.

“Stop?”

“Yes,” she said. “Of course.” She put a hand over her breasts.

He took another step back.

“We can’t do this,” she said, her eyes on his. “I can’t do that. You make it so hard to say so. But it’s not right, at least, not for me. I have to go on. I have only this time and these days, and then a whole eternity of days and nights by myself for the rest of my life.” She forgot her rumpled state, she was still too linked with him, too involved in what she had to explain to worry about what she would later regret. She wished she dared reach out and touch him, to elicit an expression, any expression she could read. But she was afraid he’d take her hand in his and she’d be lost again.

“I suppose I didn’t understand what seduction was,” she said, her eyes searching his. “Was that your point?”

He looked at her, his eyes unreadable.

“Well, even if it wasn’t, now I understand,” she said in a shaky voice. “It has nothing to do with liquor and music, or maybe it does, but it can happen anywhere at any time, can’t it? I didn’t know. Now I do. You’re…very good at teaching. But I can’t tumble in the moss with a handsome lad. That’s not my path, that’s not my way. Though I’ll confess that now I wish it was and I could. But I have to be realistic. I know the world as it is, and where I fit in it. I have to be above reproach.”

One of Daffyd’s thin dark eyebrows lifted. “And yet you ran off with me, on your own?”

She bit her lip. “That’s a thing I gambled on, hoping no one would find out. So far, no one has.”

“Ah,” he said. “Right. After all, my grandmother and my brother don’t count.”

She looked stricken. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Still, it’s true,” he said blandly. “You’ve been lucky.”

“No,” she said sadly. “That, I’ve never been. But as for what just happened…Oh, Daffyd, I’m a respectable creature with a long, dull life before me—if luck finally smiles on me. I
must
be this way; I can’t make life more difficult than it is. Surely you see that?”

He stepped further back. And at last, he smiled again. “Bravo,” he said. “You do learn.”

D
affyd and Meg walked in silence until they came to a clearing near the camp. Then, with no parting word, he stayed in the shadows while she ran to his grandmother’s caravan. He waited until she disappeared inside it, and then finally paced away.

He didn’t go far, only behind the caravan to tend to his horse.

He curried and brushed until the horse’s coat gleamed, and the horse itself was transported to some kind of equine ecstasy.

Daffyd worked until he felt his muscles begin to relax. But his mind didn’t. He’d confused himself; he seldom did that. His life had always literally depended on his knowing what he was doing, and why. Had money and good living changed him that much?

Last night he’d been shocked and surprised, and that itself was a huge surprise to him. Today he’d surprised himself again.

He hadn’t meant to kiss Miss Margaret Shaw. Yes, she’d looked lovely. And yes, he was a man. And it was also true that she somehow got under his guard, and made him say things he seldom did. But whatever he’d intended, and he was still unsure of that, he hadn’t meant to let her surrender carry him away. It had been a long time since he’d been a greedy boy, but the shocking truth was that he’d come within seconds of losing control of himself. If she hadn’t stopped him he’d have pleasured her on the soft moss of the forest floor. And he’d never intended that.

Yes, she was delicious, and her tentative, then willing, response had delighted him. But there was more to it than that. There had to be. He never did anything without a reason, and desire had never been reason enough for him to jeopardize his freedom. She was still too well-bred for him to attempt, and he knew that very well.

He’d expected her to pull away sooner. He’d been drawn to her, of course. But he’d allowed himself the embrace because in the back of his mind he supposed he was also trying to teach her a lesson, showing her what could happen to incautious females. And that, because of the uneasy night she’d given him.

It had been hard to sit and watch Johnny spin his web around her. Harder still to see the so proper Miss Margaret Shaw slowly being pulled into that finely woven web of laughter and teasing. But as
he’d watched, dumbfounded, she’d taken Johnny’s liquor and his jests, and enjoyed them both. She had to have seen the invitation in Johnny’s eyes. Still, Daffyd had been unwilling to leave until he knew what she intended to do. It was her choice, after all. So he’d watched and listened. He’d heard her laughter, seen her eyes in the firelight, recognized her fascination, and finally saw her willingly pulled up into his brother’s eager arms.

Daffyd had believed everything she’d told him until then, and that was rare enough for him. But she’d always been proper with him. She’d worn those godawful gray gowns and behaved as if she didn’t know or care how attractive she was or could be. Last night he’d finally seen the shape of her young, firm body as she’d stood silhouetted against the leaping firelight, her soft brown hair coming unloosed, her lips parted, staring up into Johnny’s sparkling eyes.

Daffyd had gotten to his feet. He’d had enough. He’d appointed himself her protector, but he wasn’t a voyeur. He’d felt his gut curdling, and not just because she’d proven herself just another well-born slut out for an adventure. And yet, he’d hesitated.

Should he just walk away if Johnny wanted to bed her and she wanted it, too? He was only responsible for her safety, after all. Sex might be unsafe for a single female, but if she wanted sex with his brother, what should he do? So he’d stood, irresolute. Did she know what she was doing? Had she done it before? And what business was it of his?

And why hadn’t she wanted
him
?

Then he’d seen her try to struggle away from Johnny. He’d seen her expression, her sickly pallor, and her confusion. He’d been delighted. It hadn’t been so delightful holding her head while she’d been sick. But even that had pleased him last night.

Damned fool of a woman.

But wasn’t he a damned fool of a man for caring? Worse, for touching her this morning?

The horse heaved a great, long, gusty sigh of pure bliss as it was curried within an inch of its mortal life again.

Meg stared unseeing at the kaleidoscope of colors inside the gypsy wagon, and wished she could leave. She’d sat alone all morning, growing more morose. But running away without a plan or an idea of how to do it was as stupid as…
kissing a man you’d asked to help you
, she thought unhappily.

Because now she couldn’t travel on with him, at least not from the gypsy camp. Once she was on the main road she thought she could get back on Rosalind’s trail again. But now the thought of traveling anywhere without him was painful, because against all odds, he’d been a thoughtful, knowledgeable companion…and because she had grown to like him much too much for her good.

Because when he’d touched her she’d forgotten about her safety. She’d had kisses pressed on her in her time by demanding males: relatives or friends of her various employers. She’d always responded to them with a slap, or with a swift, silent escape if the
one who’d stolen the kiss was in a position to harm her reputation. She’d kissed a few fellows of her own free will a few times, too, just so she could know if that made it different from what had been forced on her. Those kisses had been interesting, nothing more. She’d noted the texture of the fellow’s lips, the scent of the man, the way he reacted to her. Her mind had been engaged but her body hadn’t responded.

Daffyd’s kisses bypassed her brain and went straight to her senses. They’d intoxicated her more than Johnny’s gin.

Her own reaction to Daffyd’s embraces had been harder to fight than any man who’d ever tried to force his kisses on her. She felt threatened and thrilled and loved, all at the same time. But it hadn’t been love on his part or hers. It was, she suspected, sheer sensation. She tingled, just remembering.

He hadn’t attacked her. She could have resisted, because as soon as she had, he’d let her go. But she hadn’t wanted to.

She was no better than he’d thought she was. That was a surprise, one she didn’t know how to deal with. Best not to deal with it at all. She knew what she had to do now. The only cure for excess was to remove oneself from the source of desire for it. The aunts had taught her that.

Still, a gypsy and
Margaret Shaw
? Making love? The thought was preposterous. A thief, a pickpocket, an ex convict, and a gypsy, such a man
coupling
with Margaret Shaw? She’d wanted that. She couldn’t evade it. It had to be animal passion and base desire,
but she hadn’t known she had either until he’d kissed her. Still, Meg thought miserably, though she might be a wanton at heart, at least she was an honest one. She admitted that actual lovemaking was what she and Daffyd had been on their way to doing this morning. The thought was appalling, doubly so because she realized how much she’d wanted him this hateful, fateful morning, when she’d discovered her true nature.

However high she’d thought her morals, when Daffyd had put his hands on her body and she’d felt his mouth on hers, the warm, clean, sunny taste and feel of him had amazed her as much as it had dismayed her. And that was considerably. Everything he’d done had felt right, even though, thank God, she’d realized in time how wrong it would be.

To be alone in the world and at the mercy of the aunts would be terrible enough. To not be alone in the world, but saddled with the bastard child of a gypsy thief and at their mercy was something beyond horrible to contemplate. Not every mating ended in pregnancy. But enough did. The world was full of bastard children and fallen females. It was a gamble she could never take.

Few couplings led to declarations of love and fidelity. Those kinds of protestations were usually made before the act. Daffyd had never made any before he’d touched her. He was honest about that. For men, sex was something apart from love. The aunts had told her that, too. She hadn’t believed them. It was depressing how right they’d been.

Now it was afternoon and Meg was hours older and felt years wiser. She had to leave here, and fast. But she couldn’t leave the caravan, nor could she wander the forest looking for a way back to the road. She had to wait until someone appeared to show her. So when she heard someone entering the caravan she shot to her feet.

“He wants to talk with you,” Keja said as she came in a whirl of skirts, bringing the scents of the autumn day as well as a vivid new collection of colors into the caravan.

“Yes,” Meg said, snatching up a scarf to throw over her shoulders. “I’m ready to leave.”

“Wait,” Keja said, easing herself down in a chair. She waved a hand. “Sit. We must first talk.”

Meg sat, folded her hands in her lap, and looked at the older woman.

Keja looked back at her. “So,” she said, her dark eyes intent. “What do you think of my grandson Johnny?”

Meg blinked. “Oh. Johnny. Well, he seems very nice…”

“Yes, nice. Handsome as a ripe blackberry, and jolly too. The girls all think so. You liked his company last night.”

Meg’s face flushed. “I found him to be very hospitable,” she said carefully. “But I didn’t understand that what he pressed on me was actually Geneva. That’s no excuse, I should have known anything that made me feel so good was spirits, and I ought to have stopped drinking sooner. It made me vilely ill. If it
weren’t for Daffyd, I suspect it would have been worse.” She stopped, her face heating as she wondered how much worse it might have been in so many ways if Daffyd hadn’t been there.

“Johnny’s a rogue. But there’s no great harm in him,” his grandmother said, as though reading her thoughts. “Who knows what was intended? Wickedness? Or sport? Men often don’t know the difference. It’s up to a woman to know. Whatever was meant, no harm was done. But harm could come.” She watched Meg for another long moment, and then sighed. “You are not Daffyd’s woman. I think that if you go away with him again that may change.”

Meg ducked her head. She didn’t know how the gypsy knew what had happened in the glade, but didn’t doubt she did. When she looked up her eyes filled with more misery than she knew. “That’s not his fault. I’m not degenerate,” she added, lifting her chin. “But he’s right, I know very little of the world.”

“Yet you trusted a stranger enough to go with him, alone. No decent gypsy woman would have.”

“Neither would any decent female I know,” Meg whispered. “But I was desperate. I had to, and he turned out to be worthy of my trust. He’s never offered me insult. He’s a man of his word, and never lied to me.”

“No, he’s not a liar when he doesn’t have to be.” Keja leaned forward. “But you knew he is half gypsy, which is half too much for your people, and he is a criminal, or was one, which is the same in the eyes of your world. So why did you go with him?”

“My future depended on it.”

Keja nodded. “Daffyd said you were well-born. You are a lady?”

Meg laughed. “Oh, no. My father and mother were connected to some titled persons, back along the line. I have an education because of that, but no funds at all. My father didn’t have much and my mother’s jointure stopped when she passed on. My aunts own property and have position in their community, but no, I’m not a ‘lady.’” She smiled. “Ladies don’t work for their supper. Still, I suppose my name wouldn’t be sneered at in places where such things matter.”

“If all that is so, why did you ask to accompany my Daffyd?”

Meg sat very still.

“You say you are a good woman,” Keja persisted, “so how can this be?”

“Because he’s also a good man,” Meg said. “And I had no choice. No. I suppose I did. I trusted him. And I did well, because he’s never let me down.”

Keja grunted. “No, he would not. You are wise in some ways if not others. My Daffyd
is
a good man. He was a good boy, too. Life has never been fair to him. His mother left her husband to run off with my son. She
was
a highborn lady, married to a great nobleman. She was rich and spoiled, like a child. When she saw Daffyd’s father, she had to have him. She was not used to not having her way. Neither was he.”

“I am not rich or spoiled,” Meg protested.

“Did I say so? This is not about you. I thought it
might be, but it is different. I’m telling you about Daffyd. The lady came to live with me. It was a great shame, and a disgrace for me, because she was an outsider and my son already had a wife. It made us
marhime
, unclean. You understand? Whatever you
gajes
say about the Rom, we have strict rules of behavior. And so we were banished….

“But the gypsy is also compassionate. There was an infant coming. A gypsy alone is never safe in any land. And I had a certain standing with my people. Still, we had to leave the caravan and follow along far behind it, like whipped dogs hoping for forgiveness. Just as well. There was to be more disgrace. When the lady whelped she ran off and left Daffyd with his father. I wish his father had run off, too. He was not a good man—even I do not say he was.”

The older woman sighed. “Johnny, at least, had his mother’s clan to escape to. Daffyd only had me and his father. I could only try to stop things from getting worse. When I couldn’t anymore, and I saw Daffyd had grown wit and strength enough to fend for himself, I packed his bag and told him to go, and made sure that he could, in safety. He’d never have gotten far without my help.”

“But he was only seven years old!” Meg protested.

“Old enough to be hanged for killing his father,” Keja said coldly. “And he would have. Someone else did that, with a knife, years later, and it was deserved. But at least Daffyd does not have that on his head or heart.” She pulled back her hair to show Meg the long scar on her forehead. “I earned that for tak
ing Daffyd’s part against his father. That was when I knew Daffyd had to go. I saw it in his eyes when he looked at his father. Sometimes we must throw our treasure away so we can save it.”

Meg didn’t know what to say.

Keja nodded. “I heard from Daffyd through the years. He did badly, and then he did well. He can still go down either path. But you’re right. He is not a bad man; and he is a man of his word. A woman could do worse than to trust him. But I would not trust any man too far. Well,” she said, slapping her knees as she got to her feet. “Are you ready for company?”