Her Master's Touch (8 page)

Two nights later, as she left the washhouse,
the distant strains of gypsy music drifted on the night wind. She
had no idea when the gypsies had arrived, but she felt an urge to
follow the sound. The moon was bright so she had no trouble finding
her way. Following a path leading in the direction of the music,
she scurried ahead, only to come to an end where she found a stone
pedestal that looked as if it had been the base for a statue...

...outstretched arms... blood-red arms..
blood-red eyes.. outstretched arms...

A portent of dark foreboding enveloped her.
Was she going mad? There was nothing but a stone structure and a
vacant pedestal...
Blood-red
...

She backed away, turned and fled. By the time
she'd returned to the wash house to where she'd left another trail
that led in the direction of the music, she couldn't remember what
had frightened her. It was, after all, nothing but a small stone
pedestal.

For now, the night was alive with music, and
she felt an urge to dance, if only in the shadows. On her return,
when Lekha and the others would be asleep, she'd search the
upstairs drawing room. If she didn't find the opal there, her next
course would be to steal into Mrs. Throckmorton's bedchamber while
she slept and take the keys to the library and master study. One of
those rooms would undoubtedly contain the opal.

***

Damon stepped onto the veranda, lured by the
sounds of gypsy music. Corina, a maid who’d been with his staff for
some time, stood gazing toward the jute fields. Damon walked over
to stand beside her. "What the devil’s going on out there?" he
asked.

"Gypsies, m'lord," Corine replied. "Runyon
saw wagons and chattel out there, and goats and donkeys in the
fields. I don't mind saying, I'm a bit anxious about them being so
close."

"No worry," Damon said. "The gatekeeper won't
let any of them pass."

"It's not just that, m'lord, it's about the
new
dhobi
in the washhouse. Who knows what she'll be takin'.
Me and t'others are thinking you'd best guard the silver."

"I'll keep that in mind," Damon said,
wondering if Eliza was the reason the gypsies had camped so close.
"Meanwhile, I'd better see what's going on." He mounted his horse
and headed toward the jute fields. He hadn't gone for when, in a
small glade where the woods met the jute fields, he spotted a lone
figure dancing around a lantern. Reining in, he realized it was
Eliza.

Bathed in the white witchery of moonlight,
she moved to the lilting music of the gypsy violins, her body
snaking with passionate intensity to the glissandos and plaintive
melancholy. She was dressed in the garb of a gypsy, skirt swishing
about her legs, décolleté blouse dipping low on her bosom. The
music changed to the wildest fury, full of fire and impetuosity.
She whirled and whirled, clapping her hands, smacking her ankles,
scuffing her feet against the earth. Arms above her head, she
snapped her fingers, her lithe body twisting like a palm in a gale
to the insistent frenzy of the music. Her body trapped by
silvern-blue light seemed more ethereal than mortal, and as Damon
watched her, he knew he must have this beautiful exotic bird as his
mistress, no matter what it would take to hold and keep her.

At once, the music stopped. Hands high, head
back, she struck a dramatic pose.

He dismounted and stepped from the shadows.
"Bravo," he said, clapping his hands. "Had I expected to find such
sublime entertainment I would have brought rupees to toss at your
feet," he said. "What else can you do, gypsy girl?"

Eliza gave him a playful smile. "Flee on
silent feet," she said. With the agility of a deer, she moved out
of the circle of moonlight and fled into the grove.

Damon rushed after her, lured by her moving
form and fleeting footsteps. But he soon realized the form he was
after was shadows cast by moonlight, the footsteps, the chatter of
brush wrestling with the wind. The woods became still and he
thought she'd evaded him. Then soft laughter drifted on the breeze.
Capricious laughter. She was taking pleasure teasing and eluding
him, the provocative little witch. Hands on his hips, he waited,
but heard only the distant voices of gypsies. Then behind him came
her voice. "Over here, my lord."

He turned and walked in the direction of her
voice, only to stop short and turn back when she called from
another direction. "No, my lord. Over here."

"I can think of better things to do than hide
from each other," he called out.

She emerged from the shadows and started
toward him. “What do you have in mind my lord?” she asked, walking
up to him.

"This." He grabbed her low on her buttocks
and lifted her, and she instinctively clasped her legs around his
hips. “Turn that wild spirit loose, gypsy girl" he said. Cupping
her buttocks, he pressed her tighter to him. “I'm on fire and I
need you to douse the flames.”

“Oh!” she gasped when he began rotating
against her. “It’s happening again, that strange feeling. You
mustn't do that… umm…” she let out a moan of pleasure and curved
her hands around his neck. He lowered her to the ground and rolled
her onto her back and straddled her, propping his knees on either
side of her hips and she made no move to send him toppling off her.
Instead, she gazed up at him as he slipped her blouse off her
shoulders, lowered her camisole to expose her breasts, and captured
one ripe nipple with his lips, flicking his tongue over the tight
bud, nipping playfully with his teeth.

"
My lord!
You bit me." She giggled,
making no attempt to stop what he was doing.

"Umm, I did indeed." As he began to suckle,
moans of pleasure reverberated in her throat. "You taste like
nectar," he said, moving to the other breast, "sweet ambrosial
nectar." Little short moans of ecstasy burst from her lips, and
when he glided his hand up her bare leg, dragging her skirt up with
it to touch her intimately, she let out a long, slow sigh of
pleasure…

From the direction of the encampment, shouts
erupted and dogs started barking.

"Oh hell," Damon said. He moved from atop
Eliza, and she sat up and pulled her camisole up to cover herself.
"We are not through," he said. "We will continue later." He stood
and looked toward the encampment. "Are those your people?" he
asked.

Eliza stood. "I don't know," she replied.

"They're gypsies. You must know."

"I only came to dance to their music."

"Not to run off with them?" Damon asked.

"If I planned to run off, I would not be with
you," Eliza snapped.

"I suppose," Damon said. "Meanwhile, I need
to make sure my jute isn't getting trampled." Heaving a sigh, he
added, "Soon, you and I are going to alleviate a problem I'm
having." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly, then
mounted his horse and left.

As he cantered off, Eliza stared after him.
Perhaps she was more
gorgio
than gypsy. A gypsy girl would
not have let a man not wed to her kiss her breasts. Nor would she
have this nameless yearning for something more...

The crackle of brush came from behind, and
when she turned, she looked into the malevolent eyes of Januz
Kazinczy. "You moan like whore, baring breasts for
gorgio
earl to suckle. Where you think opal is
post rat
? In
gorgio
earl's breeches?”

Refusing to be intimidated, Eliza said, "What
do you want?"

"To tell you to get
Kalkhi-Avatar
tonight," Januz said. "Word from
kris Romani
. You find it in
box under desk in library."

Eliza eyed him, dubiously. "How do you know
where it is?"

"You not ask questions," Januz said. "Get
opal. Come to gate at midnight. I have horse for you there.
Tonight,
posh-rat
, or you banished."

***

A sharp creak resounded like a shot in the
silent room. Poised motionless between footsteps, in the
pitch-blackness of Mrs. Throckmorton's bedchamber, Eliza dared not
move, dared not breathe. She hadn't anticipated the creaking floor.
Nor had she expected the room to be so hot, or so utterly dark. She
remained immobile for what seemed like an eternity. Beads of sweat
crept down her face. Gradually, dusky objects began to take form.
Mrs. Throckmorton turned in bed, fluffed her pillow and let out a
sigh. The room became quiet again. Quiet as a tomb. After a while
Eliza heard a low burr and knew Mrs. Throckmorton was asleep.

Edging toward the bedside table, Eliza' hand
nudged a glass, almost toppling it. Grabbing the glass, she paused
and waited, relieved that the snoring remained steady. Padding her
palm over the table, she felt a ring of keys. Curling her fingers
around them, she lifted them from the table and crept to the door,
closing it silently behind.

Keys in hand, she ascended the stairs while
considering what Januz said. She didn't doubt the opal was in the
library. That was one of the rooms that remained locked. She was
puzzled though, how Januz knew where it was, and why he was helping
her. But she didn't have the luxury of time to find out. So
regardless of his motives, she'd get the opal tonight.

After letting herself into the library, she
lit a lamp and immediately spotted the strongbox on the desk. To
her surprise, it was laying open. Inside she found papers, but the
opal was not there. But as she sorted through the papers, the
penscript of a letter addressed to Damon caught her attention.
Lifting it, she read the name, Lord William Sheffield, Holly Lodge,
Campden Hill, London, England. She stared at the writing.
Her
father's writing
. Opening the letter, she read her father's
terms for selling land to Damon, then tucked the letter with her
father’s address into her pocket. While searching for more letters
from her father, a yellowed newspaper clipping caught her eye. A
note attached to the clipping, and dated October 17, 1865, read:
Well, old chap, I thought you would enjoy reading about the
notorious Lord Carlisle. You have created quite a stir here in
London. I will keep you posted.
The signature was
unreadable.

Unfolding the clipping from the
London
Times
, dated June 3, 1865, she read:
LORD WINSTON CARLISLE
SHOT AND KILLED BY BROTHER. An inquest held by the coroner of
Middlesex in the White Horse Inn at Kensington disclosed today that
Lord Winston Carlisle, Earl of Westwendham, died as a result of
wounds suffered at the hands of his brother, Edmund Damon Carlisle,
who left the scene. Authorities have issued a warrant for his
arrest..."

Eliza stared at the clipping. Certainly the
man who’d held her in his arms and teased her with his kisses could
not have shot his brother in cold blood and fled. But then, she
knew little about Lord Damon Ravencroft. Or, was it Lord Edmund
Damon Carlisle?

Heart thrumming, she reread the article. Why
would he do such a thing? How could he do such a thing? Returning
the papers to the box, she left on silent feet, anxious to be away
from this room, away from Damon. But she had not found the opal.
There was only one other place to look. The master study. Another
locked chamber. And she'd go there now.

***

Damon sealed his letter to the Queen,
informing Her Majesty of the existence, and availability, of the
Burning of Troy
opal. He hadn't planned to sit at his desk
in the middle of the night and compose the missive, but it was
impossible to sleep. A beautiful face kept invading his mind. He
slipped the opal from his pocket and held it in his fingers.
Turning it in the lamplight, the stone blazed with scintillating
flashes, reminding him of the fire in Eliza's eyes after he'd
kissed her. "My friend, I'm a sad sap," he said aloud, because the
opal seemed to be a living, breathing thing, "falling for a woman
who's as aimless as an autumn leaf, as vagrant as the wind, and as
illusive as a dream." The opal, absorbing the heat from his hand,
grew brighter, blazed redder. "So you agree? But what am I to
do?"

Until Eliza whirled into his life and made
him yearn with a desire he'd never known, Damon hadn't realized how
much he dreaded an existence without her. He wanted her beyond all
reason... wanted to hear her melodious voice, laugh at her quick
wit, taste her sweet lips and feel her warm naked body beneath him.
Her image hovered in his mind by day and haunted his dreams by
night. What he couldn't imagine was letting her slip out of his
life. And that was the crux of it. After the sale of the opal and
Shanti Bhavan
he'd be returning to England. And he sure as
hell couldn't arrive with a gypsy hoyden for a wife. But for the
time he had left, he'd do everything in his power to have her as
his mistress…

Hearing footsteps, he turned. And stared in
shocked surprised.

Elizabeth stood in the doorway. She'd changed
into her black working dress, and wore her loose around her
shoulders. Damon dropped the opal into his coat pocket and waited
for her reason for being there. Struggling to find her voice,
Eliza's mind still visualizing the opal in Damon's coat pocket, she
said, while walking toward him, "I couldn't sleep, my lord. All I
wanted was to be with you. So, I thought I'd come find you. I hope
you don't mind."

Damon walked up to her and kissed her. "You
look like an elegant lady," he said, "not the gypsy hoyden I
captured at the fair."

Eliza felt awkward, knowing what she must do.
Still, she had to do it. Curving her arms around his neck, she
said, "So, you think I look like a lady?"

Damon clasped his hands behind her waist. "I
venture to say, if you dressed in gowns of silks and satins you'd
look the proper
memsahib
."

"Where would I get these gowns of silks and
satins, my lord?" Eliza asked, gazing into dark intense eyes that
burned with a fire of their own.