My Own True Love (9 page)

Her confusion disappeared when Toma bent his head and his lips met hers. The kiss was one of gentle greeting at first, but grew more ardent and hungry by the second. She wasn't sure who started it, but before long their hands were all over each other. The hot night, the enclosed room, any questions she had were soon forgotten in the heat that rose from every spot where Toma's nimble fingers touched.

She didn't know when or how they ended up on the bed, but at some point, sometime after he began licking and sucking on her nipples through the thin cloth of her dress, Sara came to her senses enough to ask, "Do you have any protection?"

Toma's eyes glinted up out of the night, over the rounded mounds of her breasts. "I have my knife," he said.

His weight across her was deliciously solid. One of her hands was resting on his shoulder; the other was combing through the silky mane of his black hair. She laughed breathlessly at his answer. "I meant a condom," she told him. "You know, birth control, AIDS, that kind of protection."

Toma rolled off her and propped himself up on one elbow. It was a tight fit for both of them to lie on the bed, and Sara was wedged up against the wall. "Protection? Condom? A skin sheath, you mean?

Don't talk like a whore."

His irritated tone immediately annoyed her, but she supposed it was stupid to argue social attitudes with a man from the past. It was even more stupid to want so desperately to make love to him. She couldn't complicate living a year in the past by adding pregnancy to her problems. Besides, making love to Toma once would just make her want to do it again. It was too physically and emotionally risky. She squeezed her hands into fists to keep from pulling him into another deep kiss.

"We'd better stop," she said.

Toma ran his hand down her side, then down across her stomach. "Must we?"

The cajoling promise in his voice sent a pleasant shiver through her. "Yep. Uh-huh. Oh, my, that feels good." She didn't know when her eyes closed as he continued his persuasive caressing, but she managed to pry them open before losing complete control of herself. When she saw Toma smiling at her she didn't know whether to laugh or to smack him, he looked so pleased with himself. "Take your hand off of there," she ordered. "Right now."

He sighed dramatically, but took his hand away.

Before she could ask him to put it back she remembered to ask, "How did you get in here? What are you doing in here? Isn't the circus going to Salisbury?"

He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Sara moved to sit beside him. His arm went around her shoulder. "Shh," he warned. "We don't want to shock your aunt. I wanted to see you in private. She would have wanted to chaperon us, and she wouldn't like what I have to tell you. I came in the back way, found your room, and waited." He kissed her cheek. "It was worth the wait."

Sara snuggled closer to him. His presence made her feel safe and wanted. He couldn't know how important it was not to be alone in this alien time and place. "You're wonderful," she said. "So sweet.

Kind of like Ed on
Northern Exposure."
But sexy like Chris, she said to herself, only shorter. And if she'd known she was going to miss a year's worth of television she could have at least set a tape.

"Ed who?" Toma asked.

The hint of jealousy in his voice amused her. "Never mind. Why aren't you with the circus?"

"You're more important. I wanted to warn you, help you. You're not safe here, Sara," he went on before she could ask him what he meant. "Mother Cummings knows all about it."

"It? It what?"

"Knows you're here. That you're holding out on her."

"I'm not holding—"

"She doesn't like it, Sara." He brushed his hand across her forehead. "Don't get her angry. She can have you killed." He snapped his fingers. "Just like that." Another snap, right next to her ear. She jumped nervously at the sound. "More likely it's Beth she'll hurt since she still needs you. She knows you care for the mud lark."

"Hurt Beth?" Sara said the words slowly, memories of Cummings's crude comment to the girl and Beth's fear of Mother Cummings playing over in her mind as she spoke. "She's just a little girl."

Larcenous and streetwise, but still just a child. "I promised I'd protect her."

"Then you'd better do what Mother Cummings wants."

Sara shook her head. "No. That's not possible."

"But—"

Sara broke away from the safe shelter of his embrace before he could finish. "That is not an option,"

she told him firmly. She headed for the door. "I've got to get Beth out of here. Can you take her to Salisbury with you?" she asked as he hurriedly followed her next door to Beth's room.

"I'm not going to Salisbury."

She whirled to face him. "Why not?"

His hands touched her shoulders. "I stayed to look after you."

"Oh." The rush of love nearly overwhelmed her. "Thank you." It was illogical, it was impossible, she'd known the man for only a day, but she knew she loved him. He drew her to him and kissed her, slowly and gently. But worry for Beth drew her out of his arms before long. She stepped away, but took his hand as they went to Beth's door.

Moonlight from a small window fell directly across the bed, but there was nothing there for them to see. The bed was empty. Sara paused in the doorway, her gaze searching frantically, but it was obvious that Beth was not in the room.

"No," she whispered. "Oh, no."

Toma urged her forward. While she stood in hopeless confusion in the middle of the room, he lit a candle, then held it up, slowly turning to search the shadows. Sara followed his movements, and saw the folded piece of paper at the foot of the bed the same instant he said, "Look."

She rushed to snatch it up.

Toma held out his hand. "Let me read that for you."

"I can read it myself, thank you," she said, irritated despite her worry. He held the candle closer as she unfolded the paper. "I can read, but I'm not sure these jokers can write." She stared at the abysmal scrawling squiggles on the page. Though the message was easy enough to guess, it took her a while before she could decipher the details. "It says I won't see Beth again unless I bring Mother Cummings the scarabs."

"Tonight," Toma added. His arm came around her shoulder. "Sara, it has to be tonight."

"What am I going to do?"

"Do you want to see the mud lark again?"

"Of course!"

"Then do it." He swiveled her to face him. His expression was intense in the gold glow of the candle.

"You're the best, sweetheart. Do this one job and they'll never bother you again. I'll see to that, I promise."

"But. .. how?" She searched desperately for some sane alternative to this situation. "Couldn't we call the police? Scotland Yard?"

Toma frowned in puzzlement. "Police? This isn't France. There are no secret police in England, love."

"Who said anything about secret police? I'm talking about getting help to get Beth back. The poor baby's been kidnaped. There must be somebody we can go to."

His laugh was low and harsh. "We're Rom," he reminded her. "No law protects us."

Sara sat down on the bed, too overcome with fear to stay on her feet. She touched the ring, pressing her sore fingertip into the knotwork design. "Can't you do something?" she begged it. It made no response.

Toma faced her. "You're the only one who can help her, Sara." He held out his hand to her. "Come with me. To Philipston House. I can show you the way."

Sara looked up at him in bleak anguish. The man she loved was offering to help her commit a felony.

It was wrong. She didn't know how. She was terrified. Beth's life depended on her. "Oh, God," she whispered. "There's nothing I can do." She took Toma's hand and let him pull her to her feet. "All right. If I have to. Just this once." She looked into his deep blue sympathetic eyes. "Show me what to do."

******************

"I can't go through with this."

Toma grabbed her sleeve as she turned to run. "Sara."

"I can't go in there."

They were standing in a park in the center of a square in a fashionable part of town. Mayfair, Toma had said as they made their way to the west side of London. As they passed mansions and parks and gardens, dodged carriages and groups of fashionably dressed people, Sara had felt not only more out of place, but more familiar with the setting. This was the Regency London she knew about, the upscale side of the world she'd discovered the day before.

The house before them was three stories tall, narrow, separated from identical mansions by narrow strips of garden. Unlike other houses in the neighborhood no lights were showing in the windows of Philipston House. There was no traffic on the wide, brick-paved road. It was a quiet night in a quiet neighborhood.

"Too quiet," Sara whispered, pressing her back against a wide tree trunk. Her mouth was dry with fear. This was worse than stage fright. Toma tugged on her hand. "I can't do it," she repeated.

"Beth."

It was all he had to say, and he knew it. He'd been repeating the word to her the whole way, every time she tried to turn back. Beth. He was right. She couldn't do it but she had to. So she would.

Somehow.

"Beth. Right," she grumbled. She pushed herself away from the tree. She studied the house again.

"You sure there's nobody home?"

"Philipston went to Bath for his gout," Toma told her. "He took his household with him."

"What about alarms?" she asked. "Security systems?"

"What?"

"Large watchdogs with mean, nasty teeth," she clarified. "Things like that."

Toma shook his head. "No. Nothing like that."

"How do you know?" she snapped. Her irritation was fueled by panic. She didn't have time to panic.

"Get a grip," she ordered herself. She squared her shoulders and walked swiftly out of the park. She was standing in front of the door to Philipston House before she noticed Toma wasn't with her. When she turned to look she saw him lingering on the curb across the street. The silver threads in his blue headscarf glittered in the moonlight. It occurred to her that her own colorful long skirts weren't exactly the ideal attire for breaking and entering. "Attack of the ninja gypsy guitarist. How's that for a movie of the week?"

The ludicrous image almost made her chuckle. What was her partner in crime waiting for? She gestured with her head. She caught the flash of his white teeth as he grinned before sprinting across the street to join her.

"What do you plan?" he asked when he reached her. "Just to knock on the front door?"

"It's a thought."

"Servants' entrance for the likes of us."

Sara tilted her head thoughtfully. "You're right. There must be a back door. Come on."

They made their way cautiously through a garden to the back of the house. Roses scented the air around them, as romantic as the moonlight. Music filtered across the distance from one of the nearby houses. Sara paused for a moment, struck by the beauty of the setting and the incongruousness of the moment.

"Pianoforte. Mozart." She sighed.

Toma touched her on the shoulder. "How do you know?"

"My mom's a music teacher."

"Your mother worked the
bujo,"
Toma answered. "Molly told me."

This was no time to try to explain the difference between herself and the person he thought she was, even if the difference was crucial to what they were about to do. She did take the time to defend her mother. "Mom's a
gajo.
She wouldn't know how to run a con to save her life. Come on, let's get this over with."

Toma gave a confused shake of his head before they hurried on. The flower garden gave way to a vegetable garden. There were stables beyond, and several small outbuildings that Sara guessed were storage sheds. The back door loomed wide and dark up a short flight of stairs in the center of the back wall. There was still no sign of movement inside or out. Not even a stray cat ambled by along the back fence.

"Too quiet," Sara whispered again. She sat down on a stone bench on the edge of the flower garden and stared at the back of the house for a while. What the hell was she supposed to do next? She rubbed the ring.
I'm open to suggestions,
she told it.

Toma paced the pathway in front of the bench, his soft-soled shoes making no sound on the flat, round paving stones. "Hurry," he instructed in a fierce whisper. "Let's get this over with."

He sounded angry as well as anxious. He must be as worried as she was at getting caught, even though the morality of the situation didn't seem to bother him. If he mentioned Beth one more time she thought she might kick him. She stood up and approached the door and turned the knob. It was locked, of course. When she glanced over her shoulder at Toma she saw he was standing with his arms crossed, a sarcastic expression evident even if she could only see him by moonlight.

"It was worth a shot," she told him.

He bounded up the steps to join her. "You could try breaking a window."

"I could," she agreed, "but that would be stupid. If we can get in without being obvious about it, no one is going to know anything is missing until this guy gets home. The less evidence the better, the less chance of getting caught."

He patted her on the head. "Clever girl."

"Yeah," Sara agreed, though she hadn't realized what she was thinking until she'd spoken. Maybe she did have a bit of criminal talent. The notion gave her confidence. She took a step back onto the top stair tread and looked around thoughtfully, looking for possibilities.

"I wonder," she said after carefully looking over the scene. "Maybe there's a spare house key hidden someplace."

"What?"

"Think about it. The place is crawling with servants, right? People must go in and out at all hours. It would be convenient to be able to get in without somebody getting out of bed at three in the morning when the butler comes home drunk on his night off."

Toma looked indignant. "But the butler doesn't—it makes sense, I suppose," he finished thoughtfully.

"Can't trust servants."

"Can't hurt to look." Sara began with the stairs. She didn't find anything until she reached the bottom.