Paxton and the Lone Star (62 page)

There was a steady flow of customers through Adriana's tent. They were tenant farmers for the most part, poor people who had saved their pennies carefully in anticipation of this day, and who were spending them no less carefully. The men were all stoop-shouldered from work, with thick bodies and dull faces, and their women matched them, all looking older than they actually were. Laborers from the coal mines in the hills appeared too, their way of life evident in the permanent stains under their fingernails and in the creases of their skin. Life in the Chiltern Hills in this year of our Lord 1809 was hard for everyone, and Adriana kept her predictions light and cheerful, feeling no shame for telling these people things that she knew would never come to pass. For one small copper, a beautiful Gypsy girl would peer into their palms and look sultry and mysterious and tell them that they would soon be the recipients of bountiful fortunes. Most of them chose to believe exactly what she told them, if only for a little while. And those moments of belief and hope were worth the money that they spent.

“Adriana! Come dance for us, woman!”

Adriana looked up from the table in the tent as strident, eager voices called to her from outside. Night had fallen, and the candles cast flickering shadows around the interior. The day had been long. She'd had many customers in search of information about their futures, some steered to her by Giuseppe, others drawn by the sign of the palm above the tent entrance. More than one young man, she was sure, paid his shilling not to have his fortune told, but to have his hands held by her long, slender fingers, to regard with appreciation the honey color of her skin, to gaze deeply into her green eyes, and to listen to her voice, speaking low and soft to him alone. Now, after long hours of bending over the table, she welcomed the opportunity to get outside and move around. Although her readings were not finished for the day, she was glad for a break. As she pushed out through the flap of the tent, she was greeted with enthusiastic shouts and a burst of music from tambourines and fiddles and wooden flutes. Pleased by the attention, Adriana smiled and walked toward the large fire in the center of the clearing. The enveloping darkness made the light of the fire brilliant. Leaping and crackling, it illuminated a wide circle of faces that parted to create a narrow lane through which she could pass. The music became more urgent as Adriana entered the open space near the fire. Swaying just slightly, in movements barely discernible but promising much, much more to come, she slowly began the dance they were all waiting to see.

Simultaneously ancient and new, the dance, too, was part of the great game. The dance was freedom, a melting of mind and body into one sensual, exultant whole. Lost in rapture, Adriana whirled and darted, spun and dipped and leaped. Her hips swayed seductively from side to side and her skirt spun outward to reveal slim, muscular calves. With her head back and her eyes closed, her long, thick auburn hair dangled loosely behind her in a dance all its own. Her feet, in soft slippers, traced intricate patterns on the hard ground.

On and on the music went, wild driving rhythms that inflamed the blood of dancer and spectator alike. The night was cool, but a fine sheen of perspiration dampened Adriana's face, the droplets beading and roiling down her neck and chest until they disappeared in the deep valley between her breasts. Suddenly, her movements slowed. She raised her arms until her breasts strained against her blouse, then crossed them over her head before slowly, sinuously lowering them until she reached a point where she paused and stood absolutely still for several beats. Then, without warning, she was dancing again, even more wantonly than before.

The dance reached out to every man present in a powerful, primitive way. Amid cries of appreciation, the applause increased in tempo to match the music. Everywhere were grinning faces, the long winter's hardships forgotten as spirits rose and cares fell away. The Gypsy girl was spring, the essence of a world awakening to eternal youth and promise. The heat of the campfire was forgotten, unable to compare with the blaze burning from within.

Adriana was well aware of the effect she was creating. She did not necessarily think of herself as beautiful, but she knew that the country people who watched her did, and had become accustomed to their looks of ill-concealed jealousy and desire. For the most part, these did not bother her, wrapped up as she was in the dance.…

An icy finger of warning ran up her spine. Still dancing, Adriana turned and saw a uniformed man standing at the inside edge of the crowd. She recognized him from previous Mumford fairs, and knew instantly why she felt uneasy. The man's name was Trevor Bliss, and he was the youngest son of a wealthy and powerful local family with extensive coal holdings. He wore the uniform of an officer of His Majesty's Navy, and had a reputation as a man who acquired whatever struck his fancy. There was good reason to fear Trevor Bliss, for his position conferred on him an immunity to punishment that no Gypsy enjoyed. In his latest escapade a year before, he had become drunk and belligerent and had tried to molest a servant girl from the local squire's household—and then had tried to throw the blame on Saul. The consensus of the Gypsies was that he was one of the most unaptly named men in the world, unless one included a sour disposition and a harsh temperament among the attributes of bliss.

The young officer was resplendent. A plumed hat rode proudly on his tightly curled sand-colored hair. His lieutenant's uniform, consisting of a blue jacket, tight white breeches, and high white boots, was set off with a sword, ribbons, sashes, medals and epaulets. The combination of boots and hat made him appear taller than he truly was, somewhat less than six feet, and few men or women present dared meet the hard brown eyes that stared contemptuously from his narrow, pale aristocratic face. Those eyes were now watching Adriana intently, and Bliss was taking no pains to conceal the unbridled lust that the Gypsy girl's dance had aroused in him.

The music rose to a climax. Adriana whirled faster and faster until, with a crash of cymbals and drums, the music stopped and she collapsed, arms spread and head bowed to the tumultuous applause. The crowd cheered and threw coins, which the musicians' children darted in to retrieve. Slowly, Adriana rose and curtsied deeply around the circle, taking care to avoid Bliss's eyes, lest her discomfort show. At last, flushed and still breathing deeply, she allowed Giuseppe to take her arm and escort her through the sea of grinning faces and grasping hands.

Away from the crowd, the breeze was cool and invigorating. “Did you see him?” she asked, wiping her face with her sleeve.

“The one who caused trouble last year? Of course.”

“He frightens me,” Adriana said with a shiver.

“Do not fear, little one. Only remain in your tent until I come for you. I have business to attend to, but I won't be long.”

Leaving his sister alone, Giuseppe melted back into the crowd. Adriana sighed and headed for her tent. She was tired, and the closing of the fair for the night couldn't come too soon. There would be more palms to read, though, for inevitably her dancing inspired a half-dozen or more local lads to seek her out. Perhaps afterward there would be time to sit and talk, to share a moment with Saul and listen to him flatter her with reasons why she should be his woman. She smiled secretly. Who knew? Perhaps tonight, if he was eloquent enough, she would let him …

A stare burned into her back. Adriana caught her breath and kept moving. Trevor Bliss had to be the source of that searing stare, and she knew that she dared not turn to meet it. Perhaps if she ignored him he would go away. The strategy seemed to work, for a moment later she sensed that he was no longer watching her. In any case, the anticipated line of young men waited outside her tent, and the next half-hour passed peacefully and quickly. The young men were polite, their dreams written on their faces. Each was content to stare avidly while she held his hand, studied his palm, and hinted of wealth, beautiful women, and adventure.

The signal for the end of the day's festivities sounded just as Adriana's last customer, a moonstruck cobbler, left. Adriana sighed and stretched, feeling the weight of the coppers in the pocket of her skirt. The morning's good luck omens had been correct: the first day of the first fair of the year had been a good one. Just as she leaned forward to blow out the candles, the tent flap was swept aside and Trevor Bliss swaggered through. “Not closing just yet, are you, lass?” he asked mockingly.

Also part of the morning's premonitions, Adriana thought fleetingly. “Yes,” she said, trying to conceal the nervousness she felt in his presence. “You will have to return on the morrow.”

Bliss carried a pair of white gloves in one hand, and he slapped them lightly into the palm of the other as he stepped to the table. “But I want my fortune told tonight, Adriana. That is your name, isn't it?”

She bridled at his familiarity, and was repulsed at the way his eyes ran over her body and lingered on the low scooped neckline of her blouse and the swell of her breasts.

“You see,” he continued offhandedly, “I remember you from other years. Strange that I never noticed until tonight just what a lovely woman you've become.” His smile held no humor, only menace. “Blossomed over the winter, eh? Smacks of witchery to me.”

He was close enough that she could smell the strong scent of ale exuding from him. To judge from the faint flush that suffused his face and the slight sway in his walk, he had been drinking heavily, perhaps from the moment he had arrived at the fair. “I'm sorry, sir,” Adriana insisted politely, “but you will have to come back again some other time.”

Accustomed to subservience, Bliss was galled. Tucking his gloves behind his belt, he pulled back the customer's chair and sat at the table. “Well?” he demanded haughtily, his eyes intent under his plumed hat. “Are you going to carry on with your business, Adriana? Or are you afraid you'll be found out?” His lip curled in a supremely confident sneer. “I know about you Gypsy fortune-tellers. You're all charlatans. You spout cheap generalizations in low, mysterious tones, pass off blather as wisdom, and then complain that you're being persecuted when persons of substance run you off as you so richly deserve. Now, do as I say.”

Ridicule and contempt came too easily to this young English officer with the superior attitude, and Adriana controlled her temper only with effort. “It is customary to pay first,” she told him in a low, cool voice, less concerned now with being careful not to offend him.

“Of course.” Bliss reached into his jacket pocket and produced a shilling, which he flipped into the air.

Adriana caught the coin and dropped it in her pocket. “Give me your right hand,” she commanded, sitting opposite him. Bliss extended his hand toward her. She took it in both of hers, turned the palm upward, and spread his fingers slightly. Bending forward a bit, uncomfortably aware that she was exposing even more of her breasts to Bliss's view, she carefully studied his palm. Bliss leaned forward too, so close to her that she could feel his breath on her face. “I see,” she began at last, tracing with inward reluctance one long line on Bliss's palm, “a great fortune that will come your way. Perhaps only wealth, perhaps even more.” That seemed to be a safe enough statement, given the holdings of the Bliss family. Surely at least a part of their fortune would come his way someday. “You must be watchful and ever careful, but not fearful, and you will succeed only if you are bold, energetic, and cunning, for though the rewards are great, the opportunities are few, and you must snatch them before they evaporate as quickly as the morning dew.” That was a standard part of many fortunes, but Adriana hoped that if Bliss heard what he wanted to hear, he would leave without causing any trouble.

Bliss's smug face told her he wasn't being taken in, not for a second. Perhaps if she could appeal to his vanity.… Solemnly, she bent his forefinger and made a show of counting a series of tiny lines in the first joint. “You have been three times in great danger of death,” she declared confidently. “I see—”

“More often than that,” Bliss interrupted with a laugh. “Death is an old companion of mine. But I must tell you, he fears me more than I him.”

“Only three times has the threat been real,” Adriana insisted, “although if it pleases you there will be other times.”

“Bosh! Is that all you have to tell me?” Bliss asked in disgust. “The meanest beggar in London could do as well, girl!”

Adriana held her breath and swallowed the angry retort that threatened to burst from her. “No,” she said when she dared to speak again. She folded his hand into a fist and looked directly into his eyes. “One thing more. A lady of great beauty will change your life.”

Bliss slapped the table sharply with his free hand. “You're just telling me things any man would want to hear,” he taunted. “But I am not just any man. Tell me something specific if you can … if you dare.”

“Very well.” Adriana's lips curved in a smile that wasn't entirely pleasant as she opened his hand and leaned forward again. An ominous silence filled the tent. The only sound seemed to be Bliss's breathing, made fast and slightly harsh by the ale he had consumed. “Very well,” Adriana repeated finally. “I will reveal to you what your palm reveals to me. Many times have your passions involved you in great trouble. You are a hot-blooded man, and your pursuit of pleasure and vengeance will lead you to greater trouble in the future. Your courage is a sham, and you will always be denied the wealth and power that you crave—”

Bliss's face clouded with anger and he jerked his hand out of Adriana's grasp. “How dare you!” he spat. “You damned Gypsy wench! Does my palm also say that I intend to have you for my own—that I
will
have you?”

Adriana stood and glared down at Bliss with eyes that had gone as hard as emeralds. “Never in a thousand years,” she vowed, furiously tossing caution to the wind. “The things I saw in your hand are no fault of mine. They are truths that you, not I, must face. Now, leave my tent!”