Taken by the Wicked Rake (19 page)

And everyone was happy. The children danced in circles around her. Men kissed her on the cheeks and slipped her gold coins. Women hugged her and offered her flowers or silk scarves, and took the coins that the men had given to her and embroidered them into the hem of her petticoat. Magda told her it was so she could keep her dower safe, “In case her worthless Rom did not treat her well.” And she said it with a light tone that made the other women laugh, as though she were only teaching her new
bori
the correct way to stay ahead of a wild Gypsy husband.

And Stephano was on the other side of the camp, positively glowing with pride, gesturing in her direction and speaking in Romany. She could not understand a word of it, but could read the translation in his eyes. She was pretty, she was smart, and she was his. Were not the others envious of so perfect and wonderful a bride? Was he not the most fortunate man on the planet? When he was not bragging of her, he would come across the camp to take her hands in his, or to grab her by the waist and toss her into the air, then pull her close for another kiss.

And the other men laughed and kissed their wives, who pretended to be bothered by the distraction, all the while laughing and muttering, “Later.”

And then, the feasting began. There was a stew made of wild hare, and something wonderful roasted on skewers that she was told was hedgehog. Everyone kept refilling their cups, and there were many toasts. Stephano was staring at her with a wicked smile and the somewhat unfocused look of a man who had drunk too much wine. She suspected that she must look the same to him. So they laughed, and danced until their heads cleared. Then he reached out to the fiddler and grabbed the instrument from him, playing a tune that was mad and fast and happy.

She covered her mouth in surprise, for she had not known he was so talented. He grinned back at her, and played all the faster, his fingers flying along the neck of the instrument, and his bow grinding away at the notes, making a sweet cacophony as it caught two and three strings at a time. She wondered if there was a way to play her harp that would sound so wild and free?

When he set down the instrument, he flexed the injured hand that had held the bow, and she reached out for it, turning it palm up to check the bandage.

“Do not fuss over me, woman. I can look after myself.” He grumbled the words, to put her in her place. But he was smiling as though it amused him to be bothered by her.

“You were looking after yourself when you got the injury. And then you had to come to me for help,” she retorted, and smiled back at him. For it was surprisingly fun to scold him.

He gave her another stern look, but spoiled it by laughing. And then he pulled her into his arms and kissed her until the party around them faded to unimportance. Finally, they wandered back to the wagon and made love in the big bed, falling into a bliss-filled sleep amongst the eiderdowns.

When she woke the next morning, he was watching her, stroking her hair.

She smiled at him, but he did not answer with a smile of his own. So she kissed him, hoping that his expression would change, and whispered, “Are you still happy?”

“In all but one thing. Yesterday, your family was not at the feast.”

The thought made her frown, as well. And she struggled to find a response that would not sound as though she was ashamed of him and his family. “I don’t think that would have been wise. They would not have understood it.”

“I have given them no reason to like me. And you know I have no great love for them. But you?” He gave a puzzled shake of his head. “I cannot truly hate them if they have given me you, even though they have done it unwilling and unknowing.”

“Have I spoiled your vendetta?” She did not laugh at him, for she knew how seriously he took the curse.

He shook his head. “You still do not understand. Once started, a curse is not so easy to stop. When I said I would end it, my plan was to sacrifice myself to return you to your family.”

She wrapped her arms around him, tight so he could not shake her off. “You will not. I forbid it.”

But his expression was as grim as ever. “Then you must choose. If there is no way to prevent bloodshed, then who do you wish to lose? Your father, one of your brothers, or the man you barely know?”

“Why must I lose any of you? Surely, once I have talked to my brothers, they will understand.”

He laughed. “At one time, I would have thought that true. But when I went to London, they proved me wrong. Your dear Marcus would have killed me in cold blood, had I not been fast and lucky.”

“Marcus?” She shook her head. “I refuse to believe such a thing. It was obviously some misunderstanding. Once I have talked to him, I will prove it to you.”

“Just as you will prove to me that your father had no hidden motive in accusing William Wardale of murder.”

She began to protest, and he laid a hand on her arm to still her. “Let me tell you what I know, so that you might at least understand my actions in all this. When first I set out to settle with the families involved, I thought it was all quite clear, and avenging my family would be an easy thing for all were equally to blame.

“But the closer I looked, the more confusing it became. When my father was murdered, there was a traitor about. And all our fathers were set to catch him. But they suspected each other and were on the verge of a falling out. My father had discovered the spy and was ready to reveal his identity. But the night he died, his supposed murderer, Wardale, went first to our house, to the bed of my step mother. If the scandal was about to break, why not rush to kill the man who was about to ruin him, and console the widow after?”

She shook her head in amazement. What he was saying was too scandalous. “Could it have been a crime of passion?”

“Not likely. Wardale and Amanda made little at tempt to hide the affair, and my father did not care a jot what they did. I have seen writings in their own hands to prove it true. Even your own father…”

Verity pulled away from him in surprise. “The little journal that Diana Price stole from the study? She took it for you?”

“She did not know it at the time,” he said. “But yes, I have read the journal. And a letter from Amanda Hebden. And other things, as well. And while I see much that proves Wardale was hanged unjustly, there is nothing to show that your father was not involved.”

“A lack of evidence is not the same thing as proof,” she argued.

“Nor is your oldest brother’s recent attempt to murder me the behaviour of a man with nothing to hide.”

“He shot you before, did he not?” she said. “How is it different now?”

“I had given him reason. I threatened his love.” He smiled. “I fault him for his poor aim more than his actions for that day. He was in his rights to kill me. But recently?” And now, he looked truly puzzled. “He attacked me in my own home, without a thought to your whereabouts or safety. Those are not the actions of a sane man.”

“And they are not those of my brother,” she assured him. “There must be something terribly wrong.”

“All the more reason to send you home. I must see to your safety first, and then to my people. If the camp is discovered, your family will take revenge against me. There will be violence and more curses, and it will end in death for someone. If there is a way for us to be together at all, it will not be through fresh hatred between my people and yours.”

And where she would have wanted nothing more, only a few days ago, now the idea of returning to her family filled her with alarm. “If I go home, then when will I see you?”

He was staring at the ceiling, not into her eyes. “We must trust to fate that we will be together again.” But by his tone, it did not sound like he trusted fate at all. It sounded more like he had decided to give her up.

“Do you wish me to be a peace maker? For I can tell you, without going home, that they will not accept you until you agree to end the feud. And that you will never find what you are seeking.” She hoped her confidence in her father would finally sink into him and change his heart. “At least not in my family. My father loved Kit Hebden, despite all the troubles between them.”

Stephano gave her a stern look. “I have reason to believe otherwise.”

“All rumour. You were not there to see it, so how can you know?”

He arched an eyebrow. “As if you were? You were a babe in arms when it all happened. A squalling pink thing, as I remember.”

Verity started. “You met me?”

“I played in your house, with your brothers and Nathan Wardale.” He paused for a moment, his face taking on a distant expression, and then he smiled. “Things were quite different, back when I was to be raised as a gentle man.”

She wondered at how it must have been for him, to be cast out from all he knew and to have to start again in this strange life that was so very unlike the one he had been born to. She reached out and touched his hand. “But you remember what it was like. Our families were friends, weren’t they? When your father died, he was carrying a gift for me. It was a silver rattle. The same one I gave to Marc’s first child.”

Stephano shrugged. “Probably the one my mother gave to him.” He gave her an odd look. “My true mother. It was meant as a gift for me.”

“For you?” She had gone her entire life, imagining the beautiful thing as something special that Hebden had bought, just for her. But that he might have plucked it from his own son’s cradle… “Surely not. It was very expensive, as I remember it. With a coral handle, and tiny bells. Where could your Rom mother have gotten such a thing?”

His cheeks grew hot, and he looked away from her. “She did not steal it, if that is what you are implying. When she was no longer with my father, she married a Rom silversmith. After I came to be with the tribe, Thom Argentari was more of a father to me than Hebden ever was. He took me in as a sign of his love for my mother. He taught me his trade.” He touched the silver cuff at her wrist. “He made the bracelet you are wearing. Such a rattle would have been as nothing to him. There were vines etched into the handle, were there not? If you look closely at them, you will see an S. For Stephen.” He swallowed. “I found the thing in my father’s study, shortly before he died. He took it away from me. Said it was a bit of Gypsy foolishness, and not good enough for any son of his. But Thom told me otherwise.”

She swallowed hard, as well. It had been such a beautiful thing, and she’d felt beloved, knowing it was a final gift. “Good enough for me, apparently. I should have expected as much. It was broken, you know.”

“It was most certainly not.” He seemed indignant beyond reason, and it was a moment before she realized that she had insulted his heritage by her comment.

“In all the time I had it, I could not make the whistle work,” she said.

“You must have broken it when you were a child. Jammed something in the hole, perhaps.”

“I never did. I was always most careful with my things, even as a child.” It occurred to her that it was most foolish to be having her first true fight of married life over the condition of a child’s toy. But somehow, it seemed important that he not think her the useless, frivolous girl he had told her she was, on that first day. “Nurse told me that it was broken from the time we got it. I always suspected that she had broken the whistle herself, just to keep me from annoying her with it. But mother said it was that way when she took it, the night…”

For a moment, Stephano grew distant, as though lost in his memories. “Father took it from me be cause I was fooling with the thing, blowing into the end. He said the noise distracted him from his work. And he put it into his pocket.” He looked up at her, as though remembering where and when they were. “I expect the damage happened during the struggle, the night of the crime. I will fix it for you, if you like.”

“Could you do that for me?”

He smiled for her, although it was not the brilliant grin of yesterday. “I’ve made such toys myself, from Thom’s patterns. I will take you back to your brother’s house. If you can mend the differences between our families, then it will be no great feat for me to mend your rattle.”

Chapter Fourteen

They dressed in silence. And then he prepared his horse to take her home. He put her up on the saddle before him, wrapping his arms tight around her waist so that she did not fall. And as they rode slowly toward her home, he kissed her and whispered endearments.

She wondered what people would think, should they see her. She doubted even her closest friends would recognize her as Lady Verity Carlow. For when had Lady Verity gone out in public dressed in a plain stuff gown, with a scarf over her hair? And who would expect her to be riding in the arms of her Gypsy lover? But then, she doubted that they had ever seen Lady Verity look quite so happy, quite as content. Nor had she ever been as unsure of her future as she was today.

Stephano rode through parts of London that were well outside of her genteel acquaintance, to Suffolk Street in Covent Garden. There, he stopped and tied up his horse in front of a narrow red door. The sign above it had no writing, but was deco rated with flames and a soul in torment.

She gave him a dubious look, but said nothing as he helped her down from the horse, opened the door and shepherded her inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw they were in a dingy tavern. A rotund man behind the bar greeted him with a wave and a shout of “Well met, Gypsy!”

“Dante,” Stephano grunted in return, and made to pass the man without explanation.

“Will you not introduce me to your fine friend?”

Verity did not like the way the man grinned at her. It was too familiar, too knowing, and held too much amusement, which she feared was all at her expense. It made her want to pull the kerchief tighter over her hair and to shrink back into the protection of her shawl, as though to be smaller would prevent him from noticing her.

Stephano glared at him and seemed to grow larger in response to the threat. He nodded coldly in the direction of the man. “Dante Jones is the proprietor of the Fourth Circle gaming hell. Dante, this is my wife. That is all you need to know in the matter.”