My Own True Love (11 page)

He had to take Sara's hand in a tight grasp and tug her forward before he could get the stubborn girl to move. A footman was waiting outside the door with a branch of candles. He preceded them, lighting their way to the storerooms behind the kitchen. He unlocked the vegetable larder door and handed the key to Lewis before stepping out of the way. Lewis waved Sara forward.

"There's no window," he said, "and nothing you can steal. This should suit."

Sara let out an audible gulp as she peered into the narrow, dark room. "You want me to sleep in there?"

From her horrified tone, one would have thought he was throwing her into the mouth of hell. "Can't have the likes of you spoiling my father's bed linen, can we?" he said jokingly.

He pushed her inside and slammed the door before she could scamper back out.

"Toma!" she called to him. He locked the door.

The footman chuckled at her panicked cry, but Lewis walked silently away.

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

He did not relish having to spend the next few months in the girl's cowed company. He'd had to summon up every bit of cold resolve he could manage before facing his prisoner. He had to keep reminding himself that she was a thief, and getting off far better than she deserved.

It was just after dawn of what promised to be another hot day. Lewis had not had a pleasant night's rest. He was anxious to be away before his father rose, cup-shot and foul tempered as usual.

"Sleep well?" he asked his prisoner as she dried her face with a dishcloth. Sara flashed him a look of pure hatred. The force of it was enough to send him back a step. "Not too cowed, I see. Perhaps your company won't prove boring, after all."

"Drop dead."

She hadn't slept at all. The room had been stifling hot, airless, the darkness frequently stirred by the sound of rodents. She'd spent a lot of time crying, which made her feel weak and stupid. Lewis and his father's casually bigoted comments kept replaying themselves in her mind, keeping her very unpleasant company. She'd emerged from the storeroom in no mood to put up with anything from Lewis Morgan.

She stretched tiredly. "I want to be home," she said, more to herself or the ring than her smirking companion. "In a hot bath, listening to Richie Sambora. I cannot put up with a year of this."

Lewis grabbed her arms and pulled her to him. He wasn't a large man, but she was much shorter. He loomed over her. He looked coolly angry and dangerous. "Richie who?"

"What do you mean, Richie—" He shook her. "The guitarist with Bon Jovi," she explained hastily. "I really love his solo albu—"

"Is he your lover?"

Sara couldn't keep from laughing. "Don't I wish." She saw instantly that she'd given the wrong answer.

Her captor looked so angry that for a moment she was afraid he was going to hit her. Then his expression shifted from anger to contempt. Contempt she could deal with. "My fantasy life is none of your business," she told him. "He's a musician I listen to."

"Spends much time in your tent, does he? While you bathe?"

"I've never met the man. What is your problem? Jealous?"

He dropped his .hands so fast he might have been burned. He gave her a smile she would have found charming yesterday. "There's no man in your life but me from now on, darling." He reached out again, taking her by the hand this time. "Let's go, while there's no one on the streets who might recognize me."

He was dressed in his gypsy clothes, back playing Toma again.

"Go where?" she asked, following him out the door.

They were well away from Philipston House before he answered. "Back to your aunt's. She'll be worried about you."

He sounded amused about Aunt Molly being worried, but Sara didn't want to explore the subject of upper class humor. She didn't particularly want to talk to him at all, but there was so much she wanted to know. A chilled, angry silence toward him for the next year might be tempting, but it wasn't very practical. She was still very annoyed about the storeroom.

"So, fiancé, what happens when you want me to get pregnant?" she asked bitterly. "You have some nice, romantic crypt picked out? I can hardly wait to hear your honeymoon plans."

"I'm not interested in children," he replied as he hurried her along the quiet streets. After a significant pause he chuckled and added, "We'll be honeymooning in France."

It took several minutes for the remark to register. "But England was at war with France in 1811."

The fool girl pestered him with questions the rest of the way back to the Blue Rose. He didn't answer any of them. He'd already said too much. He had to remember the gypsy girl was a pawn, not an ally. As they came to the door of the inn he pulled her close and whispered in her ear. "Follow my lead. Do what you're told. Remember what happens if you don't."

Sara heard the chilling menace in his whispered words and any confidence she might have gathered during the long walk back from Mayfair vanished. Lewis Morgan meant business and she had no choice.

She was going to get him for this, she promised herself. She said, "I understand." He kissed her cheek.

She forced herself not to jerk away from the soft warmth of his lips.

"Come along, love." He opened the door and led her into the inn's common room.

Aunt Molly didn't look worried when she glanced up from talking to a customer. She looked annoyed.

"Well," she said sternly as she marched up to them, wiping her hands on an apron. "Well, indeed! I suspected as much. For shame." She pointed toward the back of the house. "Into the kitchen with you two. Scandal. In my house," she added, herding them into the kitchen. "I'll not have it. It's the parson's mousetrap for you two, make no mistake."

"We're sorry to have worried you," Toma said as soon as Molly had sent the servants away. "You know I intend to do the honorable thing by the girl. Don't I, Sara?"

Sara slipped away from his grasp. "Where's Beth?" she asked the outraged woman. "Is she all right?

We were looking for her," she added when Molly stared at her questioningly.

"You went out alone? With a young man?" Molly shook a finger under Sara's nose. "Hardly proper, for an English girl or a Rom."

"She's sorry."

Sara ignored Lewis Morgan's sincere-sounding apology. "Beth?"

"Upstairs with one of the maids, learning to make beds." Molly sighed. "The child requires a great deal of supervision, I'm afraid. Thieving ways," she explained in a confidential tone.

"We know," Lewis said. "Sara thought she'd run away last night," he explained. "I helped her look for her."

Molly turned to him. "Why aren't you in Salisbury?"

"Sara found me at the campgrounds before I left. I couldn't leave her alone."

The sincerity in the man's expression and tone made Sara want to gag. "Right," she said sarcastically.

"He's just full of the milk of human kindness. Or at least he's just full of it," she added to herself.

Molly beamed. "You're a good lad, Toma. He'll make you a fine husband, my dear," she said to Sara.

"That's what he tells me."

Molly looked between her and Lewis, her dark complexion reddening with embarrassment. "I'm sure nothing—untoward—happened last night, but I must insist that—"

"No need to insist," Toma assured her. "We'll be married as soon as the circus returns."

"Oh, but that's days," Molly said. "I'm sure I can persuade Reverend Wilkins to procure a special license—"

"No!"

Lewis's shout was so unexpected that both women jumped, then stared at him, waiting for an explanation.

"No
gajo
wedding," he said firmly. "We'll be accepted by the Borava tribe or it will be no marriage."

"But—"

"Am I right, Sara?" he asked Sara, cutting off Molly's protest.

The harsh expression in his eyes reminded Sara of the dark shadows of the convict hulks. "Right," she said reluctantly. "Toma wants the marriage acknowledged by the
kris.
You want the tribe council's acceptance, isn't that it?" He nodded slowly. She wondered if he would answer if she asked why.

Molly looked worried. "That will take some doing. You know what happened to me when I married Mr. Macalpine."

Lewis moved to put his arm around the woman. "It will work out," he assured her. It had better, he thought, shooting a commanding look at Sara over the woman's head. The girl's chin lifted stubbornly, but she gave him a slight nod. The gesture reassured him he was in control of the situation. He drew Sara's aunt aside, toward the garden door. "I have to go," he told her quietly. "Take care of Sara for me, please.

I'm afraid she might run away from Beng's temper if she's left alone to think too much."

"I can understand that," Molly agreed. "It's going to be hard for the wee thing to face up to him."

"She'll have me by her side."

Molly sighed. "At least you're Rom. You have more chance than I did."

"Keep Sara occupied," he requested. "Don't let her out of your sight if you can help it."

"Don't you worry, dear boy. There are no idle hands in this house. She'll have no chance to have second thoughts."

"Thank you." He bowed and graciously dropped a kiss on the woman's hand before going to the door. He gave Sara another stern look. "Be a good girl and do as you're told."

"He'll be a fine, commanding husband," Molly said admiringly after Lewis Morgan disappeared out the back door.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Sara answered. Molly giggled as though she'd just heard a childish joke.

"Come along, dear," she said, "and help me straighten the private parlor."

Having nothing better to do and nowhere to run, Sara resignedly followed the woman out of the kitchen.

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

"It's late. Why aren't you asleep?"

Sara sat on the bed, practicing guitar by the light of a single candle. Aching muscles had been begging her to give it up and get some rest but she hadn't been ready to face being alone in the silent darkness just yet.

He leaned against the closed door, his finger to his lips, his blue eyes lit with amusement. Sara ignored him and went back to playing, even after he came to sit beside her on the bed.

Lewis didn't like this small sign of rebellion in the girl. He expected to have her attention when he was in the room. "What are you playing?" When she didn't answer, he tried, "It's pretty." She just continued to play, fingers caressing the instrument's six strings in an intricate lullaby. "Something
Richie
taught you?"

Dark eyes flashed as she turned her head to confront him. "I wrote it. Molly won't like you being in here."

He took the guitar from her hands. "Molly is peacefully snoring upstairs." He put the instrument on the floor. He caressed her cheek. "We're all alone, love." She sat stiff and unresponsive beside him. He leaned over to kiss her.

"I thought you said you didn't want babies." Her words stopped him.

"I was only going to—"

"Try touching me and I'll scream rape," she went on coldly.

"I would never rape—"

"An English gentlewoman," she said before he could finish. "I found out last night what you think of Rom."

He had no idea what she was talking about. He hadn't laid a hand on her last night. "But I—"

"So don't ever touch me again, Lieutenant Morgan."

He grabbed her. by the shoulders. "My name is Toma, girl. Don't ever call me anything else."

Far from being intimidated she said, "Take your hands off me ... Toma."

"Sara," he warned. "Remember our bargain."

"I said I'd marry you," she replied.

"That's not enough."

Lewis didn't know what he meant by the words. From the shocked look on her face she obviously thought he meant to force his attentions on her. She was beautiful. He was tempted. He hurriedly moved away from her. He crossed the room so she couldn't see his confusion in the shadows by the clothes chest.

While he stood trying to get his thoughts under control she asked, "Why do you want to marry me?"

This he could deal with. At least here was a truth he could tell her. He turned back to her with a cool smile. "I'm not going to marry you."

She looked as confused as he felt. "Huh? But you set up the whole—"

"No parson's mousetrap for me," he went on. "A gypsy wedding will do for us. It won't be binding by British law. We won't really be married, of course. While you'll make a delightful mistress, marriage is out of the question."

Sara looked at the man in disgust. He was a shadowed, slender outline, full of menace and venom.

"You slime."

"You'll like me as a lover, Sara. You wanted me yesterday."

His voice sounded like Toma's. She didn't like being reminded. "That was yesterday."

"I can make you feel like you did yesterday."

His voice was full of sensual suggestion. Sara didn't like the way the heat in the room gathered around her as he spoke. She remembered what it had been like with him, on this bed, about twenty-four hours ago. It had been so full of sweet promise.

She ran her hands through her unruly black curls. "I know what you're doing."

"I should hope so."

The charm the man could exude was palpable. "You figure I'll be easier to control if you seduce me.

It's not going to work."

"No?" Lewis winced at her words. She was correct, of course, but he did want her. "Whatever happened to the simple girl I thought I was courting?" he asked.

Sara couldn't keep from smiling at his question. "I haven't been myself lately," she told him. "Is anything about you genuine?"

He stepped into the candlelight. His very tight pants emphasized an obviously genuine part of him.

"Would you like to find out?"

"No." She reached for her guitar and took her time putting it in its canvas bag. She was tired, and she wanted to get some sleep. She wished he'd go away. He was still smiling down at her when she finally looked up at him again. "What now?" she asked.