Paxton and the Gypsy Blade (3 page)

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!”

Bliss stood so abruptly that his chair tipped over behind him. His face tight and red with anger, he stepped around the small table. “Who are
you
to order
me
about, girl?” he demanded fiercely. “You're nothing but a Gypsy. A Gypsy whore, if I don't miss my guess. And say what you will, but I'll have my shilling's worth of you!”

Where was Giuseppe? He should have returned to the tent by now to walk her back to their wagon. Trapped, Adriana searched desperately for a way out of her predicament. She could hear the muffled clamor of voices protesting the closing of the fair, and knew her own screams wouldn't sound much louder to anyone outside—and they might possibly only antagonize her assailant even more. The tent was too tightly pegged down to allow a quick escape under its edge. Bliss now stood between her and the brass candleholder, the only possible weapon close at hand. “Get away from me,” she hissed.

“Get away from me,” Bliss mimicked mockingly, his eyes glittering with lust as he backed her into a shadowy corner. “Not likely, wench.”

Feinting to his left, Adriana ducked and tried to dart under his right arm. Bliss's hand shot out, caught her arm, and roughly jerked her toward him. Before she could shout or scream, his mouth had found hers and was pressing against her lips in a cruel semblance of a kiss. When she tried to drop out of his grasp, his left hand cupped her buttocks and, his fingers digging into her flesh through her skirt, he pulled her lower body against his.

The evidence of his lust was sickening. Enraged, Adriana bit down hard on Bliss's lower lip and tasted blood. Bliss grunted in pain and, backing away, slapped her across the face with enough force to knock her against the wall of the tent. “Bitch!” he growled, wiping the blood from his chin. “Want to fight, eh?” He advanced upon her, grabbing a handful of her blouse and tearing it from her. “Think you have a chance, eh?” He seized her again and jerked her roughly to him. “Too good for Trevor Bliss?”

“Swine!” Adriana spat his own blood into Bliss's face.

Bliss froze, then slowly wiped the spittle from his face as Adriana tried to cover her breasts. “You've done it now, wench. You've gone too far.” The anger had faded from his voice, replaced by the quiet determination of a man who has slipped into madness. “Fight if you want, but little good it'll do you. And I don't mind a bit.”

The only defense against a madman was madness itself. With a bloodcurdling shriek, Adriana leaped at him, her fists bouncing futilely off his chest, her fingers searching for his eyes. Bliss backhanded her and knocked her down, then immediately dropped on top of her, tearing at her skirt with one hand and restraining her free arm with the other. Adriana almost gagged as his tongue thrust into her mouth. She whipped her head from side to side and tried to twist away. Bliss thrust one knee between her legs, and in the process loosed her right arm. Swinging blindly, Adriana's fist caught Bliss in the throat. Gasping, Bliss loosened his grip, giving her the slight space she needed to drive a knee into his groin. Bliss grunted and fell back. The advantage momentarily hers, Adriana slashed out with her nails, and then tried to crawl past him toward the tent's exit.

Blood welled out and flowed down Bliss's cheek. His groin throbbed and his breath whistled in his throat. Beside himself with rage and pain, he lunged after Adriana and pinned her against the floor. Helpless, she lay numb and weeping beneath his weight, tasting the salt tang of blood on her lips, unable to cry out.

He had won! His pain forgotten, dizzy with anticipation, Bliss pushed himself to his knees and fumbled at his breeches. The fight had excited him beyond measure; seldom had he been harder. His, by God! She was his, and well worth the price paid, to judge by the sight of her. Oblivious of everything else, he lowered himself toward her.

“Whoreson bastard!” a voice roared.