Taken by the Wicked Rake (15 page)

Damn Magda for pushing him to this. He did his best to ignore the Romany nonsense that the old woman fed him. And then it all proved true. Curses were real and words were dangerous, and the results of using them might have nothing to do with the intent. In forgetting that fact, he had gotten himself a
gadji
for a wife. He laughed.

“You find your current condition amusing?” she asked tartly.

He waved his good hand in dismissal. “My life is a joke.”

“And now, the fever is talking. Rest.” Verity placed one of her small hands in the centre of his chest and pushed until he fell back on the bed, unable to resist her. “You will feel better when you wake.”

“If I wake.” He glanced at the knife, still in her lap. His helplessness before her felt strange, as though it were possible for a thing to be both frightening and comforting at the same time.

“If I’d meant to hurt you, I would have let the cut kill you slowly. If you do not do as I say, it still might.” She sighed and shook her head. “Some times, I think I must be a great fool.”

“Not so great a fool as I am, Verity.” If she was his wife, then it could not be wrong to use her name. He managed a weak smile, and closed his eyes. She had been foolish. At one time, he would not have hesitated to use the knife on her, if she had given him reason. If she cured him of the weakness that had been over taking him, perhaps his resolve to end the curse would return with his health. Maybe she was right, and it was the fever that affected him now.

But more likely, he would have much to explain to her when he awoke from his nap.

~***~

“And what am I to do with you now?”

Verity stared down at the Gypsy who had fallen into an uneasy sleep on his own bed. He needed rest, if he was to recover from the infection. There would likely be a fever, and all the symptoms accompanying it. Someone would need to redress the wound and see to it that he was bathed and fed, assuming he awoke to take any food at all.

And none of this was her problem. If she left him here, she could help herself to a horse and be gone before he awoke. It would not even technically be an escape, for he had promised to release her. But then he had lost consciousness. Perhaps he would not even remember what he had said, when he came back to himself.

He looked so helpless, lying there before her. It was not a normal state for him, and he would be mortified to know that she had seen it. The tribe had been all too clear in their admiration of him. To run from him now would be to display his weakness to them. It would embarrass him. And now that she could admire the proud cast of his face, she did not wish that for him. For some reason, the thought of him humbled in the eyes of his people pained her.

For a moment, his brow furrowed as though the pain of his wound still reached him in whatever dream he inhabited. No matter what he might wish people to think, he was sick and in need. She reached out a hand to smooth his forehead, which was warmer than it should be. Someone must tend him. And after two nights alone in the vardo with him, who knew him better than she did?

Removing his clothing would be less difficult if she did it now, before he was too deeply asleep. As she began to undo buttons and tug at boots, he seemed to understand what she was about, and he stirred himself sufficiently to help her, struggling with the garments like a sleepy child. When free of them, he drew himself together on the bed, huddling beneath the covers as though he felt a chill.

But his skin was still hot to the touch, and the water in the basin was foul. She went to Magda with an empty pitcher and explained the problem. The woman frowned for a moment, and then nodded in understanding, offering water and a selection of herbs that would make the fever pass more quickly.

Verity took them back to the vardo, and lit a candle against the growing darkness. Stephano’s skin was even warmer, as though now that she was here to help him, he had given up fighting the sickness.

She pulled back his blanket, and took the basin and a sponge, using the water to cool his body and trying to ignore the dizzy way it made her feel to be so close to him. The body under her hands had been heavily marked by the life it had led. She touched his shoulder. The scar on it was small and rounded; it seemed to be from a bullet. In his elliptical descriptions of their family’s recent troubles, her brother Marc had said something of gunfire and a man that would trouble them no more. Perhaps this mark was a gift from her family. She smoothed her hand over it, as though she could take the pain back from him.

But Marc had made no mention of a knife wound. Or the thin line of silver at the base of Stephano’s throat where someone had cut him. Tracing back over his torso, she found a map of his past, the injuries smaller and not so fresh, the scars fading except for the burn on his hip. Pain, struggle and the anger of others were left recorded on his flesh.

From his treatment of her, she could guess how he might have earned the punishments written here. She knew the lengths he might go to achieve his ends. But when would it be enough?

The hours passed and she continued her work, changing his bedding, forcing water between his lips when he would allow it and dozing in a chair beside the bed when he was quiet. When the fever finally broke and he stilled at last, she was nearly as exhausted as he.

She could see that there was space enough for two on the bed, and the floor where he had slept was hard and uninviting. And while she knew it was terribly wrong of her to entertain the thoughts she was having, she was very tired and he was too far gone to know the difference. It would be innocent enough to lie beside him, she was sure.

And yet, it was not innocent at all. For she had never in her life done such a thing for anyone else she had nursed. But it seemed to help him to have her close. When she climbed into bed behind him, he leaned back against her as a remedy to the chill night air. It felt good to touch him and to lie beside him, feeling warm and protected. Without thinking, she laid her cheek against his back, trailing her fingers over the muscles of his arms, and tangling her legs with his.

It felt strange, and good in a way that was beyond comfort. There was an answering heat building low inside her. Was it the excessive warmth of his body that made her too hot to lie still, or was it something more? She could not seem to get comfortable, and her dress seemed to bind her like the ropes he had used when he’d brought her to the camp.

At last, she sat up and drew the gown over her head, casting it aside and lying down again in nothing but her chemise. He moved slightly, adjusting his body to hers, and his skin rubbing against her nipples through the cloth was a delicious thing. She wanted more of it, and moved against him to recreate the sensation, knowing that it was incredibly wrong of her, and incredibly foolish.

It was one thing to wish to remain unmarried, and quite another to be trapped as a spinster be cause one was a pariah. Poor Honoria had been forced into seclusion for sins much smaller than the ones she was committing right now. She was not sure exactly what had happened, for as usual, the family had kept the full truth from her as a protection. But she seriously doubted it was anything so scandalous as lying down with a man.

She suspected that even the Gypsies would be shocked at the fancies that crowded her mind, lying beside Stephano. As might he. In his own way, he had been a gentleman through out this interlude. And he didn’t seem to want her in the way she was growing to want him.

But tonight, she did not wish to think of that. Now that the fever had broken, she wished he would awaken and respond in exactly the way she had feared from the first, punishing her for her audacity with rough kisses, touching her body as though he possessed it, and then claiming her so thoroughly that she could never leave him. By day, she could live in the Gypsy camp, sitting by the fire side with the other women. And by night, she would nestle with her lover in the soft bed of his vardo.

It sounded very romantic and adventurous. And no doubt, it was nothing like that at all. There would be hardship and pain. He would uproot her at the slightest provocation, traipsing homeless around the country or the world.

And she would not be bored. While living in a Gypsy wagon might cause her to greet each new day with trepidation, it might be better than her current state. For before he had taken her, she had risen each morning with growing dread, convinced that today and tomorrow would be identical to yesterday and the day before that.

A brief acquaintance with the man lying beside her was no reason to think that a lifetime with him would be something worth seeking. Nor did she have any indication that he wished her company. But in truth, whatever man she married was unlikely to know her better than this one. Although Stephano claimed to dislike the colour of her eyes, at least she was sure that he had noticed it. And when he kissed her… She smiled. If he did not like the way they kissed, then she would be pleased to learn another way, if he wished to be her teacher. But she could not imagine anything better.

The Gypsy rolled suddenly, turning to face her without waking. In his dreams, it did not seem to surprise him that there was a woman in his bed. He gave a contented sigh, and muttered something in Romany, burying his face against her neck. Then he threw an arm over her, dragging it down her back until he could cup her bottom with his hand, digging his fingers into the flesh and massaging it as though he were palming her breast. He pulled her tight against him, as if to facilitate their joining, and she felt the heaviness of his body stirring between her legs. And then, without releasing her, he settled back into sleep.

She should be shocked by his behaviour, but instead, she felt only envy. Whomever he thought he was holding, his affection for her was as natural to him as breathing. So she wrapped her arms around him, pressed close against him, and pretended, for tonight at least, that it was of her that he dreamed.

Chapter Ten

Stephano awoke with a start. He had not meant to doze at all. But he could tell by the light coming through the windows in the vardo that much time had passed. Shadows were growing, and he could see Verity moving around in the dim light of the cabin.

“How long?” His voice scratched, and he cleared his throat.

She turned to him, as though surprised. “How long did you sleep? About a day and a half. You were very ill.”

He wanted to argue that it had been moments. But there was a fresh bandage upon his wound and a clean basin of water on a chair beside his bed. Leaves floated in it, and there was a white cloth resting on the side. Vague memories surfaced of small white hands holding the cloth to his temples, squeezing drips of water between his parched lips, and bathing him as though he was the infant she had accused him of being. His body felt suspiciously cool and clean, and the faint scent of herbs clung to his skin.

“You had a fever. But it has passed.”

He grew conscious of his nakedness beneath the blanket, and glanced at the knife resting on the table on the other side of the room. She had stayed with him, when it would have been a perfect opportunity to run. “You should have left me when I was weak. No one would have stopped you. And yet, you did not.”

She turned her head and reached to straighten the cloth beside the basin, as though she wished to look anywhere but at him. “You were trying to release me when you fell ill.”

“And you did not act on it?” He wished she would look at him. For if she did, he was sure he could read the truth in the depths of those fascinating eyes.

“I thought, if you had not already let me go, then perhaps there was still some hope that our families might reconcile peacefully. You are not foolish, nor is my father. He will not speak until he has me back. And if you had been fully satisfied with the results of your trip to London, I would have been gone already. If I am still here, then there is time.”

She raised her face to look at him, and in that moment, he knew he had lost his heart to her. She looked sad and yet hopeful, and totally trusting that he would do the right thing by her, if only she asked. How could he deny her? He was weak from the fever, but the ache in his hand had been reduced to the itching and prickling of a healing scratch. And his head was clearer than it had been for years.

So he propped himself up on his elbows and looked into her hazel eyes for what he feared would be the last time. And he said, “I relinquish all claim against your family. If your father took a life, then you have given one back to me. If my mother is not satisfied with this, then she must come back from where ever she has gone and take her own vengeance. For I cannot.” He slumped back, wondering what the consequences of that speech would be for him. He doubted that the curse would release him as easily as he had released the girl. But it would be better if she were safely home when fate caught up to him.

“You will let me go? And my family?” There was such a look of blessed relief upon her face that he knew he had done the right thing.

He nodded. Even if it was brief, he could savour the memory of this moment, sure that he had been honourable. Her happiness would be enough reward. “Send for Val. I will instruct him to drive you back. And you must take Magda or one of the other women as chaperone.”

And then, she seemed to hesitate. “I would ask one more favour, if I could.”

“Anything.” And it was true. For he owed her his life.

“I would like you to take me yourself. And for my family to hear the words from your lips, that this is over. But you are not yet well. In a day. Maybe two. We can return to them then. Would you do that for me?”

It seemed his reprieve would be as brief as he expected. He would take her back to London, and her brothers would shoot him, as they almost had in his own home. And that would be the end of it. He laughed.

Her face fell.

And so he said, “Of course. If you wish, I shall keep you prisoner for another day. But it would be much more sensible of you to demand that I stop malingering and harness a horse.” He made to get out of bed and away from her, trying to resist the desire to prolong his illness for a few more days of her company.