Taken by the Wicked Rake (16 page)

She placed her hand against his chest again, to restrain him. “Do not argue with me, Stephano Beshaley. I will not have you undoing two days of my hard work in nursing you. You will remain in this bed until I say otherwise. For now, I will get your supper and check your wound again. Then,
if
you are feeling well enough, you may get up. But rushing when you are still weak will undo the progress I have made.”

“I am not weak.” He glared at her, willing her to believe. Although in truth, he felt as weak as a kit ten.

“Of course not,” she lied back to him, with a little smile that said she had no fear at all of his dark looks. “Now, stay in bed while I get your supper.”

She left him alone in the vardo, and he settled back into the pillows she had arranged for him, feeling for a moment like the luckiest man in the world. His woman was tending to him, bringing him food and fussing over him because of a little cut that would never have affected him so, had things been different between them.

It did not matter that she did not know she was his. For a day, maybe two, he would pretend that there was more between them. It would hurt no one, if he allowed himself a little pleasure before giving himself over to his enemies.

Verity returned shortly with a bowl of stew and a thick slice of bread. She sat down on the edge of the bed and held it out to him, offering the fork.

He took the bowl in his left hand, and the fork in his right, then embarrassed himself by dropping it back into the bowl. He was weaker than he cared to admit. His fingers were stiff and could not grasp.

“Let me help you.” She took the bowl from him, and forked up a chunk of meat, offering it to him, as though she were feeding a child.

He took it, and ate. She was right. He needed to restore himself before they travelled. The food was good, and he was very hungry. If he had been able to feed himself, he’d have wolfed the meal. But instead, her ministering forced him to take nourishment slowly, and gave him the opportunity to enjoy the nearness of her as he ate. He leaned back into the pillows again, forcing her to scoot up the bed after him and to lean over him. It provided a tantalizing glimpse of her breasts as the neckline of her gown gaped in front of him. She fed him another bite, her hip brushing against his as she brought the next forkful to his mouth.

He smiled as he took the food from her, chewed and swallowed, then looked back at her and slowly licked his lips.

His response had been innocent enough, but he could see the way it affected her. Her eyes went dark as he looked into them, the pupils growing until the irises turned golden brown. Her skin flushed as though the fever from his infected hand had been contagious and she swayed closer to him as she dipped the fork to the bowl again and brought up another mouthful of food.

He reached out to steady her hand, his fingers closing around her wrist to bring the fork back to his mouth, enveloping the tines with his lips and drawing the meat off slowly, closing his eyes as he chewed and swallowed. He rubbed his thumb gently against the pulse point on her wrist, feeling the faint beat under the silk-smooth skin.

And then he guided her hand to her side, his meal forgotten. He stroked slowly up the outside of her arm to her shoulder, cupping his hand to the back of her neck and bringing her face to his.

He kept the kiss soft. After how he had behaved the last time he kissed her, he would not continue if she rejected him. But the way she had watched his mouth as he ate, he did not think she would mind. He teased with the tip of his tongue, and she opened for him. And this time, she kissed him back. Was the fever returning, he wondered? For the heat in him was building with each tentative stroke of her tongue into his mouth. And then, she pulled herself on top of his body, to be closer to him.

She knew. God’s mercy, she felt what he felt. He did not have to hold her, to keep her near. She was free to leave, if she wished. She had stayed not just to nurse him or to secure the safety of her family. She had stayed because she wanted to be with him. She had stayed so that they might do this.

He let his arm slip to her waist to hold her against himself. His mouth created a gentle rhythm on hers, and as the sheet slipped low on his upper body, she laid her palms flat against his chest and pushed it further down so she could touch his bare skin as she must have when she’d washed him. But he was better now. He felt cool and dry, free of the fever that had plagued him. And he was awake to enjoy it. She seemed to feel no guilt or fear in tracing his nipples, letting her fingers sink into the muscles, massaging. He was over whelmed with the sense that she knew him and wanted him, body and soul.

It was as if he had woken in a different world. This was a paradise, with a ministering angel who aroused him and welcomed his response. His hand slipped lower down her back, kneading the roundness of her hips, letting her feel how hard she made him, and waiting for any sign of fear from her. But there was none, for she let out a gratifying moan of longing at the contact.

He made no effort to hurry the kiss, brushing his fingers against her covered breasts until he could feel the nipples peaking beneath the fabric. She writhed under his hands and her hips gave an answering roll against his, as though she wished to excite him further. She gave a little gasp as she realized the pleasure that movement brought her. His body ached with anticipation as she began a tentative rocking against him, letting the desire grow between them. It would be like the last kiss they had shared. But better. For if he had released her from the curse, there was no reason to stop. Soon, when he was sure that she would not refuse, he would lift her skirts and push the sheet away. She would spread her legs to straddle him. And then… He squeezed her breast and thrust his tongue deep into her mouth, as he would thrust into her body.

The sudden realization of what she was doing hit her like a hammer. She went rigid against him, turned her head from his kiss and scrambled off of him, and away from the bed. She backed towards the door of the vardo, her hand to her mouth as though she did not know whether to cry for help or kiss him again.

And for a split second, he felt a disappointment so acute that he feared it must show on his face. Without thinking, he had raised a hand, to reassure her and coax her back to bed. Better to let her think that he was a wicked Rom who would feign weakness to seduce her, than to look like the love sick fool he was. He smoothed the movement of his arm, folding it behind his head as a cushion from the wall. He changed his expression to cynical self-satisfaction, laughed and blew her a kiss.

With a look of utter disgust, she turned and hurried from the vardo.

Stephano closed his eyes so he would not have to watch her run from him, and listened to the sound of the slamming door. The crack was loud in his brain, and the pain in his skull came flooding back, as though the sound was the breaking of a dam.

He winced. If he was lucky, her brothers would take him the minute they were parted, and make a quick end to him. Even if they did not do the deed, he would not live long without her.

As she’d stretched out on top of him, it had be come obvious that there was a much better way for two lives to become one than a benighted quest for vengeance.

Loving her healed his head, just as her nursing had healed his hand. It did not matter if her father was guilty or not. His search was over. Verity Carlow was the only truth he would ever need.

And then she had realized what was happening, and had run from him. What else could he do but laugh? For to do else would show her how deeply she had hurt him, and how easily she could control him.

Chapter Eleven

What had she done?

Verity patted at her dress and straightened her head scarf as though she was afraid that the bed play must be clear to all around her. But if there was any shaming evidence of what had happened, no-one commented on it as she went to the edge of camp and stepped out into the soothing green-ness of the trees. She leaned against a beech, letting her skin cool and her pulse slow. It had been good. Wrong, of course. But very good. She could still feel it between her legs, a low trembling, a flame ready to re-ignite at the slightest touch of hand or body.

It was what she thought she had wanted. But with satisfaction scant moments away, she had grown frightened. Before he’d gone to London, he had claimed not to want her body. Had so much changed in just a few days? Or was he willing to use any girl who was foolish enough to crawl into his bed and offer herself? If the last rejection had hurt, it would be a hundred times worse if he took her maidenhead for sport, and then laughed and turned her out.

Magda called to her, and when she turned to look, the old woman gave a rare smile of welcome. She gestured to a place by the fire. “You took the food to him? He is better?”

“Yes.” Verity tried to keep the breathlessness from out of her voice.

Magda eyed her appraisingly. “And he is grateful to you for nursing him. That is good. I told the boy it would be all right. That only you could help him. But he did not believe.”

Verity shrugged. “It was only an infected cut. It might have healed itself. Or you could have done the same for him.”

The old Gypsy shook her head. “With time perhaps. But with a love such as yours, it takes very little time to put things right.”

“There is no love between us.” For what she had felt just now could not be called love, could it?

Magda made an odd huffing sound as if to dismiss her arguments. “If it was not love, then why did you marry him?”

Verity laughed in response. “I did no such thing.”

“You ate bread and salt with him. I was witness to it. And then you covered your hair with his scarf. You share his wagon. You are his woman.”

She was his woman.
That was true enough. But if she could not even bring herself to tell Stephano, how did the rest of the camp know? “I was brought to this camp as a prisoner. I ate with him of course. Because I was hungry. And with you, as well. He said the scarf was to protect my modesty.”

Magda smiled in triumph. “It was to tell all who saw that you belonged to him. You broke bread that had been blessed with salt, and shared it between you. You are his wife, now. And to me? You are
bori
. Daughter-in-law.” The old woman leaned forward and put a hand on each shoulder, drawing her close to kiss her cheeks.

Verity looked around helplessly, for anyone who could help her explain that there had been a mistake. It was only a matter of language that kept Magda from understanding the situation.

And then, she remembered all the argued Romany conversations between Stephano and his grand mother. They must have spoken of this before now. Whatever his true intentions had been, he knew what the old woman thought. And he’d allowed her to think it since the first day, without correction.

The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her. He had paraded her through the camp as his wife and told her nothing. He’d kissed her when others were watching, but treated her as a stranger when they were alone.

Until today. Apparently, he meant to claim his rights as husband, before taking her home. And she had played right into his hands, crawling over him as though she could not get enough of his touch. He must have found it quite amusing to see her be have thus.

She turned and stormed back into the vardo. Stephano had moved very little from the position he was in when she’d left him. The bowl at his side was empty. Had he regained his strength? Or had the dropped fork been a trick to bring her closer?

He arched an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to speak.

“I talked to Magda when I was outside, just now,” she said. “She was much more forth coming than she has been.”

“I expect she is grateful to you for helping with me.”

“She called me
bori
. Daughter. And she says that we are married. How can that be, when I never consented to such a thing?”

He shrugged. “Rom ways are not the same as the
gadje’s
. It takes very little more than the consent of both parties, when it is time to marry. A clasp of hands in front of the tribe can be enough. The fact that you wear my scarf upon your head.”

She snatched it off and threw it to the ground.

He ignored her action and went on. “Or the sharing of food, back and forth between us.”

“The bread and salt?”

“Yes.”

“My hunger was not the same as my consent. You cannot starve me into your bed.”

“I was not at tempting to. I merely wished to offer you my protection.”

“Ha! You have a strange way of showing it, Mr Beshaley. I would not have needed protection, if you had not kidnapped me.”

“I meant to protect you from Magda. She was none too happy that I brought you here, and even less so that I would share a wagon with a woman that I had not married.”

“So you forced me into a marriage.”

“Hardly, Lady Verity. You ate a bit of bread. That was all. It means nothing to you, does it? There will be no need for a formal annulment. There is no need to mention it at all, when you return to your family. You might just as well have dined with me, for all it means to them.”

And
they
were what really mattered. Because a pawn was not supposed to have feelings or to care what happened to it. “You expect me to forget that we are married?”

He seemed mildly surprised by her anger. “I did not expect you would find it out. But now that you have?
Yes.
Once you return home, I expect you will forget that it ever happened.”

Just as he would forget her. The least he could do was admit it. “And what will you do, once I am gone? The curse is done. What are your plans?”

He opened his mouth, and then closed it again.

“Do you mean to divorce me? Marry again? Or does the ceremony you performed in front of Magda mean nothing to you, as well?”

He was going pink under the dark skin, as though she had shamed him to blush.

“You did not even think of it, did you? Because I am not even human to you. Just a piece of furniture to be moved from place to place.” She laughed in triumph at the baffled look on his face. “Well then, it should not be difficult to come to a decision about something of so little importance. What will you do about our supposed marriage when I return home?”