Taken by the Wicked Rake (17 page)

She could see the change as she looked at him. There was a softening of his gaze as the cynical smile became sad. Then he said, “You are free to do as you like. But I am caught in my own trap. I thought it was merely a ruse to please my grand mother. But searching my heart, I find that it is not. While I do not intend to hold you against your will, once my business with your family is through, I will not be able to marry again. I remain your husband, whether you are my wife or not. I cannot control my feelings towards you. And after this afternoon, I will not be able to control my actions, should I remain alone with you. The vardo is yours until tomorrow, when I will take you home. Tonight, I will sleep else where.”

Chapter Twelve

The rain fell heavily upon the roof of the vardo, and Verity stared at the curved ceiling above her bed, wondering where Stephano had gone.

It was strange and foolish that she should even care. She had been very angry with him for tricking her. And angry with herself for giving in so easily as they had lain on the bed together.

When she had confronted him with the truth, she had expected him to laugh at her. To make some comment about how easy it had been to run rings about a silly
gadji
, very nearly tricking her out of her virtue. Or tell her that he meant to go to her father and announce, even after he had returned her safely, that he had taken her to wife and meant to ruin any further chances she might have to marry well.

But instead, he had looked so sad. She was sure that he had spoken the truth when he’d said he would let her go. And it was clear that he did not wish to.

It had taken a moment to collect herself, after he had left her, to try and understand what he had told her. He had said he was her husband. He had not used the word
love
. But that must be the reason for his confession, mustn’t it? If all he wanted was someone to bake his bread and sweep his wagon, there were Rom girls who could do better than she. Before the sickness, when he had called her a witch and complained about the odd colour of her eyes, he had done it because he was angry with himself for caring about her.

Val had been right after all. Stephano had feelings for her. And she knew what she felt for him. In her naïve and inexperienced way, she had wanted him from the first moment they’d met. Circumstances that should have rendered his attentions repellent had done nothing to change her mind. Despite the curse and the kidnapping, she felt safe when in his presence. And she was happier in this little wagon with him, than she had been wandering the many empty rooms of Stanegate Court.

She loved him. She knew it must be the truth, for even to think the words made her smile. He was her husband, and she loved him. And if they were married, then it would not be wrong of her to lie with him. The prospect made her shiver with delight. He would complete what he had started and give her what her body was craving. And she knew him to be an honourable man. Once they had been together, he would have to keep her, even if his original plan had been to send her home.

But now, he was avoiding her, convinced that it was for her own good. If she left the vardo to look for him, she wondered if she would find him at any of the fires or if anyone would tell her where he had gone. It was growing late, and it was raining. And he had gone to sleep else where. Where could he mean? She had seen the looks in the eyes of other women in the camp when he had walked by. They would be quick to take him in, if he was not here.

Then she scolded herself. She was being unfair to the women, for they were bound by the rules, just as he was. Stephano could not say he had married her and then go to someone else. If he was not here, he was sleeping alone. She tried to imagine him swallowing his pride and admitting to his people that he had given her his wagon and she had given him nothing.

She got out of the bed, padded across the floor in her bare feet, and opened the door to look out into the rain-soaked camp. The cook fires were smouldering, and one or two of the tents glowed from within with lanterns or candles. But many of the families were already sleeping.

“Stephano,” she whispered, taking a step out of the wagon and shivering as the rain began to wet her shift. “Stephano,” she said more loudly. “Are you there?”

There was a rustle, and her husband rolled out from under the wagon, throwing off an oilcloth cloak and trying to avoid the puddles as he scrambled to his feet, his knife in his hand. “What is it? Is there trouble?” No matter what had happened between them, he stayed close by, ready to protect her.

She sagged in relief. “It is raining.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Come back in the vardo. You will catch your death.” She stepped aside so he could enter.

He did not move, glaring at her as though he still expected her to retreat in fear. She smiled back at him to remind him that it had been some days since that trick had worked on her.

At last, he sighed and then muttered as though defeated. “I am cold and wet, and too tired to care what you think of my return. I will be gone before the sun rises, so that you might dress in private.”

He trudged past her, up the wooden steps, shaking the water from his dark hair. He put down the knife and went to his side of the wagon, removing his coat and boots, taking care with his clothing as he always did when he prepared for bed.

She closed the door behind her and went to sit upon the bed. Tonight, she made no effort to hide the fact that she wished to watch him, sighing a little as he stripped bare and towelled himself dry. The drops of water on his broad shoulders glistened like diamonds in the candlelight until he wiped them away. She marvelled at how beautiful he was, and how wonderful to touch. Then he reached for a blanket, spreading his bed roll upon the floor.

She smiled into the darkness and thanked God for the fortuitous bad weather. It was a hard floor, and he must still be tired from his illness. He lowered himself to the floor, and as he turned his back to her, she heard a groan of pain suppressed in a sigh.

“Stephano?” she said, loud enough so that he could not pretend to be asleep.

“Yes?”

“It might be best if you reclaimed your bed this evening. You are still not well. You might take a chill from lying on the floor.”

There was a thoughtful silence from the floor. And then he said, “I beg to differ.”

“I must insist. While I do not mind nursing you back to health, I should be most cross if I were forced to do it twice.”

The silence was even longer this time. And then he said, “You are just as likely to catch cold, if you do not care for yourself. Your shift was soaked when you were foolish enough to go out in the rain to call for me.”

His comment came as a growl, and she smiled and wondered if it was because he was thinking of the way the cotton was clinging to her body. “Do not fear that. I have sense enough to remove my clothing before lying down.” She pulled the garment over her head and let it fall with a wet slap on the floor beside him. Then, she scooted to the side of the bed to make room for him. “And I am sure that there is enough room here on the mattress for both of us. I shared it comfortably with you last night.”

Now the silence from the floor had an unusual quality, as though he had not yet considered the fact, but was thinking most intently about it now. “If that was intended to help me to an easy night’s rest, I fear it will have quite the opposite effect. I might have been an easy companion while near death. But it will not be the case, tonight.”

“Is your hand bothering you, that you cannot sleep?” She prayed that it was not so.

“You might not think me in full health, Lady Verity. But I will find it difficult enough to sleep here, even if I remain on the floor. If you think I can lie peacefully in bed next to a desirable young woman, you would soon find that I am not so sick as all that.” He sounded exasperated with her, and faintly amused.

“You find me desirable?” She reached out a bare foot and poked him playfully in the back with her toe. “I had assumed you found me to be a nuisance.”

“A man will put up with a surprising amount of bother, if the girl is pretty enough. And there was never any question of your desirability. Even from the first night.” His words were soft and sweet, and he said them as though he cherished the memory. “But when the nuisance of a girl saves a man’s life, even though that man has given her every reason to wish him dead and going straight to the devil?”

She smiled down at his back. “Even if you were my worst enemy, I could not have let you die.”

“Am I not your worst enemy, then? Because the way I have treated you, I should be. No matter the quarrel I might have with your father and no matter how I might wish to see justice done, I should not have involved you in it. I will see to it that you are kept safe until I return you to your home, just as I promised.” He rolled to face her, and she watched his eyes go dark. He must have forgotten that she was bare, or assumed that she would have done something to cover herself instead of sitting naked on the edge of the bed above him.

“Stephano,” she whispered. “Stephen? What is the Romany word for
husband
?”

He closed his eyes, to block out the sight of her. “It is
rom.
The same as the word for
man
. And you are my
romni.
You are trying to destroy me, are you? To remove your clothes and ask that question? You make me wish that it were true.”

“You could make it so, if you want.” She felt herself tremble at the words. They were the most forward things she had ever said in her life.

“It would make me a liar. Did I not just promise that I would not hurt you? And how could my love not do that?”

“It hurts me more to know that you lie on the floor so near to me and yet you will not touch me.” She held out a hand to him, moving it as though she could touch his body from a distance.

And he seemed to feel the touch, for he moved on the floor before her, his breath hissing out from between his teeth, and his lips peeling back in a tortured smile. Then he rolled to a sitting position, as gracefully as a cat, and grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips. “Do you know what you are offering me? And what will happen when I come to your bed? There is no turning back, once the decision has been made.”

He would come into her. He would love her. He would give her his children. She smiled. “Yes.”

Then he groaned against her skin and said, “Then let me be damned for a liar and a thief and a breaker of promises. If you want me, I am yours. And I must make you mine. I should know better. But I have never met a woman like you, nor felt the way I feel.” He rose to his knees and leaned for ward to cup the back of her neck, bringing her face down so he could claim her lips.

Any doubts she might have had vanished with the kiss. He was so gentle with her, it almost made her laugh to remember that she had once feared him. The touch of his lips on hers was worshipful, as though he were delivering the kiss in a church after saying his vows.

He whispered, “I give you my word, as the Rom Stephano Beshaley, and as Stephen Hebden, bastard son of Christopher Hebden, Lord Framlingham, that I lie with you tonight because you are, and always will be, the wife of my heart. It is true in my world, and I will make it true in yours, as well.”

“Yes, please.” It sounded so foolish, but she could not find the pretty words in her heart that might match his promise to her. It was all wrong-way round, to be receiving and accepting the offer after the marriage – and just before the bedding. Diana would have been appalled. Her father and brothers would be livid. It was all wrong. And yet, all right. For when she looked at him, there was a feeling inside her that was like nothing she’d known. Nothing perhaps, except the feeling she’d had in the ballroom when she’d first laid eyes on him. Even then, she’d known that this was the man for her and that if they could be together, the details would work out all right.

His mouth crooked in a smile, and he wrapped his arms around her waist as he knelt at her feet. “Very well, wife. Let us begin.” He released her and stood up, the blanket falling away from his aroused body. “Stand, so that I might wash you.” His smile was almost sly, as he waited for her to move.

“I am quite clean enough, I assure you.” It was a strange request, and not at all what she had been expecting to hear.

“I am certain you are. But you have been tending to me for several days. It would give me pleasure to return the favour. Now, come and stand beside me, so that I might touch and admire your body, as you have mine.” And there was that tight, almost pained smile of his, as though it was only with supreme effort that kept him from devouring her.

She swallowed her nerves and stood up in front of him so that he could see her.

She turned back to face him; his gaze rested on her body like a hand, stroking over her breasts and belly to stop at her legs. And he grew in response, as she watched him. He was hard and erect. And her body grew wet with desire, ready to receive him.

He smiled. “You see what you do to me?”

She nodded, a little frightened by his quick response.

“I must take care, for to look at you is to be ready for love. And you need time.” He turned from her and poured a fresh basin of water, gathering clean cloths and towels.

“I am ready,” she said, preparing her mind for what was to come.

“You are not. Let me show you.” He dampened a cloth in the basin, then ran it slowly over the skin of her face, letting it rest for a moment on her lips like a kiss. “How can you be? For these lips know nothing, do they? I am the first man to kiss them.” He leaned forward, his own lips resting gently upon hers, before pulling away. “And the first to see your body.” He was stroking along her neck and shoulders, up and down her arms. “Lovely. So very lovely. The charms you reveal, when you grace the dance floor in a gown, and the charms you conceal from all but your lover.” His hands had settled on her breasts, the cool, wet cloth stroked lightly over her nipples. They drew tight in response. “See? You grow hard, as well.” His touch was stronger, as he rubbed her dry with a towel that seemed both soft and rough. “Ripe like fruit.” He pinched them lightly, between his fingers. “May I taste you?”