The Gypsy and the Widow (4 page)

Chapter Three

The door closed behind them, and Joanna reached up and brought his head down so his lips met her own.

Tem felt his blood heat as their lips touched. He had dreamed of this, but always believed it could be nothing but a dream. Could it be that she wanted him as he wanted her—or was she a wanton as his fellows had suggested?

He pulled his head back and studied her face. His very heart and soul cried out for her as much as his body, but he would not be a plaything, a casual amusement for a
Gadji.
He placed her gently on a sofa and knelt beside her as she reclined against the pillows. Her amber eyes and black lashes stood out against her milky pallor and some of her deep golden hair had escaped its tie and curled against her neck.

She reached out and took his hand. A flush crept into her cheeks. “Do you not want to kiss me?” He thought her voice shook slightly.

He could not keep himself from bringing her hand to his cheek for an instant, although he knew he should not. “I do not make love with every woman who wishes it, not even when I myself wish it.”

“Do you wish to make love to me?”

“With all my heart I do, but there is no future for us and I care far more for you already than I should.”

She ran her fingers softly, tantalizingly, through his hair. “And I feel the same for you. I—I think of you so often. I so often have dreamed that you would touch me or kiss me. I long for it.” She lowered her eyes as the flush on her cheeks turned darker and spread across her face, her neck. “We would harm no one.”

He frowned and released her hand. “No one except ourselves, if indeed you feel as I do. I am already pained that I shall have to leave in a few days when our work is done here, perhaps sooner if Sir Edward does not pay as agreed. If you and I do what we wish to do, the pain of parting will be worse.”

“I don’t care,” she cried. “I would willingly suffer later if that is the price I must pay.”

Her lower lip trembled, and she bit it as though to still it. He could resist no longer, and he brought his lips hard against hers, his arms tight around her. He felt as though the floodgates controlling his pent-up desire for Joanna opened, and he drowned in his passion for her. He wanted nothing but to kiss her, to caress her, to love her in every way a man can love a woman.

He felt her arch toward him, her arms about his neck, her fingers raking through his hair. He ran his hands along her sides, across her back. He stroked her neck, her cheeks. He murmured “Joanna” against her lips and then ran his tongue along the seam between them and she opened to him. He entered her mouth almost brutally, so strong was his desire for her and she met him, her tongue tangling with his, welcoming him with her own.

They pulled back and their gazes locked. Her golden eyes seemed bottomless. He could see her desire for him there. She took his head between her hands and kissed him again, first on the lips then on his cheeks, his forehead, and his chin.

“I do believe I love you,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“Love is not a word to be used between a Gypsy and an Englishwoman,” he said, his voice gruff as it pained him to say these words.

“Why not, if it is the truth?”

“Gypsies have died for less than that. And my children…”

“I will not let any harm come to them or to you because of this,” she said fiercely. She sat up. “Gypsy, will you help me up the stairs to my boudoir?”

“Yes, Englishwoman, I will do so.” He picked her up and carried her up the stairs as she ran her hands over his shoulders and arms.

“This room.” She pointed to the door that stood half-open. He entered and laid her gently on the bed and she pulled him down with her so he lay beside her.

He let his hand wander over her body, over her fine breasts, her belly. He brought his arms about her and caressed her back, her bottom through the soft layers of her pale clothing.

She untied the laces of his shirt and kissed his neck. They sat up and she pulled the shirt over his head and ran her hands over his chest, through the dark hair there. He untied the pink ribbon that held her hair back, then ran his fingers through the silky tresses.

He stroked the sweet dip of her waist; he kissed her neck and then her shoulders and her breasts where they rose above her dress, loving the feel of her beneath his lips.

After a while he pulled back and cocked his head. “I have never undressed an Englishwoman before.”

Laughing, she turned her back to him. “You must undo the hooks and eyes.”

He struggled with the tiny hooks, and finally the bodice of the dress was undone, but he was met with the lacing of her corset, which he untied, only to be met with yet another row of hooks and eyes on her petticoat.

“Now I see why the English don’t have as many children as we Gypsies do. By the time a woman is undressed, a man may have lost interest.”

“It is not necessary to remove a woman’s clothing to make a baby,” she said, her voice sounding bitter. He turned her toward himself and studied her unhappy face, then took her in his arms and began to stroke her hair.

“Joanna,” he said softly, “life has not been kind to you.”

She nestled against him. “I have been most fortunate in material ways,” she said, still sounding bitter.

“But not in the immaterial? Like love and joy?”

“I have Nash,” she said. “And he brings me such joy.”

“He is a fine boy, a child one cannot help but love.”

“Could you love Nash?” She looked up at him with her glorious golden eyes.

“How could I not love Nash? How could I not love his mother?”

She made a small surprised sound and her eyes grew wide. “And how can a woman such as I not love a man such as you?”

They sat there a minute, their gaze locked and their arms around each other. He thought his heart might burst from the combination of joy and desire that rose fiercely within him.

He helped her up and when she stood he removed her clothing.

“You are lovely,” he murmured, stepping back to see her better from head to toe. “Even lovelier than I imagined.”

Her cheeks turned crimson as she said, “I am glad you find me so, for I think you most handsome.”

He pulled off his shoes and coarse stockings and then his breeches. He felt her gaze on him and heard her sigh softly as his member, his
kori
, sprang free.

She stepped close to him and he put his arms around her, holding her tight against himself. He felt her breasts pushing against his chest, his
kori
hard against her belly. He stroked her naked back and flanks. The fire within him flared upward to his belly, to his heart and higher yet.

He pulled her onto the bed on top of himself. They kissed deeply as they touched and caressed each other, learning each other’s bodies, rejoicing in them.

Her breasts were cool and yielding as he stroked and fondled and squeezed them. Finally he brought his lips to her dark nipples and licked and sucked first one and then the other as she writhed and sighed and told him how good it felt. Her hands were firm against his back and sides, her breath fast and rough.

“Please,” she said, “I want you so much, I can wait no longer.”

He had not intended to enter her so soon, but he could not refuse her plea, although it pushed him to the edge of his self-control. He parted her legs and knelt between them. First he drank of her lips again and then, slowly, he entered her. Their gaze locked and she smiled. A feeling of love comingled with the consuming fire of lust engulfed him.

He rocked back and forth and her hips came to meet his, stroke for stroke. Such sweetness, such joy. When he felt his crescendo nearing, he withdrew and, holding her hips, he brought his lips to her gentle folds, ruddy now and wet with her arousal, and kissed, licked, and sucked as she arched and moaned and finally cried out.

Immediately he turned her about, lifted her onto her knees, and entered her from behind. Now he was a man possessed, overwhelmed with his desire, his love for this woman. He plunged into her again and again and yet again until she cried his name aloud and the soft folds tightened about his
kori.

He was lost then to anything beside the need to drive into her deeper, harder, faster. His cries joined with hers as he emptied his very soul into her.

Chapter Four

Soon after Tem had left, Joanna heard the back door open and Mrs. Peter’s heavy tread in the kitchen.

A few minutes later, Mrs. Peters entered the drawing room and stopped short when she saw Joanna sitting on the sofa with her leg on a stool.

“Madam,” she sputtered, “how came you to be undressed and in your wrap?”

“I, um, I wanted to prepare for bed early and I managed to open everything on my own.”

Mrs. Peters stared at her. “Well you look uncommonly well. I’ve never see you smile so, or your color so high. Perhaps with your cooking and shopping and dressing yourself, soon you’ll not be needing me.”

“Oh no, please, Mrs. Peters—”

“What is wrong with you ankle?” The woman scowled at the bandaged appendage.

“I fell. It is not too bad.”

Mrs. Peter’s scowl deepened. “Who wrapped it for you? Surely you could not—”

Someone knocked at the front door and Mrs. Peters went to answer it, leaving Joanna sitting in the drawing room wondering what she should say should the woman question her further.

Seconds later, Nash came barreling into the room and she swept him into her arms.

Mrs. Peters appeared at the doorway. “There is a Gypsy girl at the front door. She says she must talk to you.” She scoffed and added, “Doesn’t even know that the likes of herself should go to the back.”

“Bring her in.”

Mrs. Peters sniffed. “Best see her at the door. Those Gypsies,” she said with disgust, “cannot be trusted. Be careful she does not steal that gold bracelet right off your arm.”

Joanna, sighing, decided not to argue with Mrs. Peters and limped to the door.

The young girl, dressed in bright green and yellow, stood fidgeting on the porch.

“I thank you for bringing Nash,” Joanna said. “I can see he had a happy time.”

“He did not play today,” said the girl. “Even the smallest had work to do. And he worked too.”

“Yes, Mother,” Nash chimed in, “we were picking up the hay that had fallen on the ground after the men lifted big bunches onto the wagon with their pitchforks. I picked up bundles and bundles! Tem said I worked well, that in just a few years I might be big enough to use a rake.”

The girl smiled. “He was a good worker.”

“May I work again tomorrow, Mother? There is still more good hay on the ground.”

Joanna laughed. “You may indeed,” she said, “but we must do lessons in the morning.”

Nash pouted and mumbled that he did not care to do lessons.

“Tem says that he will return when we are finished in the field this evening,” the girl said.

Joanna could feel the heat in her cheeks and hear the happiness in her own voice as she said, “Ah, yes. Tell him I will be glad of that. Thank you.”

She watched the girl skip down the path. When she closed the door and turned, she saw Mrs. Peters scurry away down the hall.

Chapter Five

The frantic knocking on the door awakened Joanna. She rolled to her side and put a hand on the sheets beside her. Were they still warm from Tem’s body? They were cold. She had been dreaming.

There was a loud knock on her own door, and Mrs. Peters poked her head in and announced that Sir Edward awaited her below.

“So early?” Joanna was surprised. As a rule, friends did not call before breakfast.

Mrs. Peters just looked at her.

Joanna swung her legs to the ground. “Perhaps I best dress.”

Mrs. Peters shrugged and looked balefully at the stocking bandage on Joanna’s ankle, but she came into the room all the same and helped Joanna into her petticoat, corset, and dress.

Holding tight to the banister for support, Joanna limped down the stairs, but stopped to kiss Nash, who was playing with his two lead soldiers in the hall.

“Sir Edward’s face is all red,” the boy whispered. “When he goes, may I go out to the fields? Can we do the lessons in the afternoon?”

“Let me think about it.” She smiled.

Still smiling, she entered the drawing room where, in his riding clothes, Sir Edward paced to and fro tapping at his boot with his riding crop.

“Good morning,” she said. “I fear I have kept you waiting while I made myself decent.”

He turned to her. “Decent?” he hissed. “Decent? You dare use that word when referring to yourself?”

Shocked, she responded, “I don’t understand your meaning, Sir.”

“Yes, you would not understand the meaning of decency. And to think you made me consider placing my affections on you; made me consider marrying you.” He stuck his frowning red face close to hers, continuing to tap the crop against his boot.

“Sir, I did nothing to persuade you to feel affection for me or to marry me. If there was any affection, it was of your own making.”

“Until Mrs. Peters came to me and revealed your doings, I trusted you. I would have given you servants, houses, carriages, jewels—whatever you wanted.”

“I never asked you for any of these things.”

“And you shall receive none from me. Your Gypsy lover can provide none of these things, I assure you.” He stepped away from her, tapping his crop even more furiously.

“I have never asked for these things from you or any man. And I neither need nor desire them.” She felt her face grow hot with anger, but she kept her words calm and aloof.

“Every decent woman desires these things. But you are naught but a strumpet, a Gypsy’s whore,” he shouted, spittle flying from his mouth

“Sir! You will not speak to me like that in my own home. I must ask you to—”

“This is not your home, you foolish woman.” Sir Edward narrowed his eyes. “Your husband sold it to me some months before he died.”

Joanna gasped and sank into a chair. Sir Edward stepped closer and stood over her, the rat-a-tat of the riding crop faster yet.

“As I am a gentleman, I chose to not disturb you with that information. I chose to allow you to remain, pretending you had the right to live here in order to not distress you, thinking only of your comfort. I hoped thus that you would better realize the need for servants, for horses, for a carriage, if you stayed here rather than entertaining your foolish notion of a small cottage far from where I could look over you.”

“I believe I made it quite clear that I preferred the cottage.” Joanna stood. Though it hurt it was preferable to Sir Edward looming over her. “You pretended you cared for me while you denied me what I really wanted. I lived in misery as a wealthy woman. And now that my wealth is spent, I have no desire to live that way again. I would prefer to live—”

“Well you can go and live with the Gypsies for all I care. Perhaps they will have you. But I think they will not. Your Gypsy scoundrel has had his sport with you, but he will not repeat it, I assure you. I have told them this morning that they must leave. And without payment.”

“That is not right!” Joanna exclaimed, horrified at the unfairness. “You have no right to punish them for your own false expectations.”

Sir Edward grasped her arm hard. “How dare you speak to me like that,” he roared, shaking her. “It is not for you to tell me what to do.” Joanna cried out in alarm as she struggled to pull away.

“You let go of my mother!” Nash, who had run into the room, shouted. “Let her go!” He took hold of Sir Edward’s leg and the man pushed Joanna away so violently that she fell to the floor. He turned and gave Nash a blow to the chest that sent the child reeling.

“Get back in the nursery where you belong,” he ordered, “or I shall do worse than that. It is time you learned how to behave to your betters.” Joanna saw Nash run from the room.

“How dare you; how dare you!” She struggled to her feet and rushed at him and slapped his face. Sir Edward grabbed her in a painful embrace and pulled her hard against himself.

“I dare,” he said, putting his face close to hers, “because you are in debt to me, make no mistake. You have lived in my house and paid no rent, you have made use of Mrs. Peters whom I have paid to care for you—”

“And to carry tales to you!” She tried desperately to pull away from him. “Take your hands off me.”

“I will not.” He put his arms around her and tried to kiss her. She turned her head away and pushed against him as hard as she could.

“Stop it!” she shouted, both terrified and revolted. “Release me!”

“You will repay me for everything I have done for you.”

“There is no payment due. I never asked you to do anything for me, never.”

“You harlot! You will do exactly as I say, you will—”

“Release her at once!” It was Tem, followed by Nash, whose eyes appeared big as saucers. Sir Edward pushed Joanna away, almost knocking her to the floor again, and turned and struck at Tem with the riding crop.

“You filthy, thieving—” He struck Tem once across his chest, but the second time he attempted to do so, the Gypsy took hold of the whip and the two men struggled for control of it. Nash took hold of Sir Edward’s leg and sank his teeth into the back of it. The man shrieked, and Tem yanked the whip from his hands as the little boy ran to his mother.