The Third Son (6 page)

The applause was thunderous and a ripple of murmurs moved through the crowded room in waves. His brother and father applauded enthusiastically, joining several others on their feet in applauding the Gypsies. Damien searched each of the exits, hoping to catch a glimpse of the Gypsy girl before she could leave.

Damien spied the door the musicians disappeared behind and stood to move in that direction. The hired orchestra struck up a tune, struggling to be heard through the buzz of conversation that filled the room. Damien knew his mother would think him rude for abandoning their guests before the party was over, but he didn’t care. He skirted his way around the perimeter of the room, making a beeline for the door.

The hall was empty. Damien cursed softly, following the winding corridor toward the servants’ back stairs. He knew he had seen the musicians leave through this door. If he hurried
,
he could catch them before they could leave. Footsteps echoed behind him in the darkened hall. He turned to find Davina hot on his heels, the train of her ball gown draped over one arm as she hurried to catch up to him.

“Thank goodness I found you alone. Finally,”
Davina
breathed hotly in his ear, pressing against him. “I can be in your chambers in ten minutes,” her hands pressing against the bulge at the front of his breeches. She ran her tongue lightly over his lips and backed slowly away, her velvety eyes warm with unspoken promise.

“Ten minutes,” she purred, disappearing back down the darkened hallway.

Damien waited until she was completely out of sight before he continued down the hall at a near run. He exploded down the servant’s back staircase leading to the kitchen. The cook and her maids were paralyzed with shock before they remembered themselves and curtsied deeply as the prince rushed past. He burst through the servant’s entrance just in time to see the Gypsies’ covered wagon speeding off into the night.

“Damn it!” he spat, pounding his fist against the stone wall of the palace, causing a startled maid to squeal and leap away from his unprovoked fury. “My apologies,” he said more calmly when the trembling maid curtsied before him.

“Your Grace,” she mumbled before turning to go back inside. 

“Wait!” he called, watching the Gypsy wagon grow smaller and smaller against the night sky as it rolled away. 

“Yes, Your Grace?”

“Would you happen to know where the Gypsies live?”

“Live, Your Grace?” she said with a slight chuckle. “The Gypsies do not live anywhere. They are a wandering people, never staying in one place overlong. They usually make camp on the outskirts of town when they are here.”

“My thanks,” Damien sighed, wondering how on earth he would be able to find the girl before the Gypsy troupe left the city for good. 

“Oh wait, Your Grace!” the young maid exclaimed. “I just remembered. A group of Gypsies settled here some years ago. They all live in the same part of town. One of them even owns a tavern or some such place.”

Damien nodded thoughtfully, weighing his options. What were his chances that the Gypsy girl lived right here the city? 

“Thank you,” he said before turning to go back through the servant’s entrance.
Damien
took his time, walking at a leisurely pace, his mind filled with images of a woman with skin like bronze. He found the idea of returning to the party distasteful
, and had
had enough of the carousing, though he knew the affair would last long into the early hours, until the wine and food were depleted. Remembering that Davina was awaiting him in his chambers, he turned toward his wing of the palace, desperate for some form of distraction. Tonight he would help himself to the generous pleasures sure to be found in his bed. Hopefully, by morning, he would have driven away all thoughts of flashing amber eyes burning themselves indefinitely into his memory.

****

Damien
had been unable to forget her. No amount of time spent in Davina’s bed could chase away the image of the mysterious Gypsy dancer from his mind. He had searched for a week before finding the Gypsy troupe camped out on the outskirts of town. After a few minutes of wandering through the colorfully painted wagons and tents, Damien was able to confirm that no one in this particular group had ever performed at Largess Hall. Damien was relieved at this discovery
. H
is search for her would become that much easier now that he knew she lived within the city.
H
ow was he to find her
, w
alk about the street amongst the commoners, inquiring about a dancing girl with amber eyes? 

Then, he remembered what the maid at the palace had told him about a tavern owned by Gypsies. He had heard of the place before, having frequented a few taverns and brothels in the less reputable part of town. The Golden Dancer boasted beautiful dancing girls and Damien thought it best to begin his search there.

He knew the only way to clear his thoughts of the girl was to find her and lead her to his bed as soon as possible. Then perhaps he could get on with his life with some semblance of normalcy.

He stood near the entrance of The Golden Dancer, his eyes searching the smoke-filled room. Several round tables and chairs, surprisingly clean, were placed in an open circle around a small stage jutting out from the back wall. Men smoking cigars and holding mugs of ale sat in groups, watching a young girl wrapped in a diaphanous green creation and matching veil move about on the narrow stage. One of the male dancers he remembered from the palace sat on a low stool toward the back of the stage, strumming his guitar smoothly. Serving girls in simple blouses and ruffled skirts moved through the crowd, delivering drinks and avoiding the grabbing hands of some of the bolder men.

Damien found an empty stool at the bar and settled himself there, signaling the barkeeper. A mug of ale in one hand, Damien watched the dancer on stage with interest. The girl was skilled, her curvaceous body moving in perfect timing to the rhythm created by the guitar player.
A
glimpse at a pair of dark brown eyes told Damien that she was not the one he was looking for. Applause signaled the end of the girl’s dance and she disappeared behind the stage amid whistles and stamping feet. Damien waited until the noise had died down to a gentle hum of conversation before turning to the bartender.

“Pardon me sir,” Damien called, gaining the bartender’s attention. “Another ale, please.”

The rather large man behind the counter eyed Damien warily as he refilled the glass. Damien had dressed in the plainest clothing he could manage, but knew that he stood out in the more simply garbed crowd. He was hoping to avoid attention and wanted to pass as a traveling merchant or some such.
Damien
slid a coin across the bar to the man.

“I am looking for someone
,
A Gypsy girl, a dancer. She performed at the king’s palace last week.”

He realized his mistake instantly. The bartender raised himself to his full height, towering over Damien’s six feet two inches. He gripped the counter tightly and leaned forward to look Damien in the eye.
Damien
could have sworn he had heard the wood groaning in protest against the barkeep’s beefy hands.

“See here mister,” the man said, his voice like hard-edged steel. “The girls what dance here is under my protection and they ain’t go time to be bothered with the likes o’ you. This ain’t that kinda place and if that’s what you be looking for, there’s a brothel not far from here!”

Damien’s reply was smothered by a commotion near the stage. The music had started up again and a lithe figure in black had entered. The men seemed excited about this particular performance and Damien forgot his questioning of the bartender. It was her!  He knew the moment she started to dance, her arms lifted high above her head, her hips moving in rapid, hypnotizing circles. The other dancer had been good, but this girl’s movements were so natural, so much a part of her. She made the intricate steps seem effortless as she swayed and dipped, working the crowd into a frenzy. Golden eyes flashed, their brilliance further enhanced by kohl. Even the guitar player watched her, his nearly black eyes following her every move from beneath the hat pulled low over his face.

He watched, spellbound, until the final chords of the guitar faded away in the dimly lit room. The girl bowed graciously and even blew a kiss to the cheering crowd before disappearing behind the curtain.

Damien watched the curtain for a few moments, searching for any sign of movement from behind the stage. The guitar player disappeared behind the curtain as well, but no one else came or went. Damien supposed her performance was the last of the evening, because most of the men were leaving. A few stayed behind for more ale and flirting with the serving girls, but the small tavern had mostly gone quiet. Hoping that she hadn’t left by some back exit, Damien turned once more to the bartender.

“Perhaps I gave you the wrong impression,” he began politely, hoping the burly man wouldn’t break him to pieces before he could finish.
The large man
sighed impatiently and dropped the towel he’d been holding. He reached across the bar and grabbed Damien up by his lapel, nearly dragging him across the counter.

He growled, his nose mere inches from Damien’s. “I’m done warning you. I think it’s time you left. And you’d best do it quietly or else you’ll have to be carried out!”

“Leave the poor man alone, Dominic,” purred a velvety voice from over Damien’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’s harmless.”

Dominic gave Damien a
mind-numbing
shake before setting him back in his stool and turned back to his work behind the counter. The Gypsy girl settled onto the stool beside Damien, fixing him with her piercing stare. Damien’s mouth went dry and he found himself unable to look away.

Her face was now unveiled and Damien found that she was just as lovely as he knew she would be. High cheekbones stood out beneath her almond shaped eyes and a lush mouth was quirked into a slight smirk as she stared back at him. She had changed into a simple skirt and blouse that draped slightly to reveal one bare shoulder. Her hair hung unbound down her back in lustrous black waves, making Damien’s fingers itch to reach out and
stroke
the silky locks.

“I’m sorry,” he managed after the few moments it took for him to find his voice. “I didn’t mean any harm.”

She nodded and smiled. “Dominic is very protective of the girls who work here. Particularly the dancers. A lot of men get the wrong idea,” she said pointedly, the smile disappearing almost as quickly as it had appeared. “They think that the girls who work here are available for other things. Things that have nothing to do with dancing. We are not.”

“That is not my intention,” he said quickly, almost ashamed that she had been able to guess at his thoughts. He decided on another tactic, one that could be risky, but could be fruitful if his instincts proved true. “I was told that Gypsies lived in this part of this city. I inquired and someone told me that you could tell me where I could find a fortune-teller.” The girl nodded and Damien smiled triumphantly. He had found an opening.

“Yes,” she said. “My grandmother is the best. I can take her to you now, if you have time.”

Damien nodded and stood. “Of course.”

“Dominic, I’m taking this man to see grandmother. Lock up when you’re done and I’ll leave the ledgers until tomorrow.”

“Maybe you ought to wait for Tristan,” Dominic said, still watching Damien as if he were a snake he expected to strike at any moment. “He’ll be awful upset if he finds out you’ve left without him.”

Damien wondered if the mysterious guitar player was this Tristan and hoped fervently that he was not this girl’s husband or lover. And what as this talk of ledgers? Surely
,
this girl was not involved in the running of this establishment. She accepted the fringed shawl Dominic gave her from the coat rack behind the bar and draped it over her shoulders.

“This gentleman will be with me and I’m sure I’ll be perfectly safe for a few blocks.”  

Damien nodded. “Of course,” he said. “Perfectly safe, I assure you.”

The bartender’s concerned expression aside, he seemed to accept her decision. Damien held the door open for her and followed her out into the night.

“It’s a short walk. Your horse will be safe here for a while,” she said, indicating Persephone, who was hitched to a nearby post.

He fell in step beside her, unsure for the first time in his life how to act around a female. She seemed so confident
. H
er long strides were nearly equal to his as they navigated down a narrow lane spotted with small cottages.

“What’s your name?” he asked, starting simply. This girl, this woman, seemed a no nonsense type of person.

“Esmeralda,” she said, her voice a velvety caress in the night, filling his mind with images of naked flesh and all manner of other erotic thoughts.

“Damien,” he replied. 

“Yes,” she said, turning to study him intently. “I know exactly who you are.”

Chapter 4

Esmeralda fought the urge to laugh. After all, wouldn’t such a thing anger the royal prince? But his expression when she had revealed her knowledge of his identity had been priceless.