Through Gypsy Eyes (7 page)

“As is every lady; however, I thought to show my support and ease any nervousness you might have.” His tone switched from teasing to admiring. “You look lovely in that mauve dress — it brings out the shine in your black hair and color of your eyes to perfection.”

“So glad you approve, my lord, not that your approval or my outwardly loveliness will matter to anyone downstairs.” She brushed past him out the door, both irritated she couldn’t see for herself her appearance and annoyed his praise made her want to. She was content in her dark world, for the most part, until he showed up. Why all of a sudden she cared what she looked like was a mystery. Besides, her appearance was not going to attract any attention from the opposite sex. The earl’s ridiculous little dinner party was going to be a horrendous flop. Descending the stairs, she stifled the sudden urge to return to her room and don the shapeless dress she used for her midnight escapes. The earl’s footfalls close behind left little doubt he would refuse to go along with her charade.

A murmur of voices drifted down the hall from the large parlor. It irked her that the parlor she used as a music room because of its marvelous resonance would be the scene of her humiliation. Pausing, she took a deep breath and willed her shaky legs to move toward the sound. The breath caught in her chest and panic began to eat its way to her very core.
I cannot do this.
“I am sorry, I did not mean to make light of your kind compliment. I am not used to dressing for dinner or my appearance mattering. It is just … I cannot do this, I mean, strangers, in my music room. They will stare and whisper … ” She gasped when the earl took her hand, his action catching her off guard.

He placed the palm of her hand on the arm of his velvet dinner jacket. “Relax. Take a deep breath. Every man in there will adore you.”

“Every?” she breathed. Her throat constricted and her mouth went dry. “How many did you invite?”

“Only six.”

Only six? Dear Lord, he might as well have invited ten, or twelve, or even twenty. One man at a time I can handle, but six? This will be a disaster.

Giving her a little tug he led her toward the voices. As they stepped into the room the conversation hushed. She lifted her chin, forcing a bright smile to her lips.

“Gentlemen, so glad you could all join me tonight. May I introduce our hostess, Miss Delilah Daysland. Miss Daysland, I would like to introduce Lord Deerfoot, Lord White, Sir Micheal Rutherford, Sir Augustus March, Mister Charles Knight, and Mister Devon Carhurst.”

Delilah stiffened at Baron March’s introduction. How did the obnoxious man finagle an invite? With effort she kept her false smile in place, nodding as each one kissed the back of her hand in greeting. “Gentlemen, I am pleased to meet you
.” I suppose there is no time like the present to put my plan in motion.
With deliberate carelessness she stumbled and tripped, knocking over the end table she knew held a crystal decanter of brandy. It toppled to the floor with a resounding crash. “Oh dear, so clumsy of me. Happens all the time I am afraid.”

The room was so quiet she could hear the mantle clock tick before the earl cleared his throat. “I believe dinner awaits us.” He took her arm in an iron grip, propelled her to the dining room, and seated her.

She remained silent as the courses were served and the conversation began to flow. Each guest it seemed went out of his way to include her, but her inability to distinguish to whom she was speaking and her overall frustration at being put on display kept her answers brief and curt.

“Miss Daysland, it was a tragedy to hear of your dear father’s death.”

Forcing a small smile to her lips, she turned her head in the direction of the speaker. “Thank you, Lord … ”
Good God, who is it seated to my left?
Grasping at straws she tossed out a name. “Deerfoot.”

The gentleman in question cleared his throat. “Sir Rutherford, Miss Daysland.”

Her cheeks heated at her blunder. “So sorry, sir, please forgive my mistake.”

Conversation stilled. The only sound for a few moments was the delicate clink of silverware against china. She shifted in her chair.
Will this torture never end?

At last the earl spoke up. “Lord White, I hear you have made quite a name for yourself in the quest for alternative hothouse growing methods.”

“Quite, I am afraid. You see I did not intend … ”

Delilah tuned out the uninteresting conversation as the all too familiar twinge started in her temples. At least a headache would allow her to plead illness and retire to her bedchamber. No man here would want a clumsy and ill wife. Though she doubted the earl would let her slip away until at least the meal was dispatched and the men retired for cigars and port in the study.

“Miss Daysland?”

Her attention returned to the dinner conversation. “I beg your pardon?” A gentleman responded, which one she couldn’t say.

“I was just saying no one has seen you in years. I wondered perhaps if you have been on a long tour of Europe?”

“No.” She frowned in his general vicinity. “I am afraid seeing Europe’s many sights would be quite lost on me, sir, do you not agree?”

“Ah, yes. I suppose so … ”

She bit the inside of her lip.
My father would be very displeased at my rudeness by putting the poor man on the spot like that.
She was about to apologize but decided against it when she detected a slight groan from the head of the table where the earl sat.
Let him salvage the dinner conversation now.

“Lord Deerfoot, you must tell Miss Daysland all about the new race course being designed. She is quite the horse enthusiast and has the most amazing pony I have ever seen. He is her guide.” Despite her needling there was a definite ring of admiration in the earl’s tone.

“A guide pony?” the gentleman to her right, whom she assumed was Lord Deerfoot, inquired. “I have never heard of such a thing.”

“Neither had I. However, he is the most remarkable little creature. He escorts Miss Daysland safely all over the estate and wears a cleverly constructed harness for her to hold on to. Right, Miss Daysland?”

Checkmate, my lord. Well played. Perhaps this game will not be as easily won.
Delilah resisted the urge to scratch the earl’s eyes out for once again insisting she be the center of attention and pasted a bright smile to her lips. Left with no other choice, she launched into an explanation of Jester and his talents. At least she could speak on a topic she knew something about and was comfortable with.

• • •

When the meal was over she rose with the intention of excusing herself, but as if sensing her plans the earl tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. “Gentlemen, I hope you do not mind if I dismiss the usual port and cigars in the library in exchange for some musical entertainment tonight. Miss Daysland is an extremely accomplished piano player. I think we can cajole her into playing us a lively tune or two.”

Stifling her groan she allowed him to escort her to the music room. Apparently the earl was not about to give up yet.
I will show his lordship how unaccepting my peers can be.
Settling in behind the piano she purposely hit the wrong keys and then smiled. “So sorry, gentlemen, it is most difficult to play when one is blind.” The earl cleared his throat in warning; she ignored him. Again she began the piece and played it in its entirety, sprinkling in as many off notes as she dared. When she finished an unenthusiastic smattering of applause was enough to tell her she won this round. “Thank you so much, gentlemen. I practice eight to ten hours a day, right, Lord Frost?” She almost giggled out loud at his huff of exasperation. Instead she affected a pretty pout and pivoted to face the men. “I am afraid I have little else to do, being blind, you see.” She could sense the earl’s stare and anger directed at her. Despite it she grinned.
You will think twice before you throw another dinner party in my honor.

Her head began to pound in earnest and she rubbed her temples. “If you will excuse me gentlemen, I feel one of my many headaches coming on. I beg your leave to go lie down.” When the earl did not refuse her retreat she smothered a smile and made her way upstairs to her bedchamber.
Checkmate again, my lord.

Tyrone leaned back in the chair, staring at the barren study hearth. Little by little the squire’s vast wealth was being siphoned off — how and by whom he did not know. It appeared worse less than the ledger led him to believe. With a snort he tossed the useless book back on the desk. How pathetic was a servant who professed to love and protect his blind mistress and then stole everything out from under her? It was lower than low in his opinion. He finished his drink and stood, crossing to the window to look out over the gardens.

The moon rode high in the evening sky, its hazy glow promising another stifling night with little relief from the ever present sticky beads of perspiration. Patches of light fell here and there, leaving the shrubs and bushes in partial mystery. Something short and bulky moved from the bushes into the path of a stray moonbeam. The bulk took on the form of the pony, trotting with purpose toward the kitchen door. Did the creature sleep where the food was prepared?
Good Lord, I hope not.

The pony paused as if he knew he was being watched before continuing on to the herb garden gate. A billowy figure materialized from the shadows. The pony and the figure melded into one, turning away from the manor.

Who was about at this time of night? Tyrone glanced at the mantle clock, noting the hour was indeed well past one. Turning his attention back to the garden, he sought out the mysterious apparition, at last picking it out from the row of bushes by the back gate close to the woods. The objects before his eyes seemed to blend in with the gate and then vanish.

Turning away from the window, he sprinted out of the room and down the hall to the back door. He exited the house and jogged through the garden, slowing his pace when he neared the back gate. Pausing, he listened for any sound before lifting the latch to exit.

The woods stretched out before him at the edge of the lawn, cool and dark. Straining for a sound, he loped across the grass, at last catching the faint thud of the pony’s feet on the pine needle carpeting of the forest floor. He turned in the direction of the sound, feeling his way with caution along the darkened path. He tripped, trying to make his way through the dark, and winced, fearing his clumsiness would alert his prey. For a moment he thought he lost them, until the slight thud again emerged from the normal night noises of crickets and frogs. In time, the rush of the little waterfall replaced all other sounds. The air cooled and took on a welcome, refreshing dampness. Keeping to the cover of the bushes lining the pool, he observed the figure separate from the pony. The covering of clouds obscured Tyrone’s view. Long hair flowed loose down the woman’s back as she stepped to the bank and slipped her dress over her head. She bent to sit on the edge, glancing over her shoulder, as if sensing him there and then waded into the water.

It appeared his wood nymph was back. Stepping forward he tugged off his breeches, shirt, and boots. This time he did not intend to let her go as easily. As quietly as possible he eased into the water. She took no notice of him as she floated toward the fall on her back, her pert breasts catching the moon’s rays before once again slipping behind the clouds. Sinking under the water he swam in her direction, resurfacing an arm’s reach away.

With a gasp she flipped over and tread water. Her face turned to him, her features indistinguishable in the dark. “Who is there?”

He smiled. “It is just I, sweet wood nymph, come to pay homage to your glorious beauty once again.”

“
You.
Leave me be.” Tilting her head as if listening she tread water with one hand, crossing the other over her breasts.

His smile fled as he recognized the familiar lilt.
Miss Daysland is my mysterious wood nymph.

Intrigued he swam closer, reducing the distance between them. “Why? I have permission to wander this forest.”

“I think not.”

Reaching out he grasped the arm covering her breasts and yanked her to him.

A squeal of outrage laced with fear fled her lips. “Unhand me! What do you want with me?”

“I merely desire to pick up where we left off.” Before she could protest his lips found hers. He covered them, licking the tiny droplets of water from their plump surfaces. She shivered, whimpering as he stroked his tongue along her bottom one, and then sighed. Seeing his opportunity he slipped his tongue between her lips to explore her inner recesses, pulling her in full against his nakedness as he did so. She stiffened and for a moment he thought she would fight him, but instead her arms encircled his neck, her fingers playing with the little curls at the nape. Growing bolder he deepened his kiss, moving his hand to play with the tight nub on her breast. This time she tore her lips from his with a startled gasp.

Flailing in the water, she splashed his face. “Release me this instant.”

The tremble of her limbs and the high note of alarm in her demand compelled him to step back and release her. As he opened his mouth to apologize he lost his footing on the slick, rocky bottom. Down he went, under the water, fumbling to find purchase on the pool bottom. By the time he found firm footing, she reached the bank. After scrambling up it she tugged on her discarded dress.

“Miss Daysland, wait!” He waded to shore. “I am sorry, I did not mean to behave in such an inappropriate manner.”

She leaped aboard the waiting pony and jabbed her bare feet into its sides. Her howl of outrage did nothing to appease his guilt as she galloped recklessly from the clearing.

“Damn it!” Snatching up his clothing and hopping on one foot, he attempted to shove the other into the leg of his trousers. He swore again as she rounded the curve in the path and disappeared from sight. Clutching his boots, he bolted after her.

A startling shriek added urgency to his stride. He rounded the bend in time to see the riderless pony slide to a halt and then carry on in the direction of the house. Fear clutched Tyrone’s chest. Even in the dark he knew the shape lying across the path was Delilah. He reached her side out of breath and knelt down.
Please let her be all right.
He said a silent prayer as he rolled her face up. After brushing away the twigs and leaves stuck to her face, he put his ear to her mouth. To his relief she moaned, her sweet breath skimming his cheek. “Miss Daysland?”