“Get back to sleep,” he said gruffly to disguise the longing he felt. “We need to get an early start in the morning.”
Damien turned on his side away from her, while April wondered about his abrupt dismissal. Just when it had begun to get interesting, and when she hoped he would take her in his arms as she so desperately longed for him to do, he turned away from her. Damien had said earlier that he wanted to make love to her. What had changed?
“Come to bed, April,” he repeated, patting the space across from him. “We both need our sleep.”
How practical men were. With a bitter twist to her lips, April obediently sought the cold comfort of her own side of the bed.
“IT WILL TAKE ME weeks to catch up with the tribe on foot,” Nicky snarled when Damien freed him the following morning. Rubbing his chafed wrists, he glared at the couple.
“You should have thought of that before you tried to kill me.” Damien gestured toward the boy’s knife placed on a boulder across the clearing. “But I am not entirely heartless. I realize you may have to defend yourself against wild animals like yourself, so I am leaving you one weapon.”
“What about my gun? You can’t steal it from me.”
“Can’t I? You intended to steal my wife from me, and not for any honorable ends. No, I will not ride off with my back to a man with a gun. I am sure you will be able to survive without it.”
“You bastard!” Nicky’s jaw was taut with rage.
“My mother’s morals have nothing to do with this, boy. I suggest you refrain from any more insults, considering I have a great deal to settle with you yet.”
Nicky took a small step forward as if to test Damien’s mettle, but he quickly regretted it. In a flash Damien placed the rifle barrel squarely on the gypsy’s chest. And if he felt pain from his injury, his right arm never wavered.
Realizing he was lucky to escape with his life, Nicky’s gut nevertheless churned with the bitter bile of hatred as he watched the couple depart. Of course April had reclaimed Prince Adar, and now rode the prancing black proudly beside their wagon. She had exchanged her skirts for slim-fitting trousers and a blue peasant blouse. Her golden hair blew wildly about her shoulders in the brisk morning wind.
“I suggest you seek shelter,” was Damien’s final shout to Nicky before the wagon rolled away toward the north. “It looks like we’re due for a storm.”
Nicky did not reply. They left the gitano standing rigidly in the clearing, fists balled at his side, his face an ugly, twisted mask staring after them.
WHEN THE MILES FINALLY dropped away, April relaxed. She feared Nicky would try to follow them, or come after her in one final, wild attack. But they made good time and there was no sign of him or anyone else.
Skirting any settlements they passed, Damien struck a path northwest toward Rostov, where he was sure April and he could hide themselves quickly in the crowded streets. There, in a poorer quarter of the city, he could firm up his plans and perhaps begin to make the necessary contacts for his mission. He would also dispatch his first message to Raglan then, assuring the commander of his success thus far.
Glancing aside at the proud figure April cut upon the high-spirited stallion, Damien wondered again about the truth of her heritage. She was not Slavic, for her features were too fine and her skin too fair. Turkish was also out of the question. But for her riding attire, she could pass for an English lady out for a jaunty morning ride.
Damien smiled to himself. Actually, if he didn’t know better, he could swear April already knew she was the Countess of Devonshire. Her chin was high, her backbone so rigid as to imply great nobility. For a fanciful moment he imagined her bright beauty lighting up Mistgrove. There was no doubt she could turn heads at any European court. But that could never be. Soon, and the sooner the better, he must gently disentangle himself from the gypsy girl and carry on with his mission.
An ominous rumble preceded the icy downpour that chased April back into the wagon beside Damien. They continued their journey with Prince Adar securely tied to the rear of the wagon, but the stallion’s wild whinnies warned of worse to come. Glancing up, they saw a flash of ball lightning roll across the heavens, and thunder shook the heavens and earth like an angry god.
Damien avoided the bloated rivers, which he knew could not receive so much rain without washing out eventually, and headed west toward the Black Sea. Darkness had fallen again by the time they heard the faint roar of wind-capped waves. He headed instinctively for the shelter of cliffs he knew were clustered along the seashore.
“We’ll camp here for the night. It should be drier.”
Shivering, April quickly agreed. The rain was streaming steadily through the cooking vent in the back of the wagon, and puddling on the floor. Another flash of lightning showed most of their worldly goods were drenched, including the bed.
Damien lit a lantern in order to locate a weathered sea-cave below some cliffs. By then the rain had abated to a thin, cold trickle, but he and April were thoroughly soaked.
Like any good Romany man, Damien saw to the horses first. After he hobbled them both under an overhanging shelter with sparse graze, he started a fire from pieces of dry driftwood he found in the cave. Then he went to lift his sodden wife out of the wagon.
“Hold tight,” he advised April, carrying her swiftly through the rough weather to the brisk fire in the cave. Gently setting her down before the warm blaze, he peeled off the sopping blanket and wrapped her snugly in a dry one he had found in the wagon. She did not protest when his gaze lingered overlong on the gentle swell of her breasts and hips.
Frozen to the core, April sat in the sand and rocked herself to get dry. The wind had chilled her to the bone and she could not get warm. Watching Damien as he moved about arranging their shelter, April realized she had come to desire the company of this mysterious, handsome man who was her husband. But Damien puzzled her greatly with his mood swings. One minute he seemed delighted to have her company, while the next he lapsed into a distant silence. And men called women the moody ones.
Feeling April’s gaze on him, Damien glanced at her from the other side of the crackling fire and gave her a heart-stopping smile. His eyes reflected the electric blue of the lightning outside, and she swallowed hard. What had she seen in his look? A silent promise, perhaps smoldering desire?
Hoping he was warming to her at last, after the past days in which they had spent so much time together, April waited for him to make the first move.
As if he had the power to read her thoughts, Damien spoke and startled her with his insight. “It’s damned odd, but I feel like we’ve known each other forever, April. Does that sound strange? When I watched you dance, I felt as if you were calling to me somehow, and something in my soul understood, though my mind still doesn’t.”
She listened intently, waiting, and he finished flatly, “I don’t believe in fate, and I don’t believe Nicky’s claim that you’re a witch, either. So that just leaves chance.”
He saw a flicker of emotion in her cat-green eyes. “It seems unlikely that our paths should cross again after so many years, Damien. If I told you my mother’s cards had predicted our marriage, would you believe me?”
When Damien considered the incredible odds against their relationship, he was forced to admit defeat.
“Perhaps I would, after all. I’m beginning to learn that there are stranger things in this world than I thought.”
“I hope you don’t include me in that.” April laughed. “Do you find the bargain was not fair?”
“On the contrary,” he replied, moving to kneel beside her and reaching out to entwine a golden strand of her hair around his fingers, “I find the bargain very fair indeed.”
His husky voice shot warmth all the way through April’s shivering frame to her toes, which curled at the look in his smoky blue eyes. Holding her breath, April dared hope that this time he would take her to wife. She longed to know of the love and wonders between a man and woman, something Tzigane had only hint
ed at, and which she suspected was more interesting than her mother admitted.
Reading the anticipation in April’s steady gaze, Damien felt shaken. She was so open to him now, so incredibly vulnerable and trusting, with her lips slightly parted. This young woman wanted him, he realized. Wanted him in the way a wife would naturally turn to her husband for guidance in the matters of love.
Slowly Damien peeled off his wet shirt, laid it across a rock to dry by the fire, and saw April looking at the curling dark hair on his chest.
“You wondered once if it was soft,” he said. “Would you like to find out now?”
Wordlessly April nodded, and he took her hand in his to place it on the smooth expanse of his broad chest. Her fingers were cold, but unerringly delved into the silky whorls of hair there as she smiled with shy pleasure.
“Like black silk,” April murmured, and Damien felt a tremor run down his spine at her touch. She was too willing, her clear green gaze triumphant as she lightly tugged on his chest hairs.
“Careful, girl. That’s very sensitive there,” he rebuked her with a gentle grin.
“Oh? Have you many sensitive areas, Damien?”
She was teasing him, and he marveled that when this girl chose to be a coquette, she could do it well. Her intelligence was rivaled only by her beauty, and it made for a deadly combination.
Trying to take back control, Damien said briskly, “I imagine you’re tired. Would you like me to roll out the other dry blanket for a bed?”
April stared back at him, her expression as if he had slapped her. Alarmed, Damien reached out abruptly and grabbed her by the shoulders. The blanket slipped down and he felt her ice-cold skin under his own warm palms.
“Jesu, you’re half-frozen. Why didn’t you tell me? You must be in pain.”
April did not answer, but drank in the sensation of Damien’s arms holding her tightly to him. She knew it would not last. It seemed he always set her aside eventually.
“Stay bundled up while I get more driftwood for the fire. We’ll build it up so high you’ll never be cold again.”
“Please,” she blurted before he left, “don’t leave me. I-I don’t want you to go.”
The vulnerability in her eyes convinced him at last. With a relenting sigh, Damien sat in the sand beside her and put his strong arm around April, holding the blanket up.
Tentatively, timidly, she leaned her head against his shoulder. Damien hated to admit it, but it was a pleasant sensation. Soon April’s hand strayed out onto his thigh, resting atop the black trousers. He tensed but did not pull away, sensing she would be crushed if he did.
He was in a quandary. The last thing in the world he, a renowned rake and womanizer, intended to do was to seduce his own wife. But certainly not because April wasn’t lovely and tempting. It was almost funny, except he was in as much secret agony as she.
Damien was resolved not to hurt his little lioness, but April’s whisper drove a stake so deeply into his heart that he knew the torment must show on his face.
“Why, Damien? Why don’t you want me?”
A ragged groan escaped Damien as he clutched her tighter. Suddenly he understood that in his “kindness,” April had been hurt anyway. She only saw that she had a young, virile husband who did not desire her, and immediately assumed that the fault lay with herself.
“April, little girl, look at me.” He sat back and urged her to turn those tear-filled green eyes full on him, however much it tried him. “Remember back in the little glen? I told you then that I would never force myself on you. I meant that, and it still holds true. What you see as cruelty is only concern for your happiness. You have already lost your home with the gypsies. I would not have you lose your innocence as well.”
His deep, tender voice wound through the channels of her heart until April thought she would burst for the emotion. This man cared enough about her feelings to subdue his own desires for her. In a flash she realized what she had suspected all along; she was beginning to love him, if just a little, and now she was ready to be a wife to him in every way.
“I am not afraid,” she said boldly, her trusting gaze fixed on his. “I know you are a gentle and good man. Please, Damien, I am so cold. Will you not warm me tonight?”
April’s hand moved upon his bare chest. Her golden hair tumbled over the dark blanket, gleaming like rich metal in the firelight. Damien had always longed to run his hands through that silken waterfall, and now she offered it to him.
Dear God, so this is what is meant by temptation, he thought, gathering April fully into an embrace and stroking the satiny fall of her mane. She melted in his arms as if she had always belonged there, heedless of the blanket slipping to her waist.
Suddenly, with the sensation of taut bare breasts rubbing against his own chest, Damien surrendered to the flare of passion between them. He began by raining tiny kisses along the ridge of her brow, then down her sensitive neck until he dared to taste the smooth orbs that fit neatly into the palms of his hands.
At the first flick of his tongue upon a taut nipple, April gasped at the heat that burned through her body. She had never imagined such pleasure, that a man might suckle upon a woman like a babe and render pure delight.
Damien lowered her gently to the sand, his teasing tongue moving upward again, to curl around the pink shell of her ear. It delved mischievously inside the ticklish canal until April begged him to cease the sweet torture. She wound her own hands into his ebony hair, loving the silky texture as she kneaded his head like a little cat.
Remembering Damien’s recent injury, she was careful not to grieve him with an accidental bump. April contented herself with wrapping her arms lovingly around his neck, and then she copied his expert tutelage and pressed light kisses of her own accord against his neck.
Encouraging her with a faint moan, Damien delighted in the sweet willingness of his gypsy bride. He knew April was not merely teasing him, but fully intended to go through with their lovemaking. He also knew he should be the one to stop it, to save her heartbreak in the end, but her softly glowing green eyes somehow told him that to deny her now would be a terrible mistake.
If he could bring her joy in the act of love, then perhaps she would no longer fear men. April would be free to take a lover of her choice then, once they had parted ways. But why did the thought of another man caressing this Romany maid make him angry? Damien shook off his conscience to bury himself in her warm embrace, dragging the woolen blanket over them both where they lay in the sand.
Innocent and intoxicating, April’s lips burned a fiery trail across his upper body. Obviously delighted to be able to touch and stroke him as she wished, she occupied herself for some minutes by rubbing her silken cheek against his darkly furred chest. Her pale hair spilled over them both, reflecting the fire’s reddish glow. Damien stroked her head, fighting the rising desire to fully claim her as his own.
“Damien,” April whispered, her soft voice stoking the burning coals in his loins. She mouthed his name so lovingly that he could imagine this beautiful young woman as his wife. Then, determined not to fall prey to her sweet wiles, he forced himself to look upon her as merely another desirable female. April need never know of his inner restraint.
Gazing deeply into April’s eyes, he drew her up over his body, to mate their anxious lips. He drank deeply of his gypsy wife, exploring the sweet cavern of her mouth with his tongue, holding her firmly against the shivers that shook throughout her frame.
Wave after wave of passion slammed into April as she succumbed to desire. Somewhere in the distant fog of reason, she was aware that the rain had slowed, and now she heard the distant fall and crash of the surf upon the shore. How perfect, how right, that this should be their wedding night. Here, where man and woman had walked for centuries together along the shore, looking out to the sea in awe of its secret life force.
A tremor clutched her for a brief moment when Damien gently reversed their positions, putting her beneath him. He hushed her with soft end
earments, quelling the fear in her eyes. April knew a little of what would follow, but she was still not fully prepared. Worrying her lower lip, she waited while her husband slipped out of his confining trousers. Romany girls were not shy by nature, and she gazed frankly upon the handsome male body revealed by firelight.
Del, but he was beautiful. As lithe as a panther, and lightly furred with the same jet hair on his legs as on his chest. Damien’s eyes burned particularly bright blue this night, taking her breath away as she stared back at the man who would make her a woman.
Damien saw April blush a little as her gaze dropped to encounter his proud manhood, boldly upright in its own nest of curling black hair. But she did not draw away, as he joined her again and murmured softly, “Are you sure, ma chere? It will hurt a little, though after that there will be much pleasure, I promise you.”
At the unfamiliar endearment April smiled and snuggled closer to his delicious warmth. “What does that mean, “ma chere?” Is it French?”
“It is,” he grinned down at her, “and I confess I should have wondered if you had understood it, even as familiar with the language as you are. It means ‘beloved.’ “
April’s eyes softened, as if melting at the tender tone he used. It never occurred to her that endearments came as easily to men as their lusts, and she responded with a trusting smile.
“I am sure, my husband.”
Casting away the last of his doubts, Damien took April as his wife in the deepest sense of the word. With a strong, gentle mastery that came naturally to a lover of women, he began by exploring her flawlessly smooth skin inch by inch, with his lips and tongue.
With a fist stuffed in her mouth to keep from gasping, April let the sensations bolt through her untutored body, causing her to arch and writhe for something she did not fully understand. One minute he was worrying her nipples, nipping and then soothing the inflamed peaks with a cool tongue, the next he gently stroked the insides of her silken thighs and made her moan with longing.
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