Gypsy Jewel

by Patricia McAllister

  Any attempt she made to return such caresses only caused Damien to shake his head and still her pleas. “Tonight is for you, little girl,” he whispered huskily as he licked her earlobe, “and I will not let you share it with anyone, not even me.”

  Her head was spinning, her senses alive and aching with every touch of his hands. He brought her higher and higher, insinuating his long fingers into sweet, secret places that caused her to protest faintly until he silenced her with firm kisses.

  “Be still, April,” he ordered. “Let me teach you. You need only relax and learn, that you might return the favor someday.” Damien’s eyes danced with flames, and for a moment he was a blue-eyed hawk, and April, his helpless prey. But still she would sacrifice herself to be caught. With an avid cry, she let him have full measure of her passion. Her head lolled from side to side, and her hair lashed his sweat-sheened skin. April felt burning wildfire in her belly, and begged him to soothe the unfamiliar ache.

  Feeling the dew of her readiness, Damien edged his muscular frame atop April. She was no frail creature to be easily crushed, but still he held the brunt of his weight on his own arms as he settled his hips into hers.

  The direct contact was too much. Sobbing with need, April clung to Damien and cried out for release.

  “Easy, love, I want to take it slow. There may be pain at first …”

  “I don’t care. Please, please love me!” With an instinct deeper than she understood, April spread her legs wide and arched upward into him. Damien could no longer deny himself. They fit too well together, and when she moved with primal sensuality, he brushed her warm entrance and eased slightly in.

  Fighting himself for control, Damien’s hands dug into the sand and he braced his back. But April was undulating her sweet hips, urging him on, and with an anguished moan he thrust fiercely into her burning core.

  She flinched slightly, but Damien cut off her gasp with a ravishing kiss. As he rode her, slowly and then with increasing speed, he released her bruised lips and let her cry out over the discovery.

  Though there had been a moment of pain that had shot through her loins, April quickly forgot it in the breathtaking excitement of making love. Damien’s hips settled against hers, and her long legs wrapped around his calves. Together they rode the waves of passion higher and higher until each felt the great crest crashing over them.

  Damien was past reasoning, though he had intended to love his wife gently. Instead he had taken her like an animal, rutting desperately after months of celibacy. The fact April encouraged his fierce efforts bewildered his already hazy mind. Never had a woman clung to him so tightly, matching him thrust for thrust, the sheen of perspiration on her as bright as his own.

  A burning, roiling sensation built in his loins, to Damien’s dismay. He wanted to last the night through, to make April’s first time wonderful, but like an untried boy he soon found himself crying out and spilling himself deeply into her womb.

  April clutched his shoulders, which were taut for a full minute as he bore down upon her. The warmth of his love soon trickled down her thighs, but she would not release him from the leglock.

  She nipped playfully at his shoulder, asking in a soft, mischievous voice, “Is that all, my teacher? Or would you kindly repeat the instruction so I might learn it well?”

  “Witch,” Damien gasped against her ear, but her carefree giggle eased his mind. He had feared she would be furious after such brief lovemaking, as any of his mistresses surely would have been. But he had forgotten April’s innocence, and that she took anything he dished out as her proper due. Why did that make him feel worse? She deserved better than this quick and clumsy assault.

  Angry at himself, Damien withdrew and slid down to prop himself between her languid thighs.

  “What are you doing?” Alarmed, April tried to close her legs and sit up, but his hands pinned her firmly to the sand, and before she could squirm or utter a protest, his mouth was loving her where his manhood already had.

  First she tried to kick free, and then, when that didn’t work, seized a handful of his silky black hair and yanked hard. But Damien would not be dislodged, and when she felt the first velvety stroke upon her secret woman’s jewel, April cried out in startled pleasure.

  He loved her, and he loved her well. In mere seconds she followed his example admirably, arching high with a piercing shriek. Then, as she drifted slowly back to earth, he moved up beside her again and branded her with lips that tasted faintly of sea-salt.

  Holding her protectively to his side, Damien studied April’s serenely smiling face. Her green eyes aglow from lovemaking, she was a study in contentment. Curled up like a little cat against him, April nestled in his arms and laid her head upon his chest.

  “I can hear your heart beating. It’s so strong,” she murmured sleepily.

  Damien only patted her head in response. He was lost in thought, staring into the glowing coals of the fire that had since died down. It was getting cold now, but he did not want to break the spell by dislodging April and moving around. Now that he was restored to some sanity and reason, he could only curse himself for being a twice-tried fool. He had dishonored April tonight, but worse, he had done so with the full knowledge of repercussions.

  Knowing that she was not his wife in the eyes of either France or England, and that by virtue of her heritage, she could never be, he had nonetheless taken her innocence, and taken it well.

  Detesting himself as he did other men of his class who dallied with servants or easily impressed maids, Damien was at a loss as to what to do. By Romany law, he had had the right to take her, but now she was ruined for any other man. If King Jingo suspected that Damien had wronged April thusly, he would not hesitate to kill him and leave his corpse for the crows.

  As he well might, Damien mused darkly. What fate for a girl like April, once he left her behind? Her beauty would always secure her a protector, but what of a husband, a happy life? She would never be more than a rich man’s trull, or worse yet, die from childbearing before she was thirty.

  Never before had he been so conscious of his own actions as now. The sophisticated courtesans he had amused himself with had never expected anything from him beyond physical pleasure, nor had they gazed at him with such loving, open eyes. He knew that April’s vulnerable heart lay full in his hand, and damn it all to hell, what would he do now?

  She was already asleep, breathing softly against his chest, as lovely a wife as any man could ever hope for. So for the moment, Damien Cross dared dream too, and as he held his sweet gypsy bride tightly in his arms, he vowed that he would do whatever it took to keep from hurting her in the days to come.

  Chapter Ten

  IT WAS LATE FALL before Damien and April finally reached Moscow. Already the imperial city was lightly glazed with snow, like a spun-sugar confection with endless spires and steeples sparkling in the crisp air.

  Damien glanced over at April sitting beside him in the wagon, and could not restrain a grin at her obvious delight. With childlike wonder she pointed and exclaimed over everything, and he agreed to tour the sights.

  They paid to leave the wagon and the horses at one of the cheaper stables, and April eagerly dashed into the core of milling humanity. Though they were dressed like gypsies, they blended in easily after they entered the poorer sections of Moscow. Here nobody looked twice at a gypsy girl stepping daintily over piles of manure and trash, except to remark upon her loveliness, or the scowl of the darkly handsome man at her elbow.

  Damien dared not let April explore alone, and had to restrain her from running free as she had done since her youth. As a child she had been able to avoid notice by keeping to the alleyways, but here her blonde hair and uncommon beauty attracted the wrong sort of attention. Though escorted by a menacing, battle-scarred Romany man, April received stares that made Damien angry and uneasy.

  Had they been in Turkey, where fair women brought a high price, he knew he should have never survived the day. As it was, he still cast frequ
ent glances back over his shoulder, hurrying April along to her protests and cries of dismay.

  “Oh, Damien, look at that cloth.” April stopped once to stare at an open stall where silks and velvets were displayed in a rainbow of colors. “Look, that’s just the color of my wedding dress, remember? Tzigane used green to match my eyes.”

  Suddenly the owner of the stall came hurrying over, bleating in thickly-accented Russian, “Get away, gypsy. Do not touch my goods!” His verbal attack was accompanied with threatening gestures that caused Damien’s eyes to darken. “You will drive away my honest customers.”

  Though April withdrew her hand, her smoldering green gaze turned full upon the vendor without a trace of fear. Obviously, she was used to such prejudice from childhood. And, Damien thought with a chuckle, she already knew how to deal with it very well.

  “A pox on you for cursing the daughter of a Romany king. May your days be fruitless and your loins equally so. May your goods rot before they sell. May your nights be dark and troubled —”

  “No, no!” The man was suddenly pleading with her, holding out his gnarled hands in supplication. “Do not curse me, girl. I am a poor man and have many mouths to feed.”

  “You should have thought of that before insulting the princess,” Damien said, playing along for April’s sake. “As it is, she must receive an apology at least.”

  April concentrated on looking aloof and offended while the vendor groveled piteously. Finally, in desperation, the man seized several bolts of material and, thrusting them at her, babbled, “I saw you admiring these trifles. Please accept them with my humble apology. I need you to bless my family, not curse us.”

  Trying very hard not to smile, April hesitated as if weighing the gifts against the insult, and then nodded regally that she would accept the “trifles.”

  Later, as they walked on with the bolts tucked securely under Damien’s arm, she could not help but grin, imagining how proud her people would have been of her performance.

  “You are an excellent actress,” Damien said.

  “But not without your help. You are an actor worthy of a prize yourself.” April did not see Damien frown slightly, and she continued teasingly, “You have earned a reward of your own, I think.”

  His eyebrows rose with anticipation. “I wouldn’t presume to argue, little girl.”

  Together they hurried back to the stables. In the dark privacy of the wagon, bolts of cloth tumbled aside as they fumbled with each other’s clothes.

  Grabbing April by the shoulders, Damien drank deeply of her sweet essence. Perhaps she was a witch, for she kept luring him back to her bed time and time again. Despite his best intentions he could not resist her warmth, nor the small hand that often strayed to touch him in the night. Since he had first initiated her, April had proven to be a quick and eager pupil, and there had been only one night thus far that they had not made love as man and wife.

  Brushing his hands down her smooth, bare arms, he sighed with pleasure at the feel of her silken skin. April bathed every day, twice when she could, and was always perfumed and sweet for him. With a barely restrained moan, he lifted her up and laid her on the bed.

  Her hands and lips were already busy arousing him. Now that she no longer feared love making, April was impatient to become one with her husband again. They moaned softly in unison as they were finally joined. Rocking her gently in the bed, Damien perfected his timing so that when April finally saw the crest of passion, only then did he join her in the grand finale.

  As they lay snuggled closely in the cold night, they murmured softly about their shared life and of plans to come. Damien, however, thought of other things that he dared not share with his lovely gypsy bride. He must release one of the pigeons to Lord Raglan the next morning, without April noticing or asking why.

  His message would be brief, but smack of success. Finally he had the cover necessary to begin his covert activity, and Lord Raglan would be pleased. If all went well, Damien could probably complete his mission in as little as a month.

  But as he nuzzled April’s violet-scented hair, Damien felt the sharp twinge of guilt and regret. Were she anyone else, he should have been proud to take her back to England as his bride. April was lovely, bright, and a quick learner. She could likely sail through society with practiced ease. But he would never find out. Soon he must disappear, leaving his young wife bewildered and alone.

  The whole plan reeked of deceit, which Damien did not like. It was one thing to dupe strangers into believing he was someone he was not, but April? How could he crush this young woman’s dreams and ideals? Right now as her eyes closed and she snuggled up against him, he wavered in his duty to the Crown. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in his new wife, to delight in her happiness and their life together, however brief.

  Tomorrow was soon enough for breaking hearts. For now, Damien was content just to hold April and ease her gently into the wonderland of dreams.

  WITH A GLANCE AT the forbidding gray sky over the city, Damien finished forking hay to the horses before he went back to the wagon to call April.

  “Maybe we should put our performance on hold. It looks like it’s going to snow.”

  He spoke up to the closed canvas flap, but when she whipped it back and smiled down at him, something in his chest tightened painfully. She was beautiful, her golden hair falling loosely around her, shimmering in the vestige of sunshine left. She had used the material the stall owner had given her to sew a new dress, and it fit her perfectly. The heart-shaped bodice was dark green velvet, the skirts, bright layers of blue and green taffeta.

  “What, a few snowflakes stop our plans?” She laughed, a carefree sound. “And you supposedly a romani rei. Don’t you know that Rom love bad weather? The wilder the better, for it only means our ancestors are taking note of our efforts.”

  Her cheerfulness lifted the frown from Damien’s brow, and he nodded in resignation. “I might need a tarp, though, or an overhang to keep my violin from getting water-damaged.”

  “That’s no problem. The stall keepers will no doubt give you space once they hear the sweet music you make.” April saw Damien wasn’t as optimistic as she about performing, and wondered at the cause. Surely he wasn’t shy about performing in public? He had done so well for the Lowara, throwing his heart and soul into the music as if he were full-blooded Romany.

  Quickly she finished perfecting her attire, slipping a few colorful bands on her wrists. As Damien swung her down to the ground, she lovingly bussed his cheek. “Everything will be wonderful, don’t worry, mon cher.” Her enthusiasm was contagious. Picking up his violin case, Damien accompanied her to the town square.

  Already crowds were beginning to assemble. Besides the gypsy couple, other entertainers gathering promised a carnival of activity, complete with food stands and colorful vendors hawking a variety of goods. Always quick and clever to spot opportunity, April had overheard several merchants discussing today’s event in the square, and she had immediately planned their appearance.

  Though by no means the only gypsies present, she saw now that she and Damien were a breed apart. The other Romany had set up ofisas, fortune-telling booths, and boojos, where unsuspecting gaje lost untold amounts of cash in the money-switching games. Such things were not unknown to the Lowara, but as her tribe usually avoided large cities, April was not used to seeing deception practiced on such a grand scale.

  As they passed through the crowd, she felt the eyes of the other Romany following her and Damien. The dark-eyed women stared boldly at her husband, and she felt a shudder of anger. She was startled to realize she was jealous, but now she understood why. She loved Damien with all her heart and soul.

  April decided to ignore the others in the square and get on with her performance. She knew she was talented, and the new dress molded her figure to perfection. Men’s eyes, Rom and gaje alike, had already found and marked her as a point of extreme interest.

  Shrugging off their stares, she lifted her chin and
stepped into the center of the square.

  SOME FEET AWAY, DAMIEN noticed a small figure dressed as a harlequin in black and white watching the festivities. Behind the spangled mask, a pair of dark eyes intently followed April as she passed by. Damien felt a flicker of unease. The thick-set lips protruding beneath the nosepiece of the mask were not those of a child. They twisted with satisfaction or a mocking sneer as April ran lightly to the center of the square.

  “Damien!”

  At his wife’s call, Damien brushed past the harlequin, and hurried after April with the violin tucked under his arm. She was jostling for position with a three-man ring of acrobats who were loathe to surrender the spotlight. Finally, she ignored them and simply nodded to Damien. The violin rose to his shoulder and settled into place like an old friend. When the sweet peals of music wafted out over the noisy crowd, there was instantaneous silence.

  Soon the acrobats shuffled aside a little sheepishly to make way for the roving musician. With a nod of thanks, Damien marked his territory in long strides as he walked about, wooing the crowd with his song.

  April blended into the background for a moment, letting her lover take his due. She never tired of listening to Damien, or watching him coax the haunting strains from the worn old instrument.

  A minute later she entered the charmed circle in a bright swirl of skirts. Pleased by the expectant murmur that ran through the crowd at her appearance, she nodded at Damien and he abruptly switched from sweet melancholia to torrid, rising crescendoes that sent shivers up those who watched.

  Suddenly April was no longer a beguiling wallflower, but a fierce and desperate dancer, demanding her audience’s attention. In a blur of blue and green she cast a powerful spell over the crowd, her flying feet and hair too fast to capture in a blink, and the hypnotically clawing music gave a rush of adrenalin to all who listened.

  The crowd pushed closer, drawn by some inexplicable magic, perhaps unconsciously noting the loving glances tossed between dancer and musician. For the handsome, dark-haired man played to the beautiful blonde, coaxing her body to respond with each slither on the violin, moving her like a marionette through the motions of his strings.