“Aye. You missed some fine excitement,” Mila told her, fixing her black eyes on Henrietta in somber contemplation.
Little did Mila know. Obviously, her crystals had not revealed that Henrietta had enjoyed splendid excitement of her own the past two nights, even though an ache now settled in her heart. Her love for Lucien could lead nowhere.
Strangely, the old woman did not question where she had been. Perhaps she did know. Perhaps she had cast some sort of spell.
With a toss of her head, Henrietta threw off her silly suspicions. “Is Ivy happy with her baby?” she asked.
“Who knows?” Mila shrugged. “Why shouldn’t she be? That big old bear doesn’t need Ike to help her raise the cub. She has Jassy.”
“He is so sweet,” Henrietta sighed.
She had been raised as an only child—an isolated one at that—until she went to live with her aunt and acquired Phillip as a brother. Unwilling to raise a solitary child, Henrietta had always assumed that when she found the man she would love for the rest of her life, she would bear him many children. Her sons and daughters would never be consigned to a lonely existence.
But giving birth solely to produce an heir for a withered old man like the Earl of Oster gave her goose bumps just to think of it. She would rather be childless. Mercury would be her baby.
Mila took the cub from Henrietta’s arms and gave him to Jassy. “We must be leaving, girlie. And lest I forget, Lucien has asked for you to come to his tent tonight after we have made our new camp.”
Her heart thumped with excitement, an excitement she did not wish to show Mila. “Tonight?” she asked coolly.
“He wants you to give him a palm reading.”
“I cannot!” She had no confidence and would not fail him.
“Why?”
“You know I only can read the life line!”
“Come!” she ordered, pulling on Henrietta’s wrist, leading her back to the wagons with her noisy bangles. “You tell a man what he wants to hear. That’s all you need to know, girlie.”
“But how do I know what he wants to hear?”
“You have been with us long enough to know Lucien.”
“A ... little.”
“He is a man like all others.”
Henrietta was not certain what men, Lucien in particular, longed to hear, but she decided the questions were better left for the journey ahead as Mila seemed in a great hurry.
Perhaps asking her to read his palm was only a ruse. Tonight, after the sun set and the moon rose, she would be alone in Lucien’s tent. Her heart beat faster still. Soon she would be in his arms.
* * * *
Lucien waited impatiently in his tent for Henrietta to come to him. Curiously, with little sleep and following a full day of riding, driving and spurring the caravan on, he felt more vigorous, more alive than he had in months.
Pacing the tent, he thought back to earlier in the day. As he roamed the campsite, urging the entertainers to prepare for a swift departure, Lucien saw Henrietta holding Jassy’s new baby bear.
From a distance, Henrietta appeared to be one of them, one of a proper English Gypsy family. He had to credit the English beauty for readily adapting to Mila’s strange ways, and although not accepted by many members of the tribe, she moved freely and comfortably as one of them.
He allowed himself a smile. During the past weeks, it was plain the English lady had become a Gypsy woman.
Lucien stopped in mid-step when he heard voices outside his tent. Tem and a woman—Henrietta.
Tern opened the flap just enough to slip his slim young body through. “Did you wish your palm read, sir?”
“Yes. Let the English woman enter.”
Swathed in a dark shawl, Henrietta sailed into his tent as regal as a queen. A rainbow of gauzy skirts swished about her ankles. Although he did not move, Lucien’s heart drummed against his chest in a fervent welcome.
She approached within three feet of him, her blue butterfly eyes fixed on his. Her beaming smile lightened his heart and drove her enchanting dimple deep into her cheek.
“You wished to see me?”
In one stride, Lucien bridged the gap between them, he gathered her into his arms, bringing his mouth down on Henrietta’s with the full force of his unceasing hunger for her. Flashes of white lightning coursed through his body as he tasted her honey lips. The tightening of his loins, the roar of his heart threatened to overwhelm him as she melted against him, into him.
His hands shook momentarily as he set her back, away from him. Her lips had taken on a deep ruby hue from his kiss. Her mouth turned down in a disappointed moue.
“Forgive me,” he said. “It seems I have missed having you near me this day.”
“We have traveled long and hard. Still, I missed being with you as well.”
“I had no choice but to move us.”
“Are you worried about the innkeeper?”
“Not only that. I expect Steffan to meet us here. My illness held us back too long and my brother is impatient. If he arrived before us, he would wait only so long.”
She reached up and cupped her palm against his face. “You must be looking forward to being with him again.”
Her touch warmed his heart. If he did not harden himself against his desire, he would make love to her here, ravish her beside the simmering fire, lie with her on the thick carpets.
Inhaling deeply, Lucien instead guided Henrietta to the softest cushions in his large tent.
“Yes,” he admitted ruefully, as he sank to the spot he’d arranged for himself. Not opposite, but close to her, by the fire.
Baskets holding candles, and full pewter goblets of wine had been placed beside each stack of cushions. The comfortable arrangement provided an intimate atmosphere, the sort he needed for his proposal.
“I shall look forward to seeing him again,” Henrietta said, removing her shawl.
Lucien’s gaze drifted to the simple drawstring neck of her white bodice, to the creamy mounds of her breasts rising above the dainty edge of lace. Her silken curls cascaded from the topknot pinned to her head with a golden comb.
“Though Steffan is impetuous and talks before he thinks, he has redeeming qualities.”
“I am sure he does. He is your brother.”
Despite himself, he warmed with pleasure at her flattery. While Lucien was used to deference, he was unused to words of affection. The affection shone in her eyes as well as her words.
“Will you read my palm now?” He held out his hand to her.
Apprehension, or wistfulness, clouded her eyes. He couldn’t be sure. “You ... You truly wish me to tell your fortune?”
“Has Mila not taught you?”
“Mila has done all that you have asked her to do. I have learned much from her. Only I do not feel confident that I always read a palm correctly.”
“Take my hand, Henrietta.”
She nodded. Despite her labors, her small hands remained soft and tender save for a callous or two near her palm.
He smiled as she took a deep breath. It amused him that she approached her task as a Frenchman might the guillotine.
As she bent her head over his palm, a long tendril fell over her eyes. She blew it back.
“I see your life line is long, and strong.” She gently traced the line that crossed his palm with her finger-tip.
Needles and pins tingled where she touched. “That pleases me,” he said quietly.
“You are a wise king and your people love and respect you.”
“What line do you read that upon?” Lucien asked.
He knew his tribe was not particularly pleased with him at the moment. Their feelings had a lot to do with the woman so earnestly attempting to read his palm.
“Right here. It is as clear as the creek.” She traced the line that ran beneath the little finger of his right hand.
Henrietta gained more confidence with each moment, if Lucien were not mistaken. She had begun to enjoy this game, a game certainly more to
his liking than Patience.
“Ah.” He nodded. The pleasant tingling wherever she touched aroused him in subtle ways. “What else do you see?”
“You are ...” she paused for a moment and raised her eyes to his as if gauging what reaction he might have to her next statement “... You are an accomplished lover.”
Lucien laughed. It was a bold assertion for a blushing innocent to make. Still, her assessment delighted him.
“How can you be certain?” he asked. “Perhaps it is the woman who brings out that in a man which makes him a skillful lover.”
A faint smile hovered on her lips as she inclined her head and raised her eyebrows. “And what would that be? This thing a woman brings out in a man?”
Lucien enjoyed her cleverness. A man could easily be deceived by her winsome smile and the twinkle in her eye. If he were not alert, however, he might miss the keen intelligence and clever wit Lady Hadley possessed.
“Is the answer not in the palm of my hand?”
Her faint smile became full-blown.
Once more Lucien was torn with the desire to make love to Henrietta, here and now. Once more he struggled with the ache in his groin and the ebbing reason of his mind.
Flushing as if she could read his thoughts, Henrietta bent her head to concentrate on his palm. “Perhaps I have not looked carefully enough.”
“Perhaps,” he murmured, suppressing the urge to reach for her, to gather her to him.
“According to this line, this one that runs from your small finger to your index, you are an exceedingly strong man, in will as well as muscle.” She paused again. “Uh, oh.”
“What is it?”
“Do you see how this stops short?”
“Yes.”
“It indicates you may be stubborn on occasion.”
“Ah, then. Allow me to see your palm, my lady. I believe we might share the same characteristic!”
Instead of studying the lines in her palm, Lucien raised her open hand to his lips, and tenderly kissed the soft center.
Her eyes grew wide and, to his utter fascination, lighter. It was as if a bright white light glowed behind the pale blue of her gaze.
“What if someone should come in?” she whispered.
“They should see me enjoying an English delicacy.”
She snatched her hand away. “Lucien!”
“Are you shocked?” At the risk of sounding mawkish, he continued. “Henrietta, do you not understand how much I have come to ... to care for you?”
She lowered her head.
“Surely, after our time alone together you know in what fond regard I hold you.”
“And, I you.” Her confession was so soft it was barely audible.
The small fire gave off a snap and a pop. Just outside the tent a single violin serenaded with a haunting melody. One of the many candles sputtered and hissed.
Lucien sipped from his goblet of wine while he summoned the words he’d practiced silently to himself. “I want you to stay with me, Henrietta.”
She looked up at him with a plainly perplexed frown. “I beg your pardon?”
“It would sadden me if you left for North America.”
“But I must. You know I must.”
Lucien shook his head. “I no longer see any reason for you to risk a sea voyage alone to the colonies.”
“Has something changed?” she asked. “Has my guardian given up his search?”
“I do not know.”
“Oh.” Reaching for the goblet of wine beside her, she did not bother hiding her disappointment.
“But my home, as you know, is in Wales. It is a large estate sitting high on a rocky cliff. Below are the most beautiful green rolling hills your eyes have ever beheld.”
Henrietta appeared confused. She chewed on her lip. “What has this to do with me?”
“On the grounds of Haven House there is a cottage. ’Tis a lovely, spacious cottage where my grandfather used to live. He has long since died and the cottage has remained empty.”
“What are you suggesting, Lucien?”
“I would like you to live there.”
Her eyes locked on his. The fire made a cracking sound and gave up a puff of smoke. The violin whined on a long low note.
Not daring to believe Lucien was asking her to marry him, Henrietta asked her next question very slowly, very distinctly. “Will you live there as well?”
“No. You know that’s impossible. But I shall visit you frequently,” he added hastily.
She understood. In the long silence, she fought to control her fury, her pain.
“Are you suggesting that I be your mistress?”
“I will provide well for you. You will lack nothing-”
Henrietta jumped to her feet. “Mistress!”
Lucien rose as well. “No one will find you there. I will come to you often. Think of it, calmly.”
“I will never be any man’s mistress,” she raged.
“But you may soon be the prisoner of a withered old man you do not love!”
“No!” She shot back, her blood boiling.
She had never been this furious. Red and white spots danced before her eyes. She could barely see Lucien’s huge form.
“Think of it, Henrietta, traveling by ship, thirty days on the open sea with lecherous passengers and bawdy seamen.”
She threw her shawl over her shoulders. “Do not give another thought to me. I shall be fine!”
“I beg of you to compose yourself and think of what could happen on such a voyage. You will understand my proposal to be a sensible and joyous answer to—”
“You arrogant man!” Henrietta cried, wheeling on him. “You prepare to wed another in weeks, and offer to make me your mistress even before the celebration?”
“I do not marry Sabina because I am fond of her. I do not even know her.”
“You would marry a woman you do not know and ask me, someone you purport to hold in affection, to be your mistress? Are you mad?”
“There are women who would jump at the opportunity,” he stated in steely tones.
“I am Henrietta Hadley, and I do not jump for any man.”
The muscles in his jaw constricted. “You are agitated. Once you have collected yourself, consider my proposal again. You do not have to give me your final answer now.”
“But you shall have my final answer now. I will not be your mistress—”
“Lower your voice, Henrietta.”
“I shall never be your mistress,” she bristled. “Never!”
“I did not mean to upset you—”
“Upset me!” She stamped her foot to show him just how upset she was. Words tumbled from her mouth in a stream of sputtering fury as she interrupted herself again and again. “I am incensed! Enraged that for one minute you would consider I might agr— your proposal is odious! An affront—an affront of the first order! Deplorable!”
“Do not hide your emotions from me,” he remarked drolly.
“Oh!” she gasped.
Voices outside of Lucien’s tent prevented Henrietta from saying more—and she had a great deal more to say—before the tears came.
“Who’s there?” Lucien shouted angrily.
“Steffan. May I enter?”
Without waiting for Lucien’s reply, the flap of the tent was pushed back and in stepped Steffan. He stopped.
While inside she trembled, Henrietta stood rigidly glued to the spot, her chin raised defiantly.
Steffan ambled forward looking from Lucien to Henrietta. “Have I interrupted something between you two, yet again?”
“Not at all.”
“I was just leaving,” Henrietta said, rushing from the tent.
But not before she overheard Lucien ask, “What news have you?”
And Steffan’s reply, “I have brought more than news.”
Chapter Eleven
Hot tears streamed down her cheeks as Henrietta ran through the camp. Skirting vans, darting by tents and dodging cooking fires, she did
not stop for breath. She ran until she reached Mila’s tent. Fueled by anger and racked with pain, she would have run straight off the edge of the earth if it were possible.
Although Henrietta had never expected a miracle, she certainly had not anticipated Lucien’s audacious offer. Her heart felt as if it were tearing itself from the walls of her chest
Mistress! How dare he suggest she become his mistress? The “king” was beyond contempt!
Fortunately, when she entered the tent gasping for breath and tasting the salt of her tears, she found it empty. Her wizened old mentor was not there. Only the hideously ugly, but remarkably loyal black cat waited for her.
Mercury meowed a greeting, and the moment she fell to her blankets, he jumped into her lap.
The ill-shaped, furry eyesore stretched up to lap the tears from her cheeks with his rough red tongue. It was curious how animals sensed human misery, she thought.
And she was miserable. Although Lucien had not ever said so, Henrietta had convinced herself that he felt more than affection for her. It wasn’t only the way he had made love to her, as if she were the only woman in the world, it was more.
She’d believed she had seen the look of love in his eyes. The dark, sharp-edged glint in his eyes softened when he glanced her way, when his gaze followed her. She’d mistaken the disarming smile that now came so readily to his lips when he greeted her. She’d been persuaded he smiled only for her, and that is why it seemed her heart stood still.
While she longed for his love, she did not expect it. He was promised to another. But despite the fact they came from two different worlds and were on the path to decidedly separate destinies, Henrietta imagined Lucien had come to hold her in high regard.
His indecent proposal had taken her completely off-guard.
By the time Mila returned, the lantern burned as low as Henrietta’s spirits, and all her tears had been spent.
The old woman clicked her tongue to the roof of her mouth. “Girlie! Ye have come back before dawn.”
Too numb to reply to Mila’s mocking, Henrietta responded in a soft monotone. “Steffan has returned.”
“Ah.” The maven of herbs and palm reading nodded knowingly. The black slits of her eyes narrowed even more as they came to rest on Henrietta. “I’ve been with Jassy and his new cub. We’ve named the bear cub, Ivan.”
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