Free Taken by the Wicked Rake by Christine Merrill Page A

with Magda and the others?” For strangely, it mattered very much to her. It was as though the little boy were a character in a horrible, sad story, and not the vile kidnapper by the fire. She wanted to know that his grand mother had found him and that all was well.
    “You wish to know what happened? One day, I tried to pick the wrong pocket. Thom Argentari was my mother’s Rom husband. Or had been, until she hung herself, after my father died. Thom grabbed me by the ear, and would have beaten me for a thief. But he recognized me. And though he had every reason to hate me for being my father’s son, he brought me home.” Then, his smile turned cruel. “Good fortune for me. But bad for you. The sweet old lady who fed you today is the same one who taught me the curse that my mother laid upon your people. She says that I survived the fire so that I might carry it out.”
    Verity stared down into the bowl of stew in front of her, wishing that she could afford to throw it back in the old woman’s face. But if she wished to survive this ordeal, she needed to take nourishment when she was able. Perhaps Magda was her true enemy. For at times, Stephano sounded no hap pier with his role in this than she was with being treated as his pawn. If there was something she might do, to turn him against his family…
    “It is late,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “And time for bed.” His eyes flicked to the wagon.
    In truth, she was exhausted, having slept little other than her nap by the fire. She could use a real night’s sleep in a real bed. But the prospects available were daunting. “Where…” she began cautiously.
    “In the vardo. With me.” There was a chuckle of appreciation from a man at a nearby fire.
    She stood up and the bowl in her lap fell to the ground, spilling the remainder of her dinner into the dirt. “I most certainly will not.”
    His glance shifted from her face to the food on the ground, and back, and his frown became a glare. “Perhaps you do not understand your situation, Lady Verity. You are my prisoner. If you do not do as I say, I will force your cooperation. If you mean to waste the food that Magda gives you, I will not allow her to feed you at all. Pick up the mess you have made.”
    She could feel herself colouring with shame at the carelessness. The stew had been good, but it was humble fare. It was possible that the old woman could barely afford to feed herself, and Verity had dropped her share of it into the dirt as though it was nothing. She picked up the bowl and scooped the spoiled meat into the fire, then whispered an apology to Magda. And then she remembered the reason for the accident and said, “In your tent, is there space for me? I would not need much. A rug upon the ground, perhaps…”
    And for a moment, she suspected the woman might accept her.
    “No.” Stephano’s voice cut through the silence. “I forbid it. I have offered you my hospitality. You will learn to be grateful for it.” And without warning, he seized her by the wrist, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.
    For a moment, she was too shocked even for outrage. Her mouth had been open, ready to pro test when he had grabbed her. And now, he was inside it. Certainly, this was a mistake. In a moment, he would push her away in disgust. Or perhaps this was how all Gypsies kissed, because he did not seem to be the least surprised by what was happening. His tongue was stroking hers with an almost lazy possessiveness, as though he had known all along that they would end up, just like this. His one hand was still on her wrist, but his other hand twined in her hair, and his thumb was moving back and forth against her neck as though urging her to respond.
    And Lord help her, she wanted to. This was wonderful. The night air was cool, but his body was warm and the scent of it was an elusive combination of fruit and spice that made her think of the sunlight and the heat of summer. His touch was a perfect blend of rough