Free A Much Compromised Lady by Shannon Donnelly

this question.
    Ah, this gaujo lord, this St. Albans,
knew too much about them. What if, in London, he talked to others
about their interests? And what if such talk got back to Francis
Dawes?
    That could ruin everything.
    Turning slightly, she covered her mother’s
hand, her grip tight, asking the silent question— what do we tell
him?
    Her mother sat very still. Firelight danced
over her face, making familiar features seem mysterious. For a
moment, Glynis glimpsed the young woman who had broken so many
men’s hearts before she had given her own—once and forever.
    Slowly, her mother nodded, as if coming to an
important decision, and she said in Romany, “It is in water that
one learns to swim. It is started. Answer him. And let us see where
fate takes us next.”
    Beside her, Glynis felt Christopher stiffen.
He answered in Romany, his words hot and low, “What if this gaujo talks to others? He asks too many questions.”
    Glynis shifted her touch to Christo’s arm.
“Then let us answer some so that he stops asking.”
    “Why? He has no reason to help us? And what
if he is a friend to Lord Nevin!”
    He spat out the last words, and his hate left
Glynis frowning. He was not seeing clearly because his feelings
blinded him, she knew.
    She glanced across the flames to the earl.
She trusted him no more than she trusted any gaujo —and
yet...ah, something inside her whispered that she could. She did
not want to listen to that voice. What if it was only desire
talking? What if that voice was a wish that held as much substance
as the smoke from the fire?
    Staring across the flickering flames at his
handsome face, at his fine clothes, and those wicked green eyes,
she thought of Christo’s words, and she remembered how little love
this gaujo had had in his voice when he had spoken to
Francis Dawes.
    It flashed into her mind that perhaps they
shared a common dislike. And he had offered, had he not, that
perhaps he would help her get what she wanted.
    She also had something this gaujo wanted—herself. Could she dance with the devil and not lose her
soul to him? It had been done before, if one was clever and fast,
and willing to make the devil the one who danced to the tune.
    Excitement began to stir inside her as plans
began to form.
    Looking at Christo, Glynis asked in Romany,
her voice shaking a little from the daring of her ideas. “This one,
he goes where he pleases in London. We cannot do that.”
    Christo shot a dark look at the gaujo .
“And what do you think his help will cost you?”
    Glynis’s chin when up. “Only as much as I am
willing to pay. Remember that. I have a right to my own choices,
too.”
    Frowning, Christo thought this over. His
expression did not lighten, but at last he nodded. “You do. As I
make mine.”
    Glynis nodded, not very satisfied with his
answer, but she doubted she would get any enthusiastic agreement
from him for what she was now thinking.
    She glanced back to St. Albans and found him
staring at her, his eyes narrowed and his mouth twisted. He looked
hard and dangerous, and Glynis’s certainty that she could handle
him faded.
    Sitting up, he said, his voice careless, but
with a sarcastic tone underneath the drawl, “Do you know, I had no
idea a few simple questions could stir up such controversy? Are you
discussing my poor choice of topics, or whether he should slit my
throat now or later? So tedious of me, I know, not to have a better
grasp of the Gypsy tongue, but then my education was sadly
restricted to French, Italian, German, Greek and a smattering of
Latin that never took.”
    Glynis almost smiled with relief. He was
insulted, that was all. Typical of a lord. He did not like being
shut out by their discussion. Ah, but it had been rude of them to
speak of him as if he were a thing, not a person.
    “I am sorry,” she said, her face hot, and not
just from the fire. “We are not accustomed to guests, and so you
shall have to consider that it is only that we feel as