Free A Much Compromised Lady by Shannon Donnelly Page A

comfortable
as if you were one of our own.”
    His mobile face shifted, the left eyebrow
lifting with skepticism. She had overdone her apology, offering too
much flattery. She shifted her tone to one more matter-of-fact.
“But you had asked of Lord Nevin—and if we go to London.”
    “I had,” he said, his voice neutral.
    “You must know that we do. We have to. You
see, Francis Dawes—the man you call Lord Nevin—he is my uncle, and
he stole my inheritance.”

CHAPTER FIVE
    St. Albans almost laughed.
    Here she was—gaze steady, hands still in her
lap, not so much as a quiver of her lip or a flicker of
discomfort—giving him yet another swato . First mistress,
then married, now a niece. Still, he liked this tale better than
the others. It even seemed plausible.
    In truth, he could almost picture Nevin
refusing to acknowledge any such a low relation as a Gypsy niece,
even one born on the wrong side of the blanket. The man’s
insufferable pride was renown. But had there been a brother—elder
or younger?
    Dredging through memory, St. Albans could not
recall enough of the Dawes family, but it would be the matter of a
moment to verify the lineage. She must know that. But the rest of
her story seemed as difficult to prove a lie as it would be to
proven the truth.
    Interested, despite that he knew better than
to be taken in by such tales, he said, “And may I ask, without
engendering another long discussion in your native tongue, how do
you plan to gain what is owed you?”
    Her stare dropped for a moment, so that she
gazed into the dancing yellow flames. He had the feeling she was
weighing what else to tell him.
    Looking up, she admitted, “I did not lie
about that box. There is one and it holds papers that could prove
my claim.”
    “And so you plan to...?” St. Albans let his
words trail off. He had been about to ask if she thought, once she
had these papers, to take Nevin to court. It would certainly take
that—and more—to pry anything loose from Nevin’s hands.
    However, that assumed there honestly were
papers hidden in some box, as well as a box to steal. For all he
knew, she had made up this entire story from smoke and starlight.
Only one thing stood quite clear—she was withholding something. He
could sense that.
    Which meant he would have to dig further, and
it annoyed him more than a little that he actually wanted to know
the whole story.
    Well, since his Gypsy certainly seemed to act
only on opportunity—while he was cursed with a mind that constantly
saw around corners—he began to calculate those corners for her. And
the more he turned over the schemes in his mind, the better he
liked them.
    He swirled his wine in its cup. “Do you know,
I actually might be able to offer some assistance.”
    The young Gypsy gave a rude snort, but Glynis
glared at the fellow, and glanced back, her expression unmoved.
“Why would you want to help us?”
    “Why not? It is no matter to me what trouble
you plan for Nevin, and it would be amusing to be at hand to see
the mischief. But I would ask for something in return.”
    Her dark eyebrows lifted. “What would you
ask?”
    St. Albans smiled. “Your company in London
while you are there as my mistress.”
    Everyone seemed to be on their feet at once.
Knives hissed from their scabbards and flashed in the firelight.
The sudden movement startled the horses, and St. Albans felt their
hooves thud against the ground and their nickers stirred the
air.
    He remained stretched out on the carpet, his
pottery mug of wine in hand, looking up with a mild interest at the
faces that glowered over him. It seemed these Gypsies were quite
protective of their women. Well, now that he had shocked them
thoroughly, he could now make his offer into something that seemed
reasonable, and more acceptable.
    St. Albans glanced back to Glynis, who stood
next to the younger gypsy fellow, a restraining hand on his arm.
“Really now, I could hardly pass you off as anything except a
mistress. The