Free A Much Compromised Lady by Shannon Donnelly Page B

ladies I take up with are too soon ladies no longer.
But the pose would guarantee you proximity. Nevin may be high in
the instep, but he has the normal vices, and he moves in the same
world I occupy.”
    Her mouth pulled down and her chin lifted. “I
am not interested in being any man’s mistress!”
    With a shrug, he put down his mug. “That, my
dear, would be your choice. I am simply offering you access.”
    He spread his own hands wide, palms up, and
offered one of his more innocent smiles. And if he could not seduce
her into doing more than posing as his mistress, he did not deserve
to be called the worst scoundrel in London.
    The young gypsy, Christo, started to say
something in his language, his tone low and fierce, but his meaning
quite clear. He was not the trusting sort. The older woman silenced
him with a word, and frowned. She wasn’t the trusting sort either,
it seemed.
    St. Albans focused his attention on his
Gypsy—his Glynis.
    She stepped around the fire, coming to his
side and he rose as she did so. She stared at him so intently that
for a moment he thought she would take his face in her hands as had
her mother. But she simply glared at him, her eyebrows flattened
over her dark eyes, her chin lowered, her tempting mouth in a set
line.
    Turning, she said something in her Gypsy
tongue to her mother, who nodded to the older Gypsy man. He
vanished into the darkness, and when he came back, he gave
something to his Glynis. Cards, St. Albans noted with a touch of
surprise. Did his Gypsy intend to let luck decide? Devil a bit, but
she was a reckless one.
    Kneeling on the carpet, his Glynis split the
deck to shuffle the worn cards by sliding part of the pack into the
rest. She fanned out the faded, painted backs. Firelight glimmered
on the worn wax coating.
    “Take one,” she said.
    He knelt and did. And turned it over.
    The king of spades. Well, it was a high card
at least. Was it high enough? Would she draw a card now?
    He glanced down at his Gypsy. Her eyes had
gone wide, and one hand had come up to her chest.
    What? Did that card he’d drawn mean a good
omen, or bad? Blazes, but he could almost wish she would decide
with her heart, or her head, or her instincts, but not with this
nonsense. Nothing guided him but his own will. And the same was
true for her.
    Why in blazes was he spending so much effort
on her? She was but a woman, like any other. And he had spent far
too much time on her as it was.
    Standing, he glared down at her, unreasonably
displeased that she could not give him a simple yes or no.
    “My coach will be at the crossroad to
Chelmsford. Tomorrow at sunset. If you want proximity to Nevin, I
can give you that. But make your choice soon.”
    With a curt nod, he turned on his heel and
strode toward his horse. The point between his shoulders where the
knife had dug in earlier ached with each step, further irritating
him.
    Would she come on the morrow? Or would she
run shy again? And what had she seen in that card that had made her
face pale in the firelight?
    He glanced down at his hand, saw the card
still there and almost flung it away. But he changed his mind. He
would return it to her when next they met. Only it was not fate
that they would meet again. It was his own desire.
    Gathering up Cinder’s reins, he swung up on
the black horse without bothering with the stirrups. He glanced
back to the fire.
    His gypsy stood at the very edge of the
firelight, her people behind her. The air around her seemed to
crackle with tension, as if a storm was gathering in the night.
    No one said anything as he rode away.
    Well, the lot of them would learn soon enough
that what the Earl of St. Albans wanted, he got. By whatever means
were necessary.
    * * *
    Glynis stood at the edge of the woods, a
change of clothing and a few necessities wrapped in a bundle that
weighed heavy on her arms. A breeze, cool with evening air, brushed
her face, tugged loose a strand of her hair, and brought the dusty
smell of