For Love of a Gypsy Lass Read Free

arousing.
    She could feel his eyes devouring her, though she would not, did not, dare look directly at him. She could feel his desire on her skin, on her breasts, even in that most secret part of her between her legs.
    She let her own desire mix with his to move her, to consume her. When she looked out at the audience she saw an answering desire obvious on the face of every man there, and the women’s faces were flushed.
    As the dance climaxed, she felt herself aflame. And then it was over. Sweating profusely and breathing heavily, she and Delilah bowed—no curtsy would be appropriate for a dance like this one—and then ran from the stage.
    “I never saw you—anyone—dance like that,” Delilah said. “Every eye was on you.”
    As Talaitha swiped at the sweat on her brow with her hand, the Gadjo lord’s shadow fell over her.
    He asked solemnly, “May I?” He handed Talaitha a fine white linen handkerchief. She took it before she had a chance to think whether to accept it or not. As she wiped her face with it she remembered that Delilah had once told her that the Gadje believed women should not sweat.
    Too late, she thought, as the linen was now quite limp. And she could not in decency return it, could she?
    Among her people, the Romanichal, sweat—or any bodily secretions, for that matter—was never spoken of. It was something to be kept secret, to be hidden, and here she stood with her own sweat on this Gadjo lord’s handkerchief. She didn’t want to return it damp, as it was now, and yet she was too aware of the Gadje’s opinion that all Romanichal were thieves. If she kept it, would she seem a thief? Or might he think it meant that she wanted a keepsake?
    “A pity my lord does not carry two,” said Delilah in seductive tones.
    “Tomorrow night I shall bring one for each of you.”
    “I will be dancing immediately after sundown. Alone,” Delilah cooed
    How bold Delilah was. Did she not know that the man had made advances to Talaitha herself?
    “I will be in attendance.” He smiled at Delilah. “And I will bring enough handkerchiefs so you may have a fresh one after each performance. Would you prefer those with scenes of Venice or does your taste run to sailing ships?” Just as she thought—any Gypsy lass would suit his ardor.
    “I’d prefer those with hearts and love birds.” Delilah was a dreadful flirt.
    “Well, I shall have to go to the shops tomorrow and see if I can find such a thing. And you, madam,” he turned to Talaitha, “which do you prefer?” His hot gaze lingered on her, disconcerting her in a most irritating fashion, making her blood go from warm to boiling hot.
    “I have no preference,” she snapped. “I prefer to use my own.” She handed him the damp white linen and muttered, “Thank you.” She heartily wished she hadn’t taken it and she hated giving him something that had some of her own essence on it.
    His gaze held hers as he slowly lifted the damp handkerchief to his lips. She heard not only her own sharp intake of breath, but Delilah’s as well. Talaitha managed to tear her gaze from his. She turned on her heel and stalked away. He was a most annoying man. And why was she furious at Delilah for playing the flirt with him?
     
    ***
     
    “The divine singer sang every song you requested.” John stretched as best he could in the narrow confines of Harry’s carriage, and yawned.
    “Yes.”
    “And you paid well for it.”
    “Yes.” Harry leaned back and folded his arms tight against his chest.
    “Every penny you had and all of mine as well. I don’t begrudge you, but it was not necessary.”
    “Such singing deserved a rich reward. I will pay you back.”
    “I had no doubt of that,” John said, chuckling. “Besides, you wished to make amends.”
    “True. Will you accompany me tomorrow night?”
    John shrugged. “It’s no use, my friend. You insulted the lady mightily.”
    “I was a fool.” He struck his forehead.
    “True. And you will be a greater