For Love of a Gypsy Lass Read Free Page A

fool if you do not forget her.”
    “I cannot forget her,” he groaned.
    “Then, indeed, you are a very great fool.”
    Harry sighed. “Yes, I know.”
    “All for one night of pleasure?”
    “Alas, I want more than that.”
    John looked at his friend quizzically. “But she is a Gypsy. Your family, the ton—”
    Harry sat erect and, pounding his fists on his thighs, he thundered, “Damn my family, damn the ton! I shall do everything in my power to win her. I will have her if she will have me.”
     
     
    Chapter Three
     

     
    The sun had just begun to set as Delilah began her first solo dance of the evening. Talaitha watched from the door of her family’s vardo as the coach with four matched gray horses pulled up nearby and a single gentleman—the same handsome Gadjo lord as the previous night—wearing fine fawn breeches, a dove gray coat, and a bicorn hat stepped out and joined the small audience that stood at the foot of the stage.
    Well, he is obviously interested in Delilah. Or is he? She watched as his gaze wandered from the dancer and toward the vardos. Talaitha pulled back into the darkness inside where he would not be able to see her. After a minute she peeked out. He was watching Delilah.
    She observed him closely. Was he absorbed? Was he pleased with the performance? Was he going to try offering a gold guinea to Delilah? Well, Delilah would play with him, but she’d never give him what he wanted … would she?
    With his fine clothes and carriage, Talaitha could see why Delilah might be tempted to give in to him. But then everyone would despise her . Thank God she herself was impervious to his charms and his wealth and position.
    She did not want to be thinking about him. Yes, he was handsome with those blue eyes and fair hair. She couldn’t help but notice his strong thighs, his broad shoulders. But he’d only thought of her as a pretty voice—and as someone he’d thought he could seduce for a coin.
    How dare he come back and ogle Delilah!
    Talaitha then noticed he held something in his hands—two small bundles tied with pink ribbon. The handkerchiefs! And he had brought two—one for Delilah and perhaps the other for herself. As a Gadjo he did not understand that to the Romanichal any mention of bodily secretions, of sweat or even of tears, was rather embarrassing and very intimate. But he was not Romanichal and so had no understanding of or sensitivity to such things.
    And Delilah—she was clearly dancing for him; no smiles were wasted on the rest of those who watched her. Talaitha had to admit she was angry—angry at Delilah, angry at the lord. Well, she would tell her father to tell Cambio that she would not perform this night. Let those two have each other, it mattered not at all to her.
    The dance came to an end and smiling, Delilah sauntered to the front of the stage. The lord extended his hand, which she took, and he helped her step down. Delilah kept hold of the lord’s hand some seconds longer than propriety directed. When she released it, he tipped his hat and gave her one of the packages with a slight bow.
    Talaitha wanted to see no more. She climbed down from the vardo , intending to run to where her father stood, with a knife in his pocket, watching to make sure there was no trouble; that the Gadjos did not bother the women; that they paid properly for their fortunes; that they did not drink so much that they could not ride or walk home; that they did not fight among themselves.
    She paused at the foot of the steps and in that instant the lord raised his eyes, his gaze finding hers. Their eyes locked and she felt a spark leap between them. She told herself to turn away, but she could not. She told herself she had no feeling for this man, but she did. She told herself she would not let herself be overwhelmed by desire for him, but the fire within her re-ignited. She was helpless to stop these things.
    Her grandmother’s hand lightly touched her shoulder and, startled, she dragged