singing.
But he only let go of her hand, and a sharp
disappointment rose in her chest.
Go, you fool, go while you can , she
told herself.
Before she could think better of it, she
darted forward to press her lips to his cheek. Then she pulled away
and hurried from the room, not daring to look back, scolding
herself for her weakness. So what if he had been kind to her
tonight—he did so only because he wanted something from her. But
she would never forget that for this night he honestly had been
kind. And for that, Glynis knew she owed him more than a kiss.
With a hand to his cheek where she had kissed
him, St. Albans watched his gypsy slip from the room, and listened
as her steps quicken to a run. He watched even after she was gone
from sight, his mood uncertain.
What had she meant by that kiss?
He would throttle her if she now felt an
ounce of pity for him. He needed no man’s—or woman’s—pity. He had
everything he wanted. Or he would once he had full possession of
her.
But it crossed his mind to wonder if he
wasn’t playing a rather dangerous game here.
He began to smile. Would that not serve him
well if he fell in love with her? What a splendid irony that would
be. His smile faded, however, for the truth was he was far too much
a realist to ever delude himself into believing in love.
* * *
Glynis found her way to her room quite
easily. She had learned young always to remark her path—inside a
house, or a woodland. Safety lay in knowledge.
But did it?
She had learned too much about this gaujo tonight, she thought, her head spinning with his wine,
and her heart confused. He was no longer just a gaujo . Oh,
yes, he was the Earl of St. Albans. But as she pulled off her dress
and corset, and slipped between sheet softer than any she had ever
felt, she kept thinking about a boy with no parents, and such a
very long title to wear and a very large house to live in
alone.
How could his aunts and uncles raise him in
such a place as this, treating him as an earl, not as a boy? She
did not understand and her mind kept turning over thoughts as a
fast river turns stones. There was something important
here—something that mattered. But she could not find an answer.
Sleep, when it came, came slowly, and came
troubled.
* * *
The couple ran from the church, laughing,
hand clutching hand, him hatless and her with a red scarf that fell
from her streaming dark hair. On the church steps, the vicar waved
after them, and a farmer and his wife watched, the wife wiping her
eyes, the farmer dour and shaking his head over such folly.
Glynis shifted in her sleep.
Running with the lovers, smiling for them,
she followed as the woods rose up around them—around her—deep and
silent and green. Laughing, they tumbled into the grass in a small
glade, and she lay under the oak, staring up at blue sky until a
face rose over her—a man with Christo’s eyes.
She let out a sigh, a deep breath, as he
leaned close. The world shifted softly, so that the man who lay
with her now stared down at her with a different face, one she
almost knew, his green eyes not yet cynical, his face still young
and unmarked by life.
Smiling, she lifted her lips to his. As his
mouth opened against hers, warmth curled inside her and kindled
into something more.
And the voice echoed in her mind—her voice
and yet not hers. “I have faith. I know you will do right and tell
everyone about our love someday. Someday... Some...”
A crack like a pistol shot woke her.
With a jerk, Glynis sat upright, clutching
the bedclothes, her breath caught in her chest, her face hot and
her heart pounding.
The maid at the window blushed deeply, “Beg
pardon, miss. I meant only to open the drapery to let the light
wake you. His lordship said you wasn’t to sleep late, for it’s to
be a full day. Would you care for tea or hot chocolate for
breakfast?”
Glynis rubbed the sleep from her eyes, shot a
suspicious glance at the iron curtain rings that had rattled on
But he only let go of her hand, and a sharp
disappointment rose in her chest.
Go, you fool, go while you can , she
told herself.
Before she could think better of it, she
darted forward to press her lips to his cheek. Then she pulled away
and hurried from the room, not daring to look back, scolding
herself for her weakness. So what if he had been kind to her
tonight—he did so only because he wanted something from her. But
she would never forget that for this night he honestly had been
kind. And for that, Glynis knew she owed him more than a kiss.
With a hand to his cheek where she had kissed
him, St. Albans watched his gypsy slip from the room, and listened
as her steps quicken to a run. He watched even after she was gone
from sight, his mood uncertain.
What had she meant by that kiss?
He would throttle her if she now felt an
ounce of pity for him. He needed no man’s—or woman’s—pity. He had
everything he wanted. Or he would once he had full possession of
her.
But it crossed his mind to wonder if he
wasn’t playing a rather dangerous game here.
He began to smile. Would that not serve him
well if he fell in love with her? What a splendid irony that would
be. His smile faded, however, for the truth was he was far too much
a realist to ever delude himself into believing in love.
* * *
Glynis found her way to her room quite
easily. She had learned young always to remark her path—inside a
house, or a woodland. Safety lay in knowledge.
But did it?
She had learned too much about this gaujo tonight, she thought, her head spinning with his wine,
and her heart confused. He was no longer just a gaujo . Oh,
yes, he was the Earl of St. Albans. But as she pulled off her dress
and corset, and slipped between sheet softer than any she had ever
felt, she kept thinking about a boy with no parents, and such a
very long title to wear and a very large house to live in
alone.
How could his aunts and uncles raise him in
such a place as this, treating him as an earl, not as a boy? She
did not understand and her mind kept turning over thoughts as a
fast river turns stones. There was something important
here—something that mattered. But she could not find an answer.
Sleep, when it came, came slowly, and came
troubled.
* * *
The couple ran from the church, laughing,
hand clutching hand, him hatless and her with a red scarf that fell
from her streaming dark hair. On the church steps, the vicar waved
after them, and a farmer and his wife watched, the wife wiping her
eyes, the farmer dour and shaking his head over such folly.
Glynis shifted in her sleep.
Running with the lovers, smiling for them,
she followed as the woods rose up around them—around her—deep and
silent and green. Laughing, they tumbled into the grass in a small
glade, and she lay under the oak, staring up at blue sky until a
face rose over her—a man with Christo’s eyes.
She let out a sigh, a deep breath, as he
leaned close. The world shifted softly, so that the man who lay
with her now stared down at her with a different face, one she
almost knew, his green eyes not yet cynical, his face still young
and unmarked by life.
Smiling, she lifted her lips to his. As his
mouth opened against hers, warmth curled inside her and kindled
into something more.
And the voice echoed in her mind—her voice
and yet not hers. “I have faith. I know you will do right and tell
everyone about our love someday. Someday... Some...”
A crack like a pistol shot woke her.
With a jerk, Glynis sat upright, clutching
the bedclothes, her breath caught in her chest, her face hot and
her heart pounding.
The maid at the window blushed deeply, “Beg
pardon, miss. I meant only to open the drapery to let the light
wake you. His lordship said you wasn’t to sleep late, for it’s to
be a full day. Would you care for tea or hot chocolate for
breakfast?”
Glynis rubbed the sleep from her eyes, shot a
suspicious glance at the iron curtain rings that had rattled on
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