"Such as, you could be rich, but you don't really care to pursue great wealth."
He raised a brow. "Excuse me? What makes you think I'm not rich?"
"By my standards, you are. By your standards, you are merely comfortably secure. Even your estate manager earns more than you do from what he manages for you."
Christopher went very still. "That is a slanderous remark, wench, that you had better explain this instant. How could you possibly know that?"
She didn't seem even a little alarmed that she had gained his full ire. "I couldn't," she replied simply. "But I could not help but hear a lot about you when I was in Havers today. Because you come here only rarely, when you do come, you are the subject on everyone's lips. Often was your manager mentioned, and how he has been gulling you ever since you first arrived. For some, the opinion is that it is no more than a lord deserves. For others, they have dealt personally with the man and despise him. Two different motives for saying the same thing usually discounts motive and just speaks the truth. And if it was not true, Lord Englishman, you would have laughed it off. Instead, your anger shows that I merely confirm your own suspicions about the man."
"Anything else?" he asked tightly.
She grinned at him. "Yes, but I think I have made you angry enough for one night. Would you care to share our meager dinner?"
"I've eaten, thank you. And I would prefer to get all of the anger out of the way now, to leave room for—other emotions. So do continue dissecting me."
She blushed at mention of those "other" emotions, understanding very well what he meant. This took the edge off his anger, reminding him that he was sitting there in a state of need because of her, and had yet to figure out a way to take care of that need.
"You do not like to draw attention to yourself," she said, "which is why you do not dress foppishly. It's not because you don't like foppish, it's because you know very well how handsome you are, and this already draws more attention than you are comfortable with."
He laughed. He couldn't help it. "How the devil do you come by that conclusion?"
"That you know very well how handsome you are? Any mirror would show you that. That you might like to dress more fashionably, but don't? I see your companions wearing their expensive jewels, their much brighter colors, their patches and wigs, all very stylish. Yet you dress more sedately, wear no jewelry, not even a velvet ribbon around your neck. You hope that eyes will be drawn to them rather than you. This is a futile hope, though. You are simply an extraordinary-looking man."
He blushed. He was thrilled. He was in pain, her words firing his desire even more.
His hand went to her cheek. He couldn't stop himself, he had to touch her. And she didn't try to prevent his doing so. She merely stared at him, yet with such a swirl of emotion in those startling blue eyes that he almost forgot that they were sitting in the open at her campfire, and pulled her into his arms.
"Come home with me tonight, Gypsy," he said huskily. "You won't regret it."
"You have a Gajo priest in residence, then, to give his blessing?"
His hand dropped from her. Frustration filled his eyes. "You are saying you would marry me?"
"I am saying I want you, too, Lord Englishman, but without the priest's words, I can't have you. It does not get more simple than that."
"Simple?" he all but snorted. "You must know that is impossible, that people from my social stature only marry within their class."
"Yes, I know very well how nobles are governed by the opinions of their peers, which does not leave them free to do as they please. A shame you aren't a common man, Lord Englishman. They have more freedom than you."
"And how free are you, to not do as you want?" he shot back in a frustrated tone. "Or did you not just tell me that you want me?"
"I can't deny that. Yet I am restricted by my own morals, rather than the opinions of others. If you must know, my own people would be scandalized if I were to marry you. Ironically, you would not be an acceptable mate for me, for you are not one of us. Would I let that influence me? No. Only one's heart should matter in these things.
Yet mine will not let me go to a man who will not be mine to keep. I do not hold myself that cheaply."
"Then we have nothing further to say." He stood up and tossed a few coins into her lap. "For your insight," he said with a measure of derision. "Too bad you couldn't 'see' a way for us to be together."
"But I did," she replied sadly. "Too bad you don't want me enough to keep me."
Too bad you don’t want me enough to keep me.
Oddly enough, Christopher did want her that much. He realized it about noon the next day, when she simply would not get out of his mind. He couldn't get any work done for thinking of her. He rudely ignored his friends as well. They'd had a very good time last evening, a good time that included getting from the other Gypsy wenches what he'd been denied himself. Not that he begrudged them that. It was just driving him crazy, that he hadn't been as lucky.
He started drinking in the early afternoon, in an effort to dull his disappointment. It didn't really help. What it did do was make it much easier for him to decide to make the Gypsy his mistress. Surely that would satisfy her "mine to keep" morals, wouldn't it?
It was just barely dark when he rode to the Gypsy camp again. He didn't bring David or Walter with him this time, didn't even tell them where he was going, since he had every intention of bringing the Gypsy home with him, yet he didn't want his friends to know how completely she had bewitched him, to the point of wanting to set her up in London where she would always be available to him.
She wasn't at the campfire where he had left her last night. The old woman was there, though. He tethered his horse near her. No one came to question what he was doing there, probably because they didn't want to know if he was there to evict them again.
