The music throbbed through his chest, sweet and heartrending one minute, proud and defiant the next. How different this was to the stately quadrille, even the scandalous waltz. Flamenco was dramatic and aggressive, graceful and playful. And unashamedly sensual.
Raven had seen it before, of course, but he glanced across the fire to watch Heloise’s reaction. She sat forward on her seat, lips parted in rapt attention. Some of the women tried to pull her to her feet to dance, but she refused, laughing, and joined in by clapping her hands instead.
They’d chosen the perfect name for her.Luz.Light. She beckoned him like the warmth of the fire. He sighed. If she was the sun, then he was the moon, something with no light of its own. Just a cold gray lump of rock that needed the sun to glow.
A profound yearning tightened his chest as he watched her across the clearing. So much more than physical space separated them. He was trapped in a cage of his own making, drawn to her like an alcoholic drawn to a tumbler of whisky, like a gambler to the snap and whirr of the cards. Helplessly, angrily, against his will.
Her innocence made him want to weep. He’d seen the very worst of life and she saw the best in everything. He wouldn’t touch her again. No matter how much he wanted to. One drop of poison was all it took to contaminate a pure glass of water. Once it was in, there was no getting it out. He would corrupt her, taint her. Inch by inch.
She rose and came toward him, still clapping in time to the dance, and flopped down next to him, laughing.
“What’s so funny?”
“You. The heir to a dukedom, sitting here quite at home with a bunch of lawless gypsies.”
He scowled.
She tilted her head toward the group by the fire. “Do they know about your exalted position back home,LordRavenwood?”
“No. They only know me as Raven. Smuggler, gunrunner, spy. But they wouldn’t care if theydidknow. The Rom aren’t impressed by wealth. They have a saying: Why have two horses when you only have one arse?”
She chuckled. “I suppose that makes a lot of sense. But better not bring up such heresy at atonparty. You’ll incite a riot.”
She yawned and he frowned. “You’re exhausted. Time for bed. You know which caravan’s yours?”
She nodded. “That pretty green one. Where are you going to sleep?”
“Out here.”
“What? On the ground? That’s stupid. You can sleep in the caravan with me.”
He thoroughly enjoyed her instant blush as she realized her innocent offer of shelter could be twisted into an invitation to sin.
“I mean that you can sleep on thefloor,if you want. There’s plenty of room.”
He put her out of her misery. “It’s a tempting offer, but I think I’ll pass. After you’ve been incarcerated, it’s a pleasure to sleep free under the stars. Go to bed.”
Chapter 30
Georges Lavalle took another look through his telescope and gave a cracked laugh of disbelief.
Fils de putain!
He didn’t believe in coincidences; everything was preordained, and here, at last, was proof that God was smiling on his efforts once again.
His idol, Napoleon, had been raised to the rank of emperor over those inbred Bourbons by divine right. His overthrow and subsequent imprisonment on Elba had been a minor setback, but the Lord had helped him escape and march on Paris again.
The defeat in Belgium last year had been unfortunate, certainly—a combination of a freak rainstorm and the devil-aided luck of the Prussians arriving just when the English were on the cusp of annihilation. The emperor had been imprisoned again, this time on St. Helena, but Georges had no doubt that he would escape that prison, too. And when he did he would reward his faithful followers appropriately.
Had he not paid the Austrian spy Schulmeister enough to buy his own chateau for his help in capturing the Duc D’Enghien? He would offer a similar reward to Georges Lavalle for killing these English spies.
Savary had not been pleased when Georges had returned to Paris with news that he’d failed to kill the Englishwoman, but he’d entrusted him with another mission almost immediately. He was to travel just over the border to Spain and make sure that those perfidious British didn’t renege on their promise to exchange his colleague Marc “the Baker” Breton with one of their own.
Since there was only one route up to the agreed rendezvous point, Lavalle had set up his observation post here, in a high-sided ravine, where there was plenty of cover from rocks, several avenues of escape, and a nice elevated position.
He’d thought to kill the British bastards before they even made it to the exchange site and free his friend, but this band of travelers was larger than he’d anticipated. There was no sign of Marc, either, although he was no doubt secured in one of those covered gypsy wagons.
But now he’d been handed the sweetest of opportunities. The agent sent to deal with the Spaniard Alvarez was none other than that British bastard Ravenwood! And, even more amusing, Georges’s initial target—that scarred code-breaking bitch—was with him. Truly, the fates were smiling on him today.