A Much Compromised Lady Read Online Free PDF Page B

nothing,
but she knew she had little time.
    Under her cloak, the cold swirled up and
chilled her skin as she slipped outside. She winced as her feet
slipped into mud. A pity she had to leave her shoes under that gaujo’s bed, but she knew when to cut her loses. And she
knew when to strive for yet another chance, even when she was ready
to give into defeat. Life had taught her that skill. And to enjoy
the small favors of this world. Such as the one that the rain had
stopped.
    The air smelled wet and sharp with the
sweetness of early roses and the earthly pong of the stables that
lay behind the inn. Overhead, clouds danced, parting to reveal the
silver disc of a new moon, and closing again to hide its glow.
    Clutching her dress to her naked body, Glynis
tightened her hold on her cloak and ran through the squishing mud.
She had no regret for her shift and her corset. They were small
payment to make for her escape. But her dress was of good wool, and
with only three dresses to her name she had risked the few seconds
it took to drag it and her cloak out from under the bed. She had
left her shoes for fear of the noise they would make. And she had
had to use every skill she’d ever honed in slipping into or out
from places to shift that chair and turn the doorknob in
silence.
    Silence now filled the night—the creatures of
the woods had taken to their nests and burrows during the storm.
She would be wise now to copy them. Her toes dug into cold mud and
she let out a breath that she had not even known she was holding. Safe. Almost safe.
    With a care not to slip in the mud, she made
for the shadows of the woods that lay near to Littlebury’s village
green and the Red Lion inn. Silent now, she slipped behind the
blacksmith’s shop and from there into the woods. Under the shelter
of an oak, she stopped, her back to the wide trunk and rough bark.
Her lungs hurt from the cold air, but now she could afford to let
out a deep sigh of relief.
    With her cloak still over her shoulders, she
struggled into her dress, leaving the ties in back loose. As she
straightened, a hand fell onto her shoulder.
    Startled, she swung around, her fist clenched
to strike. But a familiar voice whispered with dry mockery,
“ Droboy tume, Romale .”

CHAPTER THREE
    The greeting, common enough among the Romany
eased open Glynis’s fist. Relief warmed through her like the rush
of good wine. “ Nais tuke ,” she whispered back, an edge to
her thank you. She added, “For frightening ten years off my life.
Why are you not waiting at the stream where we agreed to meet?”
    She could not see Christo’s frown, but she
knew it must be there on his handsome face. His dark coat—turned up
to cover his white shirt—and dark breeches and soft, dark boots
changed him into a towered shadow, rather like one of the oaks
around them. As always, a sense of calmness came with him. But she
knew—and could feel—the restless energy that lay under that surface
composure. It was only when she saw Christo with his horses that
she ever felt that the quiet of his body also filled his soul.
    “You were late,” he said, his voice soft but
his words clipped. He had been worrying too much. He always did.
“What went wrong? Wasn’t it there?”
    She shook her head and glanced back at the
inn. Yellow candlelight spilled from the public room on the ground
floor. The sound of a man’s guffaw and the scrape of a fiddle being
tuned echoed in the night. From the upper story, Glynis glimpsed a
chink of golden light as a curtain shifted. Her heart skipped a
beat and a shiver chased across her bare arms.
    “He had it, just as his servants said he
would. But the story will have to wait. Come,” she said, tugging on
his coat sleeve for him to come with her into the woods.
    He did not move.
    With her eyes accustomed to the darkness, she
stared up at him. The moon flirted again with the night, appearing
from behind her veil of clouds, and gave light to the set of his
clenched jaw and the