Through Gypsy Eyes Read Online Free PDF Page B

exactly, merely left out a few minor details of the arrangement.
She turned back to her weeding.
What Lord Frostbite does not know will not hurt him or the baron either.
The sole problem left to solve was how to get rid of the Earl of Merryweather. He was not going to give in to her insistence she was fine on her own. Perhaps she could bribe him to leave her be? She bit her bottom lip. It would all depend on how loyal he was to the king. It was farfetched to think it would be an option the uptight man would consider, if there was even enough money to bribe him. Could she pretend to be engaged to someone? No, he was sure want to meet the man and settle her dowry. Her fingers landed on a tuft of fox glove. Perhaps she could poison him? She shook the uncharacteristic, sadistic thought from her head. Was she losing her mind? Murder was not an option, even if she could bring herself to do such a thing.
There must be a way to make him see reason …
    A drop of water splashed her nose and she tipped her face heavenward. The distant rumble of thunder and another drop splashing her cheek foretold the welcome storm. After yanking the last weed from the herb bed, she picked up the trowel and headed back inside whistling for Jester. By the time she reached the veranda the pony was close at hand, following her in to shelter from the storm.
    After washing up she went to the library, the pony ambling along behind. She seated herself on one of the window seats with a book of poetry her father wrote for her. Most of them she knew by heart from reading them over and over. The poems gave her a sense of peace and closeness to her father that she was desperate for. Flipping to one of her favorites she made herself comfortable, tucking her feet up beside her and settling in to spend a stormy afternoon. With a sigh of contentment, Jester, too, made himself cozy, nuzzling her knee before he lay down, reminiscent of a dog asleep at his master’s feet.
    The door to the library clicked and footsteps padded across the carpet toward her.
    “Did you bring me some tea, Teresa?”
    The earl’s rich baritone, still new, startled her. “No, I did not, however, I could send Teresa for some if you would like.”
    She shook her head. “No, it is quite all right.” The ticking of the clock punctuated the silence.
    At length the earl cleared his throat. “There is a horse asleep at your feet.”
    “A miniature horse, actually.” She stifled a giggle wishing she could see the look on his face, sure it would match his incredulous tone. Turning her attention back to the poem, she attempted to dismiss his presence.
    “What on earth are you doing?”
    “Why I am reading, of course.” The clock on the mantle ticked by the seconds while she waited for him to ask the expected question.
One … two … three.
    “I beg your pardon? How is that possible?”
    She snickered.
A mere three seconds. His mind works fast.
“I can feel the words.”
    This time she couldn’t help laughing at the astonishment in his voice. “No, I am not noddy in case that is what you are thinking.”
    “That is not what I was thinking.”
    “Of course not.” She shrugged, wondering why she cared what he thought.
    The earl chuckled. “Dear lord, is the animal snoring?”
    She smiled, her mood sweetening a little. “He does it often.”
    “I see.” He cleared his throat. “So are you some kind of witch who has eyes in her fingertips?”
    His ridicule was nothing new to her; she heard it all before from others. “I am reading. I can feel the ink of each letter raised off the page.”
    “Ink soaks into parchment,” he pointed out with a definite trace of disbelief.
    “Most, but not the special sap ink my father makes … made.” Delilah swallowed the lump rising in her throat at the thought of all the sacrifices her father made for her before his death. “The sap makes the ink thick and it sticks to the surface of the paper to form a raised letter.”
    “May I