Seduce Me At Sunrise

Chapter Twenty-three

Although the pliashka, or betrothal ceremony, traditionally went on for several days, Kev had decided it would last for only one night.

"Have we locked away the silver?" he had asked Cam earlier, when the Gypsies from the river campsite had begun pouring into the house, dressed in colorful clothes and jingling finery.

"Phral," Cam had said cheerfully, "there's no need for that. They're family."

"It's because they're our family that I want the silver locked away."

In Kev's opinion, Cam was enjoying the betrothal process a bit too much. A few days earlier he had made a show of presenting himself as Kev's representative, to negotiate a bride-price with Leo. The two of them had mock-debated the respective merits of groom and bride, and how much the groom's family should pay for the privilege of acquiring a treasure such as Win. Both sides had concluded, with great hilarity, that it was worth a fortune to find a woman who would tolerate Merripen. All this while Kev sat and scowled at them, which seemed to amuse the addlepates even more.

With that formality concluded, the pliashka had been quickly planned and enthusiastically undertaken. A huge feast would be served after the betrothal ceremony, featuring roast pig and beef joints, all manner of fowl, and platters of potatoes fried with herbs and copious amounts of garlic. In deference to Beatrix, hedgehog was not on the menu.

Music from guitars and violins filled the ballroom, while the guests gathered in a circle. Dressed in a loose white shirt, leather breeches and boots, and a red sash knotted at the side of his waist, Cam went to the center of the circle. He held a bottle wrapped in bright silk, the neck of it wrapped with a string of gold coins. He gestured for everyone to be quiet, and the music obligingly settled into a vibrant lull.

Enjoying the colorful tumult of the gathering, Win stood beside Merripen and listened as Cam made several remarks in Romany. Unlike his brother, Merripen wore gadjo attire, except that he had left off a cravat and collar. The glimpses of his smooth brown throat beguiled Win. She wanted to put her lips to the spot where a steady pulse lurked. Instead, she contented herself with the discreet brush of his fingers against hers. Merripen was rarely given to public demonstrations. In private, however…

She felt his hand wrap slowly around hers, his thumb stroking the tender flesh just above her palm.

Finishing the short speech, Cam came to Win. Deftly he removed the coins from the bottle and placed them around her neck. They were heavy and cool against her skin, settling in a jubilant clatter. The necklace advertised that she was now betrothed, and any man other than Merripen would now approach her at his own peril.

Smiling, Cam embraced Win firmly, murmured something affectionate in her ear, and gave her the bottle to drink from. She took a cautious sip of strong red wine, and gave the bottle to Merripen, who drank after her. Meanwhile, wine in liberally filled goblets was given to all the guests. There were various cries of "Sastimos," or good health, as they drank in honor of the betrothed couple.

The celebration began in earnest. Music flared into life and the goblets were quickly drained.

"Dance with me," Merripen surprised her by murmuring.

Win shook her head with a little laugh, watching the couples twirl and move sinuously around each other. Women used their hands in shimmering motions around their bodies, while men stomped with their heels and clapped their hands, and all the while they circled each other while holding each other's gaze as long as possible.

"I don't know how," Win said.

Merripen stood behind her and crossed his arm around her front, drawing her back against him. Another surprise. She had never known him to touch her so openly. But amid the goings-on, it seemed no one noticed or cared.

His voice was hot and soft in her ear. "Watch for a moment. You see how little space is needed? How they circle each other? When Roma dance they lift their hands to the sky, but they stomp their feet to express connection to the earth. And to earthly passions." He smiled against her cheek and gently turned her to face him. "Come," he murmured, and hooked his hand around her waist to urge her forward.

Win followed him shyly, fascinated by a side of him she hadn't seen before. She wouldn't have expected him to be this self-assured, drawing her into the dance with animal grace, watching her with a wicked gleam in his eyes. He coaxed her to raise her arms upward, to snap her fingers, even to swish her skirts at him as he moved around her. She couldn't seem to stop giggling. They were dancing, and he was so good at it, turning it into a cat-and-mouse game.

She twirled in a circle, and he caught her around the waist, pulling her close for one scalding moment. The scent of his skin, the movement of his chest against hers, filled her with intense desire. Leaning his forehead against hers, Merripen stared at her until she was drowning in the depths of his eyes, as dark and bright as hellfire.

"Kiss me," she whispered unevenly, not caring where they were or who might see them.

A smile touched his lips. "If I start now, I won't be able to stop."

The spell was broken by an apologetic throat clearing from nearby.

Merripen glanced to the side, where Cam was standing.

Cam 's face was carefully blank. "My apologies for interrupting. But Mrs. Barnstable just came to me with the news that an unexpected guest has arrived."

"More family?"

"Yes. But not from the Romany side." Merripen shook his head, perplexed. "Who is it?" Cam swallowed visibly. "Lord Cavan. Our grandfather."

It was decided that Cam and Kev would meet Cavan with no other family members present. While the pliashka continued in full vigor, the brothers withdrew to the library and waited. Two footmen dashed back and forth, bringing in objects from a carriage outside: cushions, a velvet-covered footstool, a lap blanket, a foot warmer, a silver tray bearing a cup. After a multitude of preparations was made, Cavan was announced by one of the footmen, and he entered the room.

The old Irish earl was physically unimposing, old and small and slight. But Cavan had the presence of a deposed monarch, a faded grandeur textured with weary pride. A frill of white hair had been cut to lie against his ruddy scalp, and a goatee framed his chin like a lion's whiskers. His shrewd brown eyes assessed the young men dispassionately.

"You are Kevin and Cameron Cole," he said rather than asked in a flowing Anglo-Irish accent, the syllables graceful and lightly arid.

Neither of them replied.

"Who is the elder?" Cavan asked, seating himself in an upholstered chair. A footman immediately arranged a footstool beneath his heels.

"He is," Cam said, helpfully pointing at Kev, while Kev gave him a sideways glare. Ignoring the look, Cam spoke casually. "How did you find us, my lord?"

"A heraldic master recently approached me in London with the information that you had hired him to research a particular design. He had identified it as the Coles' ancient mark. When he showed me the sketch he'd made of the tattoo on your arm, I knew at once who you were, and why you wanted the design researched."

"And why is that?" Cam asked softly.

"You want social and financial gain. You wish to be recognized as a Cole."

Cam smiled without amusement. "Believe me, my lord, I wish for neither gain nor recognition. I merely wanted to know who I was." His eyes flashed with annoyance. "And I paid that bloody researcher to give the information to me, not to take it to you first. I'll take a strip out of his hide for that."

"Why do you want to see us?" Kev asked brusquely. "We want nothing from you, and you'll get nothing from us."

"First, it may interest you to learn that your father is dead. He expired a matter of weeks ago, as a result of a riding accident. He was always inept with horses. It eventually proved the death of him."

"Our condolences," Cam said flatly.

Kev merely shrugged.

"This is how you receive the death of your sire?" Ca-van demanded.

"I'm afraid we didn't know our sire well enough to display a more satisfying reaction," Kev said sardonically. "Pardon the lack of tears."

"I want something other than tears from you."

"Why am I alarmed?" Cam wondered aloud.

"My son left behind a wife and three daughters. No sons, except for you." The earl made a temple of his pale, knotty fingers. "The lands are entailed to male issue only, and there are none to be found in the Cole line, in any of its branches. As things stand at present, the Cavan title and all that is attached to it will become extinct upon my death." His jaw hardened. "I will not let the patrimony be lost forever merely because of your father's inability to reproduce."

Kevin arched a brow. "I'd hardly call two sons and three daughters an inability to reproduce."

"Daughters are of no consequence. And the two of you are half-breeds. One can hardly claim that your father succeeded in furthering the family's interests. But no matter. The situation must be tolerated. You are, after all, legitimate issue." An acrid pause. "You are my only heirs."

The vast cultural chasm between them was revealed in its entirety at that moment. Had Lord Cavan bestowed such bounty on any other kind of man, it would have been received with nothing short of ecstasy. But presenting a pair of Roma with the prospect of lofty social status and vast material riches did not get Cavan the reaction he had anticipated.

Instead, they both appeared singularly-rather maddeningly-unimpressed.

Cavan spoke irritably to Kev. "You are Viscount Mornington, inheritor of the Mornington estate in County Meath. Upon my death you will also receive Knotford Castle in Hillsborough, the Fairwall estate in County Down, and Watford Park in Hertfordshire. Does that mean anything to you?"

"Not really."

"You are the last in line," Cavan persisted, his voice sharpening, "to a family that traces its origins to a thane created by Athelstan in the year 936. Moreover, you are the heir to an earldom of more distinguished lineage than three-quarters of all the peerages of the Crown. Have you nothing to say? Do you even understand the remarkable good fortune that has befallen you?"

Kev understood all of that. He also understood that an imperious old bastard who had once wanted him dead now expected him to fall over himself because of an unasked-for inheritance. "Weren't you once searching for us with the intention of dispatching us like a pair of unwanted pups?"

Cavan scowled. "That question has no relevance to the matter at hand."

"That means yes," Cam told Kev.

"Circumstances have altered," Cavan said. "You have become more useful to me alive than dead. A fact for which you should be appreciative."

Kev was about to tell Cavan where he could shove his estates and titles when Cam shouldered Kev roughly aside.

"Excuse us," Cam said over his shoulder to Cavan, "while we have a brotherly chat."

"I don't want to chat." Kev muttered.

"For once would you listen to me?" Cam asked, his tone mild, his eyes narrowed. "Just once?"

Folding his arms over his chest, Kev inclined his head.

"Before you toss him out on his withered old arse," Cam said softly, "you may want to consider a few points. First, he's not going to live long. Second, the tenants on the Cavan lands are probably in desperate need of decent management and help. There is much you could do for them, even if you choose to reside in England and oversee the Irish portion of the entailment from afar. Third, think about Win. She would have wealth and position. No one would dare slight a countess. Fourth, we apparently have a stepmother and three half sisters with no one to care for them after the old man turns up his toes. Fifth-"

"There's no need for fifth," Kev said. "I'll do it."

"What?" Cam raised his brows. "You agree with me?"

"Yes."

All the points had been well-taken, but the mere mention of Win would have been enough. She would live better and be treated with far more respect as a countess than a Gypsy's wife.

The old man regarded Kev with a sour expression. "You seem to be under the misapprehension that I was giving you a choice. I wasn't asking you for anything. I was informing you of your good fortune and your duty. Furthermore-"

"Well, it's all settled," Cam interrupted hastily. "Lord Cavan, you now have an heir and a spare. I propose that we all take leave of each other to contemplate our new circumstances. If it pleases you, my lord, we will meet again on the morrow to discuss the particulars."

"Agreed."

"May we offer you and your servants lodging for the night?"

"I have already arranged to bestow my company on

Lord and Lady Westcliff. No doubt you have heard of the earl. A most distinguished gentleman. I was acquainted with his father."

"Yes," Cam said gravely. "We've heard of Westcliff."

Cavan's lips thinned. "I suppose it will fall to me to introduce you to him someday." He slid a disdainful glance over both of them. "If we can do something about your manner of dress and personal deportment. And your education. God help us all." He snapped his fingers, and the two footmen swiftly collected the items they had brought in. Rising from the chair, Cavan allowed his coat to be draped over his narrow shoulders. With a morose shake of his head, he looked at Kev and muttered, "As I frequently remind myself, you're better than nothing. Until tomorrow."

The moment Cavan left the parlor, Cam went to the sideboard and poured two generous brandies. Looking bemused, he gave one to Kev. "What are you thinking?" he asked.

"He seems like the kind of grandfather we'd have," Kev said, and Cam nearly choked on his brandy as he laughed.

Much later that evening Win lay draped across Kev's chest, her hair streaming over him like trickles of moonlight. She was naked except for the coin necklace. Gently disentangling it from her hair, Kev pulled the necklace off and set it on the nightstand.

"Don't," she protested.

"Why?"

"I like wearing it. It reminds me that I'm betrothed."

"I'll remind you," he murmured, rolling until she lay in the crook of his arm. "As often as you need."

She smiled up at him, touching the edges of his lips with exploring fingertips. "Are you sorry that Lord Cavan found you, Kev?"

He kissed the delicate pads of her fingers as he pondered the question. "No," he said eventually. "He's a bitter old cretin, and I wouldn't care to spend a great deal of time in his company. But now I have the answers to things I wondered about for my entire life. And…" he hesitated before admitting sheepishly, "… I wouldn't mind being the Earl of Cavan someday."

"You wouldn't?" She regarded him with a quizzical grin.

Kev nodded. "I think I might be good at it," he confessed.

"So do I," Win said in a conspiratorial whisper. "In fact, I think a great many people will be surprised by your absolute brilliance at telling them what to do."

Kev grinned and kissed her forehead. "Did I tell you the last thing Cavan said before he left this evening? He said he frequently reminds himself that I'm better than nothing."

"What a silly old windbag," Win said, slipping her hand behind Kev's neck. "And he's utterly wrong," she added, just before their lips met. "Because, my love, you're better than everything."

For a long time afterward, there were no words.