LITMIR.BIZ

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      LINDA CONRAD

      Award-winning author Linda Conrad was first inspired by her mother, who gave her a deep love of storytelling. “Actually, Mom told me I was the best liar she ever knew. And that’s saying something for a woman with an Irish-storyteller’s background,” Linda says. In her past life Linda was a stockbroker and certified financial planner, but she has been writing contemporary romances for six years now. Linda’s passions are her husband, her cat named Sam and finding time to read cozy mysteries and emotional love stories. She says, “Living with passion makes everything worthwhile.” Visit Linda’s Web site at www.LindaConrad.com or write to her at P.O. Box 9269, Tavernier, FL 33070.

      For Captain Jeremy Steele-Perkins,

       thanks for the long-distance sailing lessons!

       If there are still mistakes in the terms, it’s my fault!

       And my most sincere appreciation to his wife,

       my dear agent Pattie, for her ultimate assistance

       with this Gypsy series. She knows why.

      Also, a big thanks to the great women

       at the e-Harlequin Desireables monthly chats, especially

       Marilyn, Bren and Emilie for all their wonderful

       suggestions of Gypsy titles. Thanks again, guys!

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Epilogue

      Prologue

      The smells of French pastry, boiled crayfish and scented table candles filled the sultry air. Paper lanterns, laughing couples strolling wide sidewalks and twinkling lights all made for a merry party atmosphere.

      But none of it made a difference to Passionata Chagari. It was her duty to be here in the French Quarter this evening. Her duty to fulfill her father’s dying wishes.

      She swung the multicolored shawl around her shoulders to protect against the crisp December night and looked down under the table to be sure the old treasure chest was safe and unseen. Her father, the late king of the gypsies, had left a chest full of bequests of magic to the young men of the prominent Steele family. Young men the king had never met. He had also directed Passionata from his grave to see the gifts delivered and used to their proper purpose.

      And that she would do gladly. After all, she too owed much to the late Lucille Steele. So Lucille’s blood descendants were about to receive a boon, in payment for the ultimate act of kindness.

      From Passionata’s position, sitting at the white-draped table with her crystal ball directly in front of her, she could see the approach of her current target— Nicholas Scoville, great nephew of Lucille—as he used a cane and limped in her direction.

      A tall and quite handsome young man dressed in a dark gray European suit, Nicholas was strong of heart yet currently weak of body and soul. His old knee injury was acting up tonight, she knew. But what Passionata had in mind for him would eventually take away all his pain.

      Passionata smiled to herself. This young descendent of Lucille Steele, who needed help so desperately, should be the easiest one to assist.

      He wouldn’t admit it readily, but deep in his soul Nicholas already believed in the power of magic. The passion of her father’s legacy should be quite a relief to this young man who was so controlled by obligation and guilt.

      She saw Nicholas in the distance as he leaned heavily on his walking stick and looked around the crowded square for someplace to wait. Passionata directed her thoughts toward bringing him closer.

      With his attention turned elsewhere, Nicholas absently sat down at her table. She waited for him to become aware of her presence.

      Finally, he turned to her with a start. “May I rest here a few minutes, old woman? I have an appointment and need to kill some time, but I don’t need my fortune told.”

      “Welcome, Nicholas Scoville,” she whispered. “I have been waiting for you.”

      “You must recognize me from photos of my great-aunt’s funeral in the papers.” He scowled at her. “But don’t think you can con me just because you know my name. I only need a spot to rest for a few minutes. Nothing more.”

      She grinned with a knowing and sly smile. “You need a great deal more than that, young friend.”

      For example, later tonight she knew that he would be going in search of a personal trainer to work with him toward his knee’s recovery. Passionata had already

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