by Connie Mason
“There are so many things I can’t begin to name them. For one, you called me a whore. For another, you accused me of following you to London when it never occurred to me to chase after someone who cared so little for me.”
“Then explain what you’re doing in London.”
“This conversation is beginning to bore me. There should be a law preventing pompous, overbearing asses from circulating in polite society. Excuse me, I must be getting back. Lord Stanhope will come looking for me if I don’t return to the ballroom soon.”
“Let him look,” Julian growled as his arms tightened around her. “Shall I remind you how it was between us? Would you like a small demonstration of how it feels to be kissed by a real man?”
Panic shuddered through Lara. If Drago kissed her she’d never find the will to stop with just one kiss, and knowing Drago, he wouldn’t, either. Lara didn’t know this elegantly dressed gentleman. He looked like Drago yet he wasn’t Drago in any of the ways that counted. His demeanor was more commanding, more tyrannical. Less admirable.
“Kiss me, Lara.”
“No! I don’t know you.”
He gave her a feral smile. “You know me, Lara, and you know my kisses. You tempt me beyond reason.”
His mouth slammed down on hers. His kiss was hard, almost brutal, as if he were punishing her for showing up in London and complicating his life. The kiss went on forever, until her mouth softened beneath his and his lips became coaxing and gentle, just like the Drago she remembered from the Gypsy camp. His hand found her breast. He squeezed gently, then tormented the nipple with the pad of his thumb. A moan slipped past Lara’s lips. Abruptly he dragged his mouth away and removed his hand, holding her at arm’s length and staring at her so intently she wanted to melt.
“Go back to your own kind, Lara,” he commanded. “I have no time for you.”
“I did not follow you to London, Drago, so ease your mind of that notion. You made it perfectly clear that you didn’t want a Gypsy wife. By the way, what name are you using in London? I assume ’tis not the one I gave you. Drago is a Gypsy name and you look like no Gypsy I’ve ever seen. What kind of skullduggery are you involved in? Have your enemies found you yet?”
“I can tell you nothing, Lara, except to repeat my request that you leave London.”
“I will do as I please,” Lara retorted.
“Does that mean you will continue to serve as Lord Stanhope’s mistress?”
“Go to blazes, Drago!”
Dark eyes burning with fury, Lara whirled on her heel and left Julian standing in the shadows. Why did he have to be so damn hurtful? When she first spied him tonight her heart had pounded with excitement. Never would she have expected this kind of reaction from the man she loved.
Julian felt as if he’d just been trampled by a horse. Seeing Lara dressed like a lady and consorting with society had thoroughly shocked him. He was confused and disoriented. He shook his head to clear it of the vision in silver that still danced before his eyes. The elegantly coifed and robed lady wasn’t the Lara he knew, and he wasn’t sure he liked this new image of her.
He preferred to remember her as the tawny, long-limbed spitfire who danced like a wood sprite and made love like a wanton. The Lara he recalled was all fire and seduction. Innocent and temptress neatly packaged in a body that would entice a saint. He wanted to tear her away from Lord Stanhope, to claim her as his own, but his mission was too vital for him to become involved with a woman. He knew Gypsies had low moral standards, but he had assumed Lara was different. Tonight he’d learned that she was like every other Gypsy woman. The kind who did just about anything, legal or illegal, for money.
Julian strode back to the house. He’d had enough surprises for one night. As soon as he collected Emma and Aunt Amanda, he intended to leave. His plans went awry the moment he appeared in the ballroom. Lord Stanhope hailed him from across the room.
“Ah, Mansfield, how good of you to come tonight. You haven’t met my daughter yet. She was just here a moment ago.” He grasped Julian’s arm. “Come along, I’m sure we’ll find her somewhere in this crush of people.”
Julian muttered an oath beneath his breath while trying to maintain a pleasant façade. He didn’t want to offend Stanhope, but neither did he wish to meet the man’s marriageable daughter. He’d seen enough of pale young women with empty heads to last a lifetime. Since he never intended to marry, they held no interest for him. But rudeness was not Julian’s style and he let himself be dragged forward to meet the chit.
“Ah, there she is.” Stanhope beamed, pointing vaguely toward a group of young people.
Julian groaned when he spotted Lara standing near the group. He had no wish to encounter her again, least of all in Stanhope’s company. The knowledge that Stanhope was bedding Lara produced unaccountable fits of violent jealousy, an emotion Julian had no business feeling. The passion he and Lara had shared during his sojourn with her people had been of short duration. Theirs was never meant to be a permanent association, and he had ended it out of necessity.
Julian’s gaze locked on Lara when they halted before her.
“Lara, my dear, may I present Julian Thornton, the Earl of Mansfield. Mansfield, this is Lady Lara, my lovely daughter.”
Stanhope’s words exploded inside Julian’s head. His Gypsy lover was an earl’s daughter? Bloody hell! He had compromised an earl’s daughter! Lara was staring at him as if he had two heads, and he supposed he looked as shocked as she. Why had an earl’s daughter been living with Gypsies? Nothing made sense. Finally his impeccable manners prevailed and he bowed over Lara’s delicate hand, murmuring appropriate words of greeting.
Julian’s vision narrowed. Everyone became invisible but for Lara, the woman he had taken to his bed and left without a backward glance. An earl’s daughter deserved better than what he had given her. Resentment welled inside him. Why hadn’t she told him the truth about herself? Berating himself for a fool, he knew he shouldn’t blame her when he’d been as secretive as she, but he couldn’t help himself.
The strict moral code under which Julian had conducted his life reared its ugly head, reminding him where his duty lay. One didn’t compromise an earl’s daughter without consequence. He knew what he had to do and was prepared to make the sacrifice.
Abruptly Lara was whisked away to the buffet table by an admirer, leaving Julian feeling as if his world had just collapsed.
“She’s something, isn’t she?” Stanhope bragged. “I wasn’t aware that I had a daughter until Lara’s grandparents brought her to me a few years ago. Her mother was a Gypsy. The loveliest woman to walk the earth. She disappeared from my life after a short acquaintance and I never saw her again.” He sighed. “Eventually I married, but my wife and I produced no children. Lara came to me after my wife died, and my life suddenly took on new meaning.”
“How very fortunate for you,” Julian said dryly.
“Aye, very fortunate. Now I must see that she marries well.” He sent Julian an assessing glance. “I understand your betrothed died tragically some years ago. How sad. You have mourned long enough. Have you thought of settling down and getting yourself an heir?”
Stanhope’s broad hint was not lost on Julian. The earl wouldn’t be the first parent to throw his daughter Julian’s way. This time the circumstances were different. This time he knew the daughter far too well to ignore Stanhope’s invitation.
“With your permission, I’d like to call on Lady Lara tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps she’d consent to a drive through the park with me. Shall we say two o’clock?”
“Splendid, Mansfield, splendid,” Stanhope said, his face alight with pleasure. “I’ll tell Lara to expect you.”
Julian wandered off, his mind awhirl. Finding Lara in London and learning she was the daughter of an earl was spectacularly bizarre. A coming-out ball was the last place in the world he would have expected to see his Gypsy lover.
“I say, Mansfield, good to see you in town again. Have you put your wanderin
gs behind you?”
Julian gave Viscount Hurley, a passing acquaintance, a tepid smile. “Good to see you, too, Hurley. I plan to stick around awhile.”
“I saw you talking to Stanhope’s Gypsy bastard. Quite a beauty, isn’t she? I hear he legitimized her years ago.”
“Indeed,” Julian said, keeping his expression purposefully blank.
“Harry Lister and I were just discussing her,” Hurley said, motioning for his friend to join them. “Her dowry is generous, but I strongly suspect it will take a man with empty pockets to offer for her.”
“Hello, Mansfield,” Harry Lister, the Marquis of Avondale greeted. “What a crush of people. What do you hear from Sinjun? ’Tis hard to picture him rusticating in Scotland.”
“Sinjun is a different man since he and his family settled in the Highlands.”
“We were discussing Lady Lara,” Hurley confided to Avondale.
A leering smile twisted the corner of Avondale’s mouth. “Ah, the luscious Gypsy wench. Half the men attending the ball tonight want her for their mistress, while the other half are put off by her tawny skin, exotic eyes, and all that black curly hair. She’s too bloody different to fit in.”
“I wouldn’t mind having her in my bed,” Hurley acknowledged. He lowered his voice. “You know what they say about Gypsy women and their passionate natures.”
“You go too far, Hurley,” Julian warned.
“Defending the chit, Mansfield? Do I sense a liaison in the making? Seems to me you haven’t had a mistress for some time. If you fancy her, we’ll stand aside. She’s probably too hot for either Avondale or myself to handle anyway. Tell me, how does one approach an earl when one wants his daughter for a mistress?”
Avondale and Hurley shared a private laugh while Julian simmered inside. How dare they insult Lara! Aye, she was different, but not a woman present tonight outshone her in beauty or spirit. There was nothing pallid or wan about the dark-eyed goddess who had once called him husband.
“Stow it, Hurley,” Julian said, clipping his words for emphasis. “Lord Stanhope will have your head if he hears you insult his daughter. I suggest you keep your improper thoughts to yourself. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
Julian strode away, so angry he could barely contain himself. Lara didn’t deserve their disparaging remarks. They had no right to judge her and find her lacking.
Julian looked around for Emma and failed to see her. He found Aunt Amanda chatting with a group of elderly ladies and headed in her direction. From the corner of his eye he saw a brilliant slash of blue and immediately associated it with the color dress Emma had chosen for tonight’s outing. He turned just in time to see Emma disappearing through the open French door with someone looking suspiciously like Viscount Blakely.
Spitting out a curse, he hurried after them, and nearly ran over Lara on his way out. Dimly he wondered if one of her admirers had lured her into the garden to seduce her. She was naive in the ways of the world, and he feared she might mistake men’s flirtations for genuine interest. After speaking with Hurley and Avondale and overhearing snippets of conversation here and there, he feared she might be seduced with fancy words into doing something she’d later regret.
“Were you going out for some air, my lady?” Julian inquired politely.
She met his stare with icy dignity. “If I was, my lord, ’tis no concern of yours.”
“If you’re thinking of trysting with one of the randy fops here tonight, then I’m making it my business. You know nothing about the games men play with women.”
“Don’t I, my lord? Since meeting you, I’ve learned much about those games.”
Julian grasped her arm and pushed her out the door before they caused a spectacle. “It seems we were both playing games, Lara,” he grated as he guided her down the path and behind a row of tangled vines. “We have both withheld vital pieces of information from each other. I did it to protect your family. What excuse do you have?”
“It wouldn’t have been wise to reveal information about myself to a man I knew nothing about. You could have been a smuggler, a spy, a secret agent, a …” Her eyes narrowed, then widened with sudden comprehension. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re a secret agent!”
“Quiet, little fool! You don’t know what you’re saying. I asked your father’s permission to call on you tomorrow. I’ll come for you at two o’clock in my carriage.”
“I think not, my lord. I’m not going anywhere with you. Papa wants me to choose a husband from among the ton and I’m seriously thinking of doing so. You, my lord, are not in the running.”
His voice turned hard, implacable. “I’ve ruined you, spitfire. You should bloody well consider me.”
“Julian, is that you?”
Julian groaned. Emma and Viscount Blakely had spotted him in the shadows and were fast approaching. He grasped Lara’s arm to keep her from fleeing and turned to greet his sister.
“I’ve been looking for you, Emma. ’Tis time to go.”
“Oh Julian, must we?” Emma groused. “I have yet to meet the earl’s daughter.”
Lara’s voice held a brittle edge. “Be so good as to introduce me to your … friend, my lord.”
Julian saw no help for it. “May I present my sister, Lady Emma? Emma, this is Lady Lara, the Earl of Stanhope’s daughter. And this,” Julian continued, gesturing carelessly at Blakely, “is Viscount Rudolph Blakely.”
Polite words were exchanged, then Julian said, “Would you kindly take Emma inside and inform Lady Amanda that I am ready to leave, Blakely? I will be with you in a moment.”
Emma looked as if she wanted to say something, but Julian’s stern visage must have persuaded her otherwise. She nodded politely at Lara and followed Blakely inside.
“They make an exceptional couple,” Lara said wistfully. “They look perfect for one another.”
“They are not a couple,” Julian insisted. “Lord Blakely is my brother’s friend, nothing more. Emma is too good for him.”
“Just like you’re too good for me?” Lara charged. “Do you think I don’t know what the ton is saying about me? I’m neither blind nor deaf, I know people are whispering among themselves about the color of my skin, my unusual eyes, my strange looks. I’m just the thing for a mistress but not good enough for a wife. I can’t make my father understand that bringing me to London for a season was a mistake. I’d be much happier in the country, or with my grandparents.”
Julian wanted to wring the neck of the men who thought themselves too good for Lara, until he remembered that he’d thought the same thing.
“I must go, Lara. Blakely is sniffing around Emma and I have to put an end to it. We’ll talk further tomorrow.”
“Your sister looks old enough to make up her own mind,” Lara defended. “Perhaps she sees something in Lord Blakely you do not.”
“Ah, there you are, my dear. I saw you go out the door for a breath of air and wondered why you did not return.”
“Papa,” Lara said, sending him a fond smile. “I was just about to come back inside when I ran into Lord Mansfield. You will excuse me, won’t you, my lord?”
“Of course, my lady. Until tomorrow,” Julian answered.
He watched Lara disappear through the door on her father’s arm and felt heat rising inside him. He’d wanted to kiss her again, and he would have if Emma and Blakely hadn’t interrupted. To look at Lara was to want her. He knew intuitively that every man present had the same thought. And it made him mad as hell.
Julian collected Emma and Aunt Amanda and hurried them out the door to their waiting carriage. Blakely joined them.
“Do you have your own transportation, Blakely?” Julian asked bluntly.
“Not tonight,” Rudy said, grinning at Emma. “Would you be so kind as to drop me off?”
“At home or at one of those gambling hells you’re so fond of?”
“Julian, don’t be rude,” Emma chided. “Of course we’ll take you home, Rudy.” She moved over to make room for him. He slid in
beside her before Julian could intervene.
Grumbling to himself, Julian gave his driver Rudy’s direction and settled down beside Aunt Amanda.
“You do recall the little talk we had in my study, don’t you, Blakely?” Julian asked curtly.
“Indeed,” Blakely said without taking his eyes off of Emma.
“Julian,” Emma began when Julian’s displeasure became palpable. “Have you met Lady Lara before? You two appeared to be on very friendly terms. What a little beauty she is. It’s hard to believe that Lord Stanhope kept her hidden in the country all these years.”
Julian remained stubbornly silent as he stared out the window.
“The gossips raked her over the coals,” Rudy offered. “Her looks are too exotic to be considered proper. Men were put off by her background and women were jealous of her beauty. She’s part Gypsy, you know.”
“How dreadful to be the subject of vicious gossip,” Emma commiserated. “I hope someone has the good sense to offer for her.”
“What about you, Emma?” Julian challenged. “How many men have you turned down this season?”
“Now, Julian, don’t fuss at Emma,” Amanda chided. “The child will make her choice when she’s found the right man.”
Julian felt sick when Emma sent Blakely a shy smile. His relief was palpable when they discharged Blakely at his townhouse.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Lady Emma,” Rudy said, ignoring Julian’s cold glare. “I’ll bring my new rig around and take you for a drive in the park.”
“I daresay Emma will be busy tomorrow,” Julian ventured.
“Not at all,” Emma said, ignoring Julian’s scowl.
“Emma, I wish you wouldn’t flout my wishes in this matter,” Julian chided.
“You’re such a bluenose, Julian,” Emma chided. “Don’t you ever do anything on the spur of the moment? Must you always be so proper, so disapproving of everything I do? Sometimes one does things because it makes one happy. But I don’t suppose you know anything about that, do you?”
Julian went still. Was that really how Emma saw him? A strict guardian with no joy in his soul? He’d been happy once, before Diana and his unborn child met their untimely deaths. But he knew even then that he’d been a strict taskmaster. As head of the Thornton family, he had taken his responsibilities seriously. Sinjun had been no help, and his family’s welfare had sat heavily on his shoulders.
