by Nancy Butler
“Then let me take you home. There’s still your family to face. Though they should be used to you running away by now. Seems to be a weekly occurrence.”
She did grin then. For his humor and his friendship and for the fact that he—the lowly Gypsy boy—had been the instrument of Rom’s deliverance.
Niall rowed her back to Mortimer House in the boat she had appropriated. They sat in silence, Diana gazing down at her hands, sniffling every so often. She didn’t see the taut expression that pulled at Niall’s face as he passed the southern boundary of Hamish House. He tried to look away, but something compelled him to turn his eyes to one darkly shadowed patch of riverbank.
Argie Beasle had screamed for help, just as Niall had told Diana. But it hadn’t been because the nettles had caught him. It had been a quagmire, which lay hidden beneath those dark, low-limbed trees.
Argie had fought his way clear of the nettles when he’d seen Niall approaching across the field, but before Niall could apprehend him, he had taken off toward the river. He’d managed to squirm into a dense thicket of grass and reeds, and as Niall rode up, he heard Argie’s shrill cries and the sound of loud hissing. By the time Niall got his horse around the tangled growth, the damage had already been done.
A large swan, most likely a male, had been guarding his cygnets in that thicket. He had chased the intruder onto the innocent-looking patch of riverbank. All that remained of Argie Beasle was one quivering, bony arm reaching up toward the sky from out of the sucking mud.
The swan was standing back from the quagmire, observing the man’s death throes with a lordly disdain. He hissed loudly one last time before he turned and made his stately way back to his nest. Niall watched, unmoved and unmoving, until the last fingertip disappeared beneath the turgid surface.
The law of the wild, much like Gypsy justice, was not ordained by the courts of the land. But it was swift and it was thorough.
* * *
Diana walked boldly through the front door of Mortimer House, holding Niall at her side, one insistent hand at his wrist. The footman stumbled with the candelabra he was carrying, and the stout butler forgot to suck in his belly, as was his wont when guests entered his domain. She found Helen and James in her sister’s sitting room. Helen’s face was tearstained, and James looked, with his tousled hair and disarrayed neckcloth, more boyish than Diana had ever seen him.
“Diana!” they cried out in unison. Then Helen pointed to Niall with a shaking finger and cried, “I left orders that this person was not to be allowed in the house. How dare you disobey me?”
So much for her warm welcome, Diana thought wryly.
“He’s not ‘this person,’ ” she declared to her astounded relatives. “His name is Niall Yanni.”
James took one look at the strikingly handsome youth and turned to his wife in confusion. “I thought the fellow she’s in love with was called Romulus Something-or-other.”
“Romulus Perrin,” Diana said patiently. She placed one hand on the Gypsy’s shoulder, giving him a slight squeeze of encouragement. Not that he appeared to need it—his eyes were as fearless and bright as ever. “This is Niall, my friend. I stayed with his grandmother last night, in case you fear I have compromised myself again. And as long as I am allowed to live here, I expect that he will be allowed to visit me.”
“He is a Gypsy,” Helen protested, looking to her husband for support. James seemed uncertain of what course to pursue and took refuge behind his wife’s writing table.
Niall shrugged. “It’s not a crime,” he said evenly, “being a Gypsy.”
“For your information,” Diana stated, “Niall helped Lady Hamish to rescue Romulus this morning…from Sir Beveril. I fear my intended will need to quit these parts for a while.”
Helen began to moan softly. “I knew she would undo everything,” she cried, clutching a handkerchief to her mouth. “Oh, James, I am so sorry. She has been the soul of ingratitude, and after all you’ve done for her. I think we should send her back to Yorkshire, before she has us hounded from the ton.”
“Hush, Helen,” James said tartly, as he moved from his refuge and approached Diana. “What do you mean he rescued Perrin from Sir Beveril? The river warden was sent off to London; Hunnycut told me so himself. I was relieved to hear it, actually. Didn’t want the fellow showing up here and making trouble.”
“My fiancé,” Diana said with a long and very meaningful glance to her sister, “lied to you. He lied to us both, James. Romulus has been imprisoned on Lady Hamish’s estate for the past five days.”
James Mortimer digested this news slowly. He saw his hopes of a parliamentary career begin a downward slide. Not only because Beveril would no longer back him as a candidate once his financially advantageous marriage to Diana was called off, but also because James had publicly allied himself with Hunnycut whenever possible. With a man he had discovered to be a gambler, a roué, and now—the last straw—a deceitful cad.
He looked across to his wife, wilting on her chaise, and to his sister-in-law, who was waiting with anxious eyes for him to make a judgment of some sort.
“I don’t know what to say,” he responded honestly. “Except that I think I must forbid you to marry….” He paused for effect. “Sir Beveril Hunnycut.”
Helen’s moans grew louder as Diana’s eyes lit up. “And do I have your permission to marry Romulus?”
James humphed a little. “He’d best ask me that question in person.”
“He’s a bit indisposed at the moment,” Niall interjected. “But he’s the man for Diana, I can tell you that. He, at least, manages to find her when she runs away, which is more than I can say for the two of you.”
He grinned across at James, who found himself smiling back.
“You’ll like Romulus, I think,” Diana said soothingly to James. “He was a captain in the artillery. And a decorated hero.” Through the fabric of her skirt she touched the medal that lay in her pocket.
“A hero!” Helen cried in a disparaging voice. “This is one of your odd starts, Diana. Why on earth would a military hero waste his time looking after a lot of silly birds.”
Diana smiled. “Because that’s what heroes do, Helen. They look after things.”
She knelt beside her sister and patted her consolingly on the shoulder. “It will all turn out, you’ll see. And who knows, when Romulus has recovered, perhaps James can back him for Parliament.”
* * *
Diana stood in the hallway waiting to be announced.
She had been in many fine homes since coming to stay with her sister, but Hamish House surpassed them all. From the classic lines of the red brick exterior to the understated richness of the interior furnishings, it was a place of exquisite and restful beauty.
Diana knew the baroness had inherited both title and property in her own right—a rare occurrence in the aristocracy. But it was clear the lady had used her power to good effect. Her estate appeared prosperous in the extreme. It was a pity that her only close relative, the one who stood to inherit this flourishing property, was the loathsome Sir Beveril. Diana had a sudden insight—if she had married him, Hamish House would have one day become her home. It sparked her imagination for all of three seconds, until she recalled the only home she’d ever wanted lay in charred ruins on an island in the Thames.
As Diana came into the drawing room, the elegant woman on the brocaded sofa rose and beckoned to her with one hand. “Miss Exeley.”
“Lady Hamish,” she said, trying to still the trembling of her voice. Though her expression certainly appeared welcoming, the white-haired woman conveyed a distinct aura of power and authority. Diana had made her curtsy to the Queen of England without feeling so intimidated.
“Come in, child. I won’t bite.”
Diana was not even halfway across the room before she burst out, “How is he faring, Lady Hamish?”
The older woman came forward with a soft rustle of silk and took Diana’s hand. Her brown eyes were sad, Diana saw, with gray smudges of wearines
s beneath them.
“Tell me,” Diana repeated. “I must know.”
“He is not well, I’m afraid. No, no—” She held fast to Diana’s hand as she tried to tug away. “You cannot see him. Not just now.”
“But I—” Diana’s eyes had filled with tears and she brushed them impatiently away. She was done with weeping. She drew a steadying breath. “I know I came here today uninvited. And Niall warned me that Rom was still not well. But I’ve waited two days, and I couldn’t stay away another minute.”
The woman stroked her hand. “Don’t trouble yourself over it. I’ve been wondering when I would finally get to meet you. I am only sorry that it is under these trying circumstances. It is very difficult…seeing Romulus in such a state and not being able to relieve him.”
“Is it true then, that he will not respond to anything?”
The lady nodded. “It was true until last night. He seems now to have roused from that state. Though I’m not sure his current condition is much of an improvement. He is raging around in his room like a man beset by devils. This morning he tossed my footman out into the hall when he carried in his washbasin.”
“Perhaps a fever is making him behave so strangely.”
Lady Hamish shook her head. “I wish it were that simple. Doctors have physics for such things. But Dr. Harley offers me little hope. I fear that what ails Romulus cannot be put right with medicine.”
Diana bit at her lip. “I might be able to soothe him.” She thought back to the night of the thunderstorm, when Romulus had found comfort in her arms.
“He has no idea of where he is, or of who any of us are. It’s as though he’s lost all memory of his past.”
Sweet Jesus! Diana nearly cried out the words. Was it possibly true? Had Romulus suffered an actual loss of memory? What cruel irony then, after the foolish game she had played with him.
“He can recall nothing?” Diana asked bleakly.
“There is one thing,” Lady Hamish said haltingly. “Though I don’t like to tell you, my dear, knowing what you feel for him, He has some wild notion that a woman named Allegra was burned to death in the fire on the island. Someone from his past, no doubt, who has come to haunt his disordered brain. He called her name incessantly, even when he lay unmoving in his bed.”
A relieved smile had lit Diana’s face. “Lady Hamish,” she exclaimed softly, “I am Allegra. Romulus watched me run into the burning lodge. He must think I was trapped inside. Oh, my poor Rom.”
The lady shot Diana a dubious look. “Why would he think you were called Allegra?”
She responded with a blush. “It’s a rather long story.” She sank to her knees on the carpet and raised her eyes to the older woman. “But Romulus will recognize me, Lady Hamish. I know he will.”
The baroness touched one hand to Diana’s hair. “Love heals all wounds, hmm? I believed that myself once, very long ago. Perhaps it’s time I learned to believe it again.”
* * *
“Let me go in alone,” Diana whispered to her hostess outside Rom’s bedroom door.
She was surprised to discover that the room he had been given was one of those that hostesses usually reserved for favored guests—the spacious chambers at the front of the house. The baroness had certainly not stinted where Romulus was concerned.
Lady Hamish nodded. “I trust you know what you are doing.”
Diana winced as she opened the door and slipped into the room. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
The draperies at the front windows were open only a few inches, and since there were no candles lit in the chamber, the room was full of shadows. She looked first to the bed. The covers were rumpled, but the bed was empty.
She took two steps into the room.
A surly voice called out from an alcove on her left. “Who the devil let you in here?”
She turned with a tiny gasp.
He was there, less than five feet from her, standing before an ormolu screen, which fronted the alcove. He wore a dressing gown of some rich, heavy fabric that seemed to hang on his painfully thin frame. That was all she could make out—his face was obscured by shadows.
“Romulus,” she whispered.
His eyes, hollow and stark, darted to her face.
“More bloody ghosts,” he snarled as his eyes met hers. He raised both hands as if toward her off. “Go now, there’s no longer any use in haunting me.” He took another step closer. His fist shot forward and slammed against the door frame beside her. “Do you hear me!” he raged. “Get out!”
She could see his face all too clearly now. It looked almost cadaverous, the skin taut over the once-elegant bones. Whip marks crisscrossed both cheeks—Argie Beasle’s cruel legacy, she recalled. Nearly a week’s worth of dark, bearded stubble covered his chin. It only added to his fearsome appearance.
She was appalled by the change in him, and yet she couldn’t tear her eyes away. There had once been such beauty in that face. And such loving warmth in his golden eyes. Now as he gazed back at her, those eyes glazed with suspicion and simmering rage, she feared that he truly was mad.
Diana planted her feet and refused to give in to her clutching fear. This was Romulus…this was the man she loved. She longed to stroke her fingers across his pale skin, and soothe the anger and the fear from his haunted eyes and from his taut, narrowed mouth.
“Romulus,” she said again. “It’s me. It’s Allegra.”
A violent spasm twisted one side of his face, pulling up both lip and cheek. She cried out then, not in fear, but in recognition. This wasn’t madness, it was the same affliction he’d suffered when he returned from France—the uncontrollable tics and twitches. But how like a madman it made him appear.
At the sound of her cry, Romulus had staggered back against the screen. “No more ghosts, I say!” His hands scrabbled against the carved wood behind him, as though seeking an entry through the solid barrier.
She reached out to him, to halt his wild-eyed retreat. He scuttled away from her hands, moving with a lurching motion that was painful to watch. This man who had taken such sure strides over the grassy paths of his island, now moved like a lame beggar, Niall was right, Diana thought, it was horrifying to see him this way. But she shook off her horror. He was ill and he needed her.
He was nearly to the window, when she called out softly, “Come back to me, Romulus. You vowed you would come to me, any time, any place. Come back to me now, from wherever it is you have gone.”
He spun to her, his eyes now wide with shock. “Allegra,” he gasped. His fevered stare seemed to pass right through her.
“Where are you? Don’t leave me here alone. Not without you. Christ in heaven, not without you.” He slid slowly forward to his knees, his trembling hands fisted over his face.
She ran to kneel before him. There was such tension in his body, it vibrated in the air between them.
“Not alone, Romulus—” She whispered the litany as though she had spoken it only hours before. “Not alone any longer, my love.”
She coaxed his clenched hands away from his face, letting her fingers drift over the sharp planes of his cheekbones and the gaunt hollows beneath them. Gently, slowly, she drew him up onto the bed, sliding herself onto the mattress beside him. Holding his head cradled beneath her arms, she murmured tenderly, “I’m here with you, Romulus. Your Allegra is here.”
She lowered her head and kissed him softly on the mouth, letting her lips linger on his, trying to warm his icy flesh.
“There,” she murmured as she drew back. “Did that feel like a ghost’s kiss to you?”
He lay there beneath her, his eyes full of strange wonder. “I watched you die a thousand times,” he whispered. “Am I now in my grave, that I have you here beside me again?”
She touched his brow with her lips. “The prison sickness made you think I was dead. But you are not in prison any longer. You are safe now, among those who care for you and love you.”
His fingers drifted over her face, caressing h
er skin. He buried his hands deeply in her hair, tugging at it gently until all her hairpins came loose and it billowed down over her shoulders.
“Allegra,” he sighed, raising one dark tendril to his lips. “Stay with me.”
She watched his face relax, saw the pain and rage drift away from his haunted eyes. She lay there for a Jong time, her body entangled with his, as though they were lovers in truth. She knew it when he slept at last, felt the easy cadence of his breath against her cheek.
Only then did she slip away from him. He moaned slightly, and reached a hand out, groping for her. She took it and continued to bide there beside him, holding that hand against her heart until he slept again.
* * *
Diana sent a brief note to Mortimer House explaining that she intended to stay on and care for Romulus. Her family had at last relaxed their hold on her, and James had even become an unexpected ally—for the last two days he had managed to keep the still-fuming Helen out of Diana’s path.
Lady Hamish sat with Romulus that afternoon while he slept, relieved that his slumber showed every sign of being relaxed and natural. When she emerged from his room, Diana could see that the dark circles under her eyes had already begun to fade. Lady Hamish pronounced that all he required now was some nourishing food, and enough time for his nervous condition to subside. Diana smiled in agreement, nearly giddy with relief that he was truly on the road to recovery.
Their collective joy was short-lived.
When Diana returned to Rom’s room later that afternoon, carrying in a tray of soup and bread, she was met by a stranger. No longer one who did not recognize her; rather, one who refused to acknowledge her.
He was sitting in a chair near the window, gazing out through the partially open draperies. When he saw who had entered his chamber, he abruptly twitched the drapes shut, got up from his seat and lurched into the alcove, where he promptly disappeared behind the carved screen.
“I don’t want you here,” he called out hoarsely, his voice brimming with hostility.
Diana stood with her mouth agape, and nearly dropped the tray.
“I’ve brought you some broth,” she said evenly, trying not to let her fears rise up again.
