Then again, Romeo and Juliet fell in love the moment they saw one another. So much so that they killed themselves so they could be together, since not in life, in death.
Oh, Shakespeare! So dramatic and utterly ridiculous. No one was worth dying over, were they?
Tom sauntered into the inn while Bianca stayed just outside the door. People walked by her, some ignoring her completely and others casting disgusted looks in her direction. She’d been warned plenty about the way the Roma were regarded in polite society and having been reared in said society, she knew well the stigma that followed Emil’s people. But nothing could have prepared her for how horrible it made her feel to be looked at in such a way, as if she were a flea-ridden rodent, or some equally reprehensible creature.
“Psst, Bianca!” came Tom’s hiss from just inside the door.
Bianca looked through the open doorway to see him gesturing toward the staircase to the left. She did as she was told, noticing as she ran that the innkeeper was busy looking something up in his large guest registry. Bianca wondered what goose chase Tom had sent the man on.
When she had safely reached the landing at the top of the stairs, she heard Tom say, “This isn’t necessary after all, my good man. Sorry to have bothered you.” This was quickly followed by his footsteps on the stairs and moments later, he appeared before her.
Bianca couldn’t help but laugh. “That poor man.”
Tom shrugged sheepishly. “One has to do what one has to do.”
He led her to a door at the far end of the corridor and pushed it open. It was a small space, even smaller than Adora’s vardo. When Tom came inside and closed the door, it became yet smaller. As they stood staring awkwardly at one another, it seemed as if all the air in the tiny space vanished and Bianca struggled to breathe.
Had he looked this handsome before when they met in the street? She’d known he was an attractive man, but now that she saw him in his own tailored clothing—the fitted cutaway jacket that hid powerful arms, the buckskin trousers that hid—
Oh, good heavens. She must be red as an apple.
Tom looked rather heated himself.
“Well, I suppose I should…” He didn’t finish his sentence, but he did turn to go.
“You’re leaving?” She wasn’t sure why she said it like that, so desperate sounding. She didn’t really want him to stay, but she also didn’t want him to go.
He stopped with his hand on the handle. “Bianca, do you plan to marry me?”
She shook her head, unable to actually say “no.”
“Then I do not think it’s a good idea for me to stay here.”
He was right, of course. Even if she was living as a gypsy, it still was untoward for her to be here with him, alone in his room. It wasn’t fair to Emil, either. None of this was fair to him at all—the fact that she had a tiny attraction to another man, who just so happened to want to marry her.
Still…
“No one knows I’m here,” she said. “And I’ll go out of my mind here alone.”
Tom turned away and closed his eyes, a loud sigh escaping his lips. “And I will go out of my mind if I stay here and can’t…”
He sucked in a sharp breath and looked to the heavens, as if to ask God for help. It took Bianca a moment, but she finally figured out what he meant to say. At least, she thought she had. And she understood all too well what the bulge that protruded from behind his cutaway coat meant. Oh, dear.
“I will come back to check on you in a bit,” he said, already pulling the door shut behind him. “I just…I need a few moments to myself.”
Bianca dropped her heated face into her hands. But as the door to the small room clicked, something in her head clicked. Where had she seen this scenario before?
No, it was far too ironic. A mere coincidence that her father had named her Bianca, after the Taming of the Shrew’s Bianca.
Although, if she could find the solution to her problem in the pages of a play, that would be far better than trying to sort it all out on her own, wouldn’t it?
~*~
To say that Tom was uncomfortable would have been a vast understatement. The thought of Bianca in his room, lying on his bed all day, was driving him mad with lust. How had this happened? He’d simply come here to convince her to marry him for her own protection. Not because he had any interest in the girl.
Why did she have to be so beguiling, damn her! It would be so easy to just leave and let her live out her days as a gypsy with Emil. Clearly they held a tendre for one another—there was something there that couldn’t be denied.
But then she’d look at him with those big, blue eyes and Tom was sure there was something between them, too. Part of him was slightly annoyed by that—or should have been, at least. If it were a London ballroom and she was batting her eyelashes at anyone that paid attention to her, he’d most certainly be perturbed.
However, this wasn’t a London ballroom. And she wasn’t some simpering miss out for money and a title. No, her dilemma was truly of the heart, if there was a dilemma at all. Maybe Tom was just so overcome with lust that he only thought she was showing interest.
A plate of food slid before him. Cheese, bread, grapes. He pushed it away. He couldn’t eat when he was so conflicted and in so much discomfort.
“You’ll waste away to nothing.”
Blast. How the devil had she found him?
“Victoria,” he said without turning around.
Her skirts swished loudly as she rounded the table to sit in the chair across from him. She beamed with a bright smile and wide eyes as she plopped into her seat.
“What are you doing here?” he asked without returning her smile.
“Why so sullen, brother? I thought you’d be happier to see me.”
He leaned forward and lowered his voice. Not that there was any reason to. There was hardly anyone in the establishment, other than a drunkard near the bar. “What if Tisbury followed you here?”
“Why would he do such a thing? Oh, look, there’s Fin!”
Tom stood to greet his brother-in-law and then offered him the third seat at the small table.
“I tried to stop her,” Fin said as he plucked a grape from the untouched plate of food.
Tom snorted. “As if she could be stopped.”
“We went to see Tisbury and delivered your letter to him,” she said, ignoring their previous comments. “He thinks you know nothing, and it merely looked as if we were heading for the country this morning.”
“In the middle of the Season?”
“I am with child, if you have already forgotten.”
“Couldn’t you have sent a letter?”
“Why are you so desperate to be rid of us?”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Tom said, letting the sarcasm drip from his lips, “I should have been more clear. I’m desperate to be rid of you. Fin can stay.”
Victoria rolled her eyes, as she often did at him.
“She wants to see the girl.”
Tom clamped his lips together. Of course she did. Why else would she have come? She probably wanted to spend a few days in the camp too and use their tents to host a gypsy version of a house party. Lord help him.
“Please, Tom. Take me to her,” she begged. “I wish to meet her.”
“You can’t.” He didn’t elaborate, he shouldn’t have to.
His sister reared back. “Well, why not?”
“Because I said so,” he returned, knowing that reasoning would never hold up against his relentless sister. She’d talked her way out of the gallows, for God’s sake. Tom didn’t stand a chance against her.
Victoria was about to rail into him, but Fin hushed them both.
“Perhaps you can meet her, after all,” he said quietly, looking past Tom to the doorway.
Tom whirled around in his seat to find Bianca standing sheepishly in the doorway, a half smile on her lips. Damn it all. He’d just gotten himself under control and now here she was, looking as if she’d been rolling about
in his bed all morning. Rumpled and mischievous. Why did God curse him with such dammed curious women?
He jumped from his chair and went to her. “What are you doing down here?” he asked.
She peered around him, trying to get a better look at his sister. “Is that her? Is that the countess?”
Tom rolled his eyes. Apparently, Bianca wanted to meet Victoria as much as Victoria wanted to meet her.
“Yes, but you can’t be down here,” he said, trying to block their view of one another.
“Tom?”
Argh! Why wouldn’t she just go away?
“Lady Leyburn?” Bianca said, pushing him aside to see Victoria.
“You must be Miss Manning.”
“Please, call me Bianca.”
“If you two are going to insist on having this meeting, would you at least have it in private?” He looked to Bianca, trying to ignore the fact that her shirt was cut far too low for his comfort. “Take her to my room.”
Eleven
Bianca was giddy with the idea of spending the afternoon with the Countess of Leyburn—the infamous highwaywoman who had narrowly escaped the gallows, thanks to the desperate and romantic pleas of the man who was in love with her.
She led the woman to Tom’s room and they both scurried inside when another door along the corridor jiggled open.
The countess tossed her reticule to the small desk and then began to unbutton her purple velvet riding cloak. She draped it over the back of the small chair and then collapsed on the bed with a sigh.
“There,” she said, “much better.”
When she patted the space beside her, Bianca gladly joined her, eager to understand why she’d come all this way in the middle of the Season.
But the countess started to speak before Bianca even had a chance to open her mouth. “Now, Bianca,” she said, taking her hands in hers, “I want to hear all about life with the gypsies.”
“Oh.” That wasn’t what she was expecting to hear. “Well, it’s different.” Bianca giggled and shrugged. Goodness, the countess made her nervous. Perhaps it was because she knew the woman was adept with a gun.
“Well, of course it is,” the countess laughed. “But is it wonderful?”
“Of course it’s wonderful, my lady—”
“Oh, no, no! We are friends and soon-to-be sisters-in-law. You must call me Vickie.”
Bianca’s stomach sank. Sisters-in-law? Had Tom not told her of her decision?
“I fear there may be some mistake, Vickie.”
“Oh, I know you haven’t made the decision yet. But certainly you will come to see that a life with my brother, while not as exciting as life as a gypsy, will be wonderful.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“It always is. But you need the protection.”
“I have protection.” She hesitated to speak of Emil, but it had to be done. Vickie had to know that her brother had competition for Bianca’s affections. “His name is Emil.”
The smile faded from Vickie’s face and she sat up a little straighter, dropping Bianca’s hands. “You mean you…”
Bianca jumped from the bed. “I don’t know!” she cried, shaking her head. “I hardly know Tom, yet when I’m near him, I feel…well, I don’t really know what I feel. Drawn to him, I suppose. Comfortable, safe.”
“Well, what else were you hoping for?”
She turned to look at Vickie. “It’s different with Emil. He’s so different.”
“He’s a gyspy.”
“But that’s only part of it. There’s a fire there. He makes me feel alive, almost primal sometimes.”
“But what kind of life can he give you?”
The countess wasn’t asking the question to be derogatory toward the gypsies, she was asking because it needed to be asked. While Bianca didn’t understand all that life as a gypsy might entail, she understood it enough to know that it would not be the easiest life. She’d say good-bye forever to the modern luxuries she might have if she married a gentleman of means. She’d never see her friends again or dance at a ball again. No operas or plays, no musicales, no house parties.
But she would have Emil. She’d already made new friends in the camp. She loved the simplicity of their lives, but would she always love it? Or would she soon begin to long for her old life—the life she knew and loved before Tisbury’s offer came along?
“A lifetime of new adventures,” Bianca said, though her tone wasn’t entirely convincing.
“What happens when you’re tired of traveling? Of picking up and moving? Never having roots.”
“My roots would be with the tribe.”
“Bianca.” Vickie patted the bed and Bianca sat. “Gypsies are born to that life. They don’t know anything else. It’s in their blood to keep moving, changing, ever flowing. You, on the other hand, are an English girl, born and bred to plant your roots and never ever pull them up. Look at me, for instance. My family’s seat is three hundred and eighty-five years old.”
Bianca gave a little chuckle. “Your roots are rather deep, aren’t they?”
“Even Tom came back from paradise.”
“He misses it, you know?”
Vickie nodded. “I know. But I pretend I don’t, because I like having him here.”
Something stabbed at Bianca’s gut. She knew what it was—seeing the love Vickie had for her sibling reminded Bianca of her own siblings. Her sisters. Would she miss out on everything if she chose the Romani way of life? Robin would have her coming out next year—she would need her older sister, wouldn’t she?
Perhaps not. The three of them had each other.
“Bianca, are you crying, my dear?” Vickie asked as Bianca spun around and walked to the other side of the room.
“Why does this have to be so hard?” she asked, not really expecting an answer.
A comforting hand landed on her shoulder. “You must first listen to your heart,” Vickie said.
“But my heart is so torn.” And it was. Torn in half—one half belonging to a man that she was nearly convinced she loved, the other half belonging to a man who she could learn to love but who, in the meantime, would offer her a glamorous life in the world she’d always known. The world where her friends and family lived.
Could she say good-bye to Emil in order to have all that?
“What would you do?” she asked, turning abruptly to face Vickie.
The countess’s eyes grew round. “I-I don’t know. On one hand, I would embrace the adventure of life with the gypsies and a torrid romance with a Rom. On the other…well, this is hardly fair. I love my brother and I think any woman should count themselves fortunate to have a marriage proposal from him.”
“You’re too loyal by half,” Bianca said with a wide smile.
“Speaking of loyal,” Vickie interjected. “I’ve been to see your sisters.”
“Oh, yes! Tom said as much when we met. How are they?”
“You needn’t worry about them. Your sisters are clever little creatures, much like their sister, I suppose.”
“Are they up to no good?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Vickie laughed. “But they were rather excited for you and your adventure, despite the fact that I continued to reiterate the kind of danger you might be in.”
“They hate Tisbury as much as I.”
“We all do.”
Bianca smiled at her new friend, grateful for the opportunity to speak her heart with someone who understood. Would they be able to continue their friendship if Bianca chose the gypsy life?
A knock came at the door, and Vickie reached out to open it. Tom stood on the other side, but he didn’t look happy.
“Emil is here?” Bianca guessed.
Tom merely nodded, then stepped aside. “Go now. The taproom is empty and the innkeeper is occupied momentarily in the stables.”
Bianca dipped her head in understanding, unable to meet his eyes, and then offered a small and quick smile to her new friend, before rushing fro
m the room and out to meet Emil.
Twelve
Something was wrong. Emil didn’t know what, but something was definitely wrong. Bianca was far too quiet, her spirit seemingly defeated. Part of him wanted to ask her about it, but a greater part of him was too afraid to hear the answer.
“Tom is right,” he finally said.
She looked sideways at him, then turned her gaze back to the road ahead. He longed for the abilities his mother had just then—her intuitive. Unfortunately, he’d inherited his father’s abilities with metals instead.
“Whatever do you mean?”
She knew exactly what he meant, but if she wanted for him to elaborate, he would. “You can’t come to town again.”
Bianca nodded. “I know.”
Emil sighed. “But you’re agreeing for a different reason than what Tom stated, aren’t you?”
She tucked her lips in and turned her face away.
Emil stopped walking and dropped the handles of the cart. Bianca stopped too but didn’t turn around.
“Tell me,” he said simply.
She shook her head vigorously as her quiet sniffles reached Emil’s ears. He hadn’t meant to make her cry, but clearly she was conflicted. He’d anticipated this, yet he’d still hoped it wouldn’t happen.
He crossed the short distance between them and placed his hands on her shoulders. She took a deep breath and wiped her cheeks before whirling to face him. The pain in her eyes was palpable, but it quickly turned to determination. Eagerness.
“I think we should marry!” she blurted out, nearly knocking Emil off his feet.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Bianca, are you all right?”
“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I’m not all right. But I will be. Marry me, Emil. Then I can be one of you, officially.”
“Is that the only reason you want to marry me?” He tried his best but he couldn’t remove the hurt from his tone.
Bianca reached a hand up, her blue eyes taking on a familiar tenderness as she caressed his cheek. “Of course not. I—” Her throat worked hard as she swallowed.
The Daring Debutantes Series Boxed Set Page 19
