by Brenda Joyce
Emilian’s gaze had not wavered from Ariella. She saw his eyes fill with anger.
But he nodded at Margery. “I beg your pardon,” he said. As he reached for a shirt, Ariella saw the mark on his upper chest, which gleamed with perspiration. She closed her eyes, recalling biting him accidentally in the heat of the most extreme moment.
“I don’t blame you,” Dianna whispered.
Ariella looked at her with panic. Did she now guess the truth, too?
“I am undone, too.”
Ariella could barely believe Dianna, but the conversation taking place between her cousin and Emilian drew her attention, instead.
“That is very generous of you, Lady de Warenne,” Emilian said, buttoning his shirt halfway. He reached for a dark green brocade vest, embroidered with silver and gold. The item would not pass as a waistcoat; it was far too exotic in design. He shrugged it on. “You may leave the basket with me. I am sure the children will enjoy the fare.”
“I hope so.” Margery smiled. “Your wagons are beautiful, sir. I have never seen one up close before. The craftsmanship is superb.”
His smile began, reluctant and wry and so stunning. “Unfortunately, we cannot take credit for the workmanship. Our wagon makers are Englishmen.”
“But obviously someone has designed them so fantastically,” Margery said. She turned. “I believe you have met my cousin, Miss Ariella de Warenne.”
Ariella tensed as his gaze swept over her, his smile vanishing. She felt disrobed by the glance. She touched her silk skirts reflexively, hoping all was in order, wishing she had chosen something prettier to wear than a simple, long-sleeved day dress.
He shocked her by inclining his head. “I am afraid I have not had the pleasure.”
She breathed in relief.
Margery introduced Dianna. “I see some wagons being readied. Are you taking to the road so soon?” Margery asked.
He gave Margery his attention again. “I am afraid we have been denied permission to linger.”
“Really? Captain de Warenne is a very generous and accommodating man. I am surprised.”
Emilian chose to remain silent now.
Ariella could not believe how polite and respectful he was being to her cousin. He had not treated her so cordially, not even from the first. He had spoken to her suggestively before there had ever been an introduction. He had turned his glittering eyes upon her, as if a magician capable of enchantment, and she had fallen instantly under his spell.
He did not seem to wish to enthrall Margery. She was relieved, for she felt fairly certain he was a ladies’ man. But just then, he was behaving like a well-born, noble and proper gentleman.
Margery wished him a safe journey. She turned. “Shall we return to the house? I have yet to chat with your stepmother, Ariella. And then I think I am going to rest before supper.”
Ariella looked at Emilian.
He sent her a cold glance. Using the tongs, he took the horseshoe, which had cooled, and returned it to the fire.
He wanted her to leave. Ariella swallowed. “I think,” she said quietly, “I will stay a while.”
He did not look up, but he stiffened.
“I was hoping to converse with some of the women before they leave and I may never have such a chance again.”
Margery’s eyes danced. “Field research?” she said teasingly.
“It is an amazing opportunity,” Ariella said. He was intent on the burning shoe, which was the color of hot coals now. It didn’t matter. She knew he was listening to their every word.
“Very well, but I think you should rest this afternoon, too. The Simmonses are having their May Day country ball tonight, remember?”
Before Ariella could respond, Dianna said, “No, it was moved—it is at the end of the week.”
“I suppose I misunderstood. Dianna?”
Dianna gave her arm, and the two women walked off.
Ariella did not move.
Emilian took the horseshoe from the coals and laid it on the stump. He tossed the tongs aside, jerked his shirt open and lifted the hammer. He slammed it into the shoe. “Come closer,” he said, “and you will get burned.”
Ariella was fairly certain that he did not refer to the fire at his feet.
“Nervous, Miss de Warenne?” he mocked, finally leveling a cold gray stare at her.
“Yes, I am terribly nervous.” She had no intention of dissembling now.
“You have come back, so I can only assume you wish to be burned. I must warn you, linger and you will suffer the consequences.”
“I believe that you are more bark than bite,” she managed. “In spite of what could have happened last night, you were a gentleman when you realized my position.”
He made a harsh sound, his eyes diamond hard. “You clearly know nothing about the Rom, and as clearly, you know nothing about me.”
“You’re right.” She hesitated. “I was hoping that, in the light of a new day, we might be able to discuss everything more calmly.”
“There is nothing to discuss.” He turned away.
He was going to reject her again? Hadn’t he felt what she’d felt last night? Didn’t he feel that interest and attraction now? She bit her lip. “I was hoping to learn about your culture,” she tried. “I was glad to see that you haven’t left yet.”
He stiffened, staring at the horseshoe. Then he slowly faced her. His mouth tightened. “I will not be a part of your field research, Miss de Warenne.”
She tensed. “That is not fair, as you have no idea what Margery meant.”
“I think she meant exactly what she said.”
“I won’t deny my curiosity. I would like to know more about your way of life. But…I came back because we argued last night.” She stared and their gazes locked. “I don’t wish to argue with you.”
“You mean this morning.” He gave her a direct look, both scathing and male, and turned away. He retrieved the shoe with gloves. A black mare was tied to the wagon and he went to her, stroking her rump once. He lifted her hind hoof and placed the shoe there, checking the fit.
“You know what I mean,” Ariella said to his back. He did not look up. “I was hoping your temper might have improved with a few hours of sleep. But I see I have been hoping in vain.”
He straightened and faced her, his gaze now deeply penetrating. “I did not sleep, Miss de Warenne. My temper has never been as foul.”
She was certain their encounter was the reason he hadn’t been able to sleep, either, and that thrilled her. He could claim indifference, but he was affected by her, too. “Then that makes two of us,” she murmured.
His face hardened. “Are you trying to provoke me? Was last night not enough provocation? Or is this a virgin’s seduction?”
She was surprised. “You make it sound as if I wanted to lead you a merry chase, when I had no such plans! I wouldn’t even know where to begin a seduction!”
He ripped off the gloves. “Last night, you wanted me to pursue you—do not dare deny it. You wanted me to take you into my arms and you wanted my kisses. I know when a woman sends such an invitation, Miss de Warenne. I did not mistake your desires last night. I have little doubt you were born a seductress.”
She was amazed that he thought her seductive, when all of society found her too independent, too intelligent, too educated. “You are the first man, Emilian, who has ever made me think of kisses,” she said slowly, “and the first man to make me feel passion. You are the only man I have ever wanted to kiss. I never understood what the fuss was about, or why my brother and male cousins are such rakes, going from conquest to conquest. I don’t think I even knew what I was doing last night. But when we met, something happened to me—I won’t deny it. And it is wonderful!” she cried passionately.
A silence fell.
She trembled. “I was hoping we could start over this morning.”
“Oh, yes, I had forgotten, you want more than my kisses. You wish to know me better—as friends! You may rendezvous with me
tonight at our next camp, but though you will claim it is to converse, we both know there will be little conversation.”
His temper hadn’t improved, she realized, not at all. He was as set against her now as he had been when he’d learned of her innocence. “But there is so much to speak of! We could gossip and debate. We could share stories. I grew up in the West Indies—I have many stories to tell! I am sure you have many stories to tell, too, as you have traveled even more extensively. Just because I have been dreaming of your kisses—and perhaps, you have been dreaming of mine—doesn’t mean we have to act on our desire!” But she flushed, because she wished to do just that.
He choked. “Ladies do not admit to such feelings…just as ladies do not tryst with Gypsies and wish to become their friends.”
Ariella breathed deeply, wondering if a question was contained in his words. “Emilian, I am outspoken and considered eccentric by society. I am also an honest person. Can’t we discuss this with honesty? Don’t I deserve that much, after the passion we shared last night? You were kind and respectful to Margery, my cousin.”
“I am not lusting for your cousin,” he said flatly. “We shared a simple kiss, nothing more.”
Her heart slammed. “It was far more than a kiss, Emilian.”
“For you, a woman without experience.”
“That’s right. I have no experience when it comes to kisses and lovemaking. What happened last night was hugely important to me. I am hoping it was important to you, too.”
His eyes were dark and unhappy.
She breathed, “Were you awake last night because of me?”
“Stay longer, and you will find out.”
She thrilled in spite of the terrible tension and enmity coming from him. “What can I do to form a truce between us, so we might have a real beginning?” She smiled hopefully.
“Leave. Forget last night and find someone else to satisfy your newly awakened desires. If you want to bed a Gypsy, it can be arranged—there are many lusty men in the kumpa’nia.”
“You can’t mean that!”
“I do. I have never meant anything more.” He turned away from her, his face dark with anger, reaching for some nails. He stroked the mare once and lifted her hind leg, but there was tension in the gesture. Ariella watched him nailing the shoe. She could not understand him. He was a stranger from a different culture, and she did not know a single hope or dream he harbored. She didn’t know why he was so angry.
Yesterday he had been angry before she’d even said a word, as if he disliked everyone—or at least, all Englishmen.
She hoped that was not the case. But if he was truly set against her, if he really wished to end their relationship, there was little she could do. She had already pursued him shamelessly. Ladies did not pursue gentlemen.
But she wasn’t like Margery or Dianna or anyone else. Her every instinct told her not to let him slip away. Her heart demanded she pursue him, even if that meant she was shameless. She wanted to soothe his anger—and she wanted to understand it.
Hadn’t the women in her family always fought tooth and nail for the men they loved?
She became still. A man and woman could fall in love at first sight; the event certainly abounded in her family. She was beginning to feel as if it had happened to her, for she seemed to care that much. “I am going to miss you when you leave. I know it’s absurd, but it’s how I feel,” she finally whispered.
He ignored her, nailing the shoe.
“Do you believe in fate?”
He kept nailing the shoe.
“Although I am well-read and I consider myself fairly rational, I believe in fate. I never come to Rose Hill. I haven’t been to Derbyshire in years. But my first night here, we met.”
“This is hardly fate,” he said. He paused, bent over and, breathing harshly, lifted the hammer.
She spoke softly. “Do you believe in love at first sight?”
The hammer glanced off the shoe, hitting his thumb, and he cried out. Dropping the mare’s leg and the hammer, he straightened. His expression was one of shock and dismay.
She realized she was hugging herself. “I know it’s madness, because we’ve only just met. But it’s a bit of a family tradition and I may be following in my ancestors’ footsteps.”
He strode toward her, seizing her shoulders. “You are not falling in love with me. One day, you will fall in love with some charming, well-off aristocrat. What you feel is lust, Ariella, and nothing else! You don’t even know me.”
“I so want to know you, but you are refusing my very sincere overtures!” she cried.
“You are a romantic fool,” he said, releasing her. “Have you not noticed our differences?”
“I don’t care. My best friends, after my brother, sister and cousins, are university professors, scholars, lawyers and a radical writer! None of them are nobly born.”
He shook his head. “None of them are Rom, either. What woman even makes such a confession? Have you no pride? I am Rom, Ariella, Rom.”
She held up her chin. “I have great pride. I am proud of the fact that I am not like any of the other women of my class and upbringing. And I don’t care that you are Rom.” She touched his cheek. “Is this why you are refusing my offer of friendship? Because a friendship between us is forbidden?”
He jerked away and folded his arms. “Who I am matters vastly. The fact that you are late to sexually awaken, and you dare to wander out alone at night, hardly makes you different enough. It doesn’t change that you are a gadji princess.”
She bristled. “I am hardly royalty. Yes, I am well-off—so what? I live in London very independently by choice. I am well-read. I spend most of my time reading. I speak four—” She suddenly stopped. What was she doing? He was not going to be impressed by her obsession with history, biographies and philosophy, her advocacy of social change and reform, or her unusual education. The women who were admired and pursued did not read anything but romance novels and literature on travel. They did not live independently, and they had, at best, an elementary-school education. The women gentlemen pursued and loved excelled at sewing and needlepoint and were passionate about fashion; they desired only a husband and a family.
“Pray, do continue,” he mocked. “You live independently and you read and therefore you are suited to be the paramour of a Gypsy?”
“I prefer London to the country and as my aunt and uncle are often in town, I spend most of the year with them. I read a lot. I read…romance novels. And travels guides,” she said lamely. She was glancing aside now.
“Yes, that makes you very original.”
His scorn was so hurtful. “I hate balls and teas,” she flared. That much was the truth. “I hate idle, frivolous chitchat about croquet and steeplechases. I am suited to be your friend—and perhaps even your lover, if a natural progression leads us that far.”
His eyes widened impossibly.
She had never been so determined. “You see, I am very different from other young ladies. I have not ruled out a love affair with you.”
“You are mad! How you have maintained your innocence thus far is beyond me!”
“I told you, I have never desired any other man. But a friendship must come first, Emilian.” She trembled, because in a way, she had just made a very shocking proposal.
“If a natural progression leads you to my bed, you will be filled with regrets,” he said harshly, eyes ablaze.
“To the contrary,” she whispered. “I will probably be very satisfied.”
He choked again.
She felt her insides churn with the yearning that had become, overnight, so familiar now. “I am becoming used to your threats,” she whispered. “You no longer frighten me, Emilian.”
“Really? Then come to me tonight. Because you will be frightened, I am sure of it, and on the morrow, you will have regrets.”
Ariella stared, refusing to believe him.
His chest heaved. “When will you understand? You are a terrible temptation, one I do
n’t even wish to resist. I want to ruin you! But I will not give you love when I take your innocence. We will not be friends…we will never be friends. I will give you nothing but passion, pleasure—and then it will be goodbye.”
She shivered. In that moment, she realized he believed his every word. Was it possible that he had never had a friend? Was it possible that his lovers were only that? He had made a terrible comment about being used by women. “Why are you afraid to give a friendship between us a chance?”
“I am not afraid. I am trying to make you run far from me. I am trying to protect you, not from yourself, but from me!” He whirled and began untying the black mare.
Ariella realized tears had begun to fill her eyes. She swiped at them. “So I will never see you again.”
The mare’s lead in his hand, he faced her. “We will be at Woodland tonight. If you come, I will ruthlessly seduce you and take you to bed. If you come, there will not be conversation or friendship. If you are falling in love, I suggest you come to your senses immediately. If you join me for a night of passion and pleasure, it will only be that. You will be no different from the gadji ladies who so often join me in my bed. So think long and hard if you wish to become one of them. Oh! And in case I am not clear, when the sun comes up and you leave my bed, I will not recall your name.” He gave her a harsh look and walked away with the horse.
Ariella cried out and sank down on the ground. She pulled her knees up high and hugged them to her chest, shaken to the core of her being. She felt as if she had offered a wonderful gift to someone and had it thrown back in her face.
But wasn’t that what had happened?
Would he really take her innocence and forget her afterward?
Was it possible he was such a cold man?
Her heart screamed at her in protest now. She didn’t want to believe he would ever be so crude and ignoble. He had said very clearly that he wished to scare her away. He was trying to protect her. That was noble. And last night he had accepted her decision, instead of ruining her. That was noble, too. Clearly, he had a conscience. As clearly, taming the beast would not be easy—if she ever dared go near him again.
