A Dangerous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  She cried out in dismay but did not move from the bed. “I have to get home! God, they will find me out! Emilian…you are making me uncertain about you—about us. Have I done something to anger you?”

  “How could you anger me? We have passed an excellent night.”

  Hurt began, piercing through her chest. Thus far, his tone mirrored his expressionless face. “We have passed an excellent night?” she echoed.

  “You learn quickly,” he said with a negligent shrug. “I knew you would be an extraordinary lover.”

  He wasn’t speaking like a man in love—or even like man who cared. But he could not consider her an object he had used—he could not compare her to others!

  “Last night was wonderful,” she began nervously, dread arising. “It was wonderful, wasn’t it?”

  “I have arranged for one of Woodland’s carriages to take you to Rose Hill. It is waiting out front.”

  Her eyes widened. When his expression did not change, she cried, “You know I can’t go home with my hair like this, in those clothes! What is happening? Why aren’t you smiling? Why are you speaking as if you are dismissing me—and us?”

  “It is very late. You should leave…Miss de Warenne.”

  She gasped. “It is Ariella!” She realized he had called her by name exactly once the entire night, when they had first consummated their relationship. “We had a wonderful night—it is a wonderful beginning,” she cried—and she heard the desperation in her tone.

  His face hardened. For the first time, she saw the anger in his eyes. “What beginning to do you refer to?”

  She was reeling. “I thought…that after last night…” She could not continue.

  “If you are suggesting that we continue the affair—” he shrugged “—that can be arranged.”

  She choked. “That isn’t what I meant! You know what I meant! I didn’t come to your bed for an affair! I came—” She stopped. She was becoming sick at heart. He couldn’t mean his words. He could not be so cruel.

  “I told you what would happen if you came to me last night.”

  “You did not ruthlessly seduce me. We made love!”

  “I seduced you, coldly and callously. We had sex.”

  She cried out and stumbled from the bed, forgetting the sheets. “Why are you doing this?”

  He folded his arms across his chest and a ruthless look entered his eyes. “Exactly what am I doing, Miss de Warenne? You threw yourself at me. I accepted your offer of sex. You were well pleased last night—eight times, I believe. I enjoyed myself, as well. Now you should hurry to dress, otherwise you will never make it home undetected by your family. They must be distraught by now.” Finally, he smiled.

  She trembled with shock, with hurt. “We made love.”

  “And how would you know that?”

  She recoiled.

  He turned his back and started for the door, without any sign of being in a hurry. There he paused. “I’ll see if I can find you a maid.”

  She covered her mouth with her hands but could not stop the choked sob of anguish. “Do you want to ruin me?” And too late, she recalled his terrible words.

  He whirled. “I did not make you a single promise!” His eyes blazed with anger. “I was blatantly honest with you. I am sorry if you had absurd expectations. I told you to run!” His voice had risen to a shout.

  “But I thought…I thought you felt the same way about me as I do for you!” she begged. She realized tears were falling.

  His face tightened. “You thought wrong. I wanted an enjoyable evening, nothing more—and I never indicated otherwise.” He left.

  She had made a terrible mistake. Emilian had meant his warnings. She should have believed him. He had no feelings for her. He had coldly and ruthlessly used her.

  She felt her legs give way. She didn’t care. She dropped to the floor, knocking over a table as she did so, landing hard on her shoulder. Pain exploded, but she welcomed it. He had to have heard the bric-a-brac shattering, but he did not come back.

  She curled up into a ball.

  HE CAREFULLY CLOSED the door to his library and leaned against it. His heart thundered; he could not breathe.

  He would never forget the look on Ariella’s face.

  He had wanted budjo, a Gypsy’s best revenge for all of the world’s ills. As a boy, he’d stolen a cow, painted its face and sold it back to the original owner. Stevan had praised him and Raiza had been proud. He had enjoyed the swindle, and the fact that the gadjo cow owner had refused to allow them a night on his farm had only made the hustle better. The farmer had deserved budjo.

  He had wanted Ariella de Warenne to be budjo. He had wanted her to be revenge for Raiza, and even for Jaelle. He had known it would be easy to take her and then return her to the gadjos, tainted and used. A fool would marry her, not knowing she was used by a Gypsy lover.

  But she did not deserve to be budjo, and he damn well knew it.

  Last night, he had played her like his violin. Last night, she had told him that she loved him. He had pretended not to hear.

  He didn’t want her love. Why couldn’t she have been a different woman, a woman of experience, a woman who only wanted to have sex? Why did she have to have those huge blue eyes, which could look into a man’s empty soul and find something bright and light? He knew that she was confused; she was mistaking desire for love. He did not believe in love at first sight.

  Why did he have to be her first? Why did she have to claim that she loved him?

  He reached for the floor-to-ceiling bookcase. Using all of his rage and strength, he tore it from the wall. Wood thundered as it fell; it cracked and splintered loudly, books flying everywhere, thudding like dropping stones. And then he stood in the havoc of the room, a terrible silence falling.

  He had only wished to use her and return her that way to the gadjos. Had she been a different woman, one with experience, the budjo would have been simple and she would not have suffered very much. Instead, he had crushed her.

  Too late, he realized he hadn’t considered all the consequences of his actions. Too late, he knew he hadn’t really meant to use, abuse and hurt such a woman.

  Finding air was impossible. It was as if he suffered with her. And then he heard the piano.

  He stiffened. He had never heard such beautiful yet soulful music. He often played by ear, according to his mood. He could not imagine who played now, especially a melody so deeply sad and haunting. It was filled with yearning.

  He recognized the depth of the pain he was hearing and for one moment, he was still.

  And then the melody changed. It became light, lively, filled with hope and joy.

  He thrust the door open and raced to the music room. He halted, both doors open, and he saw Jaelle seated at the piano, engrossed, her fingers moving deftly over the keys. She was smiling, but tears streaked her face.

  He closed his eyes. She had found joy in this moment, but her life was one of pain.

  All Rom lived that way.

  He had done the right thing using the de Warenne woman.

  “OH, GOD! What happened?” Margery cried.

  “Shut the door,” Ariella whispered, seated on the window bench, wrapped in a sheet. She was numb now. She supposed she was in shock. She had managed to send word for Margery, but had done nothing but sit and stare since.

  Margery closed the door, a parcel in her arms. Her eyes were huge, taking in the rumpled bed and Ariella’s clothes scattered on the floor. Her regard moved back to Ariella’s face. “Who did this to you?”

  Ariella looked at her distraught cousin. “I am fine,” she choked. It was a lie. She had been grossly abused, and she would never be fine again.

  His image flashed as she had last seen him, cold and impassive and ruthlessly set against her.

  More pain stabbed through her.

  Too late, she realized she was a romantic fool.

  Margery set the parcel down and ran to her. Ariella stood and her cousin wrapped her in her arms. She had
no tears left, even though she wished to weep in Margery’s arms. But the pain remained, burning in her chest. Maybe one day she could hate him, except he had told her exactly what would happen if she trysted with him.

  “Darling.” Margery stepped back but held her shoulders. “Who did this?” She looked at the bed. It was obvious her innocence was gone.

  Ariella couldn’t answer. As horrible as Emilian was, she was reluctant to name him, even to Margery, whom she could trust with such a terrible secret.

  Margery clearly fought for calm. “Why aren’t you telling me what happened and who did this to you?”

  She tensed. “I came here for a tryst. I thought I was in love and that he loved me, too. I was wrong,” she managed.

  Margery gasped. “When did you fall in love with St Xavier? For that matter, when did you meet?”

  Ariella felt the grief rising. Her love had been one-sided. She couldn’t possibly love him now. It was hard to analyze her emotions, as she was so consumed with hurt. “It’s almost noon. Will you please help me get home without discovery?”

  “Without discovery? Ariella, your father will make certain St Xavier marries you!”

  “I don’t want to marry him. It wasn’t St Xavier!” Ariella cried in return, her composure fragile. “It was the Rom!”

  Margery gasped. “The Gypsy?”

  Ariella walked over to the parcel, clutching the sheet tightly to her body. She felt battered all over, physically, as well as emotionally. “Yes, it was Emilian.”

  Margery followed. She took the parcel and opened it, laying the items not on the bed, which she now fastidiously ignored, but on the small sofa. She said tersely, “I am not certain how you could think yourself in love with a man you met the other day.”

  Ariella wiped her eyes. “Everyone in our family falls in love suddenly, sooner or later. I am no exception to that rule, obviously.”

  “You are in love with Emilian,” Margery said slowly, paler than before.

  “I thought I was!” Ariella cried.

  Margery took her into her arms. “Oh, Ariella, I don’t know what to say! You have gone too far…but your father can force him to the altar!”

  “I have never been so drawn to anyone before. The moment I laid eyes on Emilian, I was smitten.” She inhaled. “I suppose he was right. He told me it was desire, not love. He warned me to stay away from him. In fact, I dismissed his every warning. He told me if we made love, he’d walk away the next day.” She trembled. Why hadn’t she listened? “Apparently I have not fallen in love after all. Apparently I was simply stricken with desire.”

  Margery’s eyes were huge. A terrible pause ensued. “He warned you away and you came to him anyway?” she finally asked in disbelief.

  “I made a terrible mistake.” Ariella bit her lip. “How simple hindsight is. He is leaving soon. I kept thinking that if I came to Woodland, an affair would be the beginning for us.”

  Margery rubbed her face. Then she spoke briskly. “He is a terrible rogue, reprehensible, truly, but at least he told you his intentions, as dishonorable as they were. He seemed to wish for you to stay away. Any other woman would have heeded his word!”

  Ariella closed her eyes briefly, in pain. How well she knew that.

  “Well, mistakes are made every day and it is not the end of the world. Let’s get you dressed and home and we will consider the situation then together. We will save your reputation,” she added firmly.

  Ariella wasn’t sure she cared about her reputation, but her parents would care very much. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  Margery helped her pull on a chemise, petticoats and a blue dress. “Would you marry him?”

  Ariella looked at her. Her mind went blank.

  “I meant what I said before. If you go to your father, he will bring Emilian to the altar and you know it.”

  Her heart began shrieking at her. She didn’t understand its turmoil. She covered her breast with her hand. “I am confused, Margery. An hour ago, I woke up in joy and so wildly in love.”

  Margery became even paler.

  “He was so cold, so calm. He was cruel.”

  Margery rushed to her to hold her again.

  Ariella pushed her away. “No. I am a fool. I thought I had found what everyone else in this family has—true love that will last forever. But instead, I walked into a sordid affair. I am so hurt I cannot think straight.”

  “I am utterly tired of that family myth,” Margery said with heat. “Do you know when the Gypsies are leaving Derbyshire?”

  Ariella realized Margery was considering a forced marriage for her sake, but it would be impossible to accomplish if Emilian vanished with the Romany and couldn’t be found. “I don’t know when the Roma will leave. I don’t think Emilian can be forced to do anything, not even by my father.” Suddenly her knees buckled and she felt faint. Her entire plan had failed. He was leaving anyway.

  “Last night I made love to him,” she gasped, light-headed and crying. “I told him I loved him. But he didn’t make love to me. I can’t marry a man who doesn’t love me.” She wanted Margery to understand. “Could you?”

  “No,” Margery said grimly. “I could not.”

  Ariella inhaled. “I have never wanted a proper marriage, anyway.” But as hurt and distraught as she was, she knew there would be nothing ordinary and proper about marriage to a man like Emilian.

  “You deserve true love, Ariella—and you will find it, because you are the most extraordinary woman in this family!” Margery exclaimed. “You are brilliant, educated and kind. You have never been mean to anyone. That man will suffer for what he has done! You deserve a gentleman, Ariella, not a cad.”

  Ariella shook her head. “He probably suffers every single day of his life.”

  Margery’s eyes widened.

  “You were in the village yesterday. He is hated, despised. There are shops and inns which refuse him admittance. You should have seen the mayor and his cronies at Rose Hill before you arrived. They were in a frenzy to chase the Gypsies away.”

  “Please, do not allow yourself any compassion for him now.”

  “If you are telling me to hate him, I cannot. He is hated enough as it is.” She realized, in that moment, she had spoken an absolute truth.

  “Ariella,” Margery cried. “Your compassion is dangerous! What if he takes advantage of it?”

  “Don’t worry. I am never going near him again. I am never joining him in bed again. I have learned my lesson. It is far too painful to ignore.” She would stay away from him now. Her compassion wasn’t dangerous; he was dangerous.

  Margery began buttoning up the back of her dress. “We need a plan. For the life of me, I do not know how we will return to Rose Hill. Your disappearance has been noted. When I left, Amanda said you must have taken a book and were curled up somewhere, reading.”

  As she often disappeared for hours upon hours with a book, it was not unusual. “I have a plan, but it isn’t a good one.” She picked up a hairbrush. “I am going to tell half of the truth and then I am going to lie.”

  Margery turned and their gazes locked. “When have you ever lied, much less to your parents, your family?”

  “I have no choice,” Ariella said firmly. “If I don’t lie, my father will kill him.”

  EMILIAN HALTED his gray stallion in front of the White Stag Inn. The sign with the hated words remained. Red rage filled him as he slid from the horse, and an image of his sister at the piano, tears ruining her smile, assailed him. He tied the stallion to the post and barged inside.

  The common room was dank, dark and smoke filled. About a dozen men were at several tables and the bar. Heads turned his way and conversation ceased. He glanced at the bar, where the innkeeper, Jack Tollman, was serving ale. He smiled, relishing the likelihood that someone would point out that he was a half blood and must be put out. Let them try.

  Instead, Jack beamed at him. “Welcome to the White Stag, my lord,” he said. “’Tis a fine afternoon fer a mug. Aye, boys?”<
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  The two men seated at the bar nodded, smiling in welcome, obsequiously.

  Emilian knew that when he turned his back, they would whisper about him. They would slur him and his kind. He slowly moved, his eyes on Jack. “Where is the palm reader, Tollman?” he asked coolly.

  Jack’s smile faltered. “Haven’t seen her, my lord. She was here yesterday. But she cheated the customers and I sent her packing.”

  He leaned on the bar, uncomfortably close to Jack, who stiffened. The man’s breath was sour from imbibing. “The reader cheated no one,” he said softly.

  “I beg yer pardon,” Jack said with obvious unease. “O’ course, we made a mistake about the Gypsy wench.”

  “The Gypsy wench is my sister.”

  Jack blanched.

  Emilian seized him by throat and tightened his fingers. Jack choked. Emilian imagined Jaelle being groped; he saw her running from these men. He increased the pressure with pleasure.

  “S-stop!” Jack Tollman begged.

  “You touched her, hurt her!” he roared. He wanted to kill this man for what he had done.

  Hands grasped him from behind. He ignored them, dragging Tollman over the bar while his customers frantically tried to pull him away. As the innkeeper’s eyes bulged in fear and panic, he heard them shouting at him to stop. Hands pulled at his shoulders, his arms, his wrists. He refused to release Tollman, aware that every man in the room was trying to get him off of the innkeeper now. Let them try. Tollman would pay for what he had tried to do to Jaelle and he would watch him slowly die.

  He was about to commit murder.

  The knowledge wafted through his mind. A distant part of him was horrified.

  But Raiza’s sightless eyes came to mind, as she lay broken on a cobbled Edinburgh street, murdered by the gadjos.

  I love you, Emilian.

  He heard Ariella’s passionate declaration, but saw her as he had left her, hurt and pale, her eyes filled with tears of pain.

  Don’t do this, Emilian.

  It was as if Ariella stood there beside him, he heard her that clearly.

  He hesitated, his grip easing. Suddenly he was wrestled away from Tollman, a blow landing on his jaw. He was pushed hard across the room. He stumbled to the floor, swiftly rising. As he did, he saw Tollman collapsing, choking.