by Brenda Joyce
At her use of the Roma word, his eyes gentled and his mouth curved. “Yes, I did. They came for me, to share news. When we met, I had just arrived at their camp.”
“I should have guessed—your English is too flawless!” She walked away, shaken. Her brain was screaming, trying to tell her something.
Everyone knew St Xavier was odd.
No Gypsies Here.
She whirled to face him.
“What is it?”
She was briefly speechless and she shook her head, trying to analyze the scrambled data in her mind. All she said was, “Are you an Englishman, or are you Rom?”
His easy expression vanished. “I see. You wished for a Gypsy lover and you are sorely disappointed.”
She flared. “No, I wished for you to be my lover—and my love.” And she wished she hadn’t spoken that last truth. “But we are now agreed, I confused love and desire.”
His lashes dropped, hooding his eyes.
She stared at him, dismissing the painful topic. If one did not know the facts, one would assume him an English nobleman. But she had seen him dancing beneath the stars, as Rom as any of them. What did it all mean? “Emilian?” she asked.
He started and looked up.
“Were you raised here?”
“My father needed an heir. He hired runners to find my mother and brought me to Woodland when I was twelve,” he said matter-of-factly.
Her heart softened like melted butter. “And your mother?”
He gave her a glance. “She was Rom, Ariella. She stayed with the kumpa’nia.”
She paused before him, trying to imagine being a Romany boy, taken from his mother, his people, to learn a new way of life, to love a new, foreign family. “Was your father kind?”
His eyes widened. “He did not beat me,” he said, “if that is what you are asking. He treated me fairly and with affection.”
She stared into his eyes, which were open and direct, and neither bold with desire nor hot with anger. It was a rare moment.
He shifted. “Why are you staring? Why are you looking at me as if I were a wounded creature in some cage?”
She knew so little about the Gypsies. No Gypsies Here. “It was hard, wasn’t it, painful even, to make the adjustment from one life to another?”
“Why are we discussing my childhood?” he asked with annoyance.
“It must have been very much like being a wild creature forced into a cage.” She spoke her thoughts slowly, aloud.
Tension caused his entire body to ripple. “It was difficult. I hated Edmund and I hated all the gadjos, at first. That was then. This is now.”
He had called her gadji a dozen times that night, and she had the terrible inkling that it was not an endearment.
“What?” he asked harshly.
“Did you mean to insult me by calling me gadji?”
He inhaled. “You are a gadji, Ariella, and nothing will ever change that. It is a fact I am acutely aware of—whether we are in bed or not.”
“Your answer is no answer at all.”
His mouth almost curved. “And what if I tell you that you are the most beautiful gadji in the land?”
She had to smile in spite of her humming pulse. “Then I will tell you that you need spectacles.” She touched his jaw impulsively.
He stood very still, not pulling away. And in that moment, as the heat filled his eyes, the transition became complete. She had hoped to avoid a deeper intimacy, and any further entanglement, but she felt herself whirling in the dance that could only lead to one place. She had forgiven him and she wished to be friends, but he was too seductive, too virile and too attractive for a simple friendship. And they had a history now.
None of it mattered.
She knew that she should remove her hand from his jaw. He was enjoying her touch too much and she wanted, desperately, to caress far more than his face. She should have walked away from him when he had first stepped outside, but she hadn’t. She should drop her hand now, but she did not.
His large chest lifted, lowered. He turned his face very slightly and slid his mouth over her palm. “I never said,” he said softly, his every word a warm caress, “that I no longer desired you. It is time for you to go.”
It was hard to think when he had just kissed the sensitive flesh in the center of her palm. I am not immune to this man, she thought, and I never will be. Nor did she want to be. For better or for worse, they were entangled.
She had her beginning, after all.
The door opened. He instantly turned, so that she could barely look past him.
Margery stood there. “Your father is asking where you are, Ariella.”
He faced her. “Run now,” he murmured, “before it is too late.” And his silver eyes gleamed with heat.
She felt herself shake her head. “I am not running away.”
“Ariella. I hurt you once. It was enough. I came tonight to apologize, but clearly, I should not have come at all.” He breathed hard. “I do not trust myself now.”
She smiled. “I trust you.”
“A dangerous idea.”
She moved past him, paused. “Emilian? In case you haven’t realized, I don’t hate you—and I never will.”
CHAPTER TEN
ALEXI STRODE toward Margery as she stood on the threshold of a back courtyard. She seemed very tense. “Where is my sister?” he asked, instantly aware that some female conspiracy was being formed. He was amused. He had suffered female conspiracies with his sisters and cousins his entire life. However, Cliff had asked him directly to go look after Ariella, so he would tolerate them.
Margery actually stepped in front of him. “Ariella has a migraine. She is coming in, but I daresay she will wish to go home.”
Suddenly he was suspicious. “She has been avoiding me all week, when she usually spends her time annoying me with her historical obsessions and her latest political questions. She usually makes my ears ring!” He did not add that she mostly hounded him about Elysse, but she had only brought that painful subject up once this visit. “I have hardly seen her since I arrived. Now she has a migraine? Excuse me.” He stepped past his cousin. His sister never had headaches. His sister never failed to attempt to pry into his personal life. Something was bothering her.
Ariella was coming forward. He took one look at her smile, saw her flushed cheeks, and he understood. Real alarm began. He scanned the courtyard but saw no one.
“Will you dance with me again?” She smiled at him.
He took her arm. “You hate dancing. You hate balls. Why are you smiling like that?”
Her smile vanished, then returned. “I do not hate dancing. I do not hate balls. I usually have better things to do, that is all.”
He was perusing the shadows of the courtyard again. He turned to her. “If I did not know better, I would say you have just had a tryst.”
Her color increased.
He had been right! He was in absolute disbelief, for his bluestocking sister was the least passionate, least romantic woman he knew.
“You are mad,” she said, and she slipped past him, going inside with Margery. He stared after them and watched them put their heads together.
Very intently, he walked into the center of the courtyard. A low stone wall divided it from the lawns behind the house. He saw no one slipping across the lawns.
Maybe he had been wrong. He was relieved. His sister was too intelligent for her own good, and terribly sensible when it came to political matters and social issues, but she had no experience with men. He was hoping that one day, she would fall for a good, kind, honorable man—a marrying man—someone steady and understanding from a good family, perhaps even with some means.
Until that happened, it was his duty to keep the rakes at bay.
ARIELLA SAW her father standing by a column, waiting for her. Emilian had vanished across the lawn, but she did not know if he was leaving the Simmonses’, or merely returning to the ball through another entrance. Still, it was hard not to look b
ehind her, just to make certain he was not standing there.
Cliff came over to her. Women looked at him in the hopes of catching his attention as he crossed the room, but he did not seem to notice. “Where have you been?” he asked with concern. “Are you all right?”
She smiled at him. “You know I do not care for balls. I decided to go outside and enjoy the stars.”
“I looked for you in the library,” he said. “This is the first time that I can recall you slipping away to go outside—you always manage to find some rare volume to read.”
Ariella hesitated. “I was looking for the library,” she began, when Margery stepped forward.
“I asked her to step outside, Uncle Cliff. I needed her advice on a rather personal matter.”
Seemingly satisfied, Cliff smiled and excused himself. Ariella shared a glance with Margery, who sent her an are you mad? look. Ariella decided not to defend her actions.
“It is shocking…St Xavier.”
Ariella heard the phrase and Emilian’s name, disdainfully spoken by a man standing behind her. She turned and saw two men and two ladies huddled together. She hoped she had mistaken the condescension in the speaker’s tone.
Margery seized her arm and tried to pull her away. Ariella glared at her and mouthed, Hush! She intended to eavesdrop.
“He wasn’t invited,” a pretty blonde said eagerly. “Lady Simmons told me so herself. She is livid, truly livid, for he has refused every single invitation she has ever sent. Now, he appears uninvited—and he hasn’t even said hello to her and Lord Simmons!”
“That’s the savage in him, Belle,” one man said. “You can dress anyone up, but you cannot teach good manners. You cannot purchase good breeding.”
Ariella was aghast.
“I have never seen him before,” the redhead said. She was flushed. “Are all Gypsies so stunning?”
The gentlemen stared at her, then the first speaker said coldly, “Letitia, surely you are not considering him for your second husband? Your children will be tainted with Gypsy blood and you will be scorned.”
“I heard he will marry Widow Leeds.” The other man laughed. “She is close to forty, but she has four healthy sons and claims she can have a few more. That is the best he can do.”
“I was not considering him as a suitor,” Letitia huffed. “I simply have never seen a Gypsy man before. You must admit, he looks like a Russian prince.”
The blonde leaned close. “He is notorious for his affairs, Lettie.” They exchanged fascinated looks.
“He has returned. Shall we introduce ourselves? You may not find him so stunning when you hear his accent and realize his well-tailored clothes disguise the lowest class of humanity,” the heavy gentleman said with a snort.
Ariella shook with anger. She saw the quartet actually walking toward him, clearly wishing to be amused at his expense. The ladies curtsied and the men smiled broadly, falsely, shaking his hand. Ariella knew it was all an absolute pretense. Did he know they despised him, scorned him—slurred him?
His focus moved past the foursome and found her.
She bit her lip and shook her head, hoping he would understand that they were a treacherous lot. Across the room, she saw him start, as he realized she was trying to communicate with him. From his expression, she saw he did not understand her.
The first speaker, whom she truly abhorred, was now talking to him. Ariella could not stand it. She would not allow those jackals to use Emilian as a form of entertainment. She moved fiercely toward him.
The women were staring raptly at him. She saw that he was indifferent to them. She was even more pleased when he sensed her and turned. His expression became warm and interested as she approached. “Hello, my lord. It is a pleasure to see you here.” She ignored the ensemble, curtsying for him alone. She was aware of being rude, but she did not care. She didn’t know them and would be damned before being introduced. “May I have a word with you, my lord?”
His smile began, impossibly slow and seductive. “An offer I cannot refuse.” He finally glanced at both women and nodded politely. He was dismissive to the men. He stepped aside and they left the hateful group behind, carefully not touching each other.
She stole a glance at his profile. His stance was so stiff and so correct, so set. He held his head with vast pride. He knew they whispered behind his back. Her heart ached for him.
No Gypsies Here.
“What are you doing?” he asked frankly, as they paused by a column.
“Saving you.” She smiled.
And for the first time, she saw him smile with amusement. “I hardly need saving.”
“I beg to differ—you did need rescuing from them. They were grossly obnoxious,” Ariella insisted, her heart filled with sudden happiness. She loved seeing him smile. If only he would smile more often!
“Just as you wished to defend me the first time we met?” he asked.
It took her a moment to recall that incident. “I refuse to condemn anyone without facts,” she said firmly.
His tone changed. “Miss de Warenne, it is a pleasure to properly meet.” His smile had vanished and he bowed soberly.
She jerked and saw her father approaching. Her pulse skittered. She felt as if they had been caught in a tryst. “Father, there has been an amazing turn of events,” she said. Her cheeks had become hot. “The vaida we met at Rose Hill is St Xavier.”
“I have just realized that,” Cliff said, and he did not appear pleased. Suspicion flickered in his eyes. “I believe a proper introduction is in order.”
Emilian inclined his head and looked at Cliff with evident disdain. Ariella became alarmed. He did not need to be belligerent now!
But Emilian’s smile was arrogant. “The viscount St Xavier. The pleasure is mine…Captain.”
Ariella somehow stopped herself from moaning. Emilian had just shoved his title in her father’s face. She knew Cliff didn’t care about titles, but her father loved a challenge, all the de Warenne men did. Could Emilian not behave properly, for once?
“How odd,” Cliff said, “that you failed to make your identity known when you were pretending to be a Gypsy at Rose Hill.”
“My mother is a Romni,” Emilian returned. “I am half blood. There was no pretense.”
“I had heard the gossip about you. I should have made the connection,” Cliff said. “I have also heard you never attend social affairs. What brings you to the Simmonses’—or need I even ask?” His gaze never left Emilian’s set face.
He guessed a part of the truth, Ariella thought. He sensed that Emilian had come to the ball to see her. She trembled. “Father? You and St Xavier are neighbors. I think it is wonderful that you have finally met. Hopefully this will begin a dear acquaintance.”
Both men ignored her. “If you think, for one moment, I will explain myself to you, Captain, you are deluded,” Emilian said softly. “I go where I wish, when I wish.”
“So you are incapable of a polite response? Of course you are. You believe yourself above the need to explain yourself. I think you are young, hotheaded and overly ready to battle anyone who steps into your path. That is foolish, St Xavier,” Cliff said tersely. “Ariella, Lord Montgomery wishes a dance.” He eyed Emilian. “Good evening.”
Ariella wrung her hands at the pointed dismissal, but Emilian flashed his white teeth. It was feral and unpleasant. “Yes, how could I manage such a faux pas as to speak with your daughter? Miss de Warenne is too blue-blooded to withstand my presence.”
Cliff had been about to turn; he stiffened. “My daughter is a lady and she deserves a gentleman’s attentions, not a scoundrel’s. She will only accept suitors with honorable intentions,” Cliff shot. “What are your intentions, St Xavier? Can you bother to answer that?”
Emilian did not look bothered. “I happen to agree, de Warenne. Your princess should be pursued by honorable gentlemen. As for my intentions?” He shrugged. “I have none. However, we were merely conversing, and that is not a crime—not even for a Gypsy.�
� His eyes flashed and he walked off.
Ariella trembled wildly, beyond relief that the hostile encounter was over. Then she whirled on Cliff. “He suffers enough as it is! Did you have to attack him that way? Can’t you see how they treat him?”
Her father was startled. “I did not attack him, but he needed a warning, Ariella. That man is a rogue—he is arrogant, hotheaded and far too appealing to your gender. Look! Half the ladies in this room are trying to attract him! I am sorry to be so crude, but I have no doubt he will take one of them to his bed tonight—and damn it, it will not be you.”
Ariella gasped, flushing. “We were only speaking,” she managed, aware of the terrible lie. “Father, have you heard the horrible things they are saying behind his back? They smile to his face and scorn him when he turns away. It is unfair and cruel!”
Cliff’s blazing eyes mellowed. “Yes, it is, but damn it, it is not your concern. He will take advantage of your kind heart. Please, do not think to take on his cause. No good can come of it.” He smiled. “I did fabricate that part about Montgomery, but why don’t you greet him? Perhaps he will ask you to dance.”
“First, I do not want to dance with Montgomery. Second, I don’t give a fig about suitors and you know it!” She closed her eyes, and then gave in. “Frankly, I wish to be St Xavier’s friend. He is in need of one.”
Her father paled. “You are so naive. A man like that does not have female friends. A friendship will lead to one place. In this instance, you must trust my experience.”
She stiffened. “Will you now tell me who I am allowed to be friends with?”
He became still. “Of course not.”
“Thank you. I am aware of his reputation,” she added. It would be so much easier to discuss Emilian if she hadn’t already betrayed Cliff’s trust. “I will be careful.”
“Darling.” Amanda appeared at Cliff’s side, smiling, but her green eyes were wide with concern. They darted between father and daughter. “How can you be arguing on such a beautiful night? Come dance with me.”
“In a moment, Amanda,” he replied. “Ariella, please heed this one warning. He doesn’t want friendship from you—and I am certain he is dangerous. You will be in over your head.”
