by Brenda Joyce
“Edmund St Xavier was still alive, but he let young Emil have a free hand with the accounts, the tenants, the repairs and the debt. Emil quickly realized the value of coal, and there is abundance here. All matters were quickly put in order.”
“He must have been very conscientious,” Ariella said slowly. “To turn this estate around, at such a young age—and so quickly.”
“The viscount does little else other than attend to the estate,” Hoode said. “I was shocked that he chose to go out last night.”
Ariella glanced aside, a small thrill unfurling.
“May I assume he wished to make your acquaintance at the ball?”
She smiled at him. “You are bold, Hoode. But we did dance.” She blushed anew. “However, we met earlier.”
Hoode seemed pleased. “Ah, so he went to the ball to pursue you.”
She did not respond to that, but asked, “He was a good student, wasn’t he?” She had not a doubt that his intellect was outstanding.
“The viscount graduated with the highest possible honors.”
She tried to hide a smile and failed. Emilian was highly educated and very responsible. She was thrilled. Then she sobered. He thought her the avid reader of romance novels. She had lied because very few men would find an intellectual woman attractive. But Emilian was different from every man she knew. Hopefully, he would not hold her unusual education against her. She would have to tell him the truth—soon.
“Do you wish to go inside?” Hoode nodded at the closed door.
She wanted to know more, but she wanted to see Emilian, too. Although it had only been a few hours since she had last seen him, it felt like days, even weeks. “I will go in.” Then she grasped Hoode’s arm. “How irascible is he today?”
Hoode chuckled. “Foul, my young lady, his temper is foul.”
She thought about their parting argument. She couldn’t be certain if that was the cause for his mood, or if it was the terrible tension that had been between them during the ball. She nodded and Hoode opened the door.
Emilian was as elegant as he had been last night. He wore a dark, custom-cut frock coat and tan trousers, white shirt and stock, and his arms were folded across his chest. But his face was set with resignation as he listened to two matrons and their daughters. They were seated before him and chattering away, going on and on about the fine Derbyshire weather. Ariella instantly saw that Emilian was miserable.
A true boor would have booted them out. Instead, he was trying to politely smile and nod, but his lips were pursed together rather grimly, and his head was oddly bobbing.
“Tell his lordship about our May Day picnic, Emily, dear,” the matron, dressed in pink-striped satin, was saying.
A tall, thin, blond girl looked up, her cheeks turning red. She was perhaps eighteen. “It was very pleasant, my lord.” Before she’d finished mumbling, she looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap.
Emilian grimaced.
“It was a perfect day for a picnic,” her mother cried enthusiastically. “The Farrows, the Chathams, the Golds and of course, my dear friend, Mrs. Harris and Mr. Harris were all there! You should have joined us, as we are all neighbors.”
Emilian smiled tightly. “I believe I was out of town.”
Ariella realized she was becoming indignant. Emily was not nearly clever enough for Emilian. She now looked at the other debutante. She was a plump, overly voluptuous brunette, seated by the other matron. She was staring at a plate of cookies as if smitten by them. Her mother patted her plump thigh. “Lydia made the tart. The apple tart was exceptional, was it not, Cynthia?”
Any alarm Ariella might have over their pursuit of Emilian vanished. There was only outrage. Emilian deserved the princess he talked about, a woman of pride and courage and intellect, someone absolutely outstanding—as outstanding as he. These women were too shy, too plain and too ordinary for him.
Emilian saw Ariella and his eyes widened.
“My lord, Miss de Warenne,” said Hoode.
He flushed, his embarrassment obvious. “Miss de Warenne,” he said stiffly. “Please, join the merry crowd.”
Both matrons were on their feet, crying out in delight while greeting her. Ariella vaguely recalled seeing them the night before. She hurt for him once again, even if the wounds being inflicted were so slight. But it was shameful to try to match him up with such ordinary women. She sent him a look. He stared back at her grimly.
“Miss de Warenne, how lovely to see you again!”
She managed a smile as she went inside. They hadn’t been introduced and she did not know their names.
Emilian tugged at his stock. “Hoode, more refreshments, please.” He seemed to be strangling.
“I am Lady Deane and this is my dear friend, Mrs. Harris. Emily, come meet Miss de Warenne. Lydia, do not take another sweet! Come here!”
Ariella greeted both women and their daughters. The blonde seemed incapable of speech, and the brunette had chocolate on her dress and the corner of her mouth. “I do hope I am not intruding. I was hoping to discuss some matters with the viscount. I am breeding a prized mare to one of his stallions.” The lie had instantly formed. Emilian now stood by the French doors, staring yearningly outside. In that moment, he looked like a young boy caught in the schoolroom, wishing desperately to be allowed to go out and play. He glanced at her with some surprise.
“Oh, this is so delightful. We had so hoped to meet you. You reside in London, is that true?” Mrs. Harris cried.
Ariella responded, noting that the brunette had taken a cookie anyway and the blonde was simply twiddling her thumbs. She smiled at the latter. “Did you enjoy the ball last night, Miss Deane?”
Emily Deane looked at her as if she had spoken Chinese. Then she flushed scarlet and mumbled a reply, casting her eyes down. Ariella had no clue as to what she had said and she heard Emilian sigh.
“Emily loves balls,” her mother said. “She has been to fourteen this year alone. I so admired your dress, Miss de Warenne! You must give me the name of your seamstress, and I shall use her for the next season. It is a Parisian couturier, is it not?”
“I have no idea,” Ariella said.
Emilian met her gaze and his face finally softened.
She sent him a warm smile. I am so sorry, she thought. How awkward this must be for you!
He turned away.
“Oh, dear, it is half past one and we have two more calls to make. The girls must get out, you know! Emily, take your leave of his lordship. You, too, Lydia.”
A moment later, the quartet was gone. Ariella watched as Emilian tore off his stock, shrugged off his handsome frock coat and went to the console, pouring a brandy. He was red faced. He drained half the glass.
“Was it that bad?” she asked, coming up to stand behind him.
He finished the glass. “Good God!” he exploded, facing her, “I go to one damned affair and I must entertain chatterboxes and dimwits!”
“You were exceedingly polite,” she said, trying to keep a straight face.
He glared at her. “Why are you amused? Are you pleased to see me set down?”
Her light mood vanished. “Absolutely not. Those debutantes were inappropriate for you. They should be cast upon your cousin, perhaps. You deserve a princess.” She managed to glance aside. He had called her a gadji princess several times.
He folded his arms across his silver brocade waistcoat and stared. She had not a doubt he was thinking about her choice of words.
“Your behavior was exceptionally correct. How long did they linger?”
“Too long,” he snapped.
“You could have made an excuse.”
“I was about to do so when you walked in. I doubt they were here for more than twenty minutes—which is twenty-one minutes too long.”
“Bark away—I am becoming quite accustomed to it.”
His smile formed, and it was dangerous. “I am in an exceedingly poor temper.”
That was becoming obvious. “But you wer
e so valiant, and trying so hard to be a perfect gentleman. Surely I have not set you off?”
His mouth curled. “I will take the hook. You always set me off.” He turned his back on her and poured another drink.
She debated objecting and decided not to interfere. She doubted he drank this way every day. “You are never so polite with me. Is that why?”
He whirled. “You are not stupid, and I had no desire to bed either one of them!”
She went still. “So you are rude to me because of some impossible attraction?”
He gave her a long, hard look. “It is very annoying,” he said slowly, “to still want you, yet to have decided, at all costs, to behave with English honor. In fact, I grow increasingly tired of the mere concept of honor. I am tired of all games and all pretenses, yet you come here.”
“My calling isn’t a game or a pretense. I know you will bark and growl, but we found a new ground last night.” She hesitated.
He didn’t smile. “So that is what this is? A new ground?”
His silver eyes were gleaming, and only partly with suspicion. She said, “I am pursuing our friendship.”
He laughed. “Our friendship…or me?”
She felt her heart explode. “I am pursuing our friendship, Emilian.” She tried to be firm and not think about their love affair. “Last night changed everything for me.”
“Oh, yes, of course it did. You have decided I am lonely!” His eyes blazed.
“You are so irascible today! You stood alone at that ball, with no friends and gossips behind your back. It was horrid! Why would you resist my offer of friendship? You need me!”
He pointed at the couch. “Yes, I do need you—there. That is where we will go, and that has nothing to do with friendship. I hurt you once, and I am very close to not caring if I hurt you again.”
She trembled. “But you do care. Otherwise you would take me in your arms right now. I feel an impossible attraction, too. I know you know it. I don’t think I could resist you for very long if you decided to seduce me—especially after last night.”
“Do you have to be so direct, so candid? I don’t want to know how you feel, not about me!”
Her heart was thundering. She had never felt more tension coming from him, so potent and so male. She wet her lips. “But I have thought about it—about us—all night.”
He inhaled.
“We have begun a friendship, and that leads to all kinds of wonderful possibilities.” His eyes widened. “When I next share your bed, it will be when I am certain that the following morning will be filled with kindness and smiles, perhaps even affection and laughter.” She smiled but she trembled nervously. She had never meant her words more.
“The next time you share my bed,” he repeated.
She tensed. “I believe it inevitable.”
“You are aware, are you not, that you are waving a red flag at me?” He started toward her.
She backed up instinctively. “That is not my intention! At least, not consciously!”
“I am glad you realize the inevitability of our next encounter. I give in. I give up.” He paused as her back hit the bookcase.
“You do? What does that mean?” It had become difficult to think clearly.
His smile began. He looked at her mouth. “It means I am past all temptation. I want you as a lover. Not tomorrow or the day after that. And we both know that you want me, too.”
Her eyes widened and her heart thundered. He was right. The problem was, in spite of her best intentions, he was impossibly seductive and, after last night, she wasn’t all that certain she wished to entirely resist him, even though she knew she should.
He laid one hand above her shoulder, on the bookcase. “I want to make love to you repeatedly. But I do not want to hurt you and I will not utter false declarations.”
“I do not want false declarations,” she said.
His face hardened. “I think you want some deep affection from me. I even wonder if, somehow, you are still in love with me, or believe that you are. You will be hurt by any lack of affection on my part, so I will be blunt. I want to take you to bed. But there will be nothing more—not even friendship,” he warned. “And I am not lonely.”
Ariella knew one thing—the last statement was a lie. He was the loneliest man she had ever met. Because of that, she had never been more resolved to be his friend through thick and thin. He was somehow hers, no matter what he said. He had hurt her terribly, but they were on new ground now. She wasn’t all that convinced that he would be cold and indifferent the next morning if she did accept his offer.
She breathed hard, very, very tempted. “I am not insulted by your proposition.”
His face tensed. “I am not trying to insult you.”
“I know you’re not. However, I do think we should allow our friendship to blossom. Therefore, as difficult as it is, I must decline.” She bit her lip, her pulse exploding. In truth, she almost regretted her determination.
His eyes flickered. “I thought you would.”
He had deliberately maneuvered her into a refusal. “You are so clever, Emilian,” she said. “But I am not giving up on our friendship.” She added, “I look forward to the day when you admit to some small affection for me.”
He flushed. “It is not affection, it is interest.”
Ariella smiled. “Very well. Today I can accept a declaration of interest.”
“Are you laughing at me?” And then his other hand came up on the bookcase on the other side of her head, trapping her.
She knew he was thinking about kissing her and she nodded at him. A kiss was acceptable. She would so enjoy a kiss…or two.
His mouth covered hers.
She gasped, thrilled. The onslaught was fierce and determined. He was as hungry for this kiss as she was. And then his mouth softened and stilled against hers. Her heart hammering, their lips pressed against each other, she waited desperately. And then his lips moved over hers again, brushing and gentle, seductive and sensual. She knew there was affection in his kiss. She could not be mistaken.
A tear of joy welled, but it was overshadowed now by the wet heat of desire. She opened and his tongue filled her instantly. She reached for his shoulders, desire exploding like fireworks in her breast. Briefly, he pulled back and looked at her, and in spite of the heat, there was something gentle in his searching gaze.
She cupped his rough jaw. “Emilian,” she whispered hoarsely.
His gray eyes blazed silver and he leaned his hard, stiff body against hers, claiming her mouth. More tears fell. She kissed him back frantically. His loins felt so full against her that she began to think of the obvious conclusion to their kiss. In spite of her resolve, she wanted to be in his arms, in his bed, his world. Nothing else would do; nothing else could be as right.
He tore his mouth away, panting. “You need to leave—or we need to find a bedroom.”
She stared, trembling. She knew what would happen if they left the library. He was going to make love to her. There would be tender looks and caresses and so much wild passion. But then he was going to push her away. It was all tangled up in his denial of any need for love and friendship. She was beginning to understand him now. She could almost manage such a rejection, but she would be hurt, even understanding how complicated he was. As tempted as she was, she had to deny their passion—for now.
She touched his cheek. “I care for you, Emilian, and I will fight for this friendship. I will fight for you, too, against all those hateful gadjos.”
His gray eyes were watchful, wary.
“And when we go to bed again, the next morning you are going to tell me that you care.” She wanted to smile but couldn’t.
He pushed himself away from the bookcase. “I hope you are not counting on that.”
Ariella decided not to tell him that she was very hopeful. She smiled at him. His gaze narrowed.
A knock sounded on the door. Ariella turned as Hoode showed Emilian’s uncle in.
“Stevan?�
�� Emilian asked sharply. From his tone, she knew something was wrong at the Romany camp.
“I was hoping you had some laudanum, Emilian. We have none and there has been an accident.”
Ariella stepped forward as Emilian said, “Yes, I do have laudanum. What happened?”
“Nicu fell on a nail. I have to take it out, but he is in some pain and whiskey is not enough.”
Ariella seized Emilian’s sleeve. “We should summon the surgeon.”
He gave her a dismissive look. “He won’t come. I’d like to look at the wound. I’ll get the laudanum.” He left the library with his uncle.
For one moment, Ariella stared after them, hoping the nail was not old and rusty. The accident did not sound life threatening itself, but an infection certainly was. Then she hurried into the hall. “Hoode?”
He appeared instantly. “Miss de Warenne?”
“Will you please send a reliable servant to Kenilworth in search of the surgeon? Use my carriage and tell him that Miss de Warenne has sent for him. And tell him he should rush—it might be an emergency.”
Hoode nodded and hurried off.
Ariella hoped that it was not serious. She didn’t even know if there was a good surgeon in Kenilworth, and Manchester was several hours away. Then she lifted her skirts and hurried from the house to the Romany encampment.
ARIELLA SAT on the damp grass, her back against the wheel of one of the Romany wagons. She hugged her knees to her chest. The surgeon hadn’t come.
She was disbelieving that the village surgeon had refused to attend the Romany boy. Nicu was inside a tent, sleeping off the laudanum. Stevan had removed a nail from his hand and sewn up the wound—Jaelle had told her that Stevan had been tending to his people as if a surgeon for most of his adult life. No one had expected the surgeon to come. No one had even thought to call for a surgeon, except for her.
She laid her face on her knees.
A shadow fell over her.
Ariella knew it was Emilian before she even looked up. “How is he?”
“He’s comfortable now.”
She hugged her knees more tightly to her chest. Emilian’s face was expressionless. Surely he was dismayed and enraged with the surgeon. Or was he so accustomed to such treatment that he no longer cared about the injustice?
