A Dangerous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  “It must be close to five. You did not have to stay. You should go home now.” He held out his hand.

  Ariella took it and stood. She didn’t release his hand. “I would like a brandy,” she said unsteadily.

  She had no desire to go home, not now. She wanted to talk about what had happened. She wanted Emilian to explain how he could live with such bigotry.

  He headed for the house. Ariella let him go but walked beside him in a tense silence, acutely aware of him. “Do you know Nicu well?”

  “Not at all.” He ushered her ahead of him and they stepped into the front hall. “But Jaelle is distraught. They are the same age, and they are more like brother and sister.”

  “I am so sorry.”

  His serious regard met hers. “I did not doubt it for a moment.”

  A silence fell, huge and potent, and their stares remained locked.

  Hoode materialized. “My lord, what may I serve you and Miss de Warenne?”

  Emilian looked at her. Ariella shook her head. He said, “We are fine, Hoode. You may tell my chef I doubt I will be eating supper tonight.”

  “I will have a tray left out, sir,” Hoode said.

  Ariella hugged herself as she followed Emilian into the library. So he was upset, after all. She paused before the hearth, grateful someone had lit the fire, as she was chilled to her very soul. His back to her, Emilian poured two brandies.

  “Hoode is a fine servant.”

  “Yes, he is.” Emilian approached and handed her a glass. “Most ladies do not enjoy brandy.”

  She smiled slightly. “I have been drinking brandy with my father for years.” His eyebrows lifted slightly. “We sometimes stay up late after supper, discussing the latest successes and failures of men like Owens, Shaftesbury and Place, or the characters of those who manage our government, or even the latest developments in India.” She paused. “I am so sorry that the surgeon did not come.”

  He made a harsh sound. “I knew he wouldn’t.” He turned away and she saw his body ripple with tension. “It doesn’t matter. Stevan is probably far more skilled with a knife and needle than a village surgeon.”

  She breathed hard, staring at his set back. “It matters.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said, and suddenly he threw his drink furiously at the wall. The glass shattered. Brandy streaked the fine green-and-gold fabric that covered the wall.

  She closed her eyes, hurting for him—hurting for them all.

  He kept his back to her. “I am sorry. Please go, Ariella. I cannot entertain tonight.”

  He could claim he didn’t care about the surgeon’s hateful refusal to attend Nicu, but he did. How did he manage to live like this, with one foot in two disparate worlds? She didn’t think twice. Putting her drink down, she walked up to stand behind him. She wrapped her arms around him and laid her cheek on his back.

  He stiffened. “What are you doing?”

  She hugged him for one more moment, allowing the tears to finally fall. Then she stepped back.

  He turned, eyes wide, and his expression hardened. “You are making a mistake, Ariella,” he warned. “I am not feeling noble—or English—now.”

  “No,” she shook her head. “I am not.” She took his hand. “I cannot leave you now, like this.”

  His gray gaze blazed.

  She said, “I have changed my mind, Emilian. I want to be your lover.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  HE SHOOK HIS HEAD. “I do not want your pity, Ariella.”

  She touched his face again. “I do not pity you. I am filled with compassion.”

  He breathed deeply. “Come back tomorrow, or the following day, when you have come to your senses—and when I have returned to mine. But you do not want my attentions now.”

  She tensed but stood her ground. “I can comfort you,” she whispered. “I want to comfort you, Emilian.”

  “I hardly need comfort!” he exclaimed. He turned and walked across the room. She stiffened, thinking he meant to leave, but at the door he paused, holding it wide for her. “Good night.”

  She did not move. She would not leave him alone, not after what had happened.

  And he slammed it closed, so hard the door shuddered. He faced her, eyes hard and hot. “You are one of them,” he warned. “And I do not feel particularly friendly.”

  She almost cringed. “No! That is unfair. I am not a Romany woman, but I am as different from those gadjos as you are! I am on your side, Emilian.”

  “Very well, you are different. But there will be no extra affection, and no damned friendship! Why would you even think to stay with me now?”

  “Because I can’t bear seeing you like this…because I have begun to understand your life.”

  “You understand nothing!”

  “I understand your anger. I am angry, too,” she said.

  “Of course you are, because you are so damned kind!” Frustration erupted on his face. “You are too good for this.”

  She recalled him standing in misery with his afternoon callers, just a few hours ago, his appearance that of an English gentleman. She remembered him at the ball last night in his tuxedo, standing within the crowd yet so apart from everyone. She saw Nicu lying in the tent, being attended by Stevan, Emilian hovering over them. She saw Jaelle as she fled the White Stag Inn, her face filled with fear. And she saw him as he had danced fiercely beneath the stars, so passionately Rom.

  He was a man torn between two very different worlds. In spite of that, he had salvaged Woodland from ruin, had received the highest education, and chose to comport himself with dignity and honor in the face of bigotry. But he suffered every single day of his life, in one way or another. This day was just one of many filled with fear, hatred and scorn.

  She started toward him. His eyes widened and he went still. She paused and laid her hands on his shoulders. “I am not too good for this,” she whispered. “I am not too good for you.”

  Beneath her hands, she felt him shudder. “This is not a good idea,” he said roughly. “I am very angry. You will be badly hurt if we go forward now.”

  She stood on tiptoe and leaned into him, feathering her mouth against his. “It will be all right,” she breathed.

  Instantly he pressed her impossibly closer, holding her tightly. “You are not the one I wish to hurt,” he said hoarsely. “Yet you are the one in my path.”

  “I know. I want to be in your path.”

  “Do you really mean it?”

  She nodded.

  His thick lashes lowered. She thought she saw relief etched on the high planes of his face. His hands closed on her shoulders. “Then I accept your offer,” he said thickly. “Even though we will both regret it.”

  Before she could protest, he brushed his cheek against hers, slowly, sensually, his big body trembling. Instantly her blood heated.

  “Ariella.” As if afraid to let her go, he lowered his face, his eyes closed, seeking her mouth. Ariella went still as he brushed his mouth across hers. Pleasure sparked deep within the core of her body and swelled her flesh as she gripped him. She allowed her eyes to close and he prodded her lips, asking her to admit him. She did.

  He made a choked sound, harsh and almost soblike, and crushed her frantically in his arms. His mouth tore at hers, frenzied, and he whirled her closer to the couch. The explosion of desire blended with anger and frustration stunned her, but she wished to be trapped in that whirlwind of emotion with him. Before she could think further, he pushed her down, moving on top of her, fusing their mouths.

  She kissed him wildly back, sliding her hands beneath his shirt, her nails scraping across his chest. He grunted, his rock-hard thighs pressing hers apart. He reached for her skirts, jerking them up, and Ariella cried out as he palmed her wet, throbbing flesh.

  His kiss became deeper and more frantic. She clung, faint with her impending climax. He began a slow and heated entry.

  Slick friction began, escalated. The pleasure ignited and she threw her arms around his neck to
hold on tight while she sought a wonderful release. He broke the kiss, gasping with the same pleasure, and she felt him smile as he paused deep within her. He lifted his head.

  She was about to implode. But she saw so much desire, and so much anguish, too.

  His lashes fell and he moved. She could not withstand the growing pressure now. “Emilian.”

  He reached between them as he moved, a single, perfect caress. She gasped, spinning into a thousand rapturous pieces. He made a harsh sound, holding her legs tightly to his waist now. She wept.

  He gasped and cried out, straining above her.

  When it was over, she floated, dreamlike, in his arms. Emilian had made love to her. She opened her eyes, love filling her chest. He was staring closely at her. She touched his cheek and smiled at him. They were lovers now.

  He did not smile back. His lashes lowered again in that habitual way he had, a means of hiding his feelings from her. She so disliked it.

  She became aware of their surroundings. They were on the uncomfortably small sofa in the library. A servant could interrupt them at any time. In fact, if someone had come in a moment ago, neither one of them would have even noticed. She entertained the terrible thought, but there was no denying how wonderful being with Emilian was. She stroked his back through his shirt. Now she felt as if she were resting on a cloud of love. There were no regrets. He tensed beneath her hand, and within her, he stirred.

  And because she knew how insatiable he was and how much stamina he had, she expected him to begin making love to her all over again. But they should probably steal away to a bedroom. Discovery was too dangerous.

  “Do you feel better now?” she murmured, teasing him, her fingers in the long hair that just reached his shoulders.

  He shifted away from her and sat up. “Yes.”

  Instantly, she reached for her skirts and curled her legs beneath them. She touched his arm, concerned. His tone had been remote.

  He sent her a rather grim look. “It is half-past five.”

  She was dismayed. What was she thinking? She could hardly linger with him this way in the late afternoon as if a courtesan. She was expected at home. There was no time for smiles, laughter and affection.

  “If you leave immediately, you will be at Rose Hill in time for supper.”

  Ariella started. Emilian was avoiding looking at her. She reminded herself that they were on a distinctly charted path now. They were not strangers, as they had been before. He hadn’t used her. She had chosen to comfort him in a very timeless way.

  “We are lovers now,” she said, but she heard the question in her tone.

  He stood, turning away, and adjusted his clothing. “Do you wish to openly carry on?” he asked as if discussing the weather. He still refused to look at her.

  She tensed. “Of course not. My family would be devastated. My father, Alexi, and numerous uncles and cousins would likely attempt to murder you.” She stood, truly alarmed. “Why would you suggest such a thing?”

  “I was making a point. If you linger, we will be discovered. Discretion is the better part of valor, don’t you think?”

  She tried to comprehend his meaning.

  He started for the door. “You need to repair your hair before you step out of this room. I will send a maid with a brush and mirror and give you a moment.”

  He was withdrawing from her. There could not be any other possible explanation for his cool and distant behavior. “Wait,” she cried.

  He hesitated but faced her.

  “I hate it when you place a waxlike mask of absolute indifference on your face!” she exclaimed. “Please, don’t do this.”

  He folded his arms. “You have to go home. I am going to check on Nicu.”

  She had almost forgotten the young man lying hurt in the encampment. “I’ll wait. I want to know how he is faring.”

  “You cannot wait,” he said calmly. “You are expected at home.”

  She breathed. “Are you pushing me away?”

  “Why would I do that?” he asked, his tone mocking and angry. “Why would I push away my beautiful gadji lover? Am I a fool? We have decided on an affair. An unusual one, but nevertheless, it is an affair. Affairs are rather sordid—not that you could know.”

  Leaving like this, after a few moments on his couch, was beyond sordid. A small kindness would take some of the bitter aftermath away, but he had warned her that there would be no affection. She had wished to go forward anyway. Once again, she simply hadn’t believed him. The man standing in the midst of the room—her lover—was not displaying one iota of affection. Didn’t he care?

  “You deserve far more than a brief coupling on my sofa,” he said flatly, “and we both know it.” He went to the door and paused. “I am staying below at the camp, but I’ll send someone up with word of Nicu, if that will ease your mind.”

  She hugged herself.

  He glanced warily at her. “Will you come back?”

  She hesitated.

  “I thought so. You do not have the licentious nature requisite for a casual affair.”

  There was nothing casual about the affair for her; how could it be casual for him?

  “We should have left things the way they were last night,” he said. He reached for the door and added, “I don’t hold your wish to end this against you.”

  She stared as he walked out.

  WHAT HAD SHE BEEN THINKING?

  It was the day after Nicu’s accident; the day after she had tried to comfort Emilian in Woodland’s library. Ariella stared out of her carriage window, seated beside her cousin. A small sign hung in front of a barber shop: James Stone, Barber and Surgeon.

  “Why are we stopping here?” Margery asked. “For that matter, why have we come to town if we are not shopping or taking tea?”

  Ariella didn’t move, only vaguely hearing her cousin. She felt ill, thinking not of Nicu or the surgeon but of Emilian, when he had left her alone in the library yesterday after their liaison. Being with him hadn’t felt sordid at the time, but it felt sordid now, looking back, even if she loved him.

  It was too late, but she realized he had been right again. They should have left things as they’d been the night of the Simmonses’ ball. She should have stayed out of his arms, pursuing only a friendship with him. She was not the kind of woman to call on him at Woodland in order to spend an hour or so in his bed. She wasn’t cut out for an unattached, sensual affair. She simply couldn’t do so, not when she cared so much. She had assumed that the intimacy that had begun at the ball would continue and deepen, but he did not want intimacy. That had become so clear.

  And she was hurt all over again.

  “What do you want with the surgeon?” Margery touched her.

  Ariella inhaled. “There was an accident yesterday at the Romany encampment.”

  “It was all you spoke of when you came in late for supper yesterday. You were as distressed then as you are now. But I do not think you are grieving for a young Romany stranger.”

  She tensed. “Did I mention that the surgeon refused to come?”

  “A dozen times.” Margery’s stare was searching. “And when your father offered to take you with him to London, you refused. We all know you love town and languish of boredom in the country. The Ariella of old would have jumped at the chance to leave Rose Hill for a few days. What is wrong with you? And what do you want with the surgeon?”

  “I have a few choice words for him,” Ariella said, reaching for the door. She paused. “Does everyone think I am behaving oddly?”

  “Yes, everyone does. When you retired early, you were the object of vast speculation.”

  Ariella stared in dismay.

  Margery seized her hand. “I do not think that you spent the afternoon with that girl, Jaelle, in their camp. I think you went to Woodland to see St Xavier.”

  “Does everyone think that?”

  “I don’t know. But Dianna mentioned how handsome the two of you looked dancing and your father abruptly left the room. I think
he went to brood on the matter.”

  Ariella realized it was a fortunate turn that Cliff had gone to town with Alexi to take care of some business affairs. She did not want Emilian clashing with him again.

  “He has hurt you again, hasn’t he?” Margery accused. “Why else would you be behaving so morosely?”

  “I went to see him yesterday.”

  “What are you thinking?” Margery cried.

  “I am still in love with him—more so than ever, now that I understand the life he lives.”

  Margery seemed ready to cry. “I have never met anyone as smooth and charming, when he wishes to be. It must have been so easy for him to seduce you. You are the most trusting person I know. You may be well-read, but you have no experience with men! I know you have made up an incredible story about him, one you believe, but I have grave doubts about his character!” She was incredulous. “What kind of man takes a gentlewoman’s innocence and simply walks away?”

  Ariella tensed. “He is so deeply wounded, Margery. He is like a wild animal, forced into a cage. Of course, when you reach inside to give the animal affection, it bites. It simply doesn’t know better. It is expecting cruelty and abuse. Please, do not condemn him.”

  “You are mad! The man is wealthy and powerful. Even if they whisper about his heritage, so what? That doesn’t give him the right to toy with you. And this analogy to a wild animal in a cage? Do you think to win his love by being kind and sharing his bed? You are sharing his bed, aren’t you?”

  Ariella had never seen her usually placid cousin so fiercely aroused and angry. She hesitated and Margery cried out, realizing the truth. “So you would settle for crumbs! I have half a mind to urge your father to force St Xavier to the altar!”

  Ariella gripped her hand. “Do not think to make this right. Forcing him to marry me will accomplish nothing. I would only marry him if he loved me in return.”

  “Can I convince you to stay away from him before you are ruined in name, as well as spirit and body?” Margery asked.

  Ariella faced her. “He needs me. I cannot turn away from him, now or ever.”