A Dangerous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  A light knock sounded; he had left the library door open. He looked up and saw Robert standing on the threshold of his library. He went still, recalling Robert standing with Tollman and the mayor after the first few lashes. Emilian had seen the malice smoldering in his eyes.

  He had banned Robert from the estate, but he had dared come back now? Emilian slowly stood, feeling very, very mean.

  Robert hurried forward, smiling. “I am so pleased you have recovered and that you are home!”

  “Really?” A quiet, deep rage consumed him. “Are you as pleased to see me back at Woodland as you were to see me flogged?”

  Robert tensed. “I wanted to stop it, but I am a stranger here. I have no authority.”

  “How many times have I supported you financially since I have become viscount?”

  Robert flushed. “I don’t know, two or three times—”

  He cut him off. “You have come to me at least once a year every year for eight years, Robert. But you repay me with mockery and an utter lack of loyalty. What do you think you are doing here?”

  Robert paled. “I am very loyal, Emilian. You must let me prove it.”

  “We are done.”

  Robert gasped. “You jest! We are all that is left of the once great St Xavier family!”

  “As far as I am concerned, I have no cousin.” He had never meant anything more. “Now get out. Get off my premises. Do not come back or I will throw you off bodily, myself.”

  Robert breathed hard. “You have always treated me like scum, when we both know you are the scum—a dirty, lying Gypsy, nothing more!”

  Emilian’s fury exploded. “Get out,” he said quietly, a breath away from assaulting his cousin and causing severe bodily damage.

  Robert flushed, clearly aware of having gone too far. He whirled and crashed into Ariella as she stepped into the room. As they grasped each other to straighten, he did not even greet her, much less apologize. He tore free and stormed from the room.

  Ariella turned to him, her eyes wide. “Do you wish to go after him?”

  He was still furious. “I wish,” he said slowly, “to never lay eyes upon him again.”

  She nodded grimly. “Good. He failed to defend you from Tollman, and he did not come to Rose Hill once to inquire after you.”

  He stared at her. She was so serious, so determined and so lovely. The rage faded. It wasn’t important—she was important.

  You will never find such a wife again.

  He wished Stevan hadn’t spoken of her that way. Stevan didn’t understand that she was too good for him, and that he couldn’t give her the future she deserved. After he was gone, she would eventually come to her senses. He was an infatuation, that was all. Besides, he knew in the end that her family wouldn’t allow a marriage, no matter what de Warenne had suggested. The notion of a union between them was truly absurd.

  This wasn’t about marriage. This was about sensual pleasure; this was about lovemaking.

  He was about to make love to her, slowly, sensually, until she begged him to stop. He wanted nothing for himself. He wanted to pleasure her, to show her how grateful he was, and that he had come to admire her, respect her.

  Did he care for her, too?

  She seemed to sense his desire, her eyes changing. “I know I have arrived on your very heels. Do you mind?”

  He must not allow himself any affection. Hadn’t he thought earlier that seduction was safe, while everything else was not?

  “I will never mind you being close on my heels,” he murmured, reaching for her. He pulled her slowly forward, until she brushed his heavy loins.

  Her color heightened. “Is it possible that you are even more passionately inclined?”

  “It is my gratitude that I wish to express,” he whispered.

  Her eyes brightened. “Maybe you must become ill again, if such gratitude will follow.”

  “Maybe,” he said thickly. She was his angel. How could he not have come to care? Was that why he was so aroused? Was that why he wanted her this way?

  He slid his hand up her waist, over her breast, and heard her breath catch. He stroked his fingers up her throat. Eyes locked, he slid his hand over her nape. Then he leaned forward. He intended a barely teasing kiss, but in the instant before their lips met, his stomach seemed to vanish. So much desire arouse, hollow and acute, that he froze.

  She was so entirely different from every lover he had ever had. She deserved so much more than a Rom lover. She deserved so much more than this.

  What was happening to him? He did not want a conscience now.

  “Emilian?”

  She deserved to be cherished, sheltered in an ivory tower somewhere. He could never give her that. He wheeled away from her. “Is this really what you want?”

  Her color deepened. “I want nothing more,” she said simply, “than to be in your arms. It is our natural progression.”

  He stared at her.

  “You don’t have to be afraid of me,” she added.

  He folded his arms, feeling defensive. “I am not afraid.” Damn it, was she right? Had she achieved her natural progression? Were they now friends, on the brink of being lovers? “You want so much from me.”

  A huge silence fell. She whispered, “Why are you about to reject me again?”

  “Ariella, I owe you more than I can repay—far more than this.”

  She inhaled. “You do not owe me anything. I have come to you out of love and friendship, and I am certain you wish to give me some love and friendship in return.”

  “You want more than I am ready to give. I will only disappoint you and hurt you. You need to go.”

  She hurried to him. “You won’t disappoint me. You won’t hurt me. I love you too much—and you need me too much.”

  He needed her so badly it hurt, but the pressure wasn’t just sexual; it was his heart that ached. “I am afraid I have conceived a conscience. Ariella, I am only a passing fancy.”

  She shook her head. “You are my first fancy, but you are also my last.”

  She would not give in, not on this topic. “I do need you,” he said roughly. “I need you in my bed, and I need you to look at me with love and hope. But there is simply no point to go on this way. It isn’t fair, not to you.”

  “How can you say there is no point after all that has happened, when we are growing close?” She tried to caress his cheek.

  He jerked away and caught her wrist, so she couldn’t touch him. They were growing close, but he must not concede to her not on that point or the other.

  “You are scaring me,” she cried, riveted to his face.

  “I may be scaring myself,” he murmured, but as he spoke, his voice was drowned out by Hoode, calling for him. Alarmed, he rushed to the door, jerking it open.

  “Sir,” Hoode cried, pale. “There is a fire at the Roma encampment.”

  EVEN RUNNING as fast as she possibly could, with her skirts hiked up to her knees, she remained meters behind Emilian, Hoode and a handful of other servants. The women and children had gathered apart from the camped wagons, every face stricken, but men were running back and forth from the brook with buckets of water, determined to stop the blaze. She halted, panting so hard that she was dizzy, as Emilian raced into the inferno. Several wagons were engulfed in flames. The buckets of water being thrown on them were useless, like throwing a glass of water on a holiday bonfire. Fear began. She did not like Emilian being so close to the flames, but he was speaking rapidly with Stevan, who was covered in ashes and soot.

  Emilian dashed back to Hoode and the others. “Get every shovel from the stables and woodshed. Hoode, get farmers Brown and Cowper, have them bring all the bodies and shovels that they can. We’ll have to dig to contain this. Hurry!”

  As the men raced off, he turned his hard eyes on her. “You stay with the women and children or go home.” He ran back to where the men were fighting the fire.

  Ariella looked past them at the burning wagons again. She counted five aflame and knew they we
re lost, even if the flames could be doused, which she felt certain they could not. Emilian appeared on the other side of the burning wagons with a number of men and they began pushing the closest untouched wagon away. It was clear that the fire could easily leap to more wagons and beyond, to the stand of woods that sheltered the brook. She knew the blaze would rage out of control if the woods caught on fire, too. The entire estate could be endangered.

  She glanced around anxiously. The horses had run off. That made moving all the wagons that much harder and slower. Then she hurried to the women and children. “Is anyone hurt?”

  Jaelle stood. She had been cradling a baby in her lap and she handed the infant to another woman. “No one is hurt. But five families have lost everything, Ariella, every single thing.”

  Ariella touched her. They moved away. “How did this happen? Did someone neglect a cooking fire?”

  “It is the middle of a spring afternoon. No one was cooking.”

  “What is it?” Ariella cried, not liking the look in her eyes.

  Jaelle wet her lips. “I think I saw Tollman, running into the woods with another man.”

  Ariella went still. Then she glanced toward Emilian, trembling. He now had every man moving wagons, in an attempt to put a safe distance between them and the inferno. No one was trying to throw buckets of water on the flames anymore, as it was clearly useless. “Tollman is in jail,” she said, staring at Jaelle. “You are mistaken. This is an accident.”

  “Is it?” Jaelle cried. “You have been at Rose Hill with Emilian all week. We have been here, afraid to leave the camp. Every time we do, we are threatened and told to go back to where we came from!” She added, “We are leaving in the morning, and it is not soon enough!”

  Ariella didn’t think twice. “Why don’t you stay here at Woodland with Emilian and me. Your brother needs you, and I want to show you that all gadjos aren’t cruel and hateful.” She hesitated. “I want to be friends.”

  Jaelle stared. “We are friends. I like your family. And I know all gadjos aren’t cruel. Mrs. Cowper brought us a turkey and another farmer brought us fish from the river.”

  “And I will bring you more food and supplies,” Ariella said firmly.

  “You had better be quick about it,” Jaelle said tersely. “Because we will be gone by noon tomorrow.”

  Ariella stiffened, but before she could think clearly, hoofbeats sounded. She turned and saw her brother galloping to them, three horses on leads with him. He dismounted and handed the reins of his stallion to Jaelle. “Are you all right?” he demanded.

  “I am fine. Alexi, if the fire reaches the forest, Woodland could be destroyed.” She stopped. Emilian’s servants had returned with additional men, obviously farmers, and everyone was carrying shovels and picks.

  “I know.” He glanced at the arriving horde. “We’ll need to dig wide and fast to stop this monster. Ariella, why don’t you take the women and children up to the house? They will only be in the way.”

  Before Ariella could even nod, he had flung off his jacket and joined the men. Emilian appeared on the other side of the burning wagons. He gestured at Alexi and then at the wagons, as if drawing an imaginary line. He shouted something at him. Her brother had taken a shovel and he shouted back, gesturing, as well. And suddenly twenty men were on one side of the fire, the rest on the other, and the digging frantically began.

  SMOKE FILLED the early evening sky, but the fire had been extinguished. Ariella hugged herself, standing apart from the camp. Women were rushing up to and embracing weary husbands, brothers or sons. The Roma women had been joined by the wives of Woodland’s servants and the neighboring farmers who had participated in the firefighting effort. The men were blackened from soot. Partial skeletons remained of six wagons, and several trees beyond the camp had been badly burned. Ariella did not see Emilian, but she saw Alexi emerging from the far side of the destroyed camp, as tired and dirty as everyone. Where was Emilian, she wondered, trying not to become alarmed.

  A violin moaned.

  Ariella tensed, turning, to see a dark young man seated on a stool near one wagon, playing the violin. The melody was haunting and mournful. It spoke of a vast, consuming loss.

  She trembled. No one had been hurt. The Roma were poor, but wagons could be rebuilt and possessions replaced. She knew that the kitchens at Woodland were in full swing, for she had asked Hoode to cook up whatever was at hand and have the staff bring it down to the tired men. As for the personal items lost in the fire, tomorrow she would enlist Margery and Dianna, and they would purchase bedding, linens, clothing and other necessary items. Surely the caravan was not leaving tomorrow. There would have to be repairs, at least.

  Movement caught her eye. She saw Emilian trudging up to the house, his usually erect posture slightly bowed, as if he felt defeat.

  She had already begged Jaelle not to mention to Emilian what she thought she had seen. She hurried after him. “Emilian.”

  His strides faltered.

  “Emilian!” She broke into a run.

  He paused and turned.

  She could not make out his expression until she reached his side, because there were no lights this far from the house, and all illumination came from the stars and the moon. His expression was hard and tight. “Are you all right?” she asked breathlessly.

  “I am fine.” He folded his arms across his chest. His once-white shirt was gray. Black smudged his face, and his hair was pushed behind his ears, revealing his scar.

  “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No. No one was hurt.”

  It felt as if they had gone back in time to the days of their first meeting. He was acting like a stranger. She plucked his sleeve. “I have your kitchen staff working on a meal for all the men. You must be exhausted and hungry.”

  His cold gray eyes met hers.

  “I know you are angry.” She bit her lip. “This was an accident, wasn’t it?”

  He trembled. “Djordi and two others saw Tollman in the woods before the fire started, with another man.”

  She inhaled. “Tollman is in jail.”

  He gave her a look. “He was released this morning on bond.”

  “Promise me you won’t go after him.”

  His smile was mirthless. “I have never made any promises to you, have I?”

  She did not like the sound of that. “You cannot take the law into your own hands.”

  “Why not? Because I have responsibilities of leadership, like your father? Because I should set an example for the community, like de Warenne?”

  “Yes!” she cried, afraid. “And because you are better than they are!”

  He made a disparaging sound. “I have never understood what you have seen in me, other than my rather pleasing features and body.”

  She recoiled.

  “It is over, Ariella.”

  She felt the world still. “What?”

  “It is over,” he cried.

  Shock began. “We are over? Just like that? Because of a bastard like Tollman?”

  “We are over because you are a gadji princess and I am Rom,” he roared.

  She backed away from him.

  But he seized her wrist and towered over her, not allowing her to retreat. “What? No pretty pleas? Afraid of the savage half blood?”

  She felt the tears trickle. “I hate it when you are this way.”

  “Good, because I hate everyone, every gadjo, every damned one.” He released her.

  She wiped the tears. “You know you don’t hate everyone. You know you don’t hate every gadjo. You know you don’t hate me.”

  He shook his head furiously. “Right now I do.”

  She cried out.

  “I am setting myself free,” he said harshly. “Here and now, I am free.”

  “Emilian!”

  He strode away.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  SHE STARED at the housemaid who was removing her clothing from the closet. Her bags were on the bed, being filled with her smaller items and p
ossessions; her gowns would be transported on hangers, carefully wrapped. She was returning to London. It was over.

  Ariella felt her heart lurch with pain. Two weeks had passed. At first, she had told herself that he would not go through with his departure and then, when it had become clear that the Roma were gone, that he would realize his mistake and return. She had prayed, paced, stared out the window and hoped. But with every passing hour and every passing day, her hope had dwindled. Finally, there was none left.

  He wasn’t coming back.

  She was staring out the window, past the grounds where the Roma had first camped, toward the north, where they were headed. How many times had he told her that he could not return her feelings—that he would not? She hugged herself. She had fallen deeply in love with a dark, tormented, very complicated man. The question now was how to forget he ever existed.

  That was going to be impossible.

  The truth was, her stubborn heart didn’t want to ever forget; her stubborn heart was certain this wasn’t over and it never would be. Her heart intended to love him from afar and cherish every memory. Her heart meant to wait for him to come back to her, even if it took years.

  However, she must not allow her heart to rule her mind or her life. She hadn’t been able to sleep or eat. She was truly exhausted and becoming ill. That morning, she had been light-headed and nauseous, a cause for more concern. Ariella hoped it was the flu. For her own sanity, her own health and happiness, she must leave Rose Hill and try to recover her old life. The alternative was to wait for him to come back, to wallow in despair and grief and endanger her health, when it might be years before he returned. Even then, he would not necessarily be returning for her; even then, he might be as set against their future as ever.

  Her door was open. She turned when she realized she had company. Her stepmother smiled briefly at her, her green eyes questioning, and Dianna was tearful. “I heard you are leaving this afternoon,” Amanda said quietly.

  Ariella knew that the entire household had realized she was in love with Emilian and now suffered a broken heart over his departure. Hiding her grief had been impossible. “I am returning to London,” she said, not bothering to even attempt a smile. “I can’t stay here, like this.”