by Brenda Joyce
She did not want to be swept back to that May night. She had been immersed in making plans and there had been little time to mourn what she’d had and lost. She had become adept at instantly changing her thoughts. The moment she missed him, the moment it hurt, she would think of the tiny life growing inside her and imagine holding her newborn for the very first time.
Her heart lurched. Emilian felt so close. If she dared, it would be easy to remember every moment they had shared. It would be easy to recall every detail of that one night. She saw him staring at her from across the room, she saw him smiling down at her as they danced, while she trod on his toes. She saw the warm, passionate look in his eyes, and she could almost feel his strong hard body as he held her far too closely.
Ariella breathed. She still missed him terribly, and yearned for his return. Having his child could not ease that.
She must not allow herself to indulge in such fantasies and such memories now. Emilian was gone. It might be years before she saw him again. She was determined to have a healthy child. Dwelling on the past would not help her health. It would not help the baby. She decided she would stay a mere hour, and then plead a headache and leave.
“Would you like to dance, Miss de Warenne?”
Ariella tensed at the sound of Robert St Xavier’s voice. She faced him, disbelieving. She had not forgotten his utter treachery the day Emilian had been flogged. Now, she recalled the insults he had shouted at Emilian when he had been banished from Woodland. She stiffened impossibly and stared coldly at him. She put all the condescension she could into her tone. “I’m afraid not.”
He seemed incredulous and he flushed.
“There is only one St Xavier with whom I would ever dance, and the viscount is not here,” she added as imperiously.
He was crimson now. “You might change your tune,” he said angrily. “Emilian has gone Gypsy. I always knew the day would come. He won’t come back, and that hurts you, doesn’t it?” He shrugged and insolently looked at her low-cut dress. “You are welcome at Woodland any day, Miss de Warenne.”
“What does that mean?” she demanded, aghast. Did he dare insinuate that he wished for a liaison with her?
His eyes widened with mock innocence. “You misunderstand me.” He laughed coldly. “No estate can be without its master for very long, and Woodland is no exception.”
Ariella instantly understood the innuendo. Surely, surely, Robert did not think to be lord of Woodland in Emilian’s absence! “Woodland has a master—and it also has an estate agent.”
He laughed. “I am Emilian’s next of kin, his heir. If he forfeits the estate by a prolonged absence, I am next in line. In any case, I have taken up residence there. I have no intention of letting some agent steal me blind.”
“Nothing is yours to steal,” she cried, stunned. “Woodland is Emilian’s. He is viscount, and I have no doubt the estate manager is a stellar man!”
Robert smiled at her. “Then why don’t we say that I am looking after my beloved cousin’s interests while he is gone?” He bowed. “Please call, Miss de Warenne. You have been interested in the wrong St Xavier, and I feel certain I can persuade you of that.”
She trembled with outrage as Robert walked away. He hated Emilian and Emilian despised him. They were rivals. Did he know of her illicit affair and think to encourage a liaison in order to take her from Emilian? Or were his intentions acceptable? Perhaps he wished to court her. He might hope for marriage and her fortune.
Margery tugged on her arm. “Is he a suitor?” she asked, incredulous.
“No, he is not.” She remained distressed. Did Robert truly think to somehow possess Woodland, taking it from Emilian? But that was impossible, wasn’t it? She glanced at Margery. “If Emilian never returns, what will happen to his estate?” But even as she spoke, she knew.
Her child was Emilian’s heir. Her child, if a son, was the next viscount.
Margery gave her a long look. “For your child to inherit the title you would have to come forward very publicly. But I don’t know if you could succeed, Ariella, not without Emilian’s support. And you would have to marry.”
Ariella tensed. Did she have to tell Emilian about their child after all? Her child had every right to Woodland. Robert’s treachery might make it necessary for her to tell Emilian the truth after all, sooner than she had intended. “I am certain of very few things, but one of them is that Emilian will claim this child when I ask him to do so. Let us hope he isn’t staying away forever. Not for my sake, but for this baby’s sake—for his or her future.”
Margery leaned close. “I still believe you should tell Emilian the truth now. His cousin is a scoundrel, and I fear he thinks to cause trouble.”
Ariella hoped Margery was wrong, and that St Xavier was harmless, a man of bluffs. They squeezed hands and separated, sharing silent looks. Ariella saw Robert standing some distance away now. Although he was with several gentlemen, he was regarding her unwaveringly. He lifted his flute in a salute when their eyes met.
She turned away, flustered. Margery was right. Robert was up to no good. She could let his behavior pass, but only for the moment. She needed to carefully think the situation through.
“Will you dance with your father?” Cliff appeared at her side, smiling at her, but his eyes were filled with speculation.
She failed to smile. “You know I detest dancing,” she said. “Father, Emilian’s cousin has moved into Woodland and seems to think he is master there, in Emilian’s absence.”
Cliff glanced at Robert. “I have heard.”
“You have heard!” she cried. “Emilian would never allow this. He despises Robert. Can he simply move in and take over the estate?”
“I have heard he has done just that, and that the estate manager, a good enough man, is incapable of standing up to him. Ariella, I thought you were over St Xavier.”
She knew it behooved her to be honest now. “I will never be over him. But I am not going to mourn for something that will not be.”
Her father started.
“I will always love him, but I realize I made a mistake.” She dared to add, “The tour I am planning has lifted my spirits.” She quickly kissed his cheek. “I know you will approve of the plans Margery and I have made.”
“I sense a conspiracy,” he said, but he smiled.
“It is vast,” she said lightly. “I am going to step outside for some air,” she added. She slipped away, and as she moved through the crowd, she avoided eye contact, not wanting to be waylaid. But she was almost certain that Robert was watching her again.
She shivered. She did not trust him and he had become a threat to her child’s future. She must decide what to do—and soon.
She slipped outside onto a flagstone terrace, one lit with gaslights. Although it was a beautiful July evening, she was alone, and that relieved her. She touched her belly. Don’t you worry, she thought. I will never let anyone jeopardize your future, and neither will your father.
And suddenly she felt his presence.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
EMILIAN.
Her heart skipped wildly. She whirled, searching the shadows frantically, wondering if her instincts were playing cruel tricks on her. And then her heart stopped.
Emilian stood on the other side of the terrace, staring at her.
She could not move. She could not even cry out. He had come back.
He advanced, his strides hard and long, his eyes on her. Ariella began to shake. He had come back and everything would be all right now.
He paused abruptly before her, his gaze searching, his smile hesitant, uncertain. She somehow breathed; she somehow smiled. His eyes flashed silver in the dark and his hands closed on her shoulders. “I have missed you.”
She flung her arms around him and held on, hard, burying her face against the vast, solid wall of his chest.
He stroked down her back. “Ariella, do not misunderstand,” he said.
She looked up. “What is there to misunderstand? I
have missed you, too, terribly.” She clasped his rough, unshaven jaw.
His eyes blazed. “Will you ever hate me? Condemn me? Judge me and find me lacking?”
“Never,” she cried.
He turned his face and kissed her hand, his mouth hard and demanding on her palm. As Ariella felt the tremor in his body, he wrapped one arm around her, pulling her closer; she felt his manhood, hard and massive against her hip. His silver gaze was molten as it locked with hers. She trembled, the desire acute.
“There has been no one since you,” he said.
She felt more tears. He was telling her that he had been faithful to her. She leaned up, urgently seeking his mouth.
Their lips fused. His mouth was hard and frantic. The fervor of his kiss shocked her, and then she thrilled, returning it. She clawed his shoulders and his teeth grated hers. She began to spin. She needed him desperately; she loved him desperately. Thank God he had come home.
They stumbled down the terrace steps, lips locked. Ariella wanted him to pull her down in the grass, move his big, hard body over hers, into hers. She needed to be joined with him now. She needed to weep in rapture. She didn’t care that the ballroom was a terrace length away.
But he tore his mouth from hers and pulled her across the lawns, away from the terrace. He turned her against a wall, one cast in shadows, finding her mouth again, claiming it. Her back pressed against the wall, he started lifting her skirts. She sucked on his mouth and his hands tore at the slit in her drawers. He made a harsh sexual sound, sliding his fingers over her wet, throbbing flesh. She tore her mouth from his to cry out.
He dropped to his knees and his tongue thrust against her. She flung her head back, no longer capable of thought, reveling in the pleasure. Clasping his head, she wept in a fierce, sudden release.
Still in the throes of rapture, her knees gave way. She felt the wall scraping her bare back as she sank to the damp grass. He moved over her, his mouth covering hers, and she felt him unfastening his breeches. Then his lips moved to her throat, causing the delicious sensations to start fluttering all over her again. His mouth moved lower. Something hot, hard and huge caressed her inner thighs.
She managed to look at him. His eyes were blazing. “I came back to make love to you,” he said roughly. “I want to make love to you all night.”
She wasn’t certain she could respond, for he stroked over her again, making her seize his bulging arms, clawing him to restrain him. “Good,” she gasped.
His silver eyes blazed. He moved, thrusting deep.
Ariella held on to him and wept with love and need. He groaned, moving hard and fast, his urgency inescapable, nipping her throat, embedding himself in her, and as she spasmed around him, he whispered in her ear, Romany words she could not understand—but their meaning was inescapable. I love you.
She shattered another time, into a thousand rapturous pieces.
He cried out, collapsing on top of her, and as she held him, floating in joy and the aftermath of release, he spasmed, his face against her neck, again and again.
Neither one saw the man standing in the shadows of the terrace, watching them.
ROBERT ST XAVIER SAUNTERED into the ballroom, intent. He scanned the crowd, looking for his host. A terrible impatience began. Cliff de Warenne was nowhere to be seen. His next choice would be Cliff’s brother, the Earl of Adare, but he did not see Tyrell de Warenne, either. He was suddenly furious. His Gypsy cousin might be done with his little lover by the time he got to the business at hand.
And then Alexi de Warenne appeared, a beautiful blond woman on his arm. They were immersed in a flirtation, but Robert did not care. He hurried after Alexi, rudely tapping his shoulder from behind. The other man whirled, his expression cool and incredulous.
“I beg your pardon,” Robert said swiftly. “But I believe you should step outside. You will be interested in what is happening on the terrace, at the north end.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Alexi asked, annoyed.
“Your sister is there, and she is hardly alone.” He refrained from smirking, barely.
Brilliant blue eyes widened. Then Alexi looked at the woman. “Excuse me,” he said, and, his strides swift, he left them.
Robert smiled, very pleased with himself.
THEY REMAINED ENTWINED, Emilian’s big body within hers. Ariella sighed, touching his rough jaw. He lifted his head and smiled at her. He had never looked at her so tenderly and openly before. His eyes were shining.
She touched his face again. “You have a beautiful smile. I hope I will see it more often.”
“Have I ever told you that your eyes are my obsession?”
She started.
“You have the most amazing eyes. I often wish I could deserve the trust I see in them.” He brushed her mouth and began moving within her.
She stroked his back through his jacket and shirt. “You do deserve my trust,” she began. Then she sighed, shivering with growing pleasure, for he was huge now, pulsing deep within her. She moaned and he feathered kisses down her throat and to the low vee of her bodice.
“I need you,” he whispered, “so very much.” He moved deeper and paused.
Her body clenched at his fiercely, making it hard to think much less speak. She scraped her nails across his wool-clad shoulders. “Don’t stop.”
She felt him smile and he moved. “Take your pleasure, darling,” he murmured.
Ariella gave in to the growing pressure and let the pleasure become her life. As he moved, her love overcame her and she wept softly as she climaxed in a maelstrom of love and surrender.
She floated, half-conscious, back to him, aware of him kissing her gently, pulsing within, yet holding back. She smiled to herself. I am so happy.
“Get off of her!”
Ariella held on to Emilian, vaguely aware that she should be alarmed. Surely she hadn’t heard her brother shouting at them.
“You bastard!” Alexi roared.
And sanity returned as Emilian was flung from her to the grass. Ariella sat up in time to see Alexi tackling Emilian, fists slamming into him, his rage a murderous frenzy.
They had been discovered.
Jerking her clothes down, she screamed, “Alexi, stop! Alexi, stop right now!” She jumped to her feet.
But Alexi was pummeling Emilian, who merely braced against the blows with his forearm, protecting his head from the other man.
Ariella seized Alexi from behind, screaming at him. Emilian instantly scrambled away and to his feet. He lifted his hand to his mouth, which was bleeding. Ariella held on to one of her brother’s arms, refusing to let go, but Alexi shook her off anyway.
“Don’t,” she shouted as Alexi ran at Emilian again. “I love him—stop it, right now!”
But Alexi hit him again. This time, Emilian used his arm as a shield, blocking the blow.
Three men ran past her, toward Alexi and Emilian. Her horror knew no bounds now, for a crowd had gathered on the terrace behind them—and the three men rushing at Alexi and Emilian were her father, her uncle and Margery’s older brother, Ned.
Ned and the Earl of Adare seized Alexi, restraining him. Alexi remained furious, breathing hard. Her father paused before Emilian, incredulous. “Is this what I think it is?”
“Yes,” Emilian said softly.
Cliff hit him.
Emilian went down.
Ariella was frozen, horrified.
THEY HAD GATHERED in the library. Ariella trembled, hugging herself. She had never seen her father so enraged. She wasn’t sure she had ever been this afraid, either. She could not begin to imagine what he might do to Emilian. She glanced at him. He stood on the other side of the room, and she knew better than to go to him, when that was what she desperately wished to do.
Emilian was dangerously angry, too. In fact, she knew that stance well—it was belligerent, for he had been cornered and he was waiting for an attack. His stare was cold and hard and directed back at Cliff.
No good was g
oing to come of this confrontation and she knew it. She trembled, feeling violently ill, dizzy and weak. She hoped she was not about to succumb to a late-night version of morning sickness. Margery and Amanda had quickly presented themselves, word of the tryst obviously spreading like wildfire. Her cousin now held her hand, squeezing it reassuringly, but Ariella was not reassured.
The Earl of Adare laid his hand on her shoulder. “Are you hurt, Ariella?” he asked. His tone was grim, but his blue gaze was kind.
“No,” Ariella cried. “Uncle Ty, I am fine!”
Cliff whirled to face her, incredulous. “He has seduced you!”
Ariella did not even try to deny it. She was frankly tired of so many secrets and lies.
Cliff looked at Emilian murderously, but before he could erupt, Amanda reached his side. “She is in love with him,” she said softly.
Cliff breathed hard. “And that is all that is saving him from the bullet I wish to put between his eyes.”
Ariella gasped. “Father, please be calm and rational.”
“How can I be calm? And I am very rational. I asked him if he had intentions and he said he had none. I knew he wished to seduce you—I knew he was no good, a man of no honor! I knew it the moment I saw him with you, when they were camped at Rose Hill. But I allowed myself to be persuaded to keep him under this roof when he was seriously injured. And this is how my generosity and hospitality is repaid!”
“It is not his fault,” Ariella said, desperate to defend and protect him from Cliff’s wrath. “If anyone is at fault, it is me.”
Emilian finally spoke. His face hard, he said, “I take full blame. You are right, de Warenne. I seduced your daughter, very intentionally.”
Ariella cringed.
Cliff launched himself at him. Neither the earl or Alexi moved to stop him and Ariella cried out as Cliff slammed his fist into Emilian’s face. Emilian reeled but did not stagger backward. Amanda seized Cliff from behind. “Battery will solve nothing,” she cried. “Why don’t you think about what is best for Ariella now?”
