A Dangerous Love

by Brenda Joyce

  “He is in the library, intent on catching up after being away.”

  Ariella turned to go, but then whirled. She hugged her smaller sister as hard as she could, leaving her gasping and breathless.

  “What was that for?” Dianna cried to her back.

  Ariella glanced over her shoulder. “You have hovered over me for two endless months as if I were an invalid. I hope I never have to return the favor…. I love you!”

  The library door was open and Cliff was seated at his desk, clearly immersed in his accounts and ledgers. Ariella knocked. As he looked up, she smiled and walked in. His eyebrows lifted.

  “I hope I am not interrupting. I have decided it is time I went to Woodland.”

  “I see.” He stood and came out from behind his desk. “Emilian is not there.”

  “I assumed as much. But as his wife, it is my home, too. Am I still his wife?”

  Cliff put his arm around her. “He has yet to file with the courts for a separation, Ariella.”

  Ariella was stunned. “What could that possibly mean?” A filing with the courts always came first, before parliament would consider the divorce proceeding.

  “I do not know, but a man who wishes to jettison his wife does not drag his feet. Emilian is certainly dragging his.”

  Ariella cried out, her mind racing swiftly. Had Emilian changed his mind?

  I love you.

  “So you will now fight for your marriage?”

  The shroud had lifted—suddenly, there was hope. She breathed hard. “I will always miss the child I was never given a chance to know. But I also miss Emilian.” In that moment, she realized she had never missed anyone more.

  When Cliff studied her, she cried, “I know you do not care for him, but we are married. I need your support and your blessing.”

  “I have already given my blessing, Ariella, to both of you.”

  She stared closely. “Please don’t blame him for what he has done. He has suffered enough.”

  “Blame is a dangerous game. I could blame your brother for taking you to him, couldn’t I? I could blame Emilian for letting you stay with the Roma. I could also blame myself, Ariella, for not watching Emilian more closely, for allowing him under my roof, for not watching you carefully,” he said. “I could blame myself for not tracking you down and bringing you home the moment you ran away to him.”

  She hugged him again, aware that Cliff held himself responsible for the loss of her child. “This isn’t anyone’s fault, including yours.”

  “I am trying not to blame myself, but it is very difficult.” He smiled at her, tears in his eyes. “You are young and the doctors say there is no reason there won’t be more children.”

  “I must win Emilian back, first, and he is not an easy man. I don’t even know where he is, and I cannot force him back to Woodland.”

  Cliff put his arm around her. “The man was distraught when he brought you here. You were too distressed to be aware of it, but I saw how much he cares. When he left I saw his anguish, although he tried to hide it. I have changed my opinion of him, Ariella. I believe Emilian is in love with you.”

  Her heart soared. “I also believe that he loves me, but that doesn’t mean he will wish to reconcile. I intend to give him some time, but if he doesn’t return to Woodland, I will go to him.”

  “You, my dear, are up to the many challenges he represents.” He walked back to his desk and removed several letters from a drawer. “Word of your marriage apparently got out upon your return here. These are from Woodland’s estate manager.”

  Ariella was surprised. “He is writing me?”

  “You are mistress of Woodland.” Cliff hesitated. “Robert has taken the estate into his possession. He now calls himself viscount. My solicitors have advised me that if years go by without Emilian’s return, there are laws of adverse possession which might enable Robert to successfully claim that the estate is now legally his.”

  Ariella stared, outraged. “I am going to Woodland immediately.”

  ARIELLA PERCHED on the edge of her seat as her carriage entered Woodland’s front gates. It was painful to be returning this way, without Emilian and with no clue as to his whereabouts. As the coach traveled up the graveled drive, she almost expected Emilian to saunter out of the house. There were so many bittersweet memories and she was assailed by each and every one of them. She had never missed him more.

  Margery reached for her hand and squeezed it. “We will confront that scoundrel together,” she said.

  Ariella was too tense to smile. She would fight for her marriage, but first, she must fight for their home. When Ariella had first arrived at Windsong, Margery had been in London. But she had rushed to Adare immediately to comfort Ariella, as most of the family had. She had insisted upon going with her to Derbyshire.

  In truth, Ariella had wanted her cousin’s company, and she had accepted her offer. Her father had wanted to come, too, but Ariella had told him she would send for him if she could not manage Robert herself. Alexi was in Hong Kong, and that was fortunate, because he would have insisted on joining her and he would have undoubtedly taken Robert St Xavier’s head off.

  Ariella now said briskly, to hide her agitation, “The estate looks well. The grounds seem immaculate and the outbuildings are in good condition. I see that Richards has been allowed to do a part of what Emilian hired him to do.”

  Richards’s letters had been ominous in content. Robert was doing more than claim he was viscount. He had managed to get access to the estate’s bank accounts. According to Richards, the man was hell-bent on refurbishing Woodland to his liking, while throwing one lavish party after another. He was devouring the estate’s funds. Soon, there would be no profits and no reserve. Richards had begged her to summon Emilian to rectify the situation. Barring that, he had asked her to come herself and take action.

  “This is your home now, too,” Margery reminded her, sensing her distress. “You must fight this interloper for it!”

  “I know. I have to confess, I have never been drawn into a battle like this before.” She stared at Margery. “If only Emilian would come home. He would boot Robert on his backside.”

  “Don’t worry about Emilian now,” Margery advised. “Let us first get past his despicable cousin.”

  “You are the best friend I have ever had.” Ariella hugged her.

  “I feel the same way,” Margery whispered.

  The coach halted. Ariella tensed as her door was opened. She thanked the coachman and stepped down, her heart racing, her cousin following. Then, shoulders squared, she went up to the pair of front doors and knocked, expecting to see Hoode. He, at least, was an ally, and she had no doubt he would quickly fill her in on the sordid state of affairs at Woodland.

  But a tall, white-haired manservant whom she did not know opened the front doors. “Yes?”

  Ariella could not imagine who this servant was. She glanced past the servant and froze. The ancestral portraits that had once adorned the front hall were gone. In their place were paintings she had never seen before. Some were frankly erotic; others were simply bizarre. None of the beautiful, centuries’ old furniture that had once adorned the hall was present. Instead, new furniture, all costly, cluttered the room. Expensive rugs now covered the marble floors. Margery, who was standing behind her, inhaled. “He has spent a small fortune.”

  “Where is Hoode?” Ariella demanded in outrage. Clearly, Robert was hell-bent on spending Emilian’s money as he chose. She saw that the candles on another new table had been allowed to melt onto the marble top. She also noticed a stain on the marble floor and that the new red velvet upholstery on a settee was ripped. The room had been redecorated, but it had also suffered from negligence and abuse.

  “I am afraid that Hoode is no longer employed by the viscount.”

  She drew herself up. “Hoode is most certainly employed by the viscount,” she said fiercely. “Where is Robert?”

  “The viscount is not to be disturbed.”

  She f
ought her temper and lost. “Your name?”

  “Barnes.”

  “Barnes, my husband is the viscount. I ask you again, where is Robert?”

  He paled. “In the library, my lady.”

  She started aggressively down the hall, then whirled. “Find Hoode and bring him to me!”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said, bowing.

  Ariella rushed down the hall, Margery behind her. She glanced into the salon as she passed and was dismayed to see several gentlemen there, playing cards and drinking wine. Not one was correctly attired. Worse, the room had the peculiar odor of stale ale, tobacco and unwashed bodies.

  The library door was closed. Ariella didn’t even consider knocking. She thrust it open and froze.

  Margery crashed against her back and gasped.

  Robert St Xavier had a woman on Emilian’s desk and he was busily fornicating with her.

  Ariella turned abruptly, pushing Margery into the hall and away from the vile and disgusting scene. Her cousin’s eyes were popping. “You do not have to see that,” she said firmly.

  “What are you going to do?” Margery whispered, her eyes huge. “I think you should have your father handle Robert!”

  “Stay here,” Ariella said. She whirled and strode back to the library. She had left the door open. Nothing had changed. “I beg your pardon,” Ariella said furiously.

  Robert jumped away from the woman, his eyes widening with surprise. The woman squealed and dove behind the desk.

  Ariella knew she was flushed, but she kept her eyes on his face. “Get out of my house,” she said hoarsely.

  He smiled, the light in his eyes changing as he adjusted his clothes. “Well…well…it is Miss de Warenne, my cousin’s lover. You are intruding, Miss de Warenne.” He faced her squarely now, hands on his hips.

  Ariella shook with rage. “I do not care to repeat myself. I want you out of this house now. I will not have Woodland turned into a bordello.”

  He laughed at her. “Are you sure that is what you want? I feel certain there is more.”

  She seethed at the lewd innuendo. “I do want more. I want every penny which you have stolen from us repaid.”

  He blinked. “I am viscount now, and unless you wish to join me this afternoon, I want you gone.”

  She trembled and turned. A pair of ceremonial swords hung over the fireplace. She leaped onto an ottoman and took one down, even though she had never been taught to fence. Robert began to laugh, which only fueled her determination. She jumped nimbly back to the floor. Robert’s expression changed as she strode to him, becoming alarmed as she aimed the sword at his chest.

  “You do not know what you are doing!” he cried, turning white.

  “You are wrong. I know exactly what I am doing. I have watched my father and brother on the decks of their ships, murdering pirate swine as they attempted to board!” That last was a bit of an exaggeration. She struck the blade against his chest, right through his lawn shirt. She hadn’t meant to cut so deep but she didn’t bloody care.

  He blanched and reached for her hand.

  She pressed the blade deeper and he cried out, releasing her. “You have cut me,” he gasped, backing away.

  She followed him. “Emilian is viscount here and I am his wife. This is my room—this is my house. I said get out. I am losing patience.” He hit the wall. She pressed the blade into his chest again.

  “You’re mad,” he cried, ducking away, his shirt ripping another time as he did so.

  “I am the Viscountess of Woodland,” she said furiously. “I married Emilian and I have the certificate to prove it. You, sir, are nothing but a rogue and a scoundrel who seeks to steal our home—our life! Get out!”

  He ran.

  When he was through the door, she turned and stared at the woman. Half-clad, she gathered up her shoes and rushed out, as well. Ariella began to shake. There was blood on the tip of the sword, and the blade did not look particularly dull. She felt sick, but not because of what she had done. She looked at Emilian’s beautiful desk. It had been defiled.

  She glanced around the room and saw tears in the brocade sofa. Food and drink were everywhere; a tray of leftovers was even on the floor. The entire house had been defiled, she thought.

  “Are you all right?” Margery asked from the doorway.

  Ariella nodded. “There is one more thing I must do.” She went past her cousin, sword in hand. As she approached the salon, the stench from within accosted her. She paused on the threshold, but the five men within were drunk and raptly attentive to their game. If they knew she stood there, they did not care.

  “Madam? My lady?” Barnes corrected himself, appearing behind her. “May I rouse these rascals?”

  “Yes, you may,” Ariella said in relief.

  She watched him interrupt the game and inform the gentlemen that they must gather up their things and leave Woodland immediately. “The viscountess has returned and she insists,” he said firmly, ignoring their drunken protests.

  When they were finally gone, Ariella walked into the salon and simply stood there. She had done it. She had rid Woodland of Robert, at least for now, until Emilian returned—if he ever did. She trembled.

  Then, realizing she still held the sword, she turned. “Barnes, clean this and replace it where it belongs. Assemble the entire household at five o’clock. I wish a word with everyone. And, Barnes? I will have this house returned to the exact state it was in before Robert thought to depose my husband and rearrange it. I expect everything to be in proper order by the time the viscount returns.”

  Barnes took the sword and nodded. “And when is the viscount expected?”

  Ariella tensed. “I do not know. But he will come back, of that there is no doubt.”

  Barnes bowed and left.

  Ariella hugged herself. He had to return sooner or later, didn’t he?

  The truth was that she simply did not know.

  HE SLOWLY WALKED down the grassy hill in the dull autumn twilight. The cemetery where Raiza was buried was ahead. He could barely recall the night he had spent there two and half months ago, seated on the wet earth in the rain before the small whitewashed wooden cross that marked the spot where she had been buried. He had just returned from leaving Ariella at Windsong. He hadn’t been back to his mother’s grave since.

  He had spent the past two months traveling with the Rom, as far north as Inverness. They had only just returned to the Borders a day ago, for they would winter there, as they did every year. Stevan was taking orders for the chairs, tables and desks he would mend; Emilian was taking orders for the wagon wheels he would repair and the ones he would make. A long dark winter lay ahead.

  He still had not filed for divorce.

  He would see to it soon.

  He was very resolved now, for he had learned how to survive the loss of what felt like his entire life by becoming adept at self-control and emotional detachment. His thoughts did not wander; they stayed firmly in the present. His heart was iron-clad. He must not think about the only time he had come to this grave, his mind and heart consumed with Ariella. He must not recall the grief he’d been consumed with. That night he had come to mourn Raiza, but he had mourned for his wife.

  He tried to think of the common labor he would begin on the morrow. He was becoming renowned as an extraordinary wheel maker.

  He laughed bitterly, an image of Woodland flashing through his mind. He avoided all thoughts of the estate, too. It was too dangerous. He must not care about Woodland. He would never be the viscount again.

  From viscount to wheel maker, from Englishman to Rom….

  His heart stirred again unpleasantly in his chest, an unhappy feeling he was instantly wary of. He had deliberately buried his heart the day he left Ariella at Windsong, with all the memories they shared, and he had no intention of rediscovering it. She had brought so much light and joy into his life. Now he lived in shadows. Now, he knew the difference. He deserved a living hell.

  Feeling sorry for himself was out
of the question. He focused as he walked past the first few modest grave markers. He stood before the marble marker he had ordered for Raiza. He must mourn her properly now. He must say goodbye.

  But his heart was thundering and he could not seem to control it. For the first time in months, he saw his mother as he had as a boy, smiling and content, darning his socks before a nighttime fire while he sat at her feet. The boy picked up a violin and began to play; the boy was a Rom, and he was content with his simple life.

  He closed his eyes and suddenly, vividly, recalled his last moments at Rose Hill, when he had been recuperating from the flogging. Ariella was with him, her eyes flashing as she discussed Henry V with him. In that instant, he knew that was the precise moment he had fallen in love with her.

  You belong to two worlds, not one.

  How could anyone belong to two worlds? How was it remotely possible?

  His heart hurt him now. Hadn’t he spent the past six months living like a Rom? And hadn’t he spent the previous eighteen years living like an Englishman?

  The night before, a young Rom and a local girl had gotten married. It had been a night of music, song, laughter and dancing. The girl had been Scot, the daughter of a nobleman’s houndmaster. The young groom was going to stay with his bride in Glasgow, and he was going to work for an honest wage in town. She did not want to travel; she did not want to leave her family. No one was surprised, except for Emilian. There were so many Rom venturing away from the life, and so many half bloods, with one foot in each world.

  The pain filled him completely, his temples throbbing, and he feared his head might actually explode.

  “No man belongs to two worlds,” he roared, and to his surprise, he felt tears on his face. “I am Rom!”

  The gadjos had killed Raiza—and they had killed his and Ariella’s child.

  Your father is a good man, Emilian. He can give you a life I cannot.

  He heard his mother as clear as day, saw her imploring expression as she begged him to understand, just before she sent him away with the runner to his new English life and family.