by Brenda Joyce
I can give you so many opportunities, Emil. Let me do so!
Edmund had loved him, he suddenly realized, and not just because he was his heir. He had loved him in that careful, polite and very English way, never showing open affection but allowing him to explore every avenue he wished to, encouraging him to do so. Edmund had loved him because he was his son, and he had been so proud of his achievements.
And Stevan had said Raiza had been filled with pride, too.
He sank to his knees. He no longer grieved for Raiza. He regretted choosing one life so completely over the other one, but he wasn’t sure there could have been any compromise. Both of his parents had chosen the English way for him and, finally, he understood why.
What was he doing, mending wagon wheels? He hated the mindless, mundane labor. The long, idle days on the road bored him. He missed his accounts, his artwork, his books. He missed his luxurious home.
He saw Woodland now in all its splendor and glory—splendor and glory that was a monument to his efforts and duties and cares. He thought of his beautiful library, of the hundreds of books he had personally chosen and read and reread; he thought of his English gardens, thoughtfully and carefully designed by him; he thought of his stable of pure-blooded broodmares, all in foal to his prized stallion. He thought of his efficient staff, his business affairs and relationships, his tenants and their farms. He cared about his tenants—he even knew the names of their children! What was he doing?
He reached out to touch the marble headstone, Raiza’s loving image coming to mind again. “I am not Rom,” he heard himself whisper. “I am didikoi. I am a half blood.”
Her smile never faltered.
In that stunning moment, he almost felt as if she had reached down to him from heaven to give him her silent blessing. He felt a caress upon his shoulder, but surely, it was the twilight wind.
He stood, remaining shaken. He had gone north to grieve for her and to find his Roma heritage. Instead, he had married and lost a wife and a child, while finding a truth he had never expected. He could not fit into the Roma way, not for a lifetime. He missed Woodland and the challenges of maintaining a profitable estate. He missed a great deal of his English life. But the Rom part of him was strong, too.
There was no more doubt now. He belonged to two worlds, not one.
And for one instant, he had a vision so strong, he thought Ariella had materialized before him. Then her face changed and he saw that it was Raiza standing there in the moonlight.
He blinked and realized he had seen her in his mind.
He had stayed with the Roma this long not because his mother had been murdered, but because he was running from the pain of losing Ariella. He would never get over losing her, he realized, but he couldn’t keep running. Duties and responsibilities awaited him at Woodland. People awaited him at Woodland.
There would always be whispers—but not from everyone. Some gadjos were good, kind and fair, like the de Warennes. Like Ariella.
I am going to pray that you find what you are seeking and that you will decide to come home. When you do, I will be here….
He stiffened, amazed at his memory now. Ariella had meant those words, after their discovery at Rose Hill, but everything had changed since then. By now, Ariella was in London, debating her radical friends, having moved past the loss of their child. He hoped that was the case. She so loved to debate, and she was good at it. By now, she was indifferent to him.
Woodland was waiting.
He was going home.
She wouldn’t be there, but that was what was best. And maybe, when he next saw her, she would have forgiven him for all that he had done to her. Knowing her, he was certain there would be no blame and no grudge. She might even be with her Prince Charming, but he intended to accept it and be glad for her. He only hoped that they could finally be friends.
He would settle for her friendship now.
HIS HEART THUNDERED with excitement as he stepped down from the hired coach in front of Woodland’s great doors. He stood very still for a brief moment, in the chill of the early December day, noting that the grounds and buildings all seemed in perfect order. Richards had done well. He was very pleased.
A passing groom saw him and faltered, then grinned and doffed his cap. “My lord! Good to have ye back!”
Emilian smiled at him, surprised to realize that he felt rather happy. “How does it go, Billy?”
“Very well, my lord. Ye’ve got some fine new colts, sir.”
His excitement increased. As he turned, the gardeners on the lawns by the water fountain were also doffing their caps. His pleasure increased. He nodded at them, smiling. Beyond the fountain, behind his stables, he saw last spring’s crop of foals, gangling weanlings now. They were racing the wind, and more pleasure crested as he saw that they all were in fine form.
God, it was good to be home.
He approached the house and bounded up the front steps. He did not knock, and as he entered his great hall he was pleased to note that all was exactly as he had left it. Hoode came charging from the corridor beyond, eyes wide in his pale face. “My lord, you’ve come home!” He beamed.
“Hello, Hoode,” he said, tossing his top hat at him, which Hoode caught. “Yes, I have come home, and I am very pleased by what I am seeing.”
“My God, sir, you must thank your wife for that! She marched in here and forced your cousin from these premises, sir, at the point of a sword. And just in time, too, as he was running this estate into the ground!” Hoode said, smiling.
The day went still—the world went still. He wasn’t even certain that his heart continued to beat.
He had misheard. Ariella was here? Surely she was in London with her eccentric friends!
It was a moment before he could speak. “I beg your pardon?”
Hoode was enthusiastic. “Lord Robert attempted to take over the estate and the title, my lord. He gave me the boot, and then began recklessly spending your fortune on whatever pleased him. Her ladyship returned in the nick of time, I must say! You are a fortunate man, sir.”
His heart thundered. Incredulous, afraid he was in the midst of a dream, he now looked past Hoode. And she stood there on the threshold of his salon, his angel of mercy, the most beautiful vision he had ever beheld. She was crying and he instantly knew they were tears of happiness.
She was waiting for him, as she had promised.
“Ariella?” He still could not believe it.
“You have come home,” she whispered, visibly trembling.
“I have come home,” he managed, the shock fading. The joy tried to surge forth but he contained it. “And you are here? You are waiting for me?”
“Where else would I be?”
He started toward her, hope and love flooding him. “You could be at Windsong—you could be in London—you could be anywhere else!” He reached her but was afraid to touch her. He was afraid this was a dream and she was an illusion that would instantly vanish.
But she touched his cheek, the gesture tender and familiar, and her caress caused his heart to explode in the kind of joy he had never thought to feel again. “I’m your wife. My place is here. I told you I would be here, waiting for you, or have you forgotten?”
He cried out, crushing her in his embrace. She clung and he held her tightly, still trying to understand that this woman believed in him enough to have returned to him and that she truly loved him.
He looked down at her. “I haven’t forgotten,” he said hoarsely, overcome by the small woman in his arms. “But how can you forgive me for the child we lost? It was my fault.”
“It was an accident, Emilian. It was not your fault. Have you ever considered that I have blamed myself for pursuing you in the first place?”
His eyes widened in alarm. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything, ever!”
She clasped his face. “I don’t want you to blame yourself for anything, either.”
He inhaled, his heart pounding. Carefully, he said, “S
o we are at an impasse?”
“No.” She smiled at him. “You must forgive yourself so we can have the future we deserve.”
He crushed her in his arms again, afraid to ever let go.
In his embrace, she murmured, “You never started divorce proceedings.”
She was so warm and soft in his arms, and his body began to respond with shocking hunger and need. “I put it off.”
She pulled back and grinned at him. “I wonder why?”
“I think you know why,” he said roughly.
She batted her eyelashes at him.
“I am more than happy to confess, I have remained so completely and desperately in love with you that I could not even speak with an attorney.”
She laughed, a bright, happy and expectant sound he hadn’t ever anticipated hearing again. “A confession in the bright light of your hall?” she teased. “What new aspect of your character is this?”
The joy bursting from deep within him was the kind of happiness he had never experienced, not even during their first days of wedlock. “I thought that giving you up was best, Ariella,” he said seriously. “Not for me, but for you. But then, I meant to stay with the Rom. Instead I have returned to Woodland. You were right. I belong to two worlds, not one.”
Her eyes were wide. “Oh, Emilian! I have never seen your eyes so light and bright. I have never seen you smile so openly. The dark shadows are gone!”
With trembling fingers, he stroked her cheekbone, her temple, her face. “I will never be entirely Rom, just as I will never be a proper, blue-blooded Englishman. Can you manage, darling?” He was stunned that he was with his wife.
She laughed. “Thank God for that! I am not in love with a proper blue-blooded Englishman—I am in love with my half-blood prince.”
She meant it and he flushed in even more pleasure. He knew her well enough now to realize she could never love a proper Englishman—she was too original and too independent. “There are no Roma princes,” he murmured, “as you well know.”
“Of course there are. You are standing right before me. You have told me many times that one day I would find my English Prince Charming, but you were wrong. For you are my prince, Emilian. You have been my prince from the moment we first met and nothing will ever change that.”
He was so undone he could not speak. She had always looked at him with those shining eyes, and he now realized the expression had been more than love and trust. She looked at him with a vast and utter admiration.
And hadn’t he always looked at her with the same respect? She was a great lady, the kind of woman a man like him could only dream about previously. Yet she had somehow become his lover, his friend and his wife and once again, she was declaring her undying love. This time, for the first time, he believed her.
Ariella de Warenne loved him, with the deep, undying, once-in-a-lifetime love the de Warenne men and women were notorious for.
He even believed it was their fate.
He doubted he could speak properly, so he lifted and kissed her hand. Then he cleared his throat. “I do not deserve you.” When she began to protest, he silenced her by tipping up her chin. “Shh. I do not deserve you, of that, there is no doubt. But…I am never again giving you up. I have made a choice, Ariella. I am going to try to be the prince that you think me to be. I love you, Ariella. I intend to spend the rest of my life proving just how much.” He added, “You must prepare yourself. There will be many more such declarations.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You have nothing to prove, Emilian. I know how much you love me.”
He pulled her close, overcome by so much feeling, so much happiness, so much love. The future loomed brightly before them. “No, darling, you have no idea.”
She whispered, trembling, her body warming for his, “Then do show me.”
He brushed his mouth over hers, gently, sensually. He began to think of some very creative ways to profess his love. “Come upstairs with me, darling,” he murmured in his most seductive tone. “I am going to start that proof right now.”
And his beautiful, eccentric gadji princess grinned up at him, her eyes shining.
Emilian St Xavier’s heart soared high and free.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-1476-1
A DANGEROUS LOVE
Copyright © 2008 by Brenda Joyce Dreams Unlimited, Inc.
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