A Breath of Scandal (11 page)

Pietro stared after him, a thoughtful expression on his face. He placed an arm around Ramona’s shoulders when she joined him a few moments later.

“Drago is leaving,” Ramona said. There was no question in her voice.

“Aye. Tomorrow.”

Ramona’s gaze found Lara as she moved about the camp. “ ’Tis not the end for them.”

“Drago says it is.”

“Pah! What does Drago know?” She clutched Pietro’s gnarled hand. “I fear for our granddaughter, husband.”

Pietro kissed her wrinkled cheek. “We must believe that her father will protect her, Ramona. Should fate bring Drago and Lara together in London, they will find their own way.”

Lara saw Drago talking to Pietro and knew intuitively what they discussed. Drago was leaving. She had known the day was coming and had thought herself prepared for it. But being prepared involved more than setting one’s mind to something. Her mind knew she and Drago were not meant to be together, but her heart refused to listen.

Drago had made love to her without involving his heart. She couldn’t force love where none existed. Drago enjoyed making love to her, she knew that, but she also knew that he was anxious to leave and get on with his life. She wouldn’t stop him, although her greatest fear was that his enemies would find him once he left the protection of the Gypsy caravan.

Lara hurried over to Drago the moment she saw him walk away from Pietro. “You’re leaving.” Her statement seemed to hit a raw note with him.

He looked harried, driven, as if he were being torn in two. “We need to talk, Lara. Come inside our wagon.”

Lara wasn’t quite ready to listen to Drago’s words of farewell. “Can it not wait?”

“No.” He held out his hand. “Come.”

She placed her hand in his and followed him to their wagon. He shut the door firmly behind them and led her to the bed. “Sit down.” Steeling her heart against his hurtful words, she perched on the edge of the bed.

He began to pace; back and forth, back and forth.

“Stop!” Lara shouted. “Just say what’s on your mind and get it over with.”

Drago stopped abruptly and knelt before her. He grasped her hands. “I haven’t told you anything about myself for the simple reason that I wanted to protect you and your people from my enemies. The less you know about me the safer you’ll be.”

“So you’ve said,” Lara said tartly.

“That hasn’t changed. We’ve already discussed our Rom marriage and you know my position.”

Lara’s chin firmed. “I asked nothing from you.” Once she returned to her father, Drago’s name would never leave her lips. Only her heart would know her pain.

“I would never have taken you had I suspected you were innocent,” Drago continued. “I lost my head. You seemed so willing to …”

“I was willing.”

Drago’s head jerked up. “I was the experienced one. I should have known. I will never forget you, Lara. Were things different …”

“Things might be different if I weren’t a Gypsy,” Lara charged. “I can’t change what I am.”

“No, and I can’t change what I am.”

“How soon must you leave?”

“Tomorrow. What little walnut stain remains on my skin can easily pass as a summer tan. My responsibilities …”

“I don’t want to hear about them. Go if you must, I won’t stop you. Even Gypsies have pride.”

Lara thought she’d never seen anyone so torn.

“Try not to hate me, sweeting. Parting is not easy for me, either. I will always remember this time with you as an idyllic period in my life. Life has never been so simple or enjoyable.”

Is that all you can say?
Lara’s heart cried out.

“I want to make love to you tonight, Lara, but not if you don’t want it.”

Not want it?
She craved it, needed it. “I would like that, Drago. Just tell me one thing. Is there another woman in your life?”

The shadows in his eyes deepened. “Not anymore.”

Lara heard all she needed to know. Obviously Drago was one of those men who loved only once, deeply, with their whole hearts. No other woman could ever take the place of the one he lost.

She lifted her face. “Kiss me, Drago. Tonight you are mine. Look at me and tell me you are thinking of another woman when you make love to me.”

Drago joined her on the bed. “I think of no one but you, my Gypsy spitfire. Your scent, your taste, you arouse me beyond bearing.”

His strong hands cupped her face, bringing their lips together. He kissed her slowly, with such passion, such tenderness, that her eyes grew misty with tears. How would she exist without Drago? He deepened the kiss; his tongue plunged into her mouth, and the ability to think fled.

Excitement roared through Julian, as hot and intense as lightning. No woman had ever made his body sing and his blood thicken like his Gypsy lover. Kissing Lara was pure pleasure. Loving her was pure ecstasy. Leaving her was pure hell. If he wasn’t an earl he’d say to hell with propriety, to hell with society, and take her to London with him. People might think the very proper Earl of Mansfield had lost his mind, but he would be the envy of the
ton
.

His thoughts scattered when Lara slipped her fingers between the edges of his shirt. Her hands were warm and soft and infinitely arousing against his chest. He managed to get the front of his trousers undone and his shirt unbuttoned as her hands roamed over the muscular planes of his chest, down his stomach to his …

A groan of raw pleasure ripped from his throat when her fingers closed around him. He tore at her blouse, ripping it in his eagerness to render her naked. Clothes flew, mouths clung, hands explored. He skimmed a thumb across a taut nipple. He bent his head and took it between his teeth. Lara gasped; he felt her tremble. Julian knew she was as excited as he when she grasped his head and held it to her breasts. He sucked her nipples, savoring the gasping little moans escaping her throat, sadly aware that he would never hear them again after tonight.

She reached down and circled his staff, and Julian feared he’d spill his seed into her hand. He fought for control. Disgracing himself their last time together was not a pleasant thought. Briefly he considered taking her quickly, as his body demanded, but he swiftly discarded that notion. He turned her on her stomach and lifted her knees.

Lara gave a squeal of surprise. “What are you doing?”

“Have you never seen horses mating?”

“Of course, but what has that got to do with … oh …”

He spread her knees and positioned himself behind her, nipping gently at her neck. He stroked her cleft and tested her with his fingers. Wetness flooded his hand. Her heat scorched him. He opened her and buried his sex deep inside her. To prevent their loving from ending too soon, he held himself still inside her a long suspenseful moment.

“Drago, please. End this torture.”

Her plea undid him. Grasping her hips to hold her in place, he thrust forward, teeth clenched, head thrown back, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. The explosive end came suddenly, violently. They climaxed together, one in body, one in soul, yet as far apart as two star-crossed lovers could get.

Lara lay quietly in Drago’s arms as their breathing returned to normal. She wanted this night to go on forever, but she knew dawn would appear in the eastern sky as surely as day would follow. She wouldn’t beg Drago to stay, or beg him to take her with him. It was an impossible situation for both of them. He had those responsibilities he spoke of and she had a father waiting for her. But the thought that Drago could leave her without a backward glance still hurt.

Suddenly, from out of the blue, Lara had a chilling premonition. “We will meet again, Drago,” she murmured. “When danger stalks you, I will be at your side.”

“I doubt that, sweeting,” Drago replied. “I prefer to think of you living safely with your people in some remote part of Scotland. You would hate London and its intrigues.”

“Is that where you’re going? London? Is London your home?”

He remained silent so long Lara knew she was delving too deeply into his private life. “I’m sorry. You need not answer any of those questions. I know you do not like to talk about yourself. Forgive me.”

“We have so little time left, sweeting. There are other things I’d rather do than talk.”

“Aye,” Lara whispered, winding her arms around his neck. If this was the last night they had together, she wanted to make it special.

They loved again, arms and legs entwined, bodies pressed together, mouths and hands exploring places that might have been missed during their first frantic joining. Then they slept. When Lara awakened the following morning, Drago was gone.

And with him her heart.

J
ulian traveled to his country estate for a brief visit before continuing on to London. He didn’t want Emma or any of his peers to see him in Gypsy garb. The less anyone knew about his sojourn with the Rom the safer they would remain. Peters, the Thornton Hall butler, opened the door to him.

“Beggars apply at the back door,” Peters sniffed, looking down his long nose at Julian. The door started to close in Julian’s face.

“Bloody hell, Peters, ’tis me,” Julian said as he pushed past the startled butler. “Don’t you recognize your own employer?”

The normally unflappable butler was clearly astounded. “I … that is, my lord, I didn’t recognize you. Forgive me. I’m not accustomed to seeing you dressed … um … like a disreputable person.”

“Stow it, Peters. I want a bath drawn. And quickly. Ask Mrs. Howard to prepare something substantial for me to eat. I’m off to London as soon as I’m presentable.”

“Very good, my lord,” Peters said. “I will see to it immediately.”

An hour later, freshly bathed and shaved, Julian dressed in his usual impeccable attire and sat down to the hearty meal Mrs. Howard had prepared for him. The food was ambrosia compared to the plain Gypsy fare he had become accustomed to, but for some reason it was less enjoyable than the simple meals he had shared with Lara and her family.

Lara. His Gypsy wife who wasn’t really his wife
.

Thoughts of Lara had plagued him all the way home. Their last night together wouldn’t be easy to forget. He wasn’t sure he wanted to forget the passion they had shared, though he knew it must remain buried deep within himself while he pursued Diana’s killer.

Guilt continued to plague him, however, for the callous way in which he had left Lara. Hurting her hadn’t been his intention. If Lara had spoken up about her innocence he never would have taken her. After that first time, there was no way he could stop making love to her. He blamed himself for acting more like his roguish brother Sinjun than himself where Lara was concerned, but her passion was addictive. Wanting her was a hunger he couldn’t assuage. Somehow he had to learn how to live without Lara’s lush body tempting him beyond redemption, but it wasn’t going to be easy. The taste of her didn’t satisfy, it only whetted his appetite.

Julian reached London late that night. He didn’t have his key and was forced to use the iron knocker to gain admittance.

After a frustrating length of time, Farthingale, Julian’s town butler, opened the door, his nightcap askew on his gray head and his spindly ankles sticking out of his nightshirt.

“Lord Mansfield! Welcome h-h-home, my lord.”

“Your mouth is open, Farthingale,” Julian said, pushing past his stammering butler. “I lost my key. Are Emma and Aunt Amanda out for the evening?”

“Aye, my lord. They’re attending Lady Marshall’s musicale. Viscount Blakely is escorting them.”

“Blakely? Sinjun’s rascally friend?”

“Just so, my lord. Lord Blakely has been a frequent visitor during your absence.”

Julian frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that. Blakely was as much a rogue as Sinjun had been before he’d settled down with Christy. Julian vowed to have a talk with Emma about the company she’d been keeping as soon as possible.

“Shall I summon your valet, my lord?” Farthingale asked, clearly anxious to return to his bed.

“Nay, let Ames sleep. I can undress myself. I’m exhausted. Good night, Farthingale.”

“Good night, my lord.”

Julian climbed the stairs to his chamber, weary to the bone. He’d been gone from home too long and in the end his investigation had led him back to London. He was convinced that someone high up in the government was the Jackal, the man behind the smuggling ring. The man who wanted Julian dead, the one responsible for Diana’s death. One good thing came from Julian’s return to London, however. He’d be able to keep an eye on Emma. Obviously Emma was out of control if she was seeing Rudy Blakely regularly.

Julian undressed and collapsed in bed. He was so tired that he fell asleep before thoughts of Lara could produce the inevitable arousal.

“Julian! Wake up! How dare you stay away so long without letting me know where you were. Julian! Do you hear me? Wake up.”

Julian was being shaken violently awake. He opened one bleary eye and saw Emma standing over him like a vengeful angel, hands on hips, one foot tapping impatiently, her violet eyes aglitter with fury.

“Stop it, Emma. What’s gotten into you?”

“Where have you been?” Emma demanded.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m home now. Kindly wait for me in the breakfast room, I’ll be down directly.”

“Very well, but don’t think you can appease me with your weak excuses this time. I was so worried I sent for Sinjun. I had no idea if you were dead or alive.”

“As you can see, I’m very much alive. Ring the bell for Ames on your way out.”

Tossing her head, Emma whirled and strode away, giving the bell pull a yank before she stomped out of the room.

Ames showed up shortly bearing a tray with tea and a slice of perfectly toasted bread. He set the tray carefully on the bedside table, poured cream and tea into the cup, and smiled at Julian. “ ’Tis good to have you back, my lord. Shall I draw your bath?”

“Aye,” Julian said, yawning. “Give me a moment to drink a cup or two of tea and eat my toast. Emma is in a fine froth this morning, and I doubt my breakfast will go down easily with her ranting in my ear.”