A Dangerous Love (29 page)

He was leaving Rose Hill. Hoode was already downstairs, where his coach was waiting out front. He hadn't seen Ariella since that morning, and he felt certain she did not even know he was leaving. But that wasn't why he stood on the threshold of her private apartments.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, leaning against it. This was where she went to bed every night and woke up every morning; this was where, had he accepted her invitation, he would have made love to her. This was where she bathed, dressed, brushed her hair. This was her private, personal sanctuary.

A terrible need to know her completely, to fill in any lingering gaps, assailed him, and he could not deny that the prospect of leaving was distasteful.

A vase of white roses was on the table by the pin-striped sofa, undoubtedly from the gardens, and a book lay facedown beside it. He glanced from the sofa to the canopied bed, its covers and draperies the exact vivid blue color of her eyes. A book lay on the bed, too, as if she had left it there after reading.

He glanced around slowly, taking in every item: the two quietly elegant tea gowns hanging up on a stand in one corner of the room; the beautiful hand-painted jewelry box on the bureau, a collection of jewelry left out beside it; a hairbrush beside that; another book on the bedside table, along with a single yellow rose in a crystal bud vase. He glanced at the bookcase against one wall. No one he knew had a bookcase in the bedroom, and hers was full. It was odd. Or was it?

He went to the mantel first. Above it was a family portrait. He recognized her father and stepmother, perhaps as newlyweds, for from their dress and youth he surmised it had been painted two decades or so ago. The small golden girl seated beside them, a book in hand, was clearly Ariella. Her brother stood with them, grinning, his hand on a wolfhound. Ariella was solemn, intent.

She looked six or seven years old. He realized he was smiling. She had been raised in a close, loving family, he knew, and he was fiercely happy for her. All she needed now was a
gadjo
prince. He had not a doubt de Warenne would find her one.

He walked to the bedside table. A number of miniature portraits were there, including her brother's and her younger sister's. He could not imagine what it was like to have such a family.

He glanced at the bed, wishing he could ignore it. In spite of his recent conversation with de Warenne, he had a raging urgency to make love to Ariella. He did not think he could leave Derbyshire without doing so. It would be his way of saying thank-you—and goodbye.

He reached for the book on the bed and was surprised by the title. She was reading the latest political program espoused by the radical Francis Place.

I lied…I don't read romance novels.

He had already read parts of the People's Charter, and it was dry. Why would she attempt it?

He walked over to the bookcase and was very surprised to find novels by Baudelaire and Flaubert, in the original French. He saw histories of the Ottomans, Egypt, China, Russia and the Austro-Hungarian Empire. The last volumes were written in Russian and German. There were biographies on a dozen different kings and queens from a dozen different countries, as well as Suleiman, Genghis Khan, Cnut and Alexander the Great. And there was a treatise on the origins of the aborigines.

He realized his heart had slowed. Women did not read these kinds of works and studies. But she was so different….

He pulled an ottoman up to the bookcase and sat down, staring at the books and shelves. Ariella had read all of these books. He was certain of it.

She wasn't merely beautiful, kind and brave; she was intelligent and intellectual. To have a library like this one, she had to be as curious as an Oxford scholar, as curious as him. Did she agree with Place? Which history did she prefer?

How was he going to leave this woman behind?

The thought of leaving her seemed to be hurting his chest. But such feelings were unsuitable. He was Rom. She deserved a fine, honorable Englishman and a fine English world, one filled with privilege and luxury.

De Warenne had implied that he would be open to a suit.

It was impossible. He had misunderstood, or de Warenne hadn't thought it through and he would come to his senses and change his mind.

Maybe he could have given her such a life, before Raiza's murder. He could have given her pretty dresses, jewels and a handsome estate, but every time they went out, she would hear the whispers and feel the scorn. Her friends would desert her. There would only be false pretenses.

The door opened. He didn't move as she stepped inside the room.

Wide-eyed, she shut the door. “What are you doing in here?”

“I am looking at your books.”

“I can see that.”

He was leaving, as planned, but not without a very improper goodbye, one she would recall for a long, long time. “Afraid we will be discovered,” he asked, standing, “and accused of being lovers?”

She breathed hard. “I am afraid that we will be discovered and
you
will be accused of being the worst scoundrel, a man who is preying upon me.” But she stayed against the door, unmoving.

“I
am
the worst scoundrel. I have already preyed upon you.” He started toward her.

She trembled. “You are in full form, I see.”

“Yes, I am.” He didn't move. “Why didn't you tell me you are an intellectual?'

Her high color increased. “It isn't fashionable. Intelligent women are scorned.”

“But I despise stupid women,” he said. “I am very impressed.”

Her eyes widened. “You are?”

“Which is your favorite biography?”

She started. “I am taken with the King Cnut and Genghis Khan.” Her lashes fluttered. “At least, until recently.”

“Until recently,” he murmured. “Dare you flirt now?”

She nodded. “Very much so.”

He gave in. So much tension filled the room, it was impossible not to. He brushed the hair from her cheek. “And now?”

“I favor a Romany prince,” she whispered.

He had thought so. He felt savagely elated, even if this was the prelude to a farewell. “You won't find a biography on any Rom. And I hate to disappoint you, but I am half blood and we do not have kings or princes.”

“I don't need to read about my Roma prince, do I?” she said, arching a look at him.

He was her Roma prince.
Lust exploded, mingling with something far more profound, something bottomless, something he must never analyze or identify. He pressed his bursting loins against her hips. Planting his forearms on the door on either side of her head, he kissed her, openmouthed and deep.
She was, beyond any doubt, the most extraordinary of women and he owed her his life.

She kissed him back, her hand sliding low over his buttocks and lower still.

He thought about where he wanted them, and he shoved one thigh between hers, tearing his mouth from hers. “I want to make love to you, Ariella.”

She nodded, clinging. “Yes.”

He levered himself off her and the door. It was hard to do, when his body screamed at him for fulfillment. “I am on my way back to Woodland.”

She paled. “So soon?”

“I am well enough—it is obvious.” He knew his mouth curved.

She wet her lips, breathing hard. “I am glad you are recovered.” She blushed. “And not for selfish reasons.”

He smiled again, touching her cheek. “You do not have a selfish bone in your body.”

She clasped his hand. “Should I call on you later, or tomorrow?”

He was deadly earnest now. He did not want her discovered and hurt, but there was no easy way to conduct an affair. He must either abuse his host's generosity and tryst with her at Rose Hill, late at night, or they must steal an afternoon together at Woodland. She deserved long nights with his undivided attention and long mornings with even more attention. She deserved champagne at midnight and strawberries and cream in the morning. But she was neither a bride nor a wife and he could not give her anything other than an hour or two of passion.

A night at Rose Hill was slightly less sordid than an afternoon at Woodland, but it was far more dangerous. He was well enough to travel now; the
kumpa'nia
would probably be leaving the following morning. “Call on me later today,” he said. He added, “Promise.”

She smiled. “I promise.”

E
VERYTHING HAD CHANGED
between them.

Ariella slowly came downstairs. Emilian had left an hour or so ago. Something wonderful had come out of the terrible flogging. She saw it the way he looked at her now, his eyes gentle. A warmth she had never before seen shimmered there.

In another hour or so, she would meet him at Woodland. She could barely wait. She already knew that this time, when he took her in his arms, that warmth would be reflected in his eyes. This time, he would make love to her. She had no doubt that afterward she would receive the kind of smiles she had garnered that afternoon in her bedroom.

Her hand strayed to her abdomen. They had only slept together twice, but she had realized during the time she nursed him that she had missed her last monthly time. She was rarely late, but there had been so much duress recently. That likely accounted for the lateness. She had far graver matters to brood upon.

The county was like a keg of dynamite, the long fuse lit. as long as the Roma remained in the parish, it burned. It would not take much for that keg to ignite. The hostility between the English and the Roma was a terrible blight on her newfound happiness. She was afraid of what might happen next. Emilian wanted to go after Jack Tollman for revenge. She thanked God that Tollman remained in the Manchester prison. She couldn't begin to imagine what Emilian would do otherwise.

She heard voices coming from the receiving room and recognized Mayor Oswald. Ariella hurried forward. What was he doing here? She remained furious with him and everyone else for allowing Emilian to be beaten.

The mayor was seated with a cup of tea, as were two other gentlemen she recognized. Her father and Amanda were seated with them. The three men had all been present when Emilian had been flogged. She trembled with outrage as the mayor spoke. “We are so pleased that the viscount has recovered and has returned to Woodland, Captain. What happened was a terrible travesty and I cannot even begin to express the extent of my regrets.”

Ariella faltered.

Her father saw her and smiled, but a look of caution was in his eyes. “Mayor Oswald has come to call on St Xavier and tender his respects, as have Squire Liddy and Mr. Hawkes. They called a few days ago, as well, but you were preoccupied.”

“I hadn't realized.” Her mind was spinning as the gentlemen rose to their feet. Were they sincere in their regrets? “Unfortunately, Tollman should have been stopped at the time. The viscount should have never been so abused.”

Oswald flushed. “I agree with you, Miss de Warenne. The viscount has been a leading member of Derbyshire society since his father's death. We all look up to him. I still cannot believe what happened. I am very sorry and I look forward to the viscount's continued participation in our affairs. We all do.”

Ariella realized that the mayor was sincere.

Oswald shook Cliff's hands. “We will call on St Xavier at Woodland, if he will receive us.”

“I am sure he will,” Cliff said. He escorted the gentlemen out, Ariella walking to the threshold to watch. When they were gone, he returned to her.

“That is quite the change of heart,” she said.

“He has made a mistake. It is no insignificant thing that he has admitted it.”

“How could he and the others stand by as they did and watch Emilian being flogged, almost to death?” she cried. “I will never understand it!”

“I have never been able to understand the psychology of a mob, Ariella. I have seen good men and women become vicious and cruel, entirely transformed by the emotions of a crowd,” he said. “The mayor is horrified over what Tollman did to him.”

“Better late than never, I suppose,” Ariella grumbled. “Frankly, I am not in a forgiving mood, and I doubt Emilian is, either.”

“St Xavier has been viscount for over eight years. While he has been very reclusive, and there has been gossip about him, he has been respected, almost feared. There has never been an incident like the one with Tollman. But since the Roma came, he has taken their side in this conflict. It has not helped matters.”

“He lives with prejudice every single day of his life. He could hardly remain neutral, not when confronted with even more bigotry.
I
cannot remain neutral.”

“I understand and admire your passion, Ariella. You would not be my daughter if you did not feel as you do.” He was grim. “But as independent and as radical as you are, you cannot change people's minds and you cannot change the world.”

Ariella smiled at him. “But I can try.”

Her father stared. “You do not seem upset. Your spirits seem very high.”

“Why would I be upset? Emilian has recovered. I am thrilled!” As she spoke, she thought of how much she loved him and blushed. She said quickly, “I feel as if the arrival of the Roma has set off a terrible chain of events. Their arrival has certainly intensified the conflict Emilian feels. I almost wish they hadn't come, but then, maybe we wouldn't have met.”

“It was his uncle's duty to tell him of the tragedy, Ariella,” Cliff said seriously. “Life is entirely unpredictable, and one event can change someone forever.”

“What tragedy are you talking about?” He wasn't referring to the flogging, but that was the only tragedy she knew of.

“He did not tell you that his mother was recently murdered by a mob in Edinburgh?”

Ariella was shocked. Emilian had not said a word.

“That would be enough to make a man think of walking away from everything he has dedicated his life to.”

I hate them all.

“No wonder he is so angry with us. No wonder their arrival has imploded his life. He must be grieving. Why didn't he tell me?”

Cliff touched her. “He is a dark, angry man, Ariella, and I suspect he was dark and angry before the Roma came.”

“But now I fully understand him!” she cried. He needed her comfort even more than before.

“I know you disagree, but I do not think you can heal his wounds. I don't think he will let you, Ariella.”

“You are wrong. Even if I can't entirely heal him, I can be his friend.”

Cliff made a harsh sound. “Until he leaves with the Rom, and then what will you do?”

Her heart lurched. “What are you talking of? Emilian will not leave now.”

Cliff's eyes widened and then narrowed. “Ariella, we had a distinctly unpleasant conversation earlier today. He claimed he has told you everything—including his plans to leave with the Rom.”

She breathed deeply. “He did tell me everything, but that was before the events of this past week. Emilian isn't leaving. We have reached a new understanding, Father. He cares about me now.”

“Ariella, he has told me, in no uncertain terms, he is leaving. He is hard and determined. He is not going to give an inch. He has no serious intentions toward you. Even if he does care, his mother's murder has changed the course of his life.”

“No. You misunderstood, or he hasn't really thought clearly—he has been so ill. He won't leave
me.
Not now, not after what has happened.” She breathed hard. “This has to be our beginning.”

Cliff stared. “I am afraid for you,” he finally said. “And I do not trust St Xavier.”

“Father,
I
trust him. I trust him completely.”

 

W
HEN
E
MILIAN ENTERED
the house, Hoode was there to greet him, beaming. “Welcome home, sir.”

Emilian smiled at him. He was acutely aware that this would be one of his last nights at Woodland for a long time. It might even be his final night there. He knew that his choice to go north with the
kumpa'nia
was the right one—the only one. He glanced at his father's portrait on the wall in the entryhall as he passed by it. Edmund was undoubtedly spinning in his grave with distress over his plans. Edmund had given him so much, but he must ignore their past now. What his father had wanted no longer mattered.

He went through the house, his thoughts veering to Ariella. The beautiful smile he saw in his mind's eye changed, and her countenance became hurt and accusing. One thing was very clear. He might miss her when he left, but it was for the best. She was the brightest light in his life, but he was the darkest shadow in hers.

“Emilian?”

He turned and saw his uncle approaching. He quickly backtracked and they embraced. “How are you, Stevan? How is Simcha, the new child, and all the brothers?”

Stevan smiled. “We are fine, now that you have come back to us. How do you feel, Emilian?”

He hesitated. “I am ready to travel.”

“Are you?” Stevan stared closely.

“I am more than ready to go. Can the caravan depart tomorrow?”

“We have been ready to leave for a week. We have only been waiting for you.” Stevan clasped his shoulder. “What about the de Warenne woman?”

He tensed. “What about her?”

“Will she come with us?”

He stared, shocked. He would never, not in a hundred thousand years, push Ariella into the Roma way of life. “No, she will not come with us.”

“So then you will be returning to her?”

His tension grew. “I don't know what I am doing.” He spoke harshly. “If I return, I hope she will be with an Englishman.” Even as he spoke, his heart lurched.
He would hate her
gadjo
husband.

“I can see your confusion.” Stevan clasped his shoulder. “Emilian, why don't you stay here at Woodland? You can go north at any time—you are a free man and your own master. But we must leave. Things are bad now between the Roma people and the
gadjos.
There is too much tension, name-calling, ugly looks, threats. Even the children fistfight. I am not sure how this has happened. Maybe in the north, they are used to us. They expect us to come in the summer and harvest their fields. They expect us to leave in the winter and they know where to find us to have their wagon wheels and chairs mended, their clothes and socks sewn. I do not like the southern
gadjos.
”

He stared coldly. “Northern
gadjos
murdered Raiza.”

He shrugged. “And Edinburgh is a dangerous place for the Roma, too.”

“God willed the Rom to be Travellers. Yet in all of history, the Roma have never been able to travel freely,” Emilian said. His frustration seemed to grow. “You should be able to travel freely.”

“There have always been laws against us,” Stevan said resignedly. “If you insist on leaving with us, so be it. You are always welcome.” Stevan reached into his pocket and handed him a folded linen handkerchief. “I was going to give this to you if you stayed behind after all, but I will give it to you anyway.”

Emilian took the square. “What is this?”

“It was your mother's. Your father gave it to her.” Stevan turned to go, but then paused. “She is a good woman and she loves you. You will never find such a wife again. I would not leave her for too long and I would not wish her on another Englishman.” He smiled and walked out.

Emilian was disbelieving. Ariella would be the perfect wife…but not for him.

Then he opened the handkerchief and saw a small string of gleaming pearls. A tiny gold heart pendant was attached to it.

His heart exploded in grief and pain.

He went to his desk and stared at the pearls. His father had given Raiza this necklace. It was no silly trinket. Had Edmund cared for her?

He was still grieving—and, maybe, he was grieving for them both.

He laid the pearls on his desk, then looked at the miniature by his inkwell. Edmund had worn a suitably severe expression for the portrait, one painted a few years before Emilian had ever come to Woodland. Emilian pulled the miniature closer and stared at it.

They had both wanted him to be Woodland's lord and master. But while he owed Edmund for almost everything, he owed Raiza even more.

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?”