Samantha James (10 page)

“You’re right,” she said softly. She summoned a smile. “Now, may we talk of something else?”

“We may,” came his ready response. “Do you like roses, Emily?”

“I adore roses. My mother used to say there’s no flower on earth fairer than the English rose.”

“Did she now…”

The talk moved on to other things, silly things, mundane things. She marveled, for he seemed to know just how to make her laugh.

When at last he pulled her to her feet, she was stunned to discover the afternoon was nearly spent.

“Will you come visit again?” She couldn’t dis
guise her disappointment—or her eagerness.

Andre gave a low chuckle. “Is tomorrow too soon?”

“Tomorrow is perfect,” she murmured.

He chuckled again, and carried her fingers to his lips to press a fleeting kiss there. Emily thought her heart would surely stop in that instant. And when he was gone, she brought that very same hand to her own lips and smiled, there at the very place his lips had brushed. She felt absurdly happy…

Happier than she had been in a long, long time.

Returning to Ravenwood the next day was the hardest thing Olivia had ever done. She’d tossed and turned throughout the night, unable to stop thinking of Dominic—of what he’d done, the way he’d made her feel—so very unlike herself! Even with her eyes squeezed shut, she kept seeing him, dark as midnight, so handsome he stole the very breath from her lungs…as he had when he’d kissed her.

Little wonder that she dreaded the moment she might face him again. The day was interminably long. Mrs. Templeton had her and Charlotte cleaning downstairs. She feared every time she turned around that she might see him. Charlotte even commented on her edginess.

“What the devil is the matter with ye, Olivia? Ye jump at every little sound,” Charlotte declared, jamming her hands on her hips and looking her up and down.

Olivia gave a tiny little laugh. “Of course I’m not.”

Charlotte peered at her more closely. “Ye know, ye’re lookin’ rather pale. Are ye feelin’ poorly?”

“I’m fine, Charlotte. Really.”

Charlotte didn’t look particularly convinced. Not until Olivia chanced to hear Franklin mention that Dominic had gone to York for the day did she begin to rest easy.

It was early evening when she started toward the study. She was anxious to finish the bookkeeping she’d begun last evening before Mr. Gilmore had arrived.

In some distant corner of her mind, she noted one of the double doors leading into the study was slightly ajar. Her hand reached out to pull it wide when a male voice reached her ears.

Olivia froze. It was Dominic, but there was someone with him.

“I hope you’ll forgive my intrusion, m’ lord.”

“It’s no bother, Mrs. Danbury. What brings you to Ravenwood?”

“Something awful has happened, m’ lord. Charles, my husband, sent me to see ye—ye see, sir, he fell and broke his leg last week. The physician says he’ll be confined to bed until early August. I—I’ve come because we cannot pay the rent due ye this month—and probably next as well. Ye see, until the harvest comes in, once a month Charles takes the sheep to market…”

Olivia blinked. The woman was Celeste Danbury. The Danburys lived on a farm just east of Ravenwood.

“So there is no one who might be able to take the sheep to market in your husband’s stead?”

“No, m’ lord. Our sons are but nine and ten, our girls even younger.”

Olivia bit her lip. A sliver of guilt passed through
her. She really should leave. Yet she couldn’t help but pause to listen.

“I see. So you’re worried about payment of the rent.”

“Yes, m’ lord.” Celeste’s voice was shaking. She sounded terrified. Olivia could almost see her wringing her hands in dire fear for her life.

“Do you have geese on your farm, Mrs. Danbury?”

“Yes, m’ lord.” Celeste sounded puzzled. “We’ve several.”

“Excellent. Have your boys deliver one to the kitchen tomorrow—I’m rather fond of roast goose. That’s payment enough for this month’s rent, and the next as well. By then, your husband should be back on his feet again.”

“Yes, m’ lord. I—I surely hope so.” Celeste sounded stunned. “I’ll send the boys right off in the morning. Oh, sir, I cannot thank ye enough. Charles and I were so afraid ye would turn us out…”

“Only a selfish tyrant would do such a thing, Mrs. Danbury. I should like to think I’m neither. And by the way, I’ll see that someone is sent out to help with the farming chores.”

The voices were coming nearer. “Oh, ye’re a saint, m’ lord, a saint!”

“I’m hardly that, Mrs. Danbury.” Dominic’s tone was dry. “Give my regards to your husband.”

Olivia quickly stepped out of sight behind the door just before it swung open. Though she couldn’t see Celeste, she heard her footsteps echo down the hall. Holding her breath, she prayed Dominic would either leave or return to the study.

“You may come out now, Olivia.”

Drat! How long had he known she was there? Cringing inside, Olivia stepped out from behind the door.

He was dressed in a loose white shirt, buff trousers and boots. His gaze swept quickly over her from head to toe. “I’m glad to see you’ve suffered no ill effects from last night’s storm.”

Olivia envied him his calm, for inside she felt like a runaway fire.

“I didn’t know you were back,” she said weakly. “I came to work on the accounts…I didn’t mean to eavesdrop.”

He said nothing, merely regarded her with his hands behind his back, his expression decidedly cool. It was hard to believe she’d been in his arms last night. Looking at him now, it was hard to believe the kiss—that impossible, unforgettable kiss—had ever happened.

She swallowed. With a nod, she indicated the direction Celeste had taken. “That was good of you,” she said slowly.

Black brows shot up. “What! Are you surprised? Did you think I would be totally insensitive to their plight? I may be half-Gypsy, but I have a heart that bleeds like any other.”

Olivia drew a sharp breath. He sounded—so bitter! Their eyes locked. All at once an unbearable tension vibrated between them.

Her gaze was the first to falter. “My lord,” she said very low, “I would like to apologize for what I said last night.”

“What do you refer to, Miss Sherwood? I fear my memory is rather short.”

Olivia fought a sizzle of anger. He was demanding his pound of flesh. “That I wished the Gypsies
had never come here…that—” She summoned all her courage. “—that
you
had never come.”

His jaw was implacable. “Did you mean it, Miss Sherwood?”

She took a deep breath. “At the time, but—”

“Then any apology you make is insincere.”

He was curt and angry, and—and she shouldn’t have cared, but she did. God help her, she did.

“I—I have good reason to feel as I do.” With a lift of her chin, she defended herself.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that. You and the rest of England—why, the rest of the world. They hate the Gypsies simply because they exist. They need no more reason than that.” His tone was as cutting as his eyes.

“That’s not true of me,” she said levelly. “I tell you again, I have good reason to feel as I do.”

“Do you now?” He was openly skeptical.

There was a heartbeat of silence. “Yes,” she said quietly. “You see, my father was murdered by a Gypsy.”

A ripple of shock went through him. Dominic went
very still. He didn’t know what he’d expected her to say…but it was not this. From the very beginning, he’d sensed her reticence—he’d thought it was merely disdain. But now that he knew…he was stunned that she had ever come to work for him.

Snaring her by the elbow, he pulled her into the study. The door clicked shut behind them. “What happened?” he asked, his expression grim.

Her eyes were downcast. “Just over a year ago, Papa was out visiting a woman who was ill. My sister was with him. They were on their way back to Stonebridge when it happened. The Gypsy tried to steal Papa’s horse. There was a struggle…Emily suffered a bad fall…Papa was badly beaten. A farmer nearby heard shouts. But by the time he reached Papa, it was…too late.”

“He was gone?” His probing question was very quiet. Olivia couldn’t help but note that the hard edge had left his voice.

“Yes.” She shuddered, her reply but a whisper. Clearly it was a subject that still pained her deeply.

Dominic said nothing for a moment, merely be
held her pale countenance. He almost wished he hadn’t been so insistent. It would have been easier to remain ignorant. No, he could hardly disregard her response—nor damn her for feeling as she did. Still, one more question gnawed inside him, and he had to know.

“What happened to the Gypsy?”

“He was caught a few days later. He was not with his people—” She frowned, searching for the right word. “—not a part of his band…”

“
Marime
. An outcast.”

“Yes.” At last she raised her head. Her eyes grazed his, then quickly looked away. “There was a trial,” she said, her tone very low. “He was…hanged.”

Dominic said nothing. He did not question that the man had deserved his punishment—he had, for he’d taken another’s life. Yet he couldn’t withhold the thought that sprang to the fore. Had the man not been a Gypsy, his life might have been spared; he might have been locked away instead for the remainder of his days.

Carefully he chose his words. “I am sorry about your father’s death, Olivia, and I understand why you feel as you do. But would you condemn all because of one man’s cruelty? The Gypsies are hardly responsible for the ills of the world. I think those who inhabit England’s prisons can well attest to that.”

He was right. Deep inside, she knew it. But right now logic defied her feelings—and it wasn’t his father who’d been killed.

“Look at me, Olivia.”

She didn’t want to. Then all at once he raised a
hand. A finger beneath her chin demanded that she look at him.

“What do you see?” He was quietly intent. “Do you see a Gypsy? Or do you see…something else?”

She drew a deep, uneven breath. “I see…” She broke off, for what could she say? She saw a devastatingly handsome man who disturbed her far more than he should. She saw a man who governed the very rhythm of her heart—and she knew not why. And indeed, all with naught but the stroke of his eyes! But she could hardly confide this to him.

“Have you no mercy, Olivia? No forgiveness?”

The weight of his stare was unnerving. Her lips parted. She gave a tiny shake of her head. “’Tis not so—so easy.”

His hand fell away. He gave her a long, slow look. “Apparently not. Well, we all have our demons to conquer, don’t we?” He stepped toward the door. There he turned. His expression was guarded as he spoke.

“I’ll leave you to your work.”

Something painful caught at her heart, something she didn’t understand. Left alone, she had the oddest sensation she’d somehow disappointed him. It was a notion that stayed with her throughout the next few days, and troubled her deeply. Why it mattered, she couldn’t say.

She knew only that it did.

All her life she’d been suspicious—and yes, fearful—of the Gypsies who occasionally chanced to pass through Stonebridge. Everyone was, everyone she knew.

It was hard to dismiss the beliefs of a lifetime so easily.

Andre returned the next day. And the next and the next.

He picked flowers and brought them to her. Their scent filled the tiny cottage with their sweet, heady perfume. Emily was touched beyond measure, yet she was touched by a bittersweet poignancy—if only she could see their loveliness for herself.

She was thrilled when he told her he’d sold all the lace she’d made. She stowed the money away, hoping to surprise Olivia with it when the time was right. But she still hadn’t told Olivia about his visits, for she was uncertain what Olivia would think. Meeting a man unchaperoned was hardly proper, but Emily didn’t care. Since she’d awakened that horrible morning after Papa had been murdered, her life had never been the same, yet when Andre entered the cottage, something seemed to light up inside her. She wasn’t strong and brave and stalwart like Olivia. Was it wrong that being with Andre should bring her pleasure?

He helped her make tea one afternoon. She started to return to the kitchen, only to bump headlong into a solid male form.

“I’m sorry!” he exclaimed. “How clumsy of me to get in your way.”

It happened again that same afternoon, only this time he reached out and caught her elbows to steady her.

Emily put a hand on her hip. Though she tried, she somehow couldn’t manage to act sternly. “I do believe you
want
me to bump into you.”

“And if I did, would you mind?”

He was grinning, rather pleased with himself. She could hear it in his voice, and she sensed it in every pore of her body. “Of course I would!”

He just laughed.

It seemed she didn’t fool him either.

Later they sat on the sofa in the parlor. “Andre,” she murmured.

“Yes, princess?”

A thrill shot through her. He was teasing. ’Twas hardly an endearment, yet still she loved it when he called her “princess.”

“No doubt you’ll think me quite ridiculous—”

“Never,” he vowed.

“I…I would really like to…to know what you look like.” She rushed on before she lost her courage. “Are you…handsome?”

“Were it not for my two front teeth missing, I’ve no doubt I’d be quite handsome,” he stated brashly.

Emily struggled not to laugh. “You don’t!”

“You’ll have to see for yourself, won’t you?”

Her smile faded. “You know I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, princess.”

“How?” She couldn’t withhold a trace of bitterness.

“Like this.” His voice had gone low and husky. Strong fingers encircled her wrist. He carried her palm to his cheek.

Emily drew in a sharp breath. Surely he didn’t mean…or did he? Her other hand lifted very slowly, almost as if it pained her. Scarcely daring to breathe, her fingertips touched his face.

Her heart began to clamor. With the very tips of her fingers, she explored the hollows of his cheeks,
quiveringly aware of the faint raspiness of his skin. He needed to shave, she thought distantly. She trembled inside as she encountered the smoothness of his mouth—he had a beautiful mouth, she just knew it. It carried the slightest smile, his lower lip slightly fuller. Though she longed to linger, she dared not. He had full, bushy brows that nearly met over his nose. A fingertip brushed the slight bump just below the bridge of his nose.

“How did that happen?”

“Boxing.” He spoke with unabashed candor.

“Boxing!”

“Yes. And I’m proud to say I won the bet.”

“Oh, my. Perhaps you really do have two front teeth missing!” She paused. “Your eyes. Are they blue?”

He gave a slight shake of his head. “Sorry to disappoint you, princess, but they’re brown.”

“And your hair? Is it brown as well?”

“Y-yes.” Now Andre was the one who held his breath.

“Light? Or dark?”

“Dark.” He felt a pang of guilt, yet it wasn’t precisely a lie. His hair was black as a raven’s wing, which made it dark, didn’t it?

Emily swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry.

“How tall are you?”

He pulled her to her feet. “The top of your head just touches my chin,” he said softly.

Her hands were warmly clasped in his. They stood so close she could feel every breath he took.

Her own had gone ragged. “I—I should say you’re quite tall then.”

“Only because you’re just a mite.”

Never in her life had she been so conscious of
one man. His size. His strength. Did he feel it too? she wondered wildly, this—this sizzling awareness? If only she were able to look into his eyes, what would she see? She lowered her lashes, suddenly afraid of what her own might reveal.

“Emily,” he said softly.

“Yes?” Her voice was but a wisp of sound.

“If you had one wish, what would it be?”

To see you
, she nearly cried. “To see,” she whispered, and suddenly there was a wealth of sadness in her voice.

Faintly calloused fingertips slid beneath her chin, gently turning her face upward.

There was a heartbeat of silence. “Mine, princess, would be for you to see
me
.”

For one heart-stopping moment, she felt the brush of his lips across hers…

Then he was gone.

As usual, the following Sunday found Olivia in the village green, teaching the children. She was most pleased with the progress Colin had made in just a few short weeks. Charlotte was doubly pleased—that he was so anxious to learn, and that he was doing so well.

She was also pleased about Emily. Emily’s mood had lightened considerably this last week. She had begun to laugh and tease again, much like the Emily of old. She’d even decided there was no need for Esther to stop by. Whatever the reason behind it, she was glad for Emily.

The children had just dispersed when she glanced up to find William standing before her.

“I just wanted to say good-bye before I left.”

Olivia allowed him to help her up. “Where are you going?”

“To London on business. I’ll be gone a week or so. I’d planned to leave this morning, but my horse turned a shoe.”

He still held her hand. Olivia tried as best she could to gently disengage it. At last he let it go.

“I stopped by to visit several nights ago, but you weren’t there. Emily said you hadn’t yet returned from Ravenwood.” His tone was laden thick with disapproval.

“I was doing the earl’s bookkeeping,” she murmured.

“He works you far too many hours.”

“It was my choice, William.” She felt compelled to defend herself—and Dominic.

William went on as if he hadn’t heard. His mouth curled in a sneer. “The bastard should go back to London, or better yet, back with his own kind. Can you imagine, a Gypsy trying to pass himself off as a gentleman!” His tone turned sullen. “I dislike you working there. It will have to stop once we’re married. Besides, there’ll be no need.”

Olivia stiffened. She was about to remind him that she had
not
consented to marry him, but before she could say a word, there was a touch on her elbow.

She turned to find a Gypsy woman standing there, holding a basket of onions. She was small but heavy in stature, her dark skin heavily lined. She wore a kerchief that covered all but an inch of dark hair streaked with gray. Bracelets jangled as she seized an onion and held it out.

“You want, yes?” the woman said in heavily accented English.

Olivia had no chance to reply. William stepped forward. “No,” he said sharply, giving the woman a shove. Caught off guard, the woman lost her balance and fell heavily to the ground. The basket slipped from her arms. Onions tumbled out, rolling in every direction.

“God in heaven, will we never be free of them?” William cursed. “Filthy beggars, all of them.”

Olivia gasped and turned to the woman. She helped her to her feet, then bent to gather the onions which had fallen. Behind her she heard William make a sound of disapproval.

“Good heavens, Olivia, let her do it!”

The delicate line of her jaw set tightly, Olivia ignored him.

At last they were finished. The woman gave a wordless nod of thanks, but her dark eyes flashed as she shook her finger at William, all the while spewing something in Romany. Finally she turned and waddled away.

William rolled his eyes. “God help me, she’s probably cursed me.”

Olivia felt like cursing him herself. Gypsy or no, his action had been unspeakably cruel.

Pointedly she lifted her chin. “You were just leaving for London, weren’t you?”

William frowned. “For heaven’s sake, Olivia, why are you in such a snit?” he complained. “She’s just an old Gypsy hag.”

Olivia would not debate the point just now. She was too angry. She glared at him mutely.

He shrugged. “You’ll have forgotten all about it by the time I return,” he predicted. “Stay well, Olivia.” He bent and pressed a brief kiss on her lips.

Olivia’s temper was still steaming as he mounted
his horse and rode off. It was all she could do not to scrub his kiss from her mouth.

She dusted her skirts and twitched them into place. As she raised her head, she spotted Dominic with Colin just a short distance away. Colin was atop Storm once again. He lifted the little boy from Storm and set him on the ground. Grinning, Colin said something and Dominic laughed, then he ruffled the lad’s hair, and Colin ran off toward home.

Dominic turned.

Olivia’s heart lurched. Dear heaven, he was coming toward her! Had he seen William?

She was about to find out.

He halted. “Charming fellow, your gentleman friend.” His tone was easy, but his eyes were hard. “Rather lacking in social decorum, don’t you think?”

Olivia’s heart sank. So he’d seen William’s cruel display with the Gypsy woman. That was unfortunate.

Dominic went on. “He appears to be rather free with you. Why, that’s twice now I’ve seen him kiss you here in the village square.”

Olivia could feel her face burning.

“Clearly he fancies himself in love with you.”

Her chin came up a notch. “Is that so hard to believe?”

“Not in the least,” he said smoothly, “but I’m curious. Are you in love with him?”

“No!” she gasped, before she thought better of it.

“So you haven’t agreed to marry him?”

“No. I mean, he’s offered, but—”