Samantha James (14 page)

She could feel him smiling. “Do you care?”

“Not a whit.” Though it was but a whisper, she was adamant.

“Nor do I.”

“What if Olivia returns?”

“Then I’ll have to jump out the window—and hope she doesn’t carry a pistol.”

Emily gave an unexpected chuckle. “I assure you, she does not.” Her smile faded. She knew only that his presence drove away the chill of the darkness. “Will you stay until I sleep?”

His heart turned over. “I will,” he promised.

He eased back upon the bed, pulling her tight
against his side. He could imagine no greater privilege or pleasure than holding her while she slept.

“Have you ever been kissed?”

Olivia glanced at Emily in startled surprise. The question came from nowhere. Only minutes before, the two of them had been discussing the week’s bountiful yield from the garden.

“Kissed,” Olivia repeated, still wondering if she’d heard correctly.

“Yes,” Emily said solemnly. “
Kissed
. By a man.”

Olivia’s entire body went hot. Her mind veered straight to Dominic. She had indeed been thoroughly—rousingly—kissed…but she could hardly divulge that to her sister. Only the two of them knew…only the two of them would
ever
know.

She tried to force a laugh. “Emily, whyever would you ask such a thing?”

Emily lowered her teacup. “Do not make light of this, Olivia. I know that William is very fond of you. And I thought that perhaps…he
had
kissed you. So I—I would like to know what it was like for you. I want to know if it made you feel…oh, I’m not certain how to say it…as if—”

“As if the very earth moved beneath your feet.” It slipped out before Olivia could stop it.

“Yes, yes! Olivia, is that how it was for you?”

Dear God, yes.
Yes
. But not with William…

A bittersweet smile touched Olivia’s mouth. “Emily,” she said gently, “I do not know how to tell you this, other than to come straight out with it. I do not love William. And, silly though it sounds, I would marry only…only for love.”

“I don’t think it sounds silly at all.” A wistful
longing touched Emily’s features. “That would be my wish for you as well.”

Olivia reached for her hand and squeezed it. “And mine for you.”

To her surprise, sudden tears filled Emily’s eyes. Olivia was beside her in an instant.

“Emily!” She slid an arm around her shoulders. “Love, what is wrong?”

A single tear slid down her cheek. “I don’t think I shall ever marry.”

“Emily! Why would you say that? You are young and beautiful and—”

“And blind.”

The catch in her sister’s voice tore at Olivia’s heart. “To the right man that will make not a whit of difference.”

“I would be a burden.” Emily clasped her hands in her lap and lowered her head.

“You are not a burden to me,” Olivia said forcefully. “You would not be a burden to a man who loves you.”

Emily gave a slight shake of her head. “You don’t understand,” she whispered. “It would hurt so much to…to love a man and…and never be able to
see
him.”

The ache in Emily’s voice pierced her to the quick. Her throat hot with the burning threat of tears, she reached out and hugged her sister. She had the oddest sensation there was something Emily was not telling her. She didn’t pry, however, for if Emily wanted her to know, then she would tell her.

“I cannot pretend to know how you feel, Emily,” she said gently. “I can only hope…pray…that when you find that man—or when he finds you—
that nothing else matters, as long as you are together.”

Emily clung to her almost desperately. At length she drew back, dashing away her tears. “You are like Mama, Olivia. You always know what to say—to make me feel better.” She was quiet for a moment, immersed in thought before she broke the silence.

“Do you know what I think?” she murmured, her expression pensive. “If a kiss makes a woman feel as you said…as if the very earth moved beneath her feet…then…”

Olivia frowned. “Then what?”

“Then she could only be in love,” Emily said quietly.

Olivia’s smile froze. Her heart began to pound. No, she thought dazedly, that could not be. She wasn’t in love with Dominic…

Or perhaps she was.

Dominic had the awful feeling he’d frightened her
—that he’d trespassed where he should not. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her—exquisitely made, all pale, ivory flesh, gleaming and innocent before him, open to his gaze…his touch. He could still feel her breasts, trembling with each breath, ripe and warm and deliciously naked, filling his palm. The urge to taste those cherry-rose nipples had been overwhelming. Instinct warned he’d have shocked her to her very core. Yet he could not deny the hot possessiveness that surged in him. He knew no other man had ever touched her, and the knowledge only ignited the white-hot desire that boiled in him still.

Yet in the very next instant, he damned himself for a fool. Chiding himself bitterly, he realized that if he had any sense, he’d find a warm, willing woman and take her hard and fast. Anything to get Olivia out of his mind—out of his blood.

Yet all he could think of was her. All he
wanted
was her.

She bedeviled him, like…like a Gypsy curse! It was unwise, having her so close at hand—in his very home. Never in his life had a woman kindled
such passion, a fire in his soul so heated and intense he felt scorched by it. She was a temptation, a thirst that refused to be quenched. Her presence in his household only sharpened the hunger to possess her. The voice of reason warned it would be best to remove temptation from his grasp, but he knew he wouldn’t.

He couldn’t.

As he had so often before, he felt torn, caught between two worlds. He almost hated his heritage—his Gypsy blood—for he couldn’t help but wonder if that was why she held herself aloof. He reminded himself that despite the fact she was a servant in his home, she was a lady…a lady who would never lower herself to lay with a Gypsy.

The thought tormented him, tormented him endlessly.

It was several days later that he rode into Stonebridge. Storm had been favoring his right leg and needed to be reshod. There was a farrier at Ravenwood who could have done the job, but Dominic was determined to overcome the villagers’ apprehension of him. By bringing the village tradesmen his business—improving their lot and livelihood—he hoped in turn their dislike of him would begin to lessen.

The ring of the hammer on the anvil echoed in his ears as he left the heat of the blacksmith’s shop. The day was hot, almost sultry, and he sought a cool cup of ale to soothe his parched throat. On the way to the alehouse, a woman and a little girl emerged from the milliner’s shop.

Dominic nodded his head in greeting. “Good day, mistress.”

The woman grabbed the child’s hand and bent
low. “Don’t look at him,” came her loud whisper, “lest he cast the evil eye upon you.”

Dominic gritted his teeth. So much for pleasantries.

Not a single soul spoke to him as he walked to the opposite end of the village. By Jove, if looks could kill, he’d have been naught but a pile of cinders by the time he passed the village square.

In the alehouse he took a chair in the corner. The barkeep brought him his ale and still nary a word had been exchanged. A weary resignation washed over him. His thoughts grew bitter. Darkness stole through him, like an ominous cloud across the sun. Why had he ever come to Ravenwood? he wondered blackly. These people—their wary distrust—all were but a cruel reminder of his father, of all that tormented him, of all he longed to forget. But then he thought of
her…

And he knew why he stayed.

The creak of the door announced the arrival of several other patrons. Dominic spared them nary a glance as they sat at a nearby table, for what was the use? He raised his glass and drank deeply of the pale amber liquid.

“Mark my word, William, there’s a storm brewing. It’ll be here within the week, or my name is not Jonas Arnold.”

He paid no heed to their conversation. He sat alone and detached, wholly unmindful of their presence—that is until he heard a name.

Olivia
.

Only then did he raise his head and glance to the side. Through narrowed eyes he saw a slender, slightly balding fellow. The other was younger and handsome…

William Dunsport.

Dominic’s lips thinned. Every muscle in his body tightened. Dunsport was the one man he could not countenance just now.

“…I admit, William, she’s a handsome enough baggage.”

Dunsport laughed. “So she is, Jonas, so she is. But mark my word—” He raised his glass high. “—before year’s end, she’ll carry my name.”

“What! You’ve asked for her hand then?”

“I have.” His confidence was unfaltering. “We’ve kept it to ourselves, so I must ask you to keep silent. We’ll announce it soon enough. When we’re wed, I was thinking of building a house of our own.”

For an instant Dominic couldn’t breathe. It was as if he’d been punched in the gut. That little cheat. That lying little cheat. Raw fury swam before his eyes.

“But what about the sister, Emily? My aunt is acquainted with Olivia. She was a friend of her mother’s.” Jonas Arnold shook his head. “You’ll not get one without the other, old man.”

A smug smile graced Dunsport’s lips. He shrugged. “Ah, well, I daresay it will be worth it once she’s in my bed.”

The rest of his comment was lost in ribald laughter.

Dominic was scarcely aware of rising. There was a dead silence as he stopped by their table.

A hard smile curled his lips as he tipped his hat. “I do hope you’ll invite me to the wedding.” With that he was gone.

Olivia saw nothing of Dominic over the next few days. While a part of her was immensely disappointed, there was also a part of her which was vastly relieved. The most disturbing images spun through her mind again and again—images she had no business envisioning. His mouth on the side of her neck. His mouth on her breasts. His hand in places she dared not speak of…

His touch had opened a door that had never been opened. She was not a child who knew nothing of the ways of love—her mother had believed in the importance of understanding the physical intimacies between man and woman. Yet now her dreams were wanton and erotic. Only this morning she had wakened from a dream that remained vivid long into the day. She saw the two of them entwined in a lovers’ embrace—only to her utter shock, she was sitting atop him—not just lying upon him, but…sitting! Was such a thing even possible? If only there were someone she could confide in, someone she could ask. She was too embarrassed to talk to Charlotte about such matters. She could think of no one who would know…

No one but him.

To make matters worse, Emily had asked about him only this morning. Lucifer had climbed upon Emily’s lap, for he proved to be outrageously affectionate. Olivia was outside for a time and Lucifer refused to relinquish his perch. They had both dissolved into weak laughter before they were finally able to entice the hound from her lap.

It was then that Emily had said, “’Tis odd, don’t you think, that Lucifer ever followed you home—even more odd that he continues to do so.”

Olivia hesitated. “’Tis not odd at all,” she said
slowly. “He simply did as he was told.”

“By his master?”

“Y-yes.”

“I cannot remember what you told me…Which of the Gypsy earl’s staff is his master? The butler?”

“No. And I—I did not say.”

“Then who is Lucifer’s master?”

There was no help for it. “The Gypsy earl is his master,” Olivia said quietly.

Emily’s smile faded. “Then why did he tell Lucifer to accompany you?”

“You won’t like the answer, Emily.”

“Tell me anyway.”

“So that I would not be alone when I returned home at night,” she told her sister softly. “So that I would be safe.”

It was a long time before Emily spoke. “Then perhaps he cannot be as terrible as I once thought. Indeed, if I should ever meet him, I—I shall have to thank him.”

Strange, how wise Emily suddenly seemed. Her sister had grown up beneath her very eyes, and Olivia was suddenly so proud of her sister she felt she would burst inside.

“I’m curious,” Emily went on. “What does he look like?”

“He’s quite the handsomest man I’ve ever seen,” Olivia replied—and so quickly they both laughed.

Then Emily’s smile had faded. “Does he look like a Gypsy?” she asked quietly.

Olivia hesitated. “Yes—and no. He is tall, quite tall, I might add. His hair is dark, almost black. But his eyes—well, they are a startling shade of blue—his father’s eyes, or so ’tis said. He cuts a fine figure—his clothing is superbly tailored, but he looks
most appealing when he wears a simple shirt, breeches and riding boots.”

Only then did Olivia wonder if she’d divulged a shade too much. Luckily, Emily made no further observation and the subject was dropped.

It was early when Olivia finished her household duties that day. Franklin had told her that Dominic was planning a ball for some of the gentry in the area. He’d asked that she address the invitations over the next few days. Her step brisk, Olivia hurried to the study. She felt guilty for leaving Emily on her own so much lately, so she planned to work for perhaps an hour or so on the invitations, then go home.

She found the list in the middle of the wide mahogany desk. She was about to sit down when a tall form rose from one of the chairs before the fireplace.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Sherwood.”

Dominic
. Her heart began to hammer. The bite in his tone put her on guard immediately—and so did the way he called her Miss Sherwood. What on earth was wrong? she wondered wildly.

She cleared her throat. “Excuse me. I—I didn’t know you were here.”

He made no answer. Instead he moved across the floor and very deliberately closed the door. Crossing his arms over his chest, he regarded her coolly, a gaze that belied the seething emotions that simmered just beneath the surface

Olivia eyed him nervously. His mood was dangerous, his eyes like pale blue frost. It spun through her mind that he was a stranger. Looking at him now, so cold, almost forbidding, it was as if the carefree, tender man who’d kissed her so passion
ately at the Gypsy camp did not exist.

“It seems congratulations are in order.”

Olivia blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

“Oh, come now, Olivia. You need not pretend any longer. Your intended was most forthcoming today.”

Olivia squared her shoulders. She rallied her anger, for she’d done nothing to deserve this. “I have no idea what you mean,” she said quietly.

He approached. Warily Olivia managed to hold her ground, though everything within her screamed to retreat. And then there was no chance, for strong hands laid claim to her shoulders. He turned her toward him. His eyes descended to the rounded swell of her breasts.

Olivia went utterly cold inside, for he stared as if he stripped her naked with naught but the touch of his eyes. His scrutiny was no less intense than it had been the other night, yet now it was scornfully brazen and made her feel small and ashamed.

His smile was as brittle as his manner. “Prudent. Practical. Proper and prim. I wonder, Olivia. Will you be so prim with the man you love…with William?”

She nearly faltered beneath his unrelenting regard. “William,” she echoed. Was that what this was about? “You make no sense,” she said unevenly. “What has this to do with William?”

He paid no heed. “I find I’m curious,” he said suddenly. “Did you tell him? Did you tell him how I kissed you? Did you tell him how I touched your breasts?”

Deliberately he grazed the peak of her breast with his fingertips. Olivia inhaled sharply. To her
horror, a jolt of sheer pleasure shot through her. Her nipples grew tight and tingly.

“Did you tell him how you lay naked before me? Why did you let me touch you as I did? You wanted me to, Olivia. You wanted it.”

Her nails dug into her palms. She couldn’t tear her eyes from his face. His expression was taut, his eyes filled with an icy, biting fury.

“Was it just a game? A game to taunt me? A game to torment the poor Gypsy—to remind him what can never be his?” His jaw locked hard and tight. “Did you plan it, you and William?”

“You speak of William, but you speak in riddles,” she cried. “I—I don’t know what you mean!”

“Then why did he tell Jonas Arnold that by Christmas you would carry his name? Why did he boast that soon you would be in his bed?”

Her breath caught. “No,” she said faintly. “Surely he did not—”

“He did. I heard him this afternoon at the alehouse. He said the two of you had kept it to yourselves thus far, but soon you would announce it.”

Olivia stared at him, unable to believe she’d heard right.

“Why, then, did you lie to me?” Dominic went on. “You told me he’d offered for you but you had refused.”

“I did refuse!”

“Did you now? I feared you would be angry with me, that I had dared to touch your breasts.” His lip curled. “Now I begin to think you played me for the world’s biggest fool. I was so convinced you were chaste and virtuous and innocent—but I begin to think you are anything
but
innocent!”

Olivia gasped. Her temper unraveled. She reacted without thought, prompted by the sizzle of anger. Her hand shot out and dealt a stinging slap across the hardness of his cheek.

Too late she realized her mistake. Too late she realized what she had done. His expression went rigid. Before she could draw breath he dragged her against him.

Lean fingers slid through her hair, tilting her face up. His mouth trapped hers, holding her captive to the blazing fusion of his mouth upon hers. His kiss tasted of the wildness she’d always sensed in him, raw and untamed and greedy. His tongue dove swift and deep, blatantly bold and searing. It left no part of the honeyed cavern of her mouth uncharted. It was as if he were filled with a raging fever. She could feel the steely hardness of his thighs molded against her own…and the thick, rigid swell of all that lay between! Caught by the binding circle of his arms, she could do naught but cling to him feebly.

Caught in a raging swarm of emotions gone wild, he released her. He stared down at her in tight-lipped silence. His cheek still bore the mark of her hand. “No,” he said in a terrible, grating voice. “No!”