Samantha James (21 page)

He had no conscious recollection of striding into the stables and saddling Storm. The next thing he knew he was riding back to Stonebridge, to the small cottage on the far side of the village. But what he saw made his belly tighten and his jaw clench.

He recognized the bay gelding nibbling at the grass beneath the oak tree.

William Dunsport was there.

He reined Storm to a halt a short distance away. The dim glow of a lamp lit the interior with a hazy glow. Through the lace curtains he could make out the shadows of two figures on the settee. The minutes ticked by, one by one.

Still Dunsport didn’t come out.

A slow burn had already begun to simmer along Dominic’s veins. Then he saw it…The unmistakable silhouette of two figures rising, one much taller than the other…locked fast in each other’s arms.

A vile curse blackened the air. His fingers clenched into fists on the reins. He had to leave—he had to, else he might very well charge into the cottage and tear the pair apart.

And he was suddenly very certain both would take vehement exception to such an interruption.

A heel at his flank, he wheeled Storm and urged him back the way they had come. By the time he arrived back at Ravenwood, he was seething.

He looked for solace in his best bottle of brandy, yet found little. Would Olivia give to William what she’d given to him only last night? The thought was like a thorn in his heart.

His mind turned fleetingly back to that long-ago night at the Gypsy camp. It was then that he’d begun to think they had something special, that she’d begun to comprehend that the Gypsies were not the terrible people everyone was so convinced they were…that
he
was not. Was it all just a lie? He meant nothing to her…

Perhaps he never had.

“You regained your sight only today?” William shook his head as he took a sip of tea. “It’s really quite amazing.”

“Yes.” Emily smiled faintly. “It really is.”

On the one hand Olivia could have almost thanked William for his unannounced visit—though Emily had been rather subdued, Olivia had the feeling William’s presence was all that stopped her sister from breaking down in tears again. On the other hand, she’d been chafing since the moment he’d arrived. She had no desire to spend the evening in his company.

None of this showed as she reached for the teapot. “Emily? William? More tea?”

“None for me, Olivia,” Emily said quickly. She got to her feet. “I know it’s frightfully rude, but I—I’m really quite fatigued. Would you mind terribly if I retired for the night?” She directed the question to both William and Olivia.

William was on his feet already, taking her hand. “Not at all, Miss Sherwood. May I say again how delighted I am for you?”

Emily managed a slight smile. “Thank you, sir. You’re very kind.”

Olivia gave her an encouraging nod. “Good night, Emily,” she said softly. “Sleep well.”

For one horrible moment she feared she’d said the wrong thing—Emily looked ready to cry. But all she said was, “I shall try.”

With that Olivia and William were left alone.

Olivia tensed. She’d dreaded this moment since she’d first opened the door and found him there. In truth, she’d never have opened it if she’d known it was William—the only reason she had answered
his knock was because she’d thought it was Dominic.

There was a clink as William replaced his teacup in its saucer. He spread his hands wide, then settled them on his knees.

“Olivia,” he murmured. “I don’t know what to say other than…I owe you an apology. I behaved abominably at our last meeting.”

So you did
. Olivia had to bite back the reply. Oh, now he was oh-so-contrite. But she’d not forgotten the ugliness of his manner when they’d last met—nor would she.

Yet what was the point? In all honesty, she didn’t care enough to remain angry.

She inclined her head and even managed a smile. “Thank you, William.” She spoke very low so that they wouldn’t disturb Emily. “I accept your apology.”

William edged closer on the settee, so close their knees nearly touched.

Olivia stiffened. “Now, if you don’t mind, I fear I’ve had a tiring day as well.”

He extended a hand. “No,” he said quickly. “Olivia, please wait. I—I have something I must say.”

Olivia paused, though something within her prickled a warning. She brushed it aside. “What is it, William?”

He gazed at her steadily. “Olivia, nothing has changed. I still wish to marry you.”

Well, I don’t wish to marry you!
she longed to screech. Instead she sighed, and gave a shake of her head. “William,” she said earnestly, “please listen to me. I cannot marry you.”

“Why not? You can no longer cite your sister’s affliction. She is no longer blind. Oh, I know you’re
angry that I spoke of our wedding prematurely, and I regret that we had words over it. But it was naught but a lovers’ tiff—”

“No, William, it was not. We are not lovers, nor will we
ever
be, for I will not marry you. Now, if you please, I must ask you to leave.” She started to rise but he was quicker. All at once he seized her in a bruising grip.

“And I say again, it was just a lovers’ tiff. Come now, Olivia, let us kiss and make up.” Even as he spoke, he was aiming for her lips.

Olivia gasped. Wrenching her head aside, she managed to escape his kiss. Instead his mouth landed on the side of her neck, hot and wet. She pounded on his chest.

“Release me this instant,” she warned as loudly as she dared. “If you don’t, I’ll scream for my sister.”

Slowly he raised his head. Fear leaped in her breast. For one paralyzing instant, she glimpsed a depth of rage in those cold blue eyes that was frightening.

His lips drew back in a snarl. “It’s him, isn’t it? Your precious Gypsy. That’s why you won’t marry me. God, but I don’t know what you see in him—he may have a title but he’s still a Gypsy, and everyone knows they’re beggars and thieves!”

“Dominic has nothing to do with this.” As she spoke, she managed to slide her hands between their bodies.

He sneered. “Oh, so it’s Dominic now, is it? I saw the two of you, you know, that day by the stream—the bastard should have drowned!”

Olivia finally managed to give a mighty shove against his chest. Caught off balance, his hold loos
ened. She broke free and grabbed the poker from the stand near the fireplace.

“I don’t think he would be very pleased if he knew you were here, William,” was all she said. “If you leave now, I won’t tell him.” It was bravado, sheer and simple. After today, she had no doubt Dominic would be the last one to defend her!

William pretended to dust off his sleeves. “There’s no need for that, Olivia. I’ll leave. But remember this. Your precious Gypsy lord may not be here forever, and then what will you do?” He gave an exaggerated bow. “Don’t bother to see me out. I’ll find my way.”

In seconds he was gone. The door crashed in his wake. Olivia very nearly dropped the poker, stunned to discover she was shaking both inside and out.

The sound of the door had roused Emily, who suddenly appeared. “Olivia? Is William gone? I thought I heard shouting.”

Olivia steadied herself. She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Yes, love, he’s gone. Go back to sleep,” she said for the second time that day.

Five minutes later she was rummaging through the bureau drawer in search of her nightgown. She pulled it out, but with it came a neatly embroidered square of linen.

Dominic’s handkerchief, the handkerchief he’d pressed to her cheek the night they’d met.

Her knees were suddenly so weak she dropped to the floor. Her throat burned as she fought the urge not to cry. All this time she’d kept it. A dozen times she’d thought of giving it back…yet she hadn’t. Why, she wondered, had she kept it?

She was all at once reminded of what William
had said.
They’re beggars and thieves. Beggars and thieves…

She crushed the handkerchief to her breast…as if it were Dominic’s hand.

She was very much afraid he wouldn’t be back. He was too proud to beg. As for being a thief, well, perhaps he was…

A thief who’d stolen her very heart.

Olivia was worried about Emily. Each day she grew
ever more pale and wan. Her appetite was scant. She was clearly devastated that Andre was no longer a part of her life. Perhaps she was wrong, but Olivia reasoned that if Emily truly hated Andre, she could have put it aside—this state of despair would have long since passed. When Olivia tried to talk with her further, Emily refused.

“I don’t want to think of him.”

Ha!
Olivia thought. Clearly he was
all
she thought of. She was more convinced than ever…

Emily still loved Andre.

Yet what could she do? Nothing. She reminded herself that Emily was no longer a child. This was something she could not do for her; even if she could, it was not her place. It was up to Emily to search out the furthest depths of her heart and find her answer.

As for Olivia, it seemed that she, too, must look to her heart for the truth.

She loved him. She loved him madly, yet it was a love that could only hurt. During those days when she was particularly distraught, she reached a bitter resolve. She couldn’t take the chance that
Emily might find out—her state of mind was too fragile just now. If Emily should discover that her sister loved Dominic—to Emily it would not matter that he was only half-Gypsy—Olivia knew not what would happen. Nor would she take the chance.

What happened between them was over and done with.

Not that it seemed it could have been any other way. Olivia saw little of Dominic over the next several days. Charlotte was with her once—his nod of greeting encompassed them both. She saw him another time on the staircase. He looked straight at her, but did not speak. His coolness stabbed at her. Was he still angry? Or had he merely used her for his own pleasure and was now finished with her?

All the more reason to forget him…Ah, forget! Her heart twisted. How could she, when she dreamed of him nightly? Only last night she’d dreamed that she had kissed him in that brazenly erotic way he had kissed her—there, between the corded stretch of his thighs, her tongue tasting and swirling…As if that were not enough, the next thing she knew she was astride his hips, her hands braced on the taut plane of his chest. A teasing smile in place, she gazed down at him as she balanced herself on the very tip of his manhood…

The dream had awakened her from a sound sleep. Her pulse was pounding, echoing in her ears, and there was a damp heat gathered there in her secret cleft. She was aghast that her mind had even conceived of such audacious behavior. Faith, just thinking about it singed her every nerve ending. But she was given to wonder, did men and women
do
such things? The first particularly she was cu
rious about—yet if he received even half as much pleasure as she had…

Odd, how it was on her mind that afternoon as she entered the library to dust. She thought the room was empty, but she was dismayed to find Dominic, reading in a velvet-covered chair near the window. A moment passed before it began to penetrate, and then she stood stock-still.
No
, she thought,
it could not be
. He was reading…

Reading
.

He must have realized he was not alone, for he glanced up and saw her. He stood. The book clapped shut. He replaced it on the shelf behind him, then turned to face her.

“Miss Sherwood,” he murmured, “the very person I wish to see.”

Olivia was too incensed to notice. She took a deep breath and nodded at the book he placed on the shelf. “May I ask, sir, what you are doing?”

A brow arched high. “’Tis not so difficult to see, Miss Sherwood. I was reading.”

Olivia forgot her place in the household. She forgot everything but a fiery indignation that grew hotter with each moment. Within her glare smoldered an accusation.

“You said you couldn’t read.”

“No, Miss Sherwood. Never did I say that.”

“No! You did. You said you ran away from school. You asked me to read that letter from—from your mistress!”

“As I recall, I’d had a cup too much and was feeling rather muddled.”

“But…you said your father was angry because you couldn’t read—that you relished the times your tutor ran to him, bemoaning the fact that you
could not read, that you refused to listen and learn.”

He merely looked amused. “And so you thought I could neither read nor write?”

“Can you?” she countered swiftly. “Can you read? Can you write?”

“Of course I can. How else could I conduct my business dealings?”

Olivia felt like a fool. Hot shame crept beneath her skin, because she had assumed—and wrongly so, it seemed!—that it was true, that he could neither read nor write.

“I did not belittle you,” she said between lips that barely moved. “Must you belittle me?”

“I’ve done no such thing. Come now, Olivia. Can you deny you were always determined to think the worst of me?”

“But—you let me believe it!”

His eyes flickered. “As I recall, it was a matter never discussed between the two of us.”

Olivia said nothing. Her mouth compressed, she spun around and headed for the door. Suddenly he was there before her—tall, virile and looking far too pleased with himself!

Her head came up. Her chin jutted forward. “Let me pass.”

“Not while you’re angry.” A brittle smile on his lips, he reached behind and deliberately closed the door. Folding his arms over his chest, he regarded her. “If either of us deserves to be angry, ’tis I.”

“You!” Her glare burned hotter. “I cannot think why!”

“You have a convenient memory, Olivia, but I don’t forget quite so easily. I was not allowed to
set foot within your cottage—yet you admitted him quite freely.”

All at once the battle had shifted. Olivia paled a shade, for she was totally unprepared to defend herself. Her gaze slid away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“And I’m quite sure you do. However, I’ll refresh your memory if you insist.” His smile had vanished. His mouth was a straight unyielding line. “You asked me to leave, while you welcomed William Dunsport with open arms. You turned me out, yet you had no qualms about admitting him into your home,” he said again.

“Only because I thought it was you!” she cried before she thought better of it.

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. His breath caught. His heart bounded. Perhaps he was wrong, and she
did
care…

“Then why did you ask me to leave?”

“Because I didn’t know what else to do! Do you remember I told you a Gypsy killed my father?”

“Yes, but that has nothing to do with us.”

“It has everything to do with us! When I arrived home, Emily was distraught.” Suddenly it was all pouring out, how Emily had been seeing a young man, how she had regained her sight, only to discover that her suitor was a Gypsy.

Dominic looked startled, as startled as she surely had when she discovered Emily had been seeing Andre.

With her eyes she pleaded with him. “Don’t you see, it wasn’t
you
! I did not mean to hurt you, truly, but I feared that if she saw you, it would only remind her of Andre.”

Dominic stroked his chin. “I can understand
your concern,” he said slowly. He was silent for a moment. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

“I have not. I’ve been here in this very house!”

“And so have I. I’m hardly a stranger, you know, yet you refuse even to look at me. Even those times when you’ve been alone.
Especially
those times.”

She looked at him now. He was dressed in a simple white shirt, dark breeches and boots. A lock of dark hair had fallen upon his forehead, lending him an almost boyishly handsome look.

An unexpected wave of despair washed over her. Olivia felt suddenly tired, tired beyond her years. There had been so much tumult. She longed simply to throw herself against him and forget all but the strength of his arms around her. Indeed, the temptation was almost more than she could withstand. Yet that would only complicate the matter far more than it was already!

His tone was very quiet. “I asked you a question, Olivia. Why have you avoided me?”

Olivia had a very good idea where this conversation was headed, and it was a road she would rather not take.

Her lashes fell, shielding her expression. She was deliberately vague. “I cannot think what you mean,” she said faintly.

“Can’t you?” He was as determined as ever. “Aren’t you forgetting what happened between us—here in this very house? Not just once, but twice?”

His voice jabbed at her like the point of a knife. She winced. “I have not.”

He stepped near, so near the hem of her skirts brushed his breeches. “Nor have I.”

She quivered inside. She could feel the weight of
his regard, yet it was just as he’d said—she couldn’t look at him. Instead she focused on the squareness of his jaw, dark with the day’s growth of beard. He needed to shave, she thought vaguely.

She swallowed. “Must you remind me?” she asked, her voice very low.

He stiffened. “You were quite willing—”

“I know,” she said quickly. “But I did not stop to think how I would feel…later. Oh, I do not know how to explain…! I’m not like the women you knew in London. I cannot do…what we did…and treat it as if it were nothing—”

“And I have not asked you to.” He studied her. A nagging suspicion began to dance in his head. “Did you think I would use you and cast you off?”

Olivia was certain her face was scarlet. “I—I did not know. I
do
not know.” She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “I am not so naive as you think. I know that there are men who use women in their households for their own base needs and think nothing of it. Though I am not a lady, I—”

“Stop,” he commanded softly. “Say no more.” His knuckles beneath her chin, he guided her eyes to his. “You, Miss Olivia Sherwood, are the truest lady I have ever known—” The corner of his mouth turned up. “—quite possibly the
only
lady I have ever known.”

Why was he doing this? His tone reached clear inside her, making her melt inside. “A lady would never have done…what I have done.”

That made him smile. “You were hardly alone in this venture.”

Her gaze skipped away, then returned. She gazed at him earnestly. “’Tis different for a man.”

“Not always.” His smile deepened. He loved
seeing this side of her. Solemn. Sweet. Ever concerned with what was proper. The vicar’s daughter to be sure…

“Oh, don’t you see! I—I don’t know what happens next. How I should feel!”

She sounded so miserable he almost laughed. “Perhaps we should leave that to chance. To fate, if you will. But I forget. You don’t believe in that, do you?”

Even as he spoke, he drew her inexorably nearer. Her eyes clung to his. “Do not—mock me.”

“I would never mock you,” he whispered, and then his mouth claimed hers, warm and undemanding, a kiss that spoke more of consolation than passion. Her eyes drifted closed. Her hands uncurled on his chest. Her lips parted. She gave in to it, to him—and to herself.

His nearness was an irresistible lure. She felt a tingle in the tips of her breasts, a prelude to passion. A quickening heat stormed all through her. She knew he felt it, too, for his hands tightened on her waist. Like the flickering of a candle, she felt her resolve begin to waver.

She couldn’t let it—she couldn’t! The memory of the night in his arms was suddenly all too vivid. She’d felt—as if she belonged there! But Emily had been through so much…

With a low, jagged moan, she broke away. “I can’t,” she cried softly. “
I can’t!
” Her eyes were suddenly swimming with tears. There was Emily to think of…and when he kissed her, she couldn’t think at all!

Picking up her skirts, she rushed from the library, praying he wouldn’t come after her.

He didn’t.

She didn’t trust him yet, he realized.

Bitterly he wondered if she ever would.

“Ye’re very quiet tonight,” Charlotte remarked as they departed Ravenwood the next day. “Are ye feelin’ poorly?”

Olivia summoned a smile. “I’m fine, Charlotte. But thank you for asking.” In truth, she was more confused than ever.

It didn’t help when she glanced over to find Charlotte regarding her with a secret smile.

She sighed. “What? What is it? What are you thinking?”

“I don’t want ye to be angry with me.”

Olivia tweaked the end of Charlotte’s curling red braid. “Have I ever been angry with you?”

Charlotte flashed a broad grin. “Come to think of it, ye haven’t. Anyway, I saw the two of ye once in his study—ye and the earl—when you were workin’ on his books. He was leaning over ye, and ye were lookin’ up at ’im, and I couldn’t help but think the two o’ ye belonged together.”

Olivia blinked. Surely she didn’t
know…
“Why, that’s ridiculous, Charlotte. Whyever would you think that?”

“Ye forget, I’ve already been in love. I know how the world wags.”

Olivia couldn’t help but chuckle. Charlotte was hardly older than herself. “And how is that?”

“Ye’ve only to watch ’im watch
ye
to know.”

A pang swept through her. Oh, if only…“Nonsense,” she said crisply. “He’ll marry someone like Elizabeth Beaumont. Or a fine lady in London.”

“Elizabeth Beaumont?” Charlotte gave an unladylike snort. “Never!”

“Oh, come now—”

“Mark my word, it’ll never ’appen,” Charlotte pronounced stoutly. “I watched him at the ball.
Ye
were the one his eyes followed, not her.

“I could tell the way he looked. Oh, he pretended to be polite, but every so often, his eyes would roam—lookin’ for ye, no doubt. The twit, she didn’t even notice! She still kept ’anging onto him like—like ivy to a tree!”

Olivia’s heart pounded a ragged rhythm. Was it true? She didn’t know. But she did know that Charlotte’s observations were taking a direction that was best left well enough alone.

“I cannot believe I was so frightened of him before he came,” Charlotte went on. “He’s not at all as I expected. A bit stern-lookin’ at times, and he speaks so quiet-like! Colin adores him. He says he wants to be an earl like the Gypsy earl, so he can ride a horse like Storm.”