A Dangerous Love (18 page)

Tollman paled.

Alexi de Warenne looked from one to the other as Tollman said, “I didn't know she was your sister! There was no attempt at anything—she read the hands of a few customers, that is all!”

Emilian breathed hard. He wiped more blood from his mouth. “She was
running
from you. You wished to force her to bed. That is attempted
rape.
”

“That's not true,” Tollman began. “Tell him what happened, Captain!”

Emilian started.

Alexi said grimly, “I was there. I saw the pursuit. And I ended it before your sister was genuinely hurt.”

“You ended it?” Emilian was stunned.

“Yes.” Alexi's eyes darkened with anger. “I would never allow a woman to be abused. I had hoped Jaelle would go with my sister to Rose Hill, but she ran off before Ariella could tend to her wounds.”

Emilian was in disbelief.
“You helped my sister.”

“Of course I did. I would help any woman in distress.”

He turned away, the disbelief becoming horror. Alexi de Warenne had saved Jaelle from ruin. And in return, he had ruined Alexi's sister.

He was violently ill. The dizziness returned. He reached for the post and wondered if he would vomit. He
hated
himself.

Alexi de Warenne turned. “No one is charging anyone with anything…yet,” he said to Tollman. “Leave the Roma alone, Tollman. Leave their women alone. We do not need this kind of hatred and violence in Derbyshire. They will be departing shortly—I assure you of that.”

The nausea passed, but not the new, terrible tension. Emilian turned his back on the younger man, walking over to his horse. His behavior was beyond dishonor. He should have chosen anyone other than Ariella for
budjo
and revenge.

Emilian felt de Warenne walk up behind him. He sought control, and finally turned. “I can fight my own battles, but I am grateful you aided my sister.”

Alexi shrugged. “It is what a gentleman does. You need some advice. I don't blame you for your fury—I would do the same for my sister—but I am not a Rom. Confronting Tollman in his inn was foolish. What did you think to gain? If you had murdered him, you would hang.”

He looked at him and saw Ariella instead. Her brother would kill him if he ever knew what had happened between them—and he would have every right. “I'll try to remember your wisdom in the future.” He turned to go.

De Warenne seized him. “I am trying to help.”

“I don't need your help,” he said sharply.

Alexi de Warenne stared for a moment. “You need to take your people and leave,” he said firmly. “The sooner, the better. The townspeople are angry. They are suspicious. They are filled with hatred and fear. This won't end until you go.”

“And you are not filled with hatred?” Emilian stared closely.

Alexi's eyes narrowed. “No, I am not filled with hatred.”

Like brother, like sister, he thought. He took his reins and mounted, ignoring the other man now. But he could not ignore the guilt.

“Y
OU SPENT THE NIGHT
at the Romany encampment?” Cliff de Warenne asked in disbelief.

Ariella faced her father, Margery by her side, standing very straight and still, her pulse pounded with alarming force. She had never been so dismayed and uncomfortable. Cliff de Warenne adored her; in his eyes, she could do no wrong. She was acutely aware of the fact that he would be crushed by what she had done. Worse, he would kill Emilian.

“One of the women invited me,” she said, trying to smile.

He was disbelieving and briefly speechless. Amanda stood beside him, as surprised, and she glanced with worry at her husband.

“You have gone too far!” Cliff exclaimed. “How did you get there? Wait—you knew I would not allow it so you stole from this house? The Roma do not like outsiders, yet one of their women invited you?”

He was suspicious. Ariella tensed. Their relationship had always been one of absolute trust. She had never done anything to violate his trust before. “Yes.” She wet her lips. “Yesterday Alexi and I helped Jaelle in the village. She was in a predicament with several men. And I spoke to her earlier, as well, when we brought some sweets to their children. We are becoming friends.”

He stared, his expression searching.

“You know I have very eccentric friends in town,” she said breathlessly. She tried to smile calmly but she simply couldn't.

Her father smiled at her so dangerously she stiffened. “What happened, Ariella?”

Amanda touched his arm in warning. He ignored her.

“It was a festive evening.” She felt her cheeks heat. “They played guitars and violins, men and women danced, there was singing.”

He began shaking his head. “It was a festive evening,” he echoed.

She didn't think he had ever been angry like this with her. “Father, it was field research. I am very interested in the Romany culture. When will I ever have this kind of opportunity again?”

His face tightened. “Were you approached?”

“Approached?”

“Where was their chief last night, Ariella? The half-blood
vaida,
Emilian?” he asked softly.

She trembled. She couldn't lie to him—but she couldn't tell him the truth, either. “He was there, but we only spoke briefly.”

He stared and she hoped she was not red. “Really,” he said, his tone filled with skepticism.

“We spoke very briefly,” she repeated. She flushed. “Truthfully, I had hoped we could have a serious conversation, because he is an unusual man—I have never met a
vaida
before, and I am sure he has many interesting stories to tell. After all, he is probably as well traveled as you are! But he was not interested in furthering my acquaintance. Shortly after I arrived he left the encampment.”

“If you think to befriend him, I am telling you it is a very unwise idea. You should stay away from him. And you cannot simply walk out of the house in the middle of the night to investigate your latest passion,” he said sternly.

Ariella held her tongue. She'd had many rousing debates with her father—and every other family member—as she loved a lively difference of opinion. Now was not the time to point out that in London she attended radical assemblies that went well past midnight without reporting her actions to anyone other than her driver.

He seemed calmer now, but his blue eyes were piercing. “I heard what happened in town. I am sorry for the woman, and I am glad you and your brother were there to help her. And I am not surprised that you would feel so much empathy for the Romany people, especially after the assault on Jaelle. Your mother's people suffered the same persecution and hatred. But you are taking your interest and compassion too far. You could have been accosted on the highway or at the Roma camp. You are a single, young, vastly inexperienced woman. I do not care how much of the world you have seen, I have made a point of sheltering you as if you are a rare gem. You are my daughter, Ariella, and until you are wed, it is my duty to protect you in every possible way. You cannot leave this house at such an unacceptable hour without my permission—and without a proper escort.”

She had no intention of arguing, not when she was about to escape their confrontation unscathed. “Father.” She smiled and touched his sleeve. “My judgment was lacking and I will be the first to admit it.” She somehow smiled again, but she was acutely aware that her heart remained a gaping wound in her chest. “I am very sorry.”

“No more midnight research, Ariella.” He turned to his wife and kissed her briefly. “I will see you later,” he said, and left.

Ariella shared a glance with Margery, whose look was incredulous. Ariella knew she had escaped discovery by a single chin hair.

Amanda took her arm. “It must have been quite the evening,” she said.

Her stepmother's green eyes were questioning. “It was very educational.”

“You seem exhausted.”

A response escaped her.

“And you seem sad.” Amanda smiled gently. “If something is wrong, you know you can come to me.”

Ariella nodded, but did not mean it. She loved her stepmother. She had never known her own mother, and her father had met Amanda when Ariella was six years old. Amanda was her mother in every possible way. But she was madly in love with Cliff, even all these years later. Ariella knew they had no secrets. If Amanda ever learned the truth, she would feel obliged to go to Cliff.

Amanda kissed her cheek and left the salon.

Ariella was about to collapse into the closest chair when she saw Alexi standing on the threshold of the adjacent room. She stiffened.

His face hard and tight with suspicion, he folded his arms across his chest. “What, exactly, were you doing last night?”

 

E
MILIAN WALKED
down the hall. Several days had passed and he was glad he hadn't killed Jack Tollman. He was many things, but he was not a murderer. However, he had almost lost all discipline that day. He must never allow himself such free rein again. It was simply too dangerous. Revenge was one thing, murder quite another.

As he reached for the pair of closed library doors, his temples began a slight throbbing. Going to his library each and every day had become a difficult feat. He was acutely aware of the bedroom door that was farther down the hall and what had transpired there.

But bypassing the bedroom did not erase his thoughts, nor did it vanquish his memories or change the facts. He stepped into his library. Ignoring that room could not change what he had done.

I love you, Emilian.

He cursed as he went to his desk and pulled forward his mail. He knew he was never going to forget what he had done. There should have been triumph, but there was only anger and guilt and too much regret. He rifled through the pile, finding the letter from his solicitor. As he slit it with an ivory-handled letter opener, Ariella's face, hurt and accusing, appeared in his mind.

At least she did not love him now. He reminded himself that she hadn't even loved him then. He had been her first lover; that was all.

He forced himself to focus on his lawyer's letter. Brian O'Leary had several candidates for the position of estate manager, all highly recommended. He would send one or all of the gentlemen to Woodland for interviews, pending knowledge of the most convenient dates.

Emilian shifted restlessly and scrawled a reply. But as he dated the letter, he became still.

It was May 22. Why did that date cause some nagging alarm?

He stood and went to the door. “Hoode!”

A moment passed before his majordomo came running. “My lord?”

“What is significant about this day?” he demanded brusquely.

“I am uncertain, sir.”

“It is May 22. The date is ringing a bell,” he said, feeling irate.

Hoode raised his pale brows. “The only significance I can attach to this day, sir, is that tonight is the Simmonses' country ball.”

Emilian felt himself still. He heard Ariella's cousin as clear as day, saying something about the country ball. Her family would be there—everyone would be there—
she
would be there.

His heart exploded, racing hard and fast.

And he knew very well what that reaction signified—it was excitement.

“Thank you, Hoode,” he said, turning away. She continued to excite him, but there would be no hunt and no conquest. He had done enough. He had hurt her, and that had not been his intention. He should have chosen someone else for
budjo.
He owed her brother now.

She was going to the ball.

He almost smiled. She was a poor dancer, but he suddenly imagined her in a ball gown and jewels, gracefully gliding about in a waltz in some gentleman's arms. And then he realized that the gent was himself. His tension escalated wildly.

He had been thinking about her for days, ever since his calculated seduction. He didn't want to keep thinking about her, not her smile or her eyes, and certainly not about her passion, and he didn't want to envision her waltzing with anyone, much less him. But she was like a bright beacon in a dark, dangerous harbor. She was impossible to miss in person, and apparently impossible to dismiss, even in his most private thoughts.

He leaned against the wall. She was very beautiful, and somehow more enticing than any woman he'd ever met, but then, she had been eccentric enough to meet him at Woodland. She was a rare woman, he knew that now.

He knew he must not consider her very passionate nature. It was his nature to enjoy the women he found desirable, but he had never pursued an innocent unwed woman before—Ariella had been the first and his intent had been revenge. She might not be a virgin now, but she was still naive and inexperienced. She had been abused by him. He must never abuse her again. Pursuing her was out of the question.

If he ever had the opportunity to bed her again, he might lose himself completely while in her arms.

He intended to finish his reply to O'Leary, but his pulse pounded and her image danced in his mind as if she was seducing him from afar with her eyes, her innocence, her smile. He did not know how she had fared since their encounter. She probably hated him now.

He hoped she hated him. Then there would never be any chance of her approaching him to finish what they had begun. Especially as he hadn't meant to begin anything with her.

On the other hand, what if she did not hate him?

He slowly turned, filled with tension. He would not analyze his motives now. “Hoode, ready my evening clothes.”

This time, he was the one who could not stay away.

 

T
HERE WAS A PERFECT
crescent moon in a star-bright night sky. He stepped out of his coach, which had halted in front of the Simmons mansion. Three dozen vehicles lined the semicircular drive, in the center of which was a fountain. As he paused before the wide limestone steps leading to the front door, he tugged on his stock. He rarely went out in the evening, much less to an affair. The length of the tails of his coat bothered him. The stock felt suffocating, and he preferred his Hessians to his shoes. He loosened the black silk tie again. He felt warm, and he damned well knew why.

He started up the steps. He had never been to the Simmonses' home before, although they had invited him dozens of times. He never even looked at the social invitations he received, he simply discarded them. As Hoode had helped him dress, his servant had carefully informed him that he had not been invited to this ball. Emilian had briefly been dismayed, but his mind was now made up and he would go anyway. He could no longer deny that he wished for a glimpse of Miss de Warenne, but not to pursue her. He wanted to determine that she had recovered from his rude abuse. And he owed her an apology, one he intended to discreetly make.

He also wanted to know if she hated him.

“Sir, they will be thrilled to receive you,” Hoode had insisted. “I have no doubt you were not invited because they have given up your ever accepting an invitation.”

Emilian hoped Hoode was right. The words
No Gypsies Here
drifted through his mind. But he had been invited by all the great Derbyshire families to their fetes on many occasions. Hoode was probably right—he would be well received tonight.

The doormen bowed as he walked past them. He was late by perhaps forty minutes, and as he was ushered toward the ballroom, he heard the many guests conversing, along with a piano and a harp. The moment he was left on the threshold of the ballroom, in spite of the glittering, colorful crowd, he saw her.

She was on the dance floor, in another man's arms. She was so beautiful, and the memories were so terrible, that his heart lurched.

It crossed his mind that he was in some trouble, to have such a vast reaction to her after only five days.

But he didn't move. His heart thundered. He stared.