A Dangerous Love (25 page)

His mouth seemed to lift before it firmed. “I was in some disbelief when I read that you went to the surgeon to berate him.”

“He deserved it, Emilian. It was a bit awkward, but I did what I thought right.”

He stared. “I cannot imagine any encounter being awkward for you.”

She smiled. “That is high praise, indeed.”

“It was meant to be.” His eyes held hers, dark and intense. “I do not wish for you to fight my battles, Ariella.”

Her eyes widened. “I fight many battles, all of the time. I am proud of being an independent thinker. I consider myself somewhat radical.”

“Yes, you are an independent thinker, a radical, as well as an eccentric.” His faint smile faded. “But you were distressed at the ball, and then with the surgeon. You do not need to be a part of a world of bigotry and hatred.”

Ariella shook her head. “Now I beg to differ with you. I am a part of
this
world, Emilian, this
entire
world, even the shadows we do not care for—shadows most men and women pretend are not there.”

Silence simmered between them as if charged, like the sky before a storm.

“I am so glad you have called. I do not think I could have held out for too much longer,” she whispered, wishing suddenly she were in his arms. She wanted to reach out and stroke his cares away, but did not dare.

“I should not have accepted your advances, Ariella,” he said abruptly. “And I am filled with even more regret than previously.”

She was dismayed. “I have no regrets! Not one!”

“Then we are at an impasse.” His expression tightened. “Surely you have not decided you wish for a casual and sordid affair.”

“No! Of course not. You were right. An affair without friendship or love is far too base for my nature.” She wondered if he could hear her heart thundering.

“I have come here for several reasons. One is to apologize. You may not be sorry, but I am.” His face almost softened. “I do not wish for you to be the one in my path, Ariella.”

“There is nothing to forgive, Emilian,” she said, meaning it. “You speak as if you are a hurricane!”

He tensed and their eyes locked. “It feels as if that is exactly what I have become—and you are the carnage I leave in my wake.”

This was not the call she had expected. It felt dangerously like an ending. “Something is wrong, isn't it? Why have you really come?”

“I came to say goodbye.”

And the moment he spoke, she knew he was leaving for a very long time. “What do you mean?”

“I am going north with the
kumpa'nia.
We'll go to the Borders, where I was born. I don't know when I am returning,” he said, “or if I ever will.”

She went still.
“What?”
He could not leave! What about their friendship, their affair? “But you are the viscount St Xavier! What about Woodland?” she cried, shocked and filled with dread.

“I hired an estate manager. He started his duties today. I have been English for too long,” he said flatly.

She was in disbelief. “You
are
half-English, Emilian!”

“Edmund took me from my mother, rather forcibly. Although I chose to stay with him, I have begun to have grave doubts that my choice was the right one.”

“Grave doubts!” she echoed, horrified. He was going to walk away from his father's heritage, from his estate, from his title, his life—from
her—
to become a Gypsy?

She recalled seeing him that very first night, when she had mistaken him for the
vaida.
He had been dancing under the stars with the kind of passionate fervor that only a true Rom could have. Their music had been in his blood, in his soul, because he was as much a Rom as an Englishman.

They were his people, too.

But to leave his entire life behind?

Ariella sank into a chair. He could not be leaving forever. “You have to come back,” she gasped, and pain exploded in her heart. He had to come back to her.

“Isn't this for the best for everyone?” he asked gravely. “Look at the damage I have already done. You will find your Prince Charming, Ariella.”

“You are my Prince Charming,” she cried, her sight blurring with tears. Panic overcame her and she leaped to her feet, reaching for his arms.

“I know you believe that.” He did not pull away. “One day you will see that you were wrong. In fact, the day will come where you will not even remember me.”

She would never forget him. “When will I see you again?”

He shook his head. “I do not know.”

She clung to his powerful arms. “How can this be happening? I love you!”

“Don't,” he said harshly, twisting away.

She barely heard him. Her mind raced wildly in confusion. “Are you leaving now?”

“We leave shortly after sunrise tomorrow.”

“Spend the night with me.”

His eyes widened.

She clasped his face. “I can feel that you still want me. Make love to me tonight, Emilian. Give me something to hold on to until you return.”

He went still, breathing hard. “What good can come of that kind of evening?”

She had shocked him. “I need to be with you another time. I don't want you to leave. You must let me have memories I can cherish!”

She felt the male heat blazing in him and his eyes smoldered, but he began shaking his head. “You deserve a great love and that friendship you are always speaking of. You do not deserve another ill-fated liaison.”

She couldn't speak. He was leaving Derbyshire. He was leaving her. Why couldn't he see that they had begun a precious and fateful journey together?

“Don't cry,” he said roughly. “Please.”

She choked on a sob and moved into his arms, which opened to admit her. She clung, wishing she could do so forever. His huge body was stiff and hard against hers, and he was trembling, too.

“I am hurting you again,” he said.

Ariella could not speak.

He held her for one more moment, his grasp on her tightening, before stepping back from her. He glanced at the salon's closed doors. “Your cousin is probably pacing in the hall.”

She didn't care. If only she had the courage to go with him. But that would require the loss of all pride. Besides, she knew he would send her back.

“Ariella?” he asked.

She couldn't move. He turned grimly and went to open the doors. The moment he did so, he stiffened. Ariella saw past him, into the front hall.

Margery stood there, speaking with Jack Tollman, the owner of the White Stag Inn.

She hurried to Emilian and saw his face change. His expression hard and dangerous, he said, “What is he doing here?”

“I don't know. I am sure he has a valid reason,” she said uncertainly.

“He is here for me.” He started forward determinedly and she ran to keep up. What was Emilian talking about?

Tollman saw them and he smiled unpleasantly at Emilian. “Your butler said you'd be here.”

Something was terribly, dangerously wrong.

“Why are you looking for me?” Emilian demanded.

Tollman grinned. “'Cause we thought you'd like to watch us hang a horse thief.”

E
MILIAN'S DISBELIEF TURNED
to fury. “Like hell!” He snarled.

Ariella rushed to step in front of him, horrified by the unfolding events but determined to prevent a full-scale battle. Emilian gave her a darkly incredulous look. “This is Tollman's idea of revenge.”

“What is happening?” Ariella gasped.

“This is no game, St Xavier,” Tollman spat. “One of the Gypsy boys stole Pitt's roan and he got caught red-handed, selling it to Pitt's neighbor!”

Ariella was about to point out that horse thieves were not hanged when Emilian said, “Is there proof? Or have you cleverly laid the blame on some innocent Rom?”

This was going to explode into something terrible! Why did these two men hate each other?

“There are no innocent Gypsies.”

Ariella began to protest, but Emilian glared furiously at her and she decided not to speak. “Whom do you accuse?” Emilian demanded.

“Djordi.”

Ariella covered her mouth, her alarm increasing. Djordi was the young man who had first espied her intruding upon the Romany camp. He was sixteen, if that. “We do not hang thieves in this day and age,” she managed. “I will send for my father. He will straighten out this entire affair.”

Ignoring her, Emilian strode from the house. Tollman made a sound and followed. Ariella did so, as well. “Emilian! I am coming with you! Mr. Tollman, please, let us wait on my father. You know how just he is.”

Emilian leaped onto a gray stallion. Tollman was climbing into a gig. “Miss de Warenne, do not bother your pretty head with such matters.” He reached for the whip. “A hanging is no place for ladies.”

“Dare you break the law?” Ariella cried, aghast.

“An example must be set. No more Gypsies will dare to come here and swindle us,” Tollman said firmly. “Gadup!”

Ariella did not watch as the gig careened down the drive, for Emilian rode his gray right up to her, causing her to jump frantically out of the way. He sawed on the gray's reins and it reared. “You stay at Rose Hill,” he shot. Then he spurred the horse forward, and it charged away, kicking up dirt and gravel.

Ariella looked at Margery, shocked by the unfolding events. Margery said, ashen, “It will take five minutes to ready the coach.”

 

A
RIELLA CLUNG
to the safety straps as their carriage careened toward the village square, the four horses in a mad gallop. She and Margery were thrown back and forth across the cab's interior with every rut hole and sharp turn. A crowd had gathered in the square. Women and children were present, and she heard shouts and catcalls. Then she glimpsed Stevan and some other Romany men, too. In disbelief she saw that they had been herded into one tight group. Two of the villagers had rifles and would not let them pass.

In the center of the square was a huge elm tree. A noose already hung from its branches, drifting in a breeze, and beneath it was a horseless wagon. Djordi stood on the flatbed, his hands tied behind his back. The noose dangled just behind his shoulders. His face was belligerent, but he was pale with fear.

And now, Ariella saw Jaelle near Stevan, her face tight and white, too.

“Oh, dear God,” Margery whispered. “We must stop this.”

Ariella jumped from the coach before it came to a full stop. Lifting her skirts, she ran frantically toward the crowd. Now she saw Emilian standing by the wagon, facing Tollman and Mayor Oswald. Not far from the mayor, Robert St Xavier stood, arms folded, with two other gentlemen his own age. His peers were smirking.

She shoved brusquely through the men, women and children, ignoring their mutters of annoyance and surprised gasps. A few of them, realizing whom she was, instantly stepped out of her way.

“St Xavier, there must be justice,” Oswald was saying, his cheeks crimson, as she rushed up. But he seemed uncertain.

“You will
not
hang him,” Emilian returned, his eyes blazing. He saw her and his stare turned incredulous, but his focus moved back to the mayor. He said to Oswald, “Hanging is unlawful in this case. There will be no more incidents—you have my word. We are leaving in the morning.”

Oswald wrung his hands and looked at Tollman for help.

“The word of a half blood?” Tollman mocked. “That is no word at all!”

Emilian snarled at him. “Do you listen to an innkeeper, or the viscount of Woodland?”

“The whole town wants justice,” Tollman snapped. “The whole town wants the damned Gypsies gone!”

“Mayor Oswald!” Ariella cried breathlessly. “You must not let hot tempers dictate here!” She glanced at Robert pleadingly, waiting for him to come forward to help resolve the crisis.

But Robert simply stood near the mayor, his expression somber. He looked away from her.

Emilian whirled toward her. “I told you to stay at Rose Hill.”

She ignored him. “We have sent word to my father in town. He'll be back by nightfall, I am sure. Please, let us put this matter in his hands.”

Before the mayor could respond, Emilian seized her. “Do not interfere.”

“I will not stand idly by and watch a terrible miscarriage of justice.”

He jerked her toward Margery. “Lady de Warenne, neither one of you should be present. You both need to return to your carriage and go home.”

Margery came forward, as white as a sheet. “Ariella is right. Captain de Warenne can adjudicate this matter—or my father, the Earl of Adare.”

But her mention of the powerful earl did not ease matters. Tollman said, “He hangs.”

Oswald wrung his hands. “Hanging is unlawful, Jack,” he began.

Tollman was furious. “You can't let him go,” he shouted. “More of the scum will come and steal our horses and cows! They'll seduce our sisters and daughters! They will sell us rotten wheels!”

The crowd muttered in agreement with him.

“Then what will we do?” Oswald was sweating and pale. “We are all lawful Englishmen here.”

The surgeon stepped forth from the crowd. “Give him a good whipping and send him back to the north. Let him know that if he comes back, it is on pain of death.” Stone had hardly finished when the crowd began supporting his plan with avid cheers.

“Whipping a young man is barbaric!” Ariella cried, stunned. “Surely we can wait a few more hours to resolve this!”

Tollman spoke to the mayor but never took his burning gaze from Emilian. “He stole the horse and he is guilty. There has to be justice. I can go along with flogging and banishment.”

Emilian stared at Tollman with hatred, and Tollman stared back as hatefully.

“Why can't we wait until my father returns?” she cried loudly.

Oswald looked at her, clearly uncertain.

“She's a Gypsy lover,” James Stone said. “Her father would probably think as we do. Everyone's agreed—the Gypsy will be whipped and sent away.”

Ariella trembled. “My father would never approve of a flogging,” she said. “He would follow the law.”

Margery took her hand tightly. Stone, Tollman and Oswald now put their heads together and began a hushed and hurried discussion. The mayor listened, not speaking.

Emilian spoke to her, silver eyes like ice. “Get into the carriage and go home, now. I do not want you to see what will happen next.”

His words frightened her more. “I am not leaving you or Djordi.” Nothing and no one could make her run away now. “They will not go through with this,” she added desperately, but she wasn't sure Tollman and his allies could be stopped. Why didn't Robert come forward and say or do something? Instead, he was watching her and Emilian with a speculation she instantly disliked.

“Can't you make her leave?” he demanded of Margery. “I want her gone!”

Margery was trembling, too. “We wish to support you, sir.”

He turned away. “Robert, escort the ladies from the square.”

Robert finally dropped his folded arms and came away from where he stood, behind the mayor and Tollman. “My cousin is correct. This is an improper venue for ladies.”

She stared at him, wondering if he was a bungling fool. “Will you help your cousin, sir? Will you stand up beside him as family should?”

“Emil seems to have a plan,” he said with a shrug.

He didn't care what Emilian wanted, and he didn't wish to take Emilian's side, she realized.

Robert held out his arm. “Why don't we take some tea at the inn?”

Ariella turned her back on him. “I am not leaving,” she told Emilian.

His look promised some future retribution. “Release Djordi,” he said to Oswald and Tollman. He shrugged off his hunting coat and tossed it to the ground. He began unbuttoning the waistcoat. “I will be responsible for his punishment.” He flung the waistcoat off. “I will take the flogging for him.”

Horror made Ariella mute.

He could not think to do this!

Tollman smiled slowly, with real relish, while Oswald seemed stunned. “My lord, sir!”

Tollman laughed. “He's one of them. He's proved it since they came to town. He's a half-blood Gypsy, and to hell with his title.”

Pale, Oswald said, “Tollman, the viscount has managed our affairs for years.”

“It doesn't really matter who we whip, as long as the point is made,” Tollman said savagely.

Aware that a terribly personal vendetta of some sort was being played out, Ariella turned to look at Robert, but clearly he was not planning an intervention. She gave up and rushed forward as Emilian threw his shirt into the ground. “Is he the mayor, or are you?” she cried to Oswald. “You cannot do this! He is the viscount St Xavier, a good citizen of this village, this country!”

“Release the boy,” Tollman called to his men as if she hadn't spoken. He turned to her. “Miss de Warenne, it is your right to stay and watch the whipping. But I suggest you leave. Female hysterics will not help anyone.”

“You cannot do this,” Ariella said desperately, as two big men jumped up onto the wagon and untied Djordi's wrists. He leaped nimbly down, but his face was set. He strode to Emilian and a flurry of Roma followed. Emilian clasped his shoulder and spoke firmly and reassuringly. Ariella had not one doubt the boy wished to take the whipping and that Emilian would not allow it.

Then she saw everyone listening to Emilian speaking in the language of the Romany. Their stares were fascinated, even mesmerized. Tollman seemed satisfied and so did Robert. Her despair became complete. She went to him. “Don't do this,” she begged in a soft whisper.

“You would have a boy flogged?”

“No,” she managed. “I would have no one flogged.”

His bare chest rippled as he breathed harshly. “Go home.” He hesitated, his face tight. “Please.”

She would never leave him, she thought, staring back. Tears had begun. She swatted at them.

A strong arm went around her. It was Djordi. “Come away,” he said to her.

Emilian had turned. He walked over to the wagon. A big man followed, a carriage whip in hand. Emilian braced against the wagon's sides, head down, shoulders and back braced, biceps bulging.

Ariella pushed at Djordi. “Stop this, stop this now!” she cried, but Djordi wrapped her in his arms and she could not move. Then he started to drag her away, so she could not watch.

Tollman spoke to one of the younger men he was standing with, and the lad ran off. “Start it,” he called.

The whip cracked, leaving a red mark on Emilian's back. He stood braced against the wagon as if made of stone. He hadn't even jerked.

The whip cracked again. She flinched, her heart exploding, but Emilian remained unmoving. It struck him a third time and she trembled, clinging to Djordi, overcome with panic, enraged at being helpless now. Emilian still did not make a sound. Dazed, she managed to control her tears. It would soon be over. Emilian would withstand the lashing.

Tollman stepped forward, a cat-o'-nine-tails in hand, his expression ruthless.

Realizing what he intended, Ariella screamed, struggling to get free of Djordi.

He cracked the dangerous whip. The crowd roared in approval as the barbed tail snaked across Emilian's back, savagely opening his flesh and leaving a trail of blood.

“Stop!” she screamed wildly, but Tollman struck Emilian viciously again. He flinched, almost going down to his knees. The crowd jeered. He fought to remain upright and clung to the wagon, panting audibly now.

Tollman flayed him mercilessly.

Ariella screamed, Djordi holding her so she could not interfere.

Emilian went down on his knees.

The crowd cheered.

Tollman wanted to kill him.
As Tollman whipped Emilian another time, he finally fell facefirst to the ground. Ariella bit Djordi's hand and she was released. She ran toward Tollman, only to be seized by someone from behind. She was flung away, back into the crowd.