Mine Till Midnight (26 page)

“That’s nothing new to us. We’re
always
in trouble.”

Cam conceded the point. “Still, it’s gotten bad enough that you’d be better off—even as the wife of a Roma—than if you tried to manage it all on your own.”

Amelia wanted to make him understand that her objections had nothing to do with his Gypsy heritage.

But he was speaking again, his face close to hers. “Marry me, and I’ll restore Ramsay House. I’ll turn it into a palace. We’ll consider it part of your bride-price.”

“My what?”

“A Romany tradition. The groom pays a sum to the bride’s family before the wedding. Which means I’ll also settle Leo’s accounts in London—”

“He still owes you money?”

“Not to me. Other creditors.”

“Oh, no,” Amelia said, her stomach dropping.

“I’ll take care of you and your household,” Cam continued with relentless patience. “Clothes, jewelry, horses, books … school for Beatrix … a season in London for Poppy. The best doctors for Winnifred. She can go to any clinic in the world.” A calculated pause. “Wouldn’t you like to see her well again?”

“That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“In return, all you have to do is give me what I want.” His hand came up to her wrist, sliding along the line of her arm. A ticklish pleasure ran beneath the layers of silk and wool.

Amelia fought to steady her voice. “I would feel as if I’d made a bargain with the devil.”

“No, Amelia.” His voice was dark velvet. “Just with me.”

“I’m not even certain what it is you want.”

Cam’s head lowered over hers. “After last night, I find that hard to believe.”

“You could get
that
from countless other women. F-far more cheaply, I might add, and with much less trouble.”

“I want it from you. Only you.” A brief, somewhat uncomfortable pause. His mouth twisted. “The other women I’ve been with … I was a novelty to them. Someone different from their husbands. They wanted my company at night, but not during the day. I was never an equal. And I was never satisfied after being with them. With you, it’s different.”

Amelia closed her eyes as she felt the hot caress of his mouth against her forehead. “It was very wicked of you to sleep with married women,” she said with difficulty. “Perhaps if you had tried to court a respectable one—”

“I live in a gambling club.” Subtle amusement tempered his voice. “I’ve met very few respectable women. And—present company excluded—I’ve never gotten on well with them.”

“Why not?”

His mouth wandered gently along the side of her face. “I seem to make them nervous.”

She jumped at the touch of his tongue on her earlobe. “I c-can’t imagine why.”

He toyed with her ear, catching the rim delicately between his teeth. “I’ll admit it wouldn’t be easy, being married to a Romany male. We’re possessive. Jealous. We prefer our wives never to touch another man. Nor would you have the right to refuse me your bed.” His lips covered hers in a molten kiss, his tongue exploring deeply. “But then,” he said, lifting his mouth, “you wouldn’t want to.” Another long, lazy kiss, and then Cam said against her mouth, “You’ll wear the look of a well-loved woman,
monisha.
”

Amelia was forced to hold on to him for balance. “You would leave me, eventually.”

“I swear to you, I wouldn’t. I’ve finally found my
atchen tan.
”

“Your what?”

“Stopping place.”

“I didn’t know Romas had stopping places.”

“Not all. Apparently I’m one of the few who do.” Shaking his head, Cam added in a disgruntled tone, “My back is sore after sleeping on the ground all night. My
gadjo
half has finally gotten the better of me.”

Amelia ducked her head and pressed a shaky smile against the cool smoothness of his jerkin. “This is lunacy,” she muttered.

Cam held her closer. “Marry me, Amelia. You’re what I want. You’re my fate.” One hand slid to the back of her head, gripping the braids and ribbons to keep her mouth upturned. “Say yes.” He nibbled at her lips, licked at them, opened them. He kissed her until she writhed in his arms, her pulse racing. “Say it, Amelia, and save me from ever having to spend a night with another woman. I’ll sleep indoors. I’ll get a haircut. God help me, I think I’d even carry a pocket watch if it pleased you.”

Amelia felt dizzy, unable to think. She leaned helplessly into the hard support of his body. Everything was him, every breath, beat, blink, quiver. He said her name, and his voice seemed to come from a great distance.

“Amelia…” Cam shook her a little, asking something, repeating the words until she gathered that he wanted to know when she had eaten last.

“Yesterday,” she managed to reply.

Cam didn’t look sympathetic as much as annoyed. “No wonder you’re ready to faint. You’ve had no food and hardly any sleep. How are you to be of use to anyone when you can’t manage to take care of your own basic needs?”

She would have protested, but he gave her no opportunity to explain anything. Fitting a hard arm around her back, he propelled her back to the house, offering caustic advice the entire way. It seemed to take all her strength to ascend the back staircase.

By the time they reached the top, Lillian, Lady Westcliff, was there, her dark gaze chasing over Amelia with concern. “You look as if you’re about to cast up your crumpets,” she said without preamble. “What’s the matter?”

“I proposed to her,” Cam said shortly.

Lillian’s eyebrows lifted.

“I’m fine,” Amelia told her. “I’m just a bit hungry.”

Lillian accompanied them as Cam took Amelia to her sisters’ table. “Did she accept?” she asked Cam.

“Not yet.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. A woman can’t possibly consider a marriage proposal on an empty stomach.” Lillian watched Amelia with concern. “You’re very pale, dear. Shall I take you inside to lie down somewhere?”

Amelia shook her head. “Thank you, no. I’m sorry to make a scene.”

“Oh, you’re not making a scene,” Lillian said. “Believe me, this is nothing compared to the usual goings-on here.” She smiled reassuringly. “If there is anything you need, Amelia, you have only to ask.”

Cam led Amelia to her sisters. She sank gratefully into a chair, in front of a plate heaped with sliced ham, chicken, various salads, and a plate of bread. To her astonishment, Cam took the chair beside hers, cut a bite of something on the plate, and speared it with a fork.

He held the morsel up to her lips. “Start with this.”

She scowled. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding mys—”

The fork was pushed into her mouth. Amelia continued to glare at him as she chewed. When she swallowed, she could only manage a few words—“Give me that”—before he shoved another bite in.

“If you’re going to do such a poor job taking care of yourself,” Cam informed her, “someone else will do it for you.”

Amelia picked up a piece of bread and bit deeply into it. Although she longed to tell him that it was his fault she’d gotten so little sleep and missed breakfast in the bargain, she couldn’t say a word with her sisters present. As she ate, she felt the color returning to her cheeks.

She was aware of conversation taking place around her, the younger Hathaway sisters asking Cam about the condition of Ramsay House, and what was left of it. A chorus of groans greeted the revelation that the bee room had been left intact, and the hive was still busy and thriving.

“I suppose we’ll never be rid of those dratted bees,” Beatrix exclaimed.

“Yes we will,” Cam said. His hand lowered to Amelia’s arm, which was resting on the table. His thumb found the delicate blue veins on the underside of her wrist and stroked the agitated throb of her pulse. “I’ll see that every last one of them is removed.”

Amelia didn’t look at him. She picked up a cup of tea with her free hand and took a careful sip.

“Mr. Rohan,” she heard Beatrix ask, “are you going to marry my sister?”

Amelia choked on her tea and set the cup down. She sputtered and coughed into her napkin.

“Hush, Beatrix,” Win murmured.

“But she’s wearing his ring—”

Poppy clamped her hand over Beatrix’s mouth.
“Hush!”

“I might,” Cam replied. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he continued. “I find your sister a bit lacking in humor. And she doesn’t seem particularly obedient. On the other hand—”

One set of French doors flew open, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass. Everyone on the back terrace looked up in startlement, the men rising from their chairs.

“No,”
came Win’s soft cry.

Merripen stood there, having dragged himself from his sickbed. He was bandaged and disheveled, but he looked far from helpless. He looked like a maddened bull, his dark head lowered, his hands clenched into massive fists. And his stare, promising death, was firmly fixed on Cam.

There was no mistaking the bloodlust of a Roma whose kinswoman had been dishonored.

“Oh, God,” Amelia muttered.

Cam, who stood beside her chair, glanced down at her questioningly. “Did you say something to him?”

Amelia turned red as she recalled her blood-spotted nightgown and the maid’s expression. “It must have been servants’ talk.”

Cam stared at the enraged giant with resignation. “You may be in luck,” he said to Amelia. “It looks as if our betrothal is going to end prematurely.”

She made to stand beside him, but he pressed her back into the chair. “Stay out of this. I don’t want you hurt in the fray.”

“He won’t hurt me,” Amelia said curtly. “It’s
you
he wants to slaughter.”

Holding Merripen’s gaze, Cam moved slowly away from the table. “Is there something you’d like to discuss,
chal?
” he asked with admirable self-possession.

Merripen replied in Romany. Although no one save Cam understood what he said, it was clearly not encouraging.

“I’m going to marry her,” Cam said, as if to pacify him.

“That’s even worse!” Merripen moved forward, murder in his eyes.

Lord St. Vincent swiftly interceded, stepping between the pair. Like Cam, he’d had his share of putting down fights at the gambling club. He lifted his hands in a staying gesture and spoke smoothly. “Easy, large fellow. I’m sure you can find a way to resolve your differences in a reasonable fashion.”

“Get out of my way,” Merripen growled, putting an end to the notion of civilized discourse.

St. Vincent’s pleasant expression didn’t change. “You have a point. There’s nothing so tiresome as being reasonable. I myself avoid it whenever possible. Still, I’m afraid you can’t brawl when there are ladies present. It might give them ideas.”

Merripen’s scorching black stare flickered to the Hathaway sisters, lingering an extra second on Win’s pale, delicate face. She gave him an infinitesimal shake of her head, silently willing him to relent. To reconsider.

“Merripen—” Amelia began scratchily. The scene was mortifying. But at the same time it moved her that Merripen was so protective of her honor.

Cam silenced her with a touch on the shoulder. He leveled a cool stare at Merripen and said, “Not in front of the
gadjos.
” Jerking his head in the direction of the back gardens, he headed to the stone staircase.

After a brooding hesitation, Merripen followed.

Chapter Seventeen

When the pair was out of sight, Lord Westcliff spoke to St. Vincent. “Perhaps we should follow at a distance to prevent them from killing each other.”

St. Vincent shook his head, relaxing in his chair. He reached for his Evie’s hand and began to play with her fingers. “Believe me, Rohan has the situation well in hand. His opponent may be a bit larger, but Rohan has the considerable advantage of having grown up in London, where he’s interacted with criminals and remarkably violent brutes.” Smiling at his wife, he added, “And those are just our employees.”

Amelia had no fears for Cam’s sake. A fight between the two men would be like wielding a cudgel against a rapier … the rapier, with its superior grace and adroitness, would win. But that outcome brought its own perils. With the possible exception of Leo, the Hathaways were intensely fond of Merripen. The girls wouldn’t find it easy to forgive someone who had harmed him. Especially Win.

Glancing at her sister, Amelia began to say something consoling, when she realized that Win’s expression was not one of fear or helplessness.

Win was annoyed.

“Merripen has been injured,” Win said. “He should be resting, not chasing about after Mr. Rohan.”

“It’s not my fault he got out of his sickbed!” Amelia protested in an indignant whisper.

Win’s blue eyes narrowed. “You’ve done
something
to stir everyone up. And it’s fairly obvious that whatever you did, Mr. Rohan was involved.”

Poppy, who was listening avidly, couldn’t resist adding, “
Intimately
involved.”

The two older sisters glanced at her and said in unison, “Shut up, Poppy.”

Poppy frowned. “I’ve been waiting my entire life for Amelia to stray from the straight and narrow. Now that it’s happened, I’m going to enjoy it.”

“I’d enjoy it, too,” Beatrix said plaintively, “if I only knew what we’re talking about.”

*   *   *

Cam led the way along the yew hedge, going away from the manor until they reached a sunken lane stretching toward the wood. They stopped beside a thicket of Saint-John’s-wort, its golden flowers in full bloom, and sedge spiked with bottlebrush stems in leaf. Deceptively relaxed, Cam folded his arms loosely across his chest. He was puzzled by the large, irate
chal,
a Roma with the air of a loner. The mysterious Merripen had no affiliation with a Gypsy tribe, but had instead chosen to make himself the watchdog of a
gadje
family. Why? What did he owe to them? Perhaps Merripen was
mahrime,
designated by the Rom as one unworthy of trust. An outcast. If so, Cam wondered what Merripen had done to deserve such status.

“You took advantage of Amelia,” Merripen said.

“Not that it matters,” Cam said in Romany, “but how did you find out?”

Merripen’s huge hands flexed as if longing to rip him apart. Lucifer himself could not have had blacker, more burning eyes. “Speak in English,” he said harshly. “I don’t like the old language.”