by Brenda Joyce
“I think we both know that the day the gadjo took you away from Raiza, your baxt was made.”
Emilian stiffened. “I do not believe in fate.”
“Then you are very much a gadjo, Emilian.”
Emilian thought about how he had surrendered far more than his body to the intense, evocative Roma music last night. Briefly, he had been so consumed with the fiery passion of the dance, it had been as if the gap of eighteen years had ceased to exist. It had been as if he had never left the Romany people. “Last night I was Rom.”
Stevan clasped his shoulder. “Yes, you were. When will you be ready to leave?”
“I need a week, maybe more,” Emilian said. The lure of the open road beckoned, not just in his mind’s eye, but in his heart. He could not wait—he felt as if the moment the caravan left Derbyshire, he would be free. “I must hire an estate manager, a man I can trust. Can you linger that long? The kumpa’nia will be welcome on my estate.”
“We will wait as long as is necessary,” Stevan said, smiling. “I am very pleased you will come with us.”
Emilian was suddenly certain that, this time, the choice he was making was the right one.
Because now, with the road lying in wait for him, he could look at his English life and question it. He was tired of the parade of gadji women who ogled him as if he was an exotic specimen of manhood, and who expected him to be insatiable because he was a Gypsy. If he became bored after an hour or two, his lovers were affronted. They all expected him to be hugely endowed, and couldn’t wait to see if Gypsies really were built unnaturally. He had even seen his lovers checking their jewelry in the morning, to see if he had stolen anything from them.
And every gadjo he did business with expected to be cheated. He had never cheated anyone but he toyed with the newcomers ruthlessly; those with whom he’d conducted his affairs for years understood that he was an honest man.
He had never been a hateful man. He expected bigotry, for he had grown up with it. He could not recall the last time the words “dirty Gypsy” had really hurt him—maybe when he was a young boy, or maybe when he had first been forced to Woodland. Long ago, his heart had turned to stone. He was different from them, and he had always known that and accepted it. He might sit at their supper tables, or even, once in a great while, dance at their balls, but he was an outsider. Their scorn meant little when he was richer and more powerful than most of them, when he needed no one but himself.
Their differences had now become glaring. His life was a pretense that was no longer tolerable. He would not accept the bigotry now.
Their scorn and hatred had killed Raiza.
There had to be revenge.
He was staring up at the de Warenne house. The de Warenne woman was innocent, but she was one of them. In fact, she epitomized English society, with her beauty, heritage and wealth. She had sent him a sexual invitation, even if she hadn’t known it. He remained English enough to have refused her, but the Rom part of him could not help but calculate the seduction and envision the conquest. To take a virgin like Ariella de Warenne, use her and return her used, sending her to her betrothed that way, was more than budjo— it was revenge.
It would be so easy….
The English part of him was horrified.
ARIELLA SAT in the window seat of the bay window. The lush lawns and blooming gardens extended below, but she saw neither. She stared instead at the Gypsy encampment, which she could see clearly from where she sat.
Their horses were loose, grazing at will. Colorful wagons remained where they had been left last night. There was no sign of preparations for their departure.
She hugged her knees to her chest. She hadn’t slept at all; she hadn’t even tried. She had changed her clothes and slipped into her current position, vibrating with tension. She was worried. Emilian was a stranger, but last night she had danced in his arms and he had given her a glimpse of passion. She had never been attracted to any man before, and now she was drawn, like a moth to the flame. Wasn’t he drawn, too?
He intended to leave with the Romany—to simply walk away, as if nothing had happened between them.
It hurt. Even if society thought her odd, her stature as a de Warenne heiress guaranteed her acceptance wherever she went. Proper gentlemen both desired and feared her, but Emilian had rejected her.
How could she convince him to change his mind and begin a friendship with her? Her heart raced at the thought. She was beyond distraction, really, and not just because of his kiss. Ariella was uncertain of many things regarding Emilian, but one thing she knew without question: she couldn’t walk away from him, not yet.
And she couldn’t let him walk out of her life as abruptly as he’d appeared in it, no matter what he intended.
What was happening to her? Could she have fallen in love at first sight? There were quite a few de Warenne men and women who had instantly fallen in love, or so family myth claimed. The de Warennes were notorious for falling wildly and absolutely in love—once and forever.
“Ariella!” Dianna pounded on her door. “Can I come in? Are you awake? Alexi is here. He came with Aunt Lizzie and Margery!”
Before she could respond, Dianna came inside. “Wake up, sleepy…” She stopped. “You are up! Oh, of course you are. You are usually the first one up in the house.” Her smile faded and she stared closely.
Ariella knew then that her tension and excitement showed. She forced a smile. All she could think was that Alexi would discover her new secret if she wasn’t careful.
He was her half brother and her elder by two years. His Russian mother, a countess, had handed him off to their father at birth, as neither she nor her husband cared to have her bastard son remain in their family. They had grown up together with their father on Jamaica Island, and he was far closer to her than any full sibling could be. He was her dearest friend, her brother, her protector. He would take one look at her and demand to know what was wrong.
Panic arose. If he ever learned of her tryst with Emilian, he would try to kill him. He was that protective of her.
“What is wrong? Are you ill?” Dianna asked, coming close and touching her cheek.
“I couldn’t sleep,” Ariella said truthfully. “I doubt I slept at all last night.”
For one moment, Dianna stared as if she knew the truth. “It was their music, wasn’t it?” she said, low. “I heard it, too. It took me a while to fall asleep. There must have been dancing.”
Ariella thought there was innuendo in her sister’s words, but surely that was not the case. “I don’t know.”
Dianna sat down on a blue-and-white-striped ottoman. “They say that is what they do—dance and sing all night long.”
“I don’t think we should accept rumors as fact,” Ariella said. The moment she spoke, she heard how cross she sounded. She stood, hoping Dianna had not noticed her harsh tone.
“My, you are a grouch today. Are you coming downstairs to see Alexi?”
Ariella prayed she could pretend that all was as it should be now. “Of course.” But as she followed Dianna down the wide, central staircase, the steps covered with a red and gold Persian runner, she heard her brother’s voice. His tone was hard.
“I cannot believe Father would allow them to stay on our property.”
Ariella tensed. Alexi was obviously speaking about the Romany. He traveled the world extensively, as he had global shipping interests, and he spoke often about cultures different from their own with interest, not suspicion or prejudice. She was taken aback by his words and tone.
He whirled, smiling. “There she is!” His white teeth flashed in his handsome, swarthy face. Tall and broad-shouldered, his eyes were the brilliant blue shared by so many de Warenne men. Like his male cousins, he had been a notorious rakehell before his marriage—unlike his male cousins, he remained a notorious rakehell even after marriage. Five years ago, he had wed their childhood friend, Elysse O’Neil, to save her from scandal—and had abandoned her at the altar immediately after taking his
vows. Needless to say, that had caused an even greater scandal. As far as Ariella knew, neither husband nor wife had set eyes upon each other since.
He strode to her, but before he could embrace her, his smile faded and his stare became searching. “What is wrong?” he asked instantly.
“Is Elysse with you?” she queried, hoping to distract him. Besides, she loved Elysse as a sister and wished she were happily married to Alexi.
His face hardened. “Do not start.”
Nothing had changed. Whatever had happened, Alexi would never forgive Elysse and never forget. She sighed and hugged him, standing on tiptoe to do so. “You are such an impossible man. I love you, anyway.” She finally smiled, and it was almost genuine. “You promised to be in London for my birthday, but instead, you sent that impossible gift!” He’d sent her a music box inlaid with semiprecious stones and filigreed with gold from Istanbul. It must have cost him a small fortune.
He set her at arm’s length. “I am sorry I missed your birthday, but I explained in my note that we were becalmed. You look unhappy.”
Ariella moved past him. She glimpsed her Aunt Lizzie, the Countess of Adare, in an adjacent room, chatting happily with Amanda. Her cousin, Margery, smiled at her and they hugged. “I am so happy to see you,” Margery said. Like her mother, she was a pretty, buxom strawberry blonde. “Even though it’s only been a few weeks, there is so much to catch up on.”
Margery spent a great deal of the year in London, too. “How was your trip? You have arrived so early!” Ariella said.
“We had an easy journey, thanks to the new rail,” she replied. “You do look a bit peaked, Ariella. Are you all right?”
“I couldn’t sleep a wink last night,” Ariella said. She was afraid to look at Alexi. He was scrutinizing her far too closely.
“The Gypsy music kept her awake,” Dianna said. “I had a bit of a problem falling asleep, as well.”
Ariella felt her cheeks warm. She stole a glance at her brother, but he had strode to the terrace doors. He stared across the lawns toward the brightly painted wagons of the caravan.
“A Gypsy woman came to the door at Harmon House a year or so ago,” Margery said. “I was the only one at home and I happened to notice how shabbily she was dressed before our doorman could send her away. She begged to tell my fortune. I only wanted to give her a meal, but she read my palm.”
“And did her fortune come true?” Dianna asked.
“Well, as she predicted a terribly handsome man as dark as the night riding in on a white charger, no.” Margery laughed. “How unfortunate.”
Alexi turned. “She was hustling you, obviously.”
“She was too proud to accept a meal without offering a service,” Ariella refuted. Her tone must have been strong, because everyone stared.
Alexi’s interest had become intense. Ariella said, “I went to their camp with Father. I haven’t seen Romany people since I was a child. That was in Ireland, Alexi, do you recall?”
“Yes, I do. Father’s stallion was stolen and he was furious for a week.”
She crossed her arms and stiffened. “It was unfortunate,” she began.
“It was a felony,” he said grimly.
She walked over to him, her temper flaring dangerously. She knew she should control it—she never lost her temper and everyone would know something was afoot. But she couldn’t hold it at bay. “So all Gypsies are horse thieves, fortune-tellers, hustlers and criminals?”
He towered over her. “I did not say any such thing. I have encountered Romany all over the world. They are great musicians—in Russia, the Crown has a Romany choir, as do many of the great nobles. In Hungary, Romany musicians are the rage and they play in the greatest homes, and on the stage. Many of them earn an honest living. They are tinkers, smiths, basket makers, chair menders. But,” he said very emphatically, “they are nomadic, and a disproportionate number prefer any activity other than one that brings in an honest wage.”
She knew she must back down. “I cannot believe that there are more thieves amongst the Romany than amongst the English.”
“That is not what I said.”
“Their music is strange, but very enjoyable,” Dianna said swiftly, clearly wanting to intervene. She smiled anxiously at them both. “It is exotic but filled with passion, like an opera might be.”
Ariella ignored her, as did Alexi. He said softly, “Since when have you become the defender of the Romany tribes?”
Ariella debated several placating answers. “Since I went with Father to their camp and saw mothers caring for their children and preparing supper for their families, just as we do!”
“Their culture is vastly different from ours.” He was firm. “I do not like them camping here.”
“Why not?” she cried.
His gaze shot to hers. “There will be trouble.”
She could not believe he had become so bigoted. “Their leader swore that there would be no horse stealing or cattle rustling.”
“Really? How odd. Theirs is more of a brotherhood than anything else. I doubt their vaida could speak honestly for his brothers. You have become enamored of the Romany!”
Ariella’s heart had stopped. For one moment, she had thought he had been about to say she was enamored of their leader. She breathed, trembling. “Yes, I have. I want to study their ways and learn all I can about them.”
“Last night you were going on and on about the Mongols,” Dianna exclaimed.
She had the perfect excuse to seek Emilian out now, she realized, but her anxiety did not ease. “I have had enough of the Mongols. When I saw the Romany camp with Father, I became fascinated with them. I want to know what is folklore and what is fact.” She glanced at Alexi to see if he believed her.
He groaned, but then he smiled. “I should have known! So it has been the Mongols…until now? Well, look at the bright side. You have a kumpa’nia right at Rose Hill. You can do research in the field.” He pulled her close and gave her a brief kiss on the cheek. “You, my dear, shall be well swindled before this day is done.” He laughed and walked out.
Ariella felt her knees buckle. She moved to the closest chair and sat.
“What did he mean?” Dianna asked.
Ariella could barely believe her turn of good luck. Her family would now think her interest in Emilian no different from her recent passion for Genghis Khan.
“He meant, dear, that your older sister is very naive, too much so her for age and intelligence, and she is about to be hustled.” Margery smiled. “Unless, of course, we can dissuade her from her newest obsession.”
“That will never happen,” Dianna said, smiling, as well. “Ariella is not dissuadable, not when she is smitten with a new subject.”
“I, for one, think their wagons are works of art. Do you want to take a stroll down to their camp? We can admire their craftsmanship and decoration firsthand.” Margery’s eyes twinkled.
Ariella shot to her feet. “That is a wonderful idea.”
“I thought you might like it.” Margery winked at Dianna. “Maybe we can save her from a dangerous Gypsy.”
CHAPTER FIVE
WHILE MARGERY AND DIANNA paused to exclaim over a wagon painted fantastically red, green and blue and decorated with a carved horse head in a wreath, Ariella stood on tiptoe and searched the entire camp for Emilian.
Horses had been gathered, and a few were being brought into their traces, a sign that the Romany were preparing to leave. Then Ariella saw him.
He stood by a fire, just a short distance away. With long tongs, he held a horseshoe in the flames. A black horse was tied to the wagon a short distance from him.
In the light of day, his hair was really a rich brown, shot through with amber and gold. He did not wear a shirt and, although he was motionless, his biceps bulged as he held the iron tongs. His profile was as classic and noble as any man’s could be. His shoulders were broad and strong, and as he shifted his weight, his back rippled with muscle.
“Oh,” Dianna
gasped.
“Oh…well…my,” Margery murmured.
Ariella jerked and faced them. “I think the sun will come out. It should be a beautiful afternoon!” He was even more beautiful than she had remembered.
Margery stared at her while Dianna stared with wide eyes at Emilian. Ariella knew that her cousin was thinking about Ariella’s sudden passion for the Romany people—and the man standing a few paces from them.
“You’d think he’d wear a shirt. There are women and children everywhere,” Dianna whispered, her tone hoarse.
Margery’s focus remained on Ariella, filled with speculation.
Ariella tore her regard away. Dianna was bright pink and she seemed transfixed by Emilian, who had just removed the horseshoe from the fire. He turned and laid it on a low stump, and this profile revealed his full, hard chest and the flat, tight planes of his abdomen. But Ariella saw only the scratches on his right shoulder.
Had she done that?
He placed one foot on the stump and began swinging the hammer. His arms and back bulged. The muscles in his raised thigh swelled, even through the breeches.
Dianna choked.
Ariella glanced at her and realized her proper sister was hardly a prude.
“That is a handsome man,” Margery said in a factual tone.
Ariella knew her face flamed. “Who? Oh, you mean the smith?” Her tone was far too high.
“We should go,” Dianna said nervously. “How can he be so immodest?”
“We can’t go,” Margery said. She gestured at the basket of breads, cake, cookies and muffins they had brought with them. It had been Margery’s idea to bring treats for the children. “We need to leave this with one of the adults.” She glanced at Emilian. “My good man!” she called, her tone authoritative but not brusque.
Emilian laid down the hammer and turned. He glanced indifferently at Margery, and then his eyes slammed upon Ariella. They widened.
Maybe this had not been the best idea, she thought frantically.
“Sir? I am Lady de Warenne. We have brought some bread and muffins for the children,” Margery said with a pleasant smile.