A Dangerous Love (22 page)

“I am your friend, no matter how rude you try to be. And you need someone to share your concerns with. That has become glaringly obvious tonight.”

He was incredulous.

She smiled. “And, as annoying as I am, you can be insufferable. That is what makes us well suited.”

He did not smile back. She was daring to presume upon him, as if they were really friends. He was truly angry, but she was laughing at him. Did she think to have the upper hand? “We are very well suited.” He leaned close. “In exactly one place—my bed.”

Her smile faded but did not fail entirely.

“Whatever you think you know about me, you are
wrong.
”

She stiffened, unsmiling now. Quietly she said, “I know you are not heartless. I know it is a facade. I understand now, after this night, why your bark is so terrible and why you threaten to bite. But you won't bite. Not me, anyway.”

“You know nothing.” He was livid with her, although he didn't quite know why. He bowed like a courtier. “I am afraid I must end this dance prematurely.”

She seized his arm. “I know you are lonely.” She released him.

It took him a moment to recover from the accusation. He would not even deign to respond. “Thank you for the dance. Good night.”

“You're welcome…Emilian.”

Didn't she care about being exposed? He was aware that parts of their conversation had been overheard. Pretending not to hear, forcing himself not to look back, he strode from the dance floor. But all he could think of was the small woman standing behind him on the dance floor, feeling sorry for him. She thought him
lonely.

But at the door he did look back.

She stood where he had left her, as if a beautiful statue, her face as pale as alabaster. Several gentlemen had come up to her, perhaps to ask her to dance. One of them was Robert. She shook her head—but she was staring only at him.

Her eyes were soft, shining.

In that moment, he knew he must stay as far from her as possible. Her allure—and her faith—were simply too immense. Shaken, he hurried out.

A
RIELLA TENSED
as her carriage paused in the circular drive at Woodland. Another carriage, hardly as grand as her own, was also parked before the estate's paneled front doors. Emilian had callers.

It was the afternoon after the ball. No matter how loudly he barked at her, they were friends now—even if it was a strained and odd friendship. Last night, she had seen how desperately he needed her friendship. It was a bit forward to call, but as he would never call on her, she had no choice. She had briefly attempted to come up with an excuse for the visit, but then she had given up trying. She hated pretense.

How did he live the way that he did? She couldn't imagine having so much malicious gossip aimed at his back. Was that why he preferred his Romany relations to his English ones? Was Robert as bad as he thought? She had overheard the gossips mentioning that he had never been to the Simmonses before. Was the gossip why he avoided society?

Ariella's nervousness increased as she was ushered into Woodland's front hall. Last time she'd been at Emilian's home, she had entered from a terrace through the library. She looked carefully around, very curious now. The hall was entirely English, from the ancestral portraits on the walls to the ancient armor standing in one corner of the room. The chairs, placed against the walls, were faded and worn. The tables were centuries' old. Everything in the hall had undoubtedly been in his father's family for years.

She recalled their first two unforgettable meetings, when he had been as exotic and different from an Englishman as a Rom could be.

“Miss de Warenne, please follow me,” the butler said, having read her calling card.

Ariella started. “Surely you wish to inform his lordship that I am here first?”

The butler, who was a small, thin man with bright eyes, smiled. “The viscount cannot stand formality, Miss de Warenne. And I am certain he will be pleased by your call.”

Ariella grinned. The servant was unusually garrulous. “My good man,
I
am certain he will be in a snarl when he sees me.”

“We shall see, won't we?”

Ariella followed him into a corridor, glancing at a central staircase that swept upstairs. “What is your name?”

“It is Hoode, Miss de Warenne.”

“Have you known the viscount for many years?”

“I was employed by the previous viscount when his lordship first came to Woodland as a boy.”

Ariella took his arm. “Hoode, I am intrigued!”

He stared at her, surprised by her enthusiasm.

She flushed. “He told me he was twelve years old when his father brought him here. I am aware that he spent the first years of his life living with his Romni mother. I am so curious about his life.” She knew she was entirely transparent.

“The viscount is not a loquacious man,” Hoode said, eyebrows furrowed. “I am surprised he would reveal so much,” he added. “Although perhaps I am not surprised at all.”

Ariella didn't comprehend that, but she knew this was an opportunity she must grasp. “What was the previous viscount like?”

Hoode smiled. “He was a proud and honorable man—very much like his son. However, unlike the current viscount, he was not adept at managing the estate, and he left it in a state of ruin. Matters continued to worsen. It wasn't until the present viscount came home from Oxford that Woodland was revived from its state of disrepair and indebtedness.”

He had gone to Oxford and he had salvaged the estate. She was astonished by the former and impressed by the latter.

“Edmund St Xavier was still alive, but he let young Emil have a free hand with the accounts, the tenants, the repairs and the debt. Emil quickly realized the value of coal, and there is abundance here. All matters were quickly put in order.”

“He must have been very conscientious,” Ariella said slowly. “To turn this estate around, at such a young age—and so quickly.”

“The viscount does little else other than attend to the estate,” Hoode said. “I was shocked that he chose to go out last night.”

Ariella glanced aside, a small thrill unfurling.

“May I assume he wished to make your acquaintance at the ball?”

She smiled at him. “You are bold, Hoode. But we did dance.” She blushed anew. “However, we met earlier.”

Hoode seemed pleased. “Ah, so he went to the ball to pursue you.”

She did not respond to that, but asked, “He was a good student, wasn't he?” She had not a doubt that his intellect was outstanding.

“The viscount graduated with the highest possible honors.”

She tried to hide a smile and failed. Emilian was highly educated and very responsible. She was thrilled. Then she sobered. He thought her the avid reader of romance novels. She had lied because very few men would find an intellectual woman attractive. But Emilian was different from every man she knew. Hopefully, he would not hold her unusual education against her. She would have to tell him the truth—soon.

“Do you wish to go inside?” Hoode nodded at the closed door.

She wanted to know more, but she wanted to see Emilian, too. Although it had only been a few hours since she had last seen him, it felt like days, even weeks. “I will go in.” Then she grasped Hoode's arm. “How irascible is he today?”

Hoode chuckled. “Foul, my young lady, his temper is foul.”

She thought about their parting argument. She couldn't be certain if that was the cause for his mood, or if it was the terrible tension that had been between them during the ball. She nodded and Hoode opened the door.

Emilian was as elegant as he had been last night. He wore a dark, custom-cut frock coat and tan trousers, white shirt and stock, and his arms were folded across his chest. But his face was set with resignation as he listened to two matrons and their daughters. They were seated before him and chattering away, going on and on about the fine Derbyshire weather. Ariella instantly saw that Emilian was miserable.

A true boor would have booted them out. Instead, he was trying to politely smile and nod, but his lips were pursed together rather grimly, and his head was oddly bobbing.

“Tell his lordship about our May Day picnic, Emily, dear,” the matron, dressed in pink-striped satin, was saying.

A tall, thin, blond girl looked up, her cheeks turning red. She was perhaps eighteen. “It was very pleasant, my lord.” Before she'd finished mumbling, she looked down at her hands, clasped in her lap.

Emilian grimaced.

“It was a perfect day for a picnic,” her mother cried enthusiastically. “The Farrows, the Chathams, the Golds and of course, my dear friend, Mrs. Harris and Mr. Harris were all there! You should have joined us, as we are all neighbors.”

Emilian smiled tightly. “I believe I was out of town.”

Ariella realized she was becoming indignant. Emily was not nearly clever enough for Emilian. She now looked at the other debutante. She was a plump, overly voluptuous brunette, seated by the other matron. She was staring at a plate of cookies as if smitten by them. Her mother patted her plump thigh. “Lydia made the tart. The apple tart was exceptional, was it not, Cynthia?”

Any alarm Ariella might have over their pursuit of Emilian vanished. There was only outrage. Emilian deserved the princess he talked about, a woman of pride and courage and intellect, someone absolutely outstanding—as outstanding as he. These women were too shy, too plain and too ordinary for him.

Emilian saw Ariella and his eyes widened.

“My lord, Miss de Warenne,” said Hoode.

He flushed, his embarrassment obvious. “Miss de Warenne,” he said stiffly. “Please, join the merry crowd.”

Both matrons were on their feet, crying out in delight while greeting her. Ariella vaguely recalled seeing them the night before. She hurt for him once again, even if the wounds being inflicted were so slight. But it was shameful to try to match him up with such ordinary women. She sent him a look. He stared back at her grimly.

“Miss de Warenne, how lovely to see you again!”

She managed a smile as she went inside. They hadn't been introduced and she did not know their names.

Emilian tugged at his stock. “Hoode, more refreshments, please.” He seemed to be strangling.

“I am Lady Deane and this is my dear friend, Mrs. Harris. Emily, come meet Miss de Warenne. Lydia, do not take another sweet! Come here!”

Ariella greeted both women and their daughters. The blonde seemed incapable of speech, and the brunette had chocolate on her dress and the corner of her mouth. “I do hope I am not intruding. I was hoping to discuss some matters with the viscount. I am breeding a prized mare to one of his stallions.” The lie had instantly formed. Emilian now stood by the French doors, staring yearningly outside. In that moment, he looked like a young boy caught in the schoolroom, wishing desperately to be allowed to go out and play. He glanced at her with some surprise.

“Oh, this is so delightful. We had so hoped to meet you. You reside in London, is that true?” Mrs. Harris cried.

Ariella responded, noting that the brunette had taken a cookie anyway and the blonde was simply twiddling her thumbs. She smiled at the latter. “Did you enjoy the ball last night, Miss Deane?”

Emily Deane looked at her as if she had spoken Chinese. Then she flushed scarlet and mumbled a reply, casting her eyes down. Ariella had no clue as to what she had said and she heard Emilian sigh.

“Emily loves balls,” her mother said. “She has been to fourteen this year alone. I so admired your dress, Miss de Warenne! You must give me the name of your seamstress, and I shall use her for the next season. It is a Parisian couturier, is it not?”

“I have no idea,” Ariella said.

Emilian met her gaze and his face finally softened.

She sent him a warm smile.
I am so sorry,
she thought.
How awkward this must be for you!

He turned away.

“Oh, dear, it is half past one and we have two more calls to make. The girls must get out, you know! Emily, take your leave of his lordship. You, too, Lydia.”

A moment later, the quartet was gone. Ariella watched as Emilian tore off his stock, shrugged off his handsome frock coat and went to the console, pouring a brandy. He was red faced. He drained half the glass.

“Was it that bad?” she asked, coming up to stand behind him.

He finished the glass. “Good God!” he exploded, facing her, “I go to one damned affair and I must entertain chatterboxes and dimwits!”

“You were exceedingly polite,” she said, trying to keep a straight face.

He glared at her. “Why are you amused? Are you pleased to see me set down?”

Her light mood vanished. “Absolutely not. Those debutantes were inappropriate for you. They should be cast upon your cousin, perhaps. You deserve a princess.” She managed to glance aside. He had called her a
gadji
princess several times.

He folded his arms across his silver brocade waistcoat and stared. She had not a doubt he was thinking about her choice of words.

“Your behavior was exceptionally correct. How long did they linger?”

“Too long,” he snapped.

“You could have made an excuse.”

“I was about to do so when you walked in. I doubt they were here for more than twenty minutes—which is twenty-one minutes too long.”

“Bark away—I am becoming quite accustomed to it.”

His smile formed, and it was dangerous. “I am in an exceedingly poor temper.”

That was becoming obvious. “But you were so valiant, and trying so hard to be a perfect gentleman. Surely I have not set you off?”

His mouth curled. “I will take the hook. You always set me off.” He turned his back on her and poured another drink.

She debated objecting and decided not to interfere. She doubted he drank this way every day. “You are never so polite with me. Is that why?”

He whirled. “You are not stupid, and I had no desire to bed either one of them!”

She went still. “So you are rude to me because of some impossible attraction?”

He gave her a long, hard look. “It is very annoying,” he said slowly, “to still want you, yet to have decided, at all costs, to behave with English honor. In fact, I grow increasingly tired of the mere concept of honor. I am tired of all games and all pretenses, yet you come here.”

“My calling isn't a game or a pretense. I know you will bark and growl, but we found a new ground last night.” She hesitated.

He didn't smile. “So that is what this is? A new ground?”

His silver eyes were gleaming, and only partly with suspicion. She said, “I am pursuing our friendship.”

He laughed. “Our friendship…or me?”

She felt her heart explode. “I am pursuing our friendship, Emilian.” She tried to be firm and not think about their love affair. “Last night changed everything for me.”