A Dangerous Love (24 page)

Ariella realized it was a fortunate turn that Cliff had gone to town with Alexi to take care of some business affairs. She did not want Emilian clashing with him again.

“He has hurt you again, hasn't he?” Margery accused. “Why else would you be behaving so morosely?”

“I went to see him yesterday.”

“What are you thinking?” Margery cried.

“I am still in love with him—more so than ever, now that I understand the life he lives.”

Margery seemed ready to cry. “I have never met anyone as smooth and charming, when he wishes to be. It must have been so easy for him to seduce you. You are the most trusting person I know. You may be well-read, but you have no experience with men! I know you have made up an incredible story about him, one you believe, but I have grave doubts about his character!” She was incredulous. “What kind of man takes a gentlewoman's innocence and simply walks away?”

Ariella tensed. “He is so deeply wounded, Margery. He is like a wild animal, forced into a cage. Of course, when you reach inside to give the animal affection, it bites. It simply doesn't know better. It is expecting cruelty and abuse. Please, do not condemn him.”

“You are mad! The man is wealthy and powerful. Even if they whisper about his heritage, so what? That doesn't give him the right to toy with you. And this analogy to a wild animal in a cage? Do you think to win his love by being kind and sharing his bed? You are sharing his bed, aren't you?”

Ariella had never seen her usually placid cousin so fiercely aroused and angry. She hesitated and Margery cried out, realizing the truth. “So you would settle for crumbs! I have half a mind to urge your father to force St Xavier to the altar!”

Ariella gripped her hand. “Do not think to make this right. Forcing him to marry me will accomplish nothing. I would only marry him if he loved me in return.”

“Can I convince you to stay away from him before you are ruined in name, as well as spirit and body?” Margery asked.

Ariella faced her. “He needs me. I cannot turn away from him, now or ever.”

“You are too good for him!” Margery cried, flushed.

Ariella did not want to argue any further. “I trust you to keep my secrets.” When Margery didn't answer, she opened the carriage door and stepped outside, staring at the door to the barbershop. She could see through the storefront window that Stone had no customers.

Aware of Margery coming to stand beside her, she entered the surgeon's, the doorbells jingling. Stone, a tall stout man, came out from a back room, smiling obsequiously at them both.

Ariella did not smile back. “Mr. Stone, I required your services at Woodland yesterday but you sent my coachman back, refusing to come.”

His eyes widened. “Miss de Warenne, I was busy with a patient. Your coachman apparently did not explain correctly.”

“Jackson was very clear,” Ariella trembled with anger. “You refused to come. I believe your exact words were that you would not treat a lice-ridden Gypsy.”

He stared at her, no longer smiling. “I don't treat Gypsies, Miss de Warenne, just like I don't treat Jews or Africans.”

She inhaled. “You are despicable.”

He shrugged. “I have been to Rose Hill several times, miss, and I have always admired your father greatly. Go home, where you belong. And when you need my services at Rose Hill, I will gladly come.”

“Your services will never be required by my family ever again!” Ariella cried.

Margery seized her arm. “We should go.”

“No! My mother was a Jewess, Mr. Stone. You have insulted not just me, but my father, as well.”

“No wonder you're a Gypsy lover,” he spat.

Margery stepped forward, between them. “You will pay for that remark!” She pulled Ariella from the shop, ashen. Outside, they stared at each other, horrified. Ariella could not recall every being spoken to in such a way.

Ariella breathed hard. “That is what Emilian lives with every single day of his life.”

 

T
HE MOMENT HE SAW
the de Warenne seal, he knew the letter was from Ariella.

A tension he had never before experienced filled him as he slit the envelope. He was seated at his desk in the library, his hands shaking slightly. After their last encounter, she hadn't come back to Woodland. He had not been surprised.

Three days had passed since their tryst—three endless days in which he had roamed his home, filled with regret and guilt, torment and concern. He had been very busy with his business affairs in preparation for his departure, but she remained on his mind, impossibly. He had been resolved to deny his interest, attraction and desire. He knew such denial was best for her, yet in the end, he had so quickly succumbed to passion. Each and every day since the affair, he had wondered if she would ever call again, his insides churning with his tension. It was best that she did not come; it was best that she hated him now. But Ariella was so entirely unpredictable.

He was sorry he could not be someone else, a proper suitor, the kind of nobleman who could give her the friendship she craved. He was sorry he had been so aloof after their encounter, but what did she expect? The guilt had exploded the moment they were done. And he'd never had a lover who wanted anything except his prowess in bed.

Did she finally hate him?

Aware of fearing her rejection when he should covet it, he opened her letter and began to read.

He was disbelieving. She had gone to the surgeon and confronted him? Was she mad? He could barely imagine the debate Ariella must have engendered. He read on.

He laughed.

Then he stopped, shocked by the sound that reverberated in the library.
What had just happened to him?

He inhaled and finished the brief letter.

Cliff de Warenne would surely refuse his daughter such an insane journey. Emilian had never traveled that far east, but he didn't have to in order to know it would not be safe for her and her stepmother. Neither land was civilized, to the best of his knowledge.

He reread the last two lines five times.

She wanted him to call.

He tossed the page across his desk, suddenly as furious as he was incredulous. When would she lose faith in him? Why couldn't she understand that no matter how kind and resilient she was, she was a
gadji
princess and he was a half-blood Rom? He was not a suitor! He did not wish to be a suitor!
What did those last lines mean?
Did she still think a friendship between them possible? If so, she was deluded—their tryst had proved that!

He leaned hard on the desk. He had expected anything but an invitation to Rose Hill. Of course he would never accept.

Did she even know that he was leaving with the
kumpa'nia
in a few more days? He couldn't recall if he had ever mentioned his plans.

He was eager to go. He had begun to feel that he couldn't stand being in his own skin at Woodland—or was it being in an Englishman's skin? Her haunting him did not help, nor did his guilt and concern. This letter had suddenly made the pretense of his life even worse. He was almost certain that, once on the road, he would forget his entire past, including Ariella. And that would be best for them both.

 

A
RIELLA SAT
in the chaise by her bedroom window, trying to read a copy of Francis Place's latest program of social change, the People's Charter. She should be fascinated, but she could not make heads or tails of what he was saying. She missed Emilian and thought about him constantly. Almost a week had passed since she had last seen him. She wanted to pursue the friendship he was refusing her, but to call on him again felt very forward now. Besides, he might misconstrue such a call as a very improper advance. As she had already made very improper advances—which he had accepted—she wouldn't blame him if he misunderstood her this time.

However, if she did not encourage their friendship, she was fairly certain he never would. She had finally sent him a friendly note, casually ending the brief missive with the polite suggestion that he stop by Rose Hill when he was next in the vicinity. Not only had he failed to do so, he hadn't even penned a reply.

The past few days felt like an eternity.

It was beginning to appear that she must call on him after all, or at least call on Jaelle at the Roma camp and use his sister to her personal advantage.

“Ariella!”

Ariella was relieved to put down the pamphlet, even if Margery sounded distraught. She took one look at her, standing at the door, and saw that something was very wrong. “What is it?”

Margery was pale and stiff. “You have a caller—one I am more than prepared to send away.”

So much disbelief began.
Emilian had come.
“Don't you dare refuse to admit him!” she cried, leaping to her feet.

Margery didn't move as Ariella rushed to the mirror over her bureau. She wore a pale short-sleeved dress and she quickly adjusted the bodice.
It was so plain.
She opened the jewelry box on the bureau and chose a pair of pearl drop earrings, which she hooked onto her ears. She added a pearl cameo on a dark ribbon, aware of her hands trembling.
That was better.
She dabbed perfume between her breasts. Then she started pulling pins from her hair.
He liked her hair down.

“What are you doing?” Margery exclaimed. “You can't receive a caller with half your hair down!”

She had let the back half-down and she began combing the tight curls. Finished, she turned. “I am starting a new fashion. How do I look?”

“You look like a woman in love—or one about to meet her lover.”

Ariella went to her and hugged her. “I don't know what he wants. I sent him a note, but I was certain he would not respond. I am afraid to hope!”

“I am dearly afraid, too,” Margery said, following her from the room.

Ariella ran down the stairs, her skirts held ankle high. She took a breath, slowed her charge into a sedate walk, squared her shoulders and tried to manage a calm, serene smile. Ahead, she saw him standing in the blue receiving room, a top hat in his hands. He saw her at the very same time.

He looked so English in a dark green hunting coat with a waistcoat beneath, even with his too-long hair, and he was the handsomest man she had ever laid eyes on. He took her breath away.

He inclined his head. “Miss de Warenne,” he said politely. He straightened but did not smile. His gaze was searching, his demeanor far too solemn.

“Emilian,” she said. Impossible tension filled her. She was always so terribly aware of this man. “This is such a surprise—a very pleasant one.” Was something wrong?

His gaze flickered past her. “I received your invitation.” She realized Margery stood on the threshold, intent upon chaperoning them.

Ariella turned. “Can you give us a moment alone?”

Margery was clearly displeased, but she departed, leaving the door widely open. Ariella faced him breathlessly again.

He seemed to peruse every feature of her face before he slowly spoke, as if choosing his words with care. “Your letter was a surprise. I did not think you would ever wish to receive me.”

She was surprised. “I will always receive you.”

His expression hardened into severe lines. “That is far too generous, even for you.”

Ariella hated this formal pretense. She went to the doors and closed them, then faced him. “Nothing has changed. I remain your steadfast friend, Emilian. What happened recently was as much my fault as yours.”

His stare did not waver. “I beg to differ with you. Nicu is better.”

“I am so glad!” she cried, beaming.