A Dangerous Love (34 page)

Ariella gasped.

Emilian stepped forward. “I took advantage of your daughter. She is hardly a trollop.”

“You defend her?” Cliff cried.

“I am the one who should be called names.”

Cliff's mouth curled. “Your father may have been an honorable Englishman, but you are despicable—a man with no honor whatsoever.”

She was ready to retch now. Margery steadied her, as if she knew.

The Earl of Adare stepped between Cliff and Emilian. “You do realize we insist upon marriage?”

Emilian shrugged but his gaze slid to Ariella. For one moment, Ariella saw so much regret in Emilian's eyes, and she did not want him to regret one single moment that they had shared. “In spite of what the noble captain thinks, I am not entirely without honor. If she agrees, I will do the deed.”

Ariella jerked in dismay at his choice of words and his cold, scathing tone.

“We will have to marry immediately, though, because I am rejoining my people and traveling north. She can stay behind and wait for my return.” He shrugged again, as if beyond indifference.

She went still, staring at him. He hadn't come back to stay?

Cliff exploded. “You would marry her and abandon her? Over my dead body!”

“You cold bastard,” Alexi hissed. “Can't you see how you are hurting her?”

“She will be well cared for, with my entire staff at her disposal. Call it abandonment if you will.”

Cliff started for him. Amanda seized him, begging, “Please, control your temper. We will solve this, somehow!”

He hadn't come back to stay, Ariella thought, stunned. He had come back to make love to her. But he had missed her—he had said so. And now he would marry her out of a sense of honor, duty and even regret, but not out of love or affection? Now he would let her family force him to the altar? She stared at him. How could she reconcile the man standing in the library with the man whose arms she had just been in? She desperately reminded herself that cornering Emilian was always the worst tack.

“My daughter will
never
be abandoned at the altar,” Cliff ground out. “There will be a marriage, and the two of you will return to Woodland when the vows have been made.”

“I left Woodland,” Emilian said, “for my own reasons. I am not your slave. You cannot force me to remain at Woodland. I said I would make amends, but I will also say this. Your daughter deserves far more than I can give her, de Warenne. Maybe you should think carefully about the life she will live as a half blood's wife. Maybe you should consider finding her a proper blue blood for a husband.”

“You are not getting out of this. You ruined her—you will marry her,” Cliff said furiously.

Adare stepped between them again.

Ariella realized she was dizzy and weak. She had never seen her father as hateful and she could not bear the enmity between him and Emilian, not now. She hurried to a chair. Margery bent over her. “Are you all right?”

She blinked back tears. “No.” She looked at Emilian, wishing he would give her some small sign of his affection.

Cliff turned away, shaking. The earl spoke. “You are the viscount of Woodland. From what I have heard, you can give her exactly the kind of life she deserves. You do not want to go up against me and mine. You will do what is right—and walking away from her on the paltry excuse that you are deficient somehow, a half blood, is not what is right. I am certain you and I can come to terms as far as the living arrangements go.”

Now her uncle would buy Emilian for her. She covered her face with her hands. How had their joyous reunion been turned into something so ugly and distasteful?

Emilian finally looked at Ariella. “I am going north—even if it means going up against the great de Warenne dynasty.”

Ariella told herself not to cry as she stared back at him. His expression was too hard, too cold. “I can't marry Emilian,” she whispered. “Not this way.”

All eyes went to her. She only looked at Emilian, but his face was an impassive mask. She wet her lips and said, “May I have a word alone with him?”

Cliff laughed coldly. “When hell is frozen over.”

Adare touched him. “He won't run away, Cliff. Let's give them a moment.”

Cliff shook his head. “I don't want him alone with my daughter.”

The earl said, “Did you wait to exchange vows before carrying on with Amanda? Did I wait before taking Lizzie to wife? We do not know that this is the end of your daughter's world. It might be the beginning. Let us hope so.”

“You would not be so calm if this was Margery!” Cliff exclaimed, but he turned. “Five minutes. And St Xavier? I am close to committing murder, so I suggest you keep your hands to yourself and that you remain in this room until I return.” He left.

When everyone was gone, Ariella sat back down, aware of being utterly distraught again. It was the child, she thought helplessly. “You didn't come back to stay with me.”

“I didn't come back to stay,” he said quietly. He walked over to her and knelt, taking her hands. Ariella pulled them away and clasped them tightly together in her lap. He instantly stood. “But I did come back for you,” he said. “I came back to see you. I owe you so much…and this is how you have been repaid.”

She stared into his eyes, looking for the truth in his heart.

“I am so sorry,” he said, his regard unwavering. “I never meant for any of this to occur.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I am not good with words,” he finally said. “I came back, hoping I could show you how grateful I am to you for all you have done for me, and for Djordi, Nicu, Jaelle and the others. I never expected discovery, Ariella. I wanted to make love to you. I wanted to smile at you afterward, and perhaps, even laugh together.”

She almost cried. “Do you care for me, Emilian?”

Their gazes locked. He finally said, grimly, “I do care.”

She had not been delusional after all.
Some small comfort was to be had.

“I will marry you, Ariella, if that is what you truly want.”

She sat up straighter. “But that isn't what you want.”

His eyes blazed. “I have never considered marriage! Not to you, not to anyone. As my wife, you will live with whispers and scorn. It will not be pleasant. But if we do not marry, it will be even worse for you.”

She wet her lips and said, low, “I want more than marriage from you.”

He breathed. “I know. But I am not a man like your father, capable of a grand, undying passion for a woman. I will never be that man.”

Was he telling her that he somehow knew he would never love her? “I don't care about my reputation. I never have.”

“You may feel differently the next time you are out in society.”

“Are you trying to encourage this forced union, when you have blatantly said you have no wish to marry anyone?” she cried.

“I am English enough to do what is right,” he exclaimed, flushing. “If you tell me you want marriage, I will step up. But I am going north,” he warned. “You can live in luxury at Woodland or you can stay here.”

If ever there was a moment to tell him about their child, it was now. A part of her wanted to tell him the truth, but it would muddy the waters. He would insist on marriage for all the wrong reasons. He might even change his plans to travel. The effect was the same as holding a revolver to his head. He had to come to her of his own free will. She would never give up hope that one day he would do so.

She covered her aching heart with her hand and prayed she was making the right choice, especially for their child. “I will never marry you this way, under such dreadful circumstances,” she finally said.

A long pause ensued. “I think, in time, your father can repair the damage done this night. He is powerful enough to find you the nobleman you deserve. I know you will forget me, Ariella, eventually. There will be someone else, a proper Englishman, who will give you a perfect and very English life. You will be happy,” he said. He shrugged. “You may even decide that you hate me for all I have done.”

“I will never hate you,” she said, brushing at a tear. “And there will never be anyone else.”

He inhaled.

But he was leaving, perhaps for years. She stood. “Have you glimpsed the freedom you are looking for, Emilian? Have you found happiness?”

“No, I have not.” His face hardened. “I am glad you have refused to marry me. You deserve more than the life of a half blood's wife.”

She stared at him, finally realizing that he thought to protect her from the torment he was afflicted with. “You underestimate me,” she said, surprised.

“You are a de Warenne!” he exclaimed, as if that explained everything.

“And you are both the viscount St Xavier and the son of a proud Romni.”

He breathed hard. “No—it is one or the other. Am I English or am I Rom?”

And the freedom he was seeking suddenly became clear. It wasn't simply about escaping condescension and scorn. “Emilian, if you are going north to become a Rom, you will never be free. You are too English. You belong to two worlds, not one.”

“No man belongs to two worlds,” he cried, his eyes blazing.

She stared, the conflict and torment visible on his face and in his eyes. Until he realized who and what he was, he would never be at peace. He could not discover who he truly was without learning about his lost heritage. And no matter how she wished to heal him, she could not do so.

He had to go.

Her heart lurched in anguish. She felt the tears rise. “I will always love you,” she whispered. “I will always miss you.”

His eyes widened. “Are you telling me goodbye?”

She couldn't speak; she nodded.

He crossed the space between them, taking her by her shoulders. “I am hurting you again. I didn't come back to hurt you, Ariella.”

“I know,” she whispered. She wrapped her arms around him and held on hard.

He held her back as tightly.

Then she stepped away. “Go. Go north, with your mother's people. I am going to pray that you find what you are seeking—and that you will decide to come home. I will be here, Emilian, when you do—when you are ready to allow yourself happiness.”

“I may never find what I am seeking.”

She thought about their child, who would one day need his or her father. “Yes, you will. I have no doubt. I think the answers to your questions are much closer than you realize.”

His eyes widened. “Ariella, don't wait for me.”

“There isn't going to be anyone else, Emilian.” She clasped his rough cheek, suddenly exhausted. “Go now, before they return,” she said. “And Emilian? I love you.”

He stiffened, his face strained, his silver eyes blinding. Then he nodded and was gone.

 

W
HEN SHE FINALLY RETURNED
to her bedroom, she leaned against the door, beyond exhaustion. Cliff, still intent on a forced marriage, had threatened to go after Emilian and drag him back to Rose Hill, but in the end, Amanda had convinced Cliff to let him go, as that was what Ariella wished. She hugged herself. Her father was furious and she didn't trust him not to get on a mount and set chase after Emilian.

She tried not to cry. He had only left an hour or so ago, and while she desperately needed a respite from her family, which was in turmoil, she missed him so much that the pain was consuming. Had she done the right thing? He had been prepared to go through with a forced marriage—and he did care for her. He had finally admitted it.

Ariella went still. What was she doing, allowing him to leave her this way, to face his future alone?

He had to go north. She understood that now. But she could go with him.

She had to go north with him.

Stunned, Ariella let her mind turn over the notion. Everything had happened so quickly, there had been no time to really think. Of course she had to go north with him, as a lover, as a friend, and eventually, as the mother of his child. Marriage didn't matter, not now. Being together in this terrible time was what mattered!

Ariella turned to the armoire but did not open it. He would object, at first. She had not a doubt. He didn't want her to suffer by being at his side, and he didn't want her to live the difficult Romany life. But he was not going to send her away when she caught up with him. Her mind was made up. She loved him enough to fight for them both.

She ran from the room. It was only a few hours before dawn, and she banged on Alexi's door. He opened it instantly, fully dressed, and she realized he hadn't gone to sleep yet. She knew he was distressed for her and had been brooding. The glass of whiskey she saw on the table before the fireplace confirmed it.

He was alarmed upon seeing her. “You need to go to bed,” he said sharply.