A Dangerous Love (35 page)

She walked past him and then closed his door so they would have privacy. “I need your help,” she said. “And I will do anything to get it.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I am going after Emilian,” Ariella said.

“Like hell!” he exclaimed.

“I need you to help me catch up to him and the caravan, Alexi. If you do not help me, I will go by myself.”

His eyes widened. “So you think to marry him after all, and become a Gypsy? Father won't allow it.”

She tensed and avoided the question. “Father isn't going to know, because we are going to sneak away in the middle of the night. Alexi! I am deeply in love. You know what that means for a de Warenne.”

He stared furiously at her.

“It means nothing and no one can stop me.”

“T
HERE THEY ARE
,”
Alexi said, his expression grim.

Ariella's heart leaped as she followed his gaze. They were on a road winding along a ridge in a gig they had rented in York. Even by rail, it had taken them three long, endless days to reach the Roma caravan. Alexi had known the caravan was at York, for Jaelle had told him they would pause there before going on to Carlisle. Now, she stared down into the meadow where their colorful wagons were camped, the horses loose and grazing, the evening's cook fires already blazing.

There had been no goodbyes at Rose Hill. She hadn't been brave enough to tell Cliff what she had intended. Instead, she had written him a long letter, being as candid as she dared. He would be angry, but she prayed Amanda would eventually calm him. She had begged him not to come after her and Emilian.

Every bone in her body ached, not from sitting for so long, but from the tension of daring to pursue Emilian and her awareness that he might be furious when he saw her.

“Let's go,” Alexi said.

Before he could lift the reins, she restrained him. “I know I have not convinced you that Emilian is worth my efforts, because I see your doubt every time I look into your eyes. Alexi, I will go on alone.”

He exploded. “Why? Let me guess! He will be furious that you have had the gall to chase him!”

Her tension increased. “He will be angry with me at first. But this is best for him—and it is best for me. In any case, I want to go on alone. You won't help matters.”

“No.” He gave her a dark look. “I know you are madly in love. I have decided to give you a chance to win his love, because I never dreamed I would see you like this. As furious as I am with St Xavier, he must have some redeeming qualities. But I am not leaving you here on the road by yourself. I am leaving when I am certain you are safely ensconced in the camp. And, Ariella? The day will come where I will force him to the altar.”

She had been fortunate enough to get him to aid her in her pursuit. She accepted that he wasn't going to let her go on this final leg alone. She chose to ignore his last remark—one he had made many times. She would worry about marriage when the time came.

She nodded and he cracked the reins. The gig began to descend toward the caravan. Her heart thundered now. All she had to do was get past Emilian's initial anger, somehow. And there was one simple, ancient means of doing so, one every woman instinctively understood. But the stakes were so high and she was afraid of failure. She could not imagine going back to Rose Hill now.

Barefoot children were playing hide-and-seek, their scrawny dogs yapping at their heels. She saw Nicu, Djordi and the other young men erecting the last of a dozen large canvas tents. A few women were beginning to prepare the evening meals. She surveyed the far side of the camp. Shirtless, Emilian had a wagon wheel on a stump and was repairing it. He was so beautiful her mouth went dry, but from the way he was beating the rim, she knew he was frustrated and angry.

Alexi had halted the gig. Ariella jumped out as the noisy camp fell silent. Even the children stopped shouting and laughing, turning to look at her. One of the youngest boys smiled, then a little girl. An older girl, Katya, waved.

She somehow smiled back, but she was so nervous she felt sick. However, she must not let him see that she was uncertain and anxious. She had to be bold; she had to be coy and confident; she had to be impossibly alluring.

Jaelle straightened from a cook fire, her eyes wide.

Stevan walked away from a bright green tent. He waved at her.

Ariella wanted to wave back, carelessly if at all possible, but Emilian had straightened. He saw her and froze.

Her heart thundered so loudly now that she was sure he could hear it, even with the many meters separating them. She realized she was crossing the distance between them, slowly, steadily. She could not smile, but this was so right. He had to know it, too.

The light in his gray eyes flared and the anger she had expected covered his face. He dropped the hammer but didn't move.

She paused before him. “I have decided to come with you after all.”

His broad chest heaved. “I don't think so.”

She smiled. “You miss me and you care. You cannot take back such a confession.”

His face seemed in danger of cracking. “A man says many things in the heat of the moment.”

She trembled and told herself not to give in. She squared her shoulders and gave him a long, intent look through her lashes. “You did not tell me you cared in the heat of any passionate moment. In
that
moment you told me you needed me—desperately.”

He flushed. “You should be too proud,” he said, “to chase after a man who does not want you!”

His words didn't hurt because she knew the last part of his statement wasn't true. She smiled and laid her palm on his bare, wet chest. She felt his heart racing very swiftly and she experienced a flare of satisfaction.
Her touch had a
powerful effect on him.
“Emilian, we both know you do want me—in many ways. I am not going back. I am staying with you.”

He was disbelieving. He seized her hand, but for one moment didn't remove it. Then he flung it aside. He tore his attention from her to Alexi, who remained seated in the gig, watching them like a hawk. “So you have decided on marriage after all?” he demanded of her.

“No. I am not marrying you, not until you ask me to do so with love in your heart.”

His eyes widened.

“I am here as your friend and lover,” she added softly.

His color returned. “And your brother has agreed to let you be my mistress?”

“You know I would never tell him such a thing.” She laid her hand on his bare arm. He shuddered as she slid her hand over his bicep. His silver gaze smoldered and she realized she had more power over him than she had realized. “You missed me and returned to Rose Hill. I missed you the moment you left. My place is with you, Emilian,” she stressed. “Even here, in the
kumpa'nia.
”

“Damn it, your place is at Rose Hill, or in London or even at Woodland!” He shook her hand off but her touch and words had done their work, for she noted that there was some doubt now in his eyes.

She was about to triumph, she thought in abject relief. “Let me spend the night,” she said. “I am too tired to go back tonight. We can argue tomorrow, if you wish.”

His gray eyes hot, he leaned close and murmured, “This is a dangerous game, if you think to have me so smitten by dawn that I will not send you back!”

Her heart raced. She could seduce him to her will, couldn't she? She wet her lips and whispered, “You won't be able to send me back at dawn.”

He stared and she stared back. He said, “That is a challenge I accept.”

She trembled, aware that her efforts were double-edged, for her own body was far too warm. “Good,” she said.

He folded his arms across his chest, causing the pectoral muscles to bulge above them.

Her tension heightened. “Where is your tent? I would like to freshen up.”

His eyes blazed, partly with anger and partly with heat, and he pointed at a dark green canvas structure. Ariella smiled at him, then went to bid Alexi goodbye.

 

A
RIELLA WONDERED
if everyone's tent was as pleasant as Emilian's. A beautifully carved chest contained his clothes and personal items. He had a small, portable desk and a chair, as well as an elegant Chinese rug. The bed consisted of a large mattress, covered with blue silk sheets beneath a navy-and-gold paisley comforter. The candlesticks by the bed were sterling silver.

She found a hand mirror in the chest and was pleased to see that her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed. She looked rather sultry, but not sultry enough.

Her body hollowed. She was with Emilian now, and they were finally going to spend the entire night together. It would be the first of many. She was not going to let him send her away in the morning. She must make certain he was so smitten with her that he couldn't bear to part with her.

She smiled uncertainly at her reflection. She did not have much experience, but in his arms, she became a very different woman, one entirely shameless, without any inhibition. She must recall that fact now and use it to boost her confidence. She was going to seduce him; she was going to make love to
him.
He thought this a game and a challenge, but it was neither.

“May I come in?” Jaelle asked.

Ariella turned, pleased to see her. Jaelle came in, leaving the tent open behind her. Ariella noted her pretty pale green blouse, which bared her shoulders, and the dark purple skirt she wore, which encased her narrow hips before flaring seductively out. The brown embroidered sash showcased her tiny waist, and her hair was loose.

Ariella was wearing an ivory and brown long-sleeved gown with a round neckline and small collar, her hair pulled tightly back into a chignon. There was no question that her ensemble was not going to serve her well.

Ariella embraced her briefly. “I hope you don't think I was wrong to pursue your brother.”

“If he did not love you, he would not have gone back to Rose Hill to see you—and he would not be refusing all the pretty women in the camp.”

He had told her there was no one else, but still, Ariella was thrilled.

“It is good that you came for him, because another woman would steal him away sooner or later,” Jaelle said. She shrugged. “You love him. So chase him if he thinks to run. I would.”

Ariella took her hand. “He intends to send me home tomorrow.”

Jaelle laughed. “Really? Then you must change his mind. That should be easy enough.”

She breathed and thought of the night to come. “Yes, I intend to change his mind tonight. Can you help me?”

 

E
MILIAN CUPPED
his glass of wine, staring at his tent. Then he realized what he was doing and instantly turned away. But he wasn't interested in anything or anyone else. His attention returned to the tent. The flap had been closed at least an hour ago. What was taking her so long?

He knew what she was doing—she was washing, doing her hair, adding rouge, perhaps, and touching the pulse points of her body with perfume. She was preparing for the night she would spend with him.

Tension stiffened his body impossibly. The sun was now setting. Nicu was playing his violin, but the tune was jaunty, which annoyed him. Most of the children had finished eating and the younger ones had been put to bed. One of the women who had been trying to bed him for days was dancing with another man. As if she knew he was lost to her now, she had eyes only for her partner. He ignored them, staring intently at his tent. He almost thought he saw her shadow within, but that was impossible through the thick canvas.

He remained disbelieving. Not only had she followed him across half of England, she intended to stay with him. And she didn't even wish for marriage. Of course she didn't—she was too damned independent for her own good. He did not want her there with him, not under any circumstance. She was not a Romni and she would never be one.

He cursed and flung the wine aside. How had one act of revenge turned into so much anxiety, anguish and passion? Why did she have to be so different from other young ladies? Any other
gadji
would have demanded marriage, rather hysterically. She thought to be his lover and friend and she would travel like a Romni with him.

Well, that was fine with him. He would make love to her all night, but in the morning, he was putting her on the next train bound south.

The flap moved, and he watched an angel of desire step into the night.

She smiled at him.

He breathed hard, stunned. Her glance was arch and inviting. Her long, dark golden hair was loose and flowed in wild waves over her shoulders, which were bare. She wore a yellow blouse and gold sash, the effect as revealing as a corset. He saw that she was naked beneath the blouse and he felt his mouth turn dry. The purple skirt she wore was iridescent and it flowed over her hips and thighs like fine silk. His pulse drummed with urgency now, making it hard for him to recall why he did not want her there after all.

She started forward, and her hips seemed to sway, her breasts seemed to float. He realized she was barefoot.

“What do you think?” she asked, and she pirouetted for him.

He seized her wrist and pulled her up against his hard, hurting body. “I think we should go inside my tent.”

Her eyes were wide, but then they warmed and her lashes lowered. She laughed, the sound husky. “But you are never in a rush,” she murmured.

“I am always in a rush,” he murmured back, “when I am with you. I just manage to control myself.”

He felt her breasts heaving against his chest, her nipples hard and tight.

She laid her hands on his chest, over his loose lawn shirt, and shifted, brushing her hip against his bulging loins. “I wish for a glass of wine,” she said. “And I want to dance.”