Samantha James (11 page)

“You said no, didn’t you?”

Olivia regarded him with no little amount of ir
ritation. Damn him. Damn him for his smug certainty! He knew her not at all—and yet he knew her far too well!

“Not precisely.” She took great pleasure in informing him he was wrong. “I told him I could not even think of marriage at present,” she added stiffly, and then wondered why she’d bothered to answer.

Some of the hardness had left his features. “He’s not the man for you, Olivia.”

Olivia again
. Her heart pounded. More and more he called her by her given name. It seemed he called her Miss Sherwood only when he was displeased.

A slender brow arose. “And I suppose you know who is?”

His slow-growing smile was maddening. “I do.”

“Indeed,” she said archly. “And who might that be?”

He smiled directly into her eyes. “You wouldn’t be happy with him.” He continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “I think you would only be satisfied with a man who, when he kisses you, makes the very earth move beneath your feet.”

A man like you
. Olivia couldn’t withhold the thought which sprang through her mind. Oh, but he was so utterly confident. Why, the very thought of them together was preposterous! And yet…she found his teasing wholly disarming.

“Perhaps I’ve yet to find that man,” she informed him loftily.

He laughed, the sound low and deep. Olivia realized it was the first time she’d heard him laugh—really laugh in genuine amusement.

Something happened then, something she
couldn’t decipher. But like a shadow, it was there. Though she couldn’t touch it, she could feel it…it seemed to reach out and grab hold of her very heart.

In the sunlight, his eyes were so very blue, his teeth so white against the bronze of his skin. She couldn’t withhold the spontaneous smile that curved her lips—nor did she wish to.

When next he spoke, it was not what she expected. “I’ve been asked to come to the Gypsy camp tonight. Will you accompany me?”

Her smile faded. “Why?”

His own was gone as well. “Because I want you to see that they are not all murderers, nor are they all thieves and beggars.”

He paused, awaiting some reaction. Olivia floundered, unsure of her feelings, or what to do. A part of her welcomed the chance to—to be with him. But to go to the Gypsy camp…

“I won’t deny there are some who do indeed steal,” Dominic said quickly. He didn’t say that for many Gypsies, stealing was not considered a crime—but an accomplishment. “But for the most part, it’s not done out of malice. It’s done out of necessity—grass for their horses, wood for the fire, fruit and chickens for food. As for begging, they often look dirty or sick so people give money just to be rid of them.” He paused. “Well, Olivia? Will you come?”

Still she wavered.

A glint suddenly appeared in his eye. “How important is your position at Ravenwood?” he asked suddenly.

It took a moment before she understood…“That’s unfair,” she accused, her voice very low.

“It is,” he agreed mildly.

Her distress lay vivid in her eyes. “You’ll discharge me if I refuse?”

“Perhaps a better question is this—are you prepared to take that chance?”

“You know I’m not!” she said heatedly.

“Then it would seem the choice should be easy.” A faint smile lingered upon his mouth. “Will you come?”

“You leave me no choice,” she snapped. “Apparently, I must.” Oh, but she longed to wipe that satisfied smile from his face!

“Excellent. I’ll stop by your cottage before nightfall.”

That evening, Olivia was of a very good mind to be
absent when he called. Only the fear that he might indeed mean what he said kept her from doing so.

She dressed in a pale blue muslin gown that left her arms and throat bare, for the day had been rather hot. She brushed her hair till it shone, then left it loose and flowing, securing it away from her forehead with a ribbon that was slightly frayed at the ends. Smoothing her skirts, she critically examined her reflection in the mirror.

A dozen doubts suddenly crowded her mind. Would he think her gown dowdy and old? No doubt the women in London whom he’d favored had dressed in the height of fashion, she thought wistfully. No doubt they were sophisticated and worldly. All at once she felt wholly inadequate. Worldly she was not, nor was she sophisticated—she was far too practical. As if to prove it, she reminded herself that a new gown was an extravagance she could not afford. There were far more pressing matters to attend to—like food. And somehow, she must find a way to get Emily to London. Impatiently she chided herself. Why was she taking such pains with her appearance anyway?
She’d certainly never have done so for William!

But this wasn’t William, a tiny little voice reminded her. This was Dominic—Dominic who made her feel as if she no longer knew herself…

There was a knock on the door. She had to consciously stop herself from rushing forward. Whatever was the matter with her! She opened it to find him standing there, looking enviably at ease! He was dressed in a loose white shirt and tight breeches that showed off the narrowness of his hips and muscled thighs almost shamelessly; gleaming black boots completed the picture. Her heart gave a strange little catch. His hair gleamed dark and damp. He appeared freshly bathed and shaved and smelled of some wonderful scent. When her eyes returned to his face, she discovered he was doing a rather thorough investigation of his own.

His gaze slid down her body and up again. Could it be he liked what he saw? But all he said was, “It’s quite refreshing to see you garbed in something other than drab black.”

She experienced a vague disappointment. Was that all?

“You may wish to tell your sister it may be quite late when we return.”

“I—I already did.” She hadn’t told Emily she was going to the Gypsy camp. She’d told her she was needed at Ravenwood for the evening. Though she disliked deceiving her sister, Olivia was too uncertain of her reaction.

She called to Emily that she was leaving, then turned to him. “Shall we go?” she murmured.

He offered his arm. Olivia hesitated but an instant, then placed her fingertips on his elbow.

Outside, the evening air was still warm. A slight
breeze swirled around them, carrying with it the faint scent of roses. But Olivia stopped short when she saw a small cart and horse beneath the tree.

“You needn’t look so alarmed, Olivia. I promise, I’ll go slowly.”

Her gaze flew to his face. She half-expected mockery to be written there. Instead she found him watching her, his expression very grave.

“It’s rather far to walk,” he said quietly, “especially in the dark.”

Olivia drew a long, shaky breath, her mind working furiously. Then, with only the smallest hesitation, she walked to the cart. Dominic lifted her inside, his heart soaring. Did she know what she had done? She had just yielded a sign of trust…

Trust in
him
.

As he climbed into the cart and took his place beside her, he couldn’t have been more pleased.

They were off. The seat was small and narrow, just barely wide enough for the two of them. Olivia tried to relax, but it was difficult. Nor was it because of fear of the horse. No, it was something far different. The muscled stretch of his thigh rode against her own, disturbingly warm and strong. Her gaze strayed again and again to his hands, lean and brown and so very masculine! Her mouth grew dry. What would it feel like, she wondered, to have those hands upon her body, sliding over her skin…

She inhaled sharply, shocked by the very audacity of her thoughts! It took a moment to realize Dominic was speaking.

“Has your sister always been blind?”

Olivia shook her head. “No. Only for the past year.”

“The past year. But that’s when your father…Wait. You said she took a bad fall, didn’t you?”

Olivia’s eyes darkened. “I’m convinced that’s when it happened.”

“Is that why you’re afraid of horses?”

A tiny little pain speared her heart. “No,” she said at last. “I was never very fond of horses, though my mother adored them—so much so that Papa bought an old mare for her one year. Her name was Bonnie. One day when I was twelve, Mama decided to show me there was nothing to fear. She took me up behind her on Bonnie’s back.” Olivia smiled faintly, but there was a wealth of sadness in her eyes. “We began to canter around the field. I’d begun to think that Mama was right, that riding was great fun after all. Then suddenly Bonnie halted. Perhaps something spooked her; indeed, we’ll never know.”

Dominic’s eyes were on her face. “What happened then?”

Olivia took a deep breath. “I tumbled to the ground. I was sore but unhurt. But Mama pitched forward over Bonnie’s head…”

Dominic frowned. “She was injured?”

“She was dead,” Olivia said very quietly. “Her neck was broken.”

So that’s why she was so afraid…Dominic couldn’t blame her, nay, not at all. Dear God, it wasn’t just her father who had died tragically, but her mother as well! How, he wondered, could fate—and God—be so cruel to some, yet so generous to others?

He had no answer. He glanced at her. Her de
meanor was one of utter calm, yet he sensed the pain the loss still caused her. It was then he realized…She’d lost her mother at the same age he’d been taken from his…True, Madeleine had not been dead, not then—but she had been gone from his life forever…

Fate. ’Twas fate that had brought them together. He was more certain of it than ever before.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not knowing what else to say. She inclined her head in acknowledgment, but made no reply.

They traveled along in silence for some distance, bouncing along the lane. The evening sun hovered bright and golden, just above the roll of gentle hills to the west.

It was Olivia who broke the silence. “Were you acquainted with this band of Gypsies before they came here?”

“No,” Dominic answered, “though I discovered one day while talking to Nikolos, their leader, that he knew my mother and a dozen others in her band.”

Olivia tipped her head to the side. “Where is the camp?” she wondered aloud.

“Not far now,” Dominic assured her. “The Gypsies usually camp near grazing lands for the horses, and near a stream for water—yet close enough to a town or village to mend pots and pans, and trade horses. Generally it’s an out-of-the-way site. They prefer a place where they won’t be observed by locals or chased away by authorities.”

Or perhaps to elude authorities
. Olivia couldn’t help the thought that ran through her mind. At the same time, a pang of guilt went through her.

When she said nothing, Dominic glanced at her.
“You know you’re in far more danger from me than from the Gypsies.” His tone was light. “Indeed, an innocent girl shouldn’t be out at night with a dangerous man.”

“I am not a girl,” she said promptly.

“Ah, but you are innocent, aren’t you?”

Color bloomed on her cheeks. “That, sir, is none of your affair!”

He sighed. “Call me Dominic.”

“I cannot.”

“And why not?” His retort was as quick as hers.

“’Twould not be proper.”

“And do you always do what is proper, Olivia Sherwood? But of course. You’re a vicar’s daughter.”

Were it not for the teasing quality of his rejoinder, she might have taken vehement exception to his statement.

“And what of you? I recall you told the village children that Gypsies are free, at one with the world and nature.” She replied in kind. “Are you, sir?”

His smile ebbed. He was abruptly sober. It was a long time before he spoke. “I am no longer a Gypsy, nor am I one of you.”

His response was cryptic. She wasn’t quite certain what he meant. Yet all at once she longed to see him smile, just once more. “Ah,” she said lightly, “but are you dangerous?”

Dangerous?
No
, he thought. She was the one who was dangerous, for she was right…She was no girl, but a woman—a woman who roused his senses and stirred all within him that was primal and male. His gaze roved over her face. Her lips, a tempting, innocent provocation, reminded him of
a dew-misted rose, her eyes of fresh spring grass. He knew that were he to reach out and touch her cheek, her skin would be as soft as sun-warmed satin. His gaze dipped lower, falling to the generous swell of her breasts beneath her gown. Though she was slender, her body was delightfully ripe and full—were he to weigh her breasts in his palms, that delicious fullness would fill his hands. He found himself wondering if her nipples were pink or brown, small or large, pert and uptilted or…

On and on his thoughts tormented him. But it seemed she was completely oblivious to the frankly erotic bend of his mind—but perhaps that was best, he decided wryly. He had the feeling his imaginings would have shocked her to the core of her innocent heart.

As the cart topped the gentle rise of a hill, he spied the Gypsy camp, nestled in a small hollow. Just beyond were the woods.

Olivia saw it too. She couldn’t waylay the sudden tension that gripped her body, every muscle contracted with it.

Beside her, Dominic reined the horse to a halt. He spoke, his tone very solemn. “It’s a different way of life, Olivia. Not wrong, just…different. Will you bear that in mind?”

To refuse would have been petty and small. Taking a deep breath, Olivia nodded.

A plume of smoke drifted in the air. Just beyond a fire were a dozen vividly painted wagons. Some were bright yellow and green, some scarlet and gold. Here and there a number of tents had been erected. As they approached, two men came out to watch them. By the time they rolled to a halt, the
men had been joined by several others. One of them, a heavyset man with an enormous belly, gave a shout and raised a hand high.

Dominic jumped lightly to the ground. He gave the man a quick embrace. The man said something in Romany and glanced at Olivia. Dominic gave a nod and replied in kind. His gaze sought Olivia’s, and she was surprised to see laughter glimmering in the depths of his eyes. Wordlessly he beckoned to her.

Olivia rose to her feet, her legs none too steady. She was stunned to realize she was shaking. Dominic’s eyes caught hers; before she could take a breath, a pair of strong hands settled on her waist. She was swung to the ground.

He pulled her close to his side. Olivia was in no frame of mind to object. Standing so near to him, she couldn’t help but note that were they standing face-to-face, her head would fit neatly beneath his chin…Quickly she curbed the thought before it progressed any further.

“Nikolos,” he said easily, “this is Olivia Sherwood. Olivia, this is Nikolos, leader of this particular band of Gypsies.”

His face was lined and weathered, with white teeth showing beneath a black, drooping mustache. “Welcome,” he said in English. His smile was so utterly engaging she couldn’t help but smile in return.

For the next quarter hour, Nikolos led them through the encampment. Very soon her head was spinning with names and faces. She was shocked to see an old woman smoking a pipe; the woman watched them pass with dark, heavy-lidded eyes.
Oddly, Olivia didn’t shrink away. Instead she smothered a smile.

A large-bosomed woman wearing a full, bright skirt beckoned them close. Bangles shook as she pointed at Olivia, then motioned them near. Bright hoops hung from her ears.

“
Tu serte
,” she called to Olivia. “
Tu serte!
”

Olivia glanced up at Dominic questioningly. “What does she want?”

He wore an indulgent smile. “To tell your fortune.”

Olivia took a deep breath. Her earlier anxious dread had begun to depart. She was rather surprised to admit she’d met no one who frightened her. On the contrary, they were lively and animated and eager to please. No doubt this was due to Dominic’s presence at her side, but no matter. All at once she felt reckless and daring.

“All right,” she announced. “I’ll do it.”

The woman beamed. “Good. Good! Remember all your life what this poor Gypsy Catriana tells you this day.” Briskly she rubbed her hands, then took the palm Olivia proferred.

Long moments passed while Catriana frowned intently at her palm. A fleshy brown finger traced an arcing line that extended across her wrist.

“There has been much unhappiness in your life, no?”

Olivia hesitated. Without question the last ten years had seen much heartache. First Mama had died, then Papa.

Catriana patted her shoulder. “No need to answer. I see it—not only in your face but in your palm. Much unhappiness, indeed. But do not worry. Very soon all will be different.”

Olivia smiled wistfully. If only it were so.

Catriana bowed her head once again. Finally she looked up with a gap-toothed smile. “Yes,” she said in satisfaction. “I see it. There is luck in your palm, lovely lady. You will live a long and happy life with a handsome man,” she pronounced.

Dominic bent low, so low his mouth grazed her ear. “Of course we know that couldn’t be William,” he murmured.

Olivia was possessed of an urge to deliver an elbow to his ribs. “His opinion of you is no less flattering,” she said sweetly. Odd, but his insult bothered her less than William’s of him.

“Now that I do not—”

“Shhh!” Catriana cast a pointed look at Dominic. “I tell the lady’s fortune, not yours!”

His startled look made Olivia bite back a laugh. Effectively quelled, he stood silent while Catriana finished. Listening intently, Olivia was bewildered by the woman’s knowledge that her parents were dead, and that she had one sister.

By the time she’d finished, Olivia was thoroughly amazed. But of course it was just coincidence—a lucky guess. When Dominic handed her a coin, she nodded her head in thanks and retreated into her caravan.