Samantha James (13 page)

There was no time to protest—and indeed, soon she did not want to. It was as if she’d been caught in some strange Gypsy spell, as if some stranger had taken control of her body. Her feet were swift and agile and caught in the wild, pagan beat of the music, possessed of a rhythm never before known. His arms strong and hard about her waist, Dominic gazed at her, his eyes blue and bright and glowing. Then suddenly she was laughing, her head cast back, the arch of her neck and throat long and white and supple. The ribbon in her hair had come free. Her hair tumbled around her shoulders and down her back, a russet-gold waterfall.

One last primitive note, and he caught her up against him. Time stood still as she hung suspended in the air high above him; slowly he let her slide down his body. Another time, another place, and she would have been shocked to the core, but here in this wild Gypsy camp, it was entirely natural.

Together they retreated from the circle of dancers. He snatched up an eiderdown quilt and tossed
it over his shoulder. His fingers woven tightly through hers, he led her to a tiny knoll that looked down upon the blazing fire in the center of the Gypsy camp. Olivia was still laughing as they sank down upon the quilt.

“Tell me,” he said softly, “do you think it was fate that brought you here with me tonight?”

“Nay,” she responded promptly, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “’Twas your ultimatum!”

Dominic chuckled. “Why don’t you believe in fate?”

A frown appeared between her brows. Her smile faded and her expression turned thoughtful. “Perhaps it’s because I’m a vicar’s daughter, but I believe that what happens to us is in God’s hands, part of His plan for us, if you will.”

Dominic had turned rather grave as well. “Even what happened to your father? Your sister? And your mother?”

Olivia’s reply was very quiet. “Yes. I don’t pretend to know His reasons. I know only that I must believe it else I risk losing my faith in God.”

“So you don’t believe it’s possible to believe in both God and fate?”

She hesitated. “I’m not sure,” she said slowly. Then: “Do you?”

“I do. Indeed, I often wonder if fate is simply just as you say—God’s plan for us.”

“It’s…possible,” she admitted cautiously.

“There! You see? You
do
believe in fate!” His tone reflected his triumph.

All at once Olivia felt happy and carefree as she hadn’t felt in ever so long. She couldn’t resist teasing him just a trifle more. “Ah,” she proclaimed airily, “then I need not worry about this love charm
making me fall in love, do I?” She touched the charm with her fingertips.

He winked at her. “Oh, but I should not be so hasty if I were you, Olivia, for sometimes fate needs a helping hand.”

Olivia heaved an exaggerated sigh of exasperation. He threw back his head and laughed. Her breath caught in her throat. Lord, but he was handsome! Why, she could almost believe she was halfway in love with him…Yet how many other women had fancied themselves in love with him? she wondered suddenly.

“You are incorrigible,” she accused blandly.

“Hardly. You cannot believe everything you hear, you know.”

“Indeed. But what I’ve heard is that you’ve indulged in many a dalliance.”

He pulled a face. “And many a mistress, too, no doubt.”

Olivia took a deep breath and gathered all her courage. “Were you in love with any of them? Or all of them?”

“Had I been in love, I’d not have indulged in many a dalliance—” His tone was jesting. “—or many a mistress, as you put it.”

“Come now,” Olivia protested. “I’m quite serious. Have you ever been in love?” She held her breath. Later, she might wonder what had come over her that she should be so bold. Later. But not now…

His answer was a long time in coming. “No,” he said finally. “I’ve never been in love. I’ve been with a number of women—though not the multitude you seem to think—but I have no claim to ever being in love.”

Now that it was out, Olivia wasn’t sure if she should be pleased or not! The night he’d received the letter from Maureen Miller, he’d said he would never discard a woman as if it were nothing. He’d also claimed he could be happy with one woman, that he simply hadn’t found her yet…Was she a fool for believing him?

“You’re an earl now. Haven’t you given some thought to marriage, to having children to carry on the title?”

“Ah, yes, duty and all that. While I’ve acknowledged the necessity of such, I’ve not begun to actively pursue a bride. I’m hardly in my dotage—” His tone was dry. “—so I daresay I have a few more years in which to produce an heir and a spare.”

Before she could reply, a dark brow arose. “But what about you, Olivia? Why did you turn down William’s offer?”

“Because I don’t love him!” The answer emerged before she could stop it.

“So you would rather live your life alone than wed a man you don’t love?”

“I—I would. Regardless, I’ve Emily to take care of. Besides the fact that there are few eligible men in Stonebridge of marriageable age, I doubt any man would be willing to provide for both me
and
my sister.”

She didn’t see the way his gaze moved hungrily over her face. “Oh, I think you’re wrong,” he said softly. “If you went to London, I suspect you’d have your pick of men willing to provide for both you and Emily. No, I can’t see you spending the rest of your life alone.”

Olivia flushed. “You forget, I would only marry
a man I loved. I could never settle for anything less.”

Dominic looked amused. “You are a rarity, Miss Sherwood. You don’t believe in fate, but you believe in love. Don’t you know that marriages are seldom made for love?”

Olivia’s eyes flashed. “That may be, but that would not be the case were I to marry! No, I cannot imagine how a woman could stand by and watch her husband go out and find his pleasure where he pleases.”

Dominic’s lips quirked. “You mean elsewhere?”

“I do indeed!” Olivia warmed to the subject. “Why, if I were the man’s wife, I should heartily disapprove!”

“But there are many wives who do the very same.”

Olivia’s lips pressed together. Her opinion of such women was very clear.

Dominic gave a hearty chuckle. “On second thought, you’d better not go to London after all. You’d set out to reform all rakes and the
ton
would never be the same.”

Olivia could hardly take offense. “No doubt that would be a good thing.”

“No doubt it would,” he assured her with an entirely straight face.

Olivia sighed. “You’re making sport of me.”

“Not at all. Why, I can’t recall when I’ve been so highly entertained.”

Olivia’s lips twitched. His eyes were filled with a hundred tiny lights, and she could see him struggling not to smile.

She nodded toward Eyvette, who still swayed lithely before the fire. Every so often, Eyvette
glanced toward the knoll where the two of them sat.

“Since we speak of dalliances, my lord, I suspect the lovely Eyvette would be glad of your attention.”

He glanced toward the dark-haired beauty. “Yes,” he said mildly, “I suppose she would.”

“What! Such modesty, sir!” Olivia pretended to be indignant.

He grinned. “Are you jealous, Miss Sherwood?”

“Of course not!” It wasn’t entirely true. Alas, it wasn’t true at all! She thought of the way he’d kissed her and could have cheerfully strangled any one of the women on whom he’d lavished his attention—and his thorough, soul-stirring kisses!

He laughed softly. “That’s good, because I’d much rather be with the woman at my side right now.” His tone had turned husky. As he spoke, he reached for her hand, curling his fingers around her own.

His laughter had faded. A tremor went through her. Their eyes caught…and held…held endlessly.

It was a moment no less intense for Dominic. He could feel the fragile bones of the hand he held in his own, the narrow span of her wrists. Despite the callouses, they were the hands of a lady, through and through.

His thoughts were hardly gentlemanly. His blood was suddenly burning. His rod was half-erect, just looking at her. He could have her, a niggling little voice inside told him. He’d had many a lady in London. They were fascinated by the element of danger, the wildness they sensed in him. But Olivia was different. An innocent.

God
, he thought. This was madness. He stared at the delicate line of her cheek and jaw, and thought about what she would taste like there, in the tiny hollow just below her ear. He ached with the need to tumble her down, wrap her arms around his neck and plant his shaft heavy and deep and thick inside her, so deep he couldn’t move.

Her lips were slightly parted, her face turned to his. She smelled of rosewater, a scent that teased his nostrils. Just thinking of her mouth beneath his caused his belly to tighten, like a fist drawing closed. He recalled with stark, vivid intensity the last—the first—kiss that they had shared. Lord, he thought, he should never have brought her here…

Because he was about to do it again.

Olivia had only to turn her head to encounter the
sheer masculine power of his presence.
Oh, Lord
, she thought helplessly.
What is happening to me?

His gaze had fallen to her lips. She quivered inside, for all at once she knew, with a certainty that defied all else, that he was going to kiss her.

Never in her life had she wanted anything more.

The moon hung full and bright in a night-dark sky. Moonlight cast a silvery, ethereal light over all. It was moondust. It was magic.

It was heaven. He pulled her to her knees so that they faced each other; his arms engulfed her. Her heart leaped the instant his mouth claimed hers, the sensation of it heady and compelling. In some faraway corner of her mind, she realized she wanted him to kiss her again and again.

God help her, he did.

He kissed her endlessly, his mouth hot and passionate and meltingly slow. Her arms slid around him. Her fingers traced the fluid line of his back. She thrilled to the feel of tightly muscled flesh beneath her fingertips. The music had changed. It was soulful and sweet, a melody at midnight. Time had
no meaning. Lost in the fervor of his kiss, she feared the moment it would end.

The drumming beat of her heart clamored in her ears. A tiny jolt went through her as his tongue touched hers. A probe of pure flame, it curled far and deep, tasting the hidden depths within. Trapped in a haze of pleasure, she was scarcely aware of impatient fingers stealing beneath the neckline of her gown, loosening the strings which held it closed and sweeping it from her shoulders.

Only then did his mouth release hers. He raised his head. His eyes were smoldering—they spoke of a hunger, a hunger she was only beginning to comprehend. Olivia glanced down, stunned at the sight of her naked breasts, pale and gleaming in the moonlight. Her breath caught in her throat. Seized with an almost painful awareness, she could only watch as his gaze brazenly charted the swelling curves seen before by no other man.

Her lips parted. Some slight sound escaped. What she would have said, she would never know. He reached for her again, taking demanding possession of her mouth even as she felt the brand of his fingers on her naked flesh. He clasped the narrowness of her waist. The world seemed to hold its breath—and so did she—as those bold hands slid relentlessly upward. Heaven above, surely he would not touch her there…

His knuckles skimmed the underside of her breasts. They seemed to swell into his hands. Her nipples tingled, peaking hard and tight, and it was there he now worked his magic. She nearly cried out as his thumbs flicked across each aching summit, over and over, a tormenting caress. Searing pleasure licked along her veins. She felt alive in
places she’d never known before—in ways she’d never known before.

A hard arm slid around her back. She felt herself borne down to the softness of the quilt. Rational thought seemed a forgotten skill, yet her mind climbed fuzzily through layers of pleasure. There was a reason this should not be happening…He was lying over her, the weight of his body heavy and unfamiliar. But it was that extra hardness, stiff and swollen, against the softness of her belly that triggered an alarm in her head. She was inexperienced, yes—but not so innocent as he would believe. Olivia was suddenly overwhelmingly conscious of the blatant intimacy of their embrace. Tearing her mouth away, she hauled in a deep ragged breath.

“Wait,” she cried against his shoulder. “Wait!”

Above her, she felt his body freeze. For a heart-stopping moment she feared he hadn’t heard. His mouth deserted hers. He bowed his head low, and Olivia stared at his face, where the strain was clearly visible in the tense line of his jaw. His arms were still taut around her, so very taut…Only when he exhaled, a rush of air that seemed to come from deep inside him, did the tension leave him.

He eased to his side, then propped himself on an elbow. Olivia slid her gown back up over her shoulders, grateful that the darkness hid her flaming cheeks. His expression was hidden in shadows as he regarded her.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” he said quietly.

She struggled to smile. “You didn’t.” Oddly enough, it was true. It wasn’t him she was afraid of, but the strange way he made her feel—as if there were a side of her she didn’t know existed.

He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. Rising to his feet, he turned and helped her up. “I should take you home.”

The ride back to the cottage was accomplished mostly in silence, yet it was not an uncomfortable silence. Once there, he lifted her to the ground. She felt the warm roughness of his palm as he reached for her. Together they walked to the cottage door.

He turned. “There’s something I would very much like to do for you, Olivia.”

His regard was unsmiling. He appeared very solemn, very intent. She searched his features. “What is it?”

“You said once that you wanted to have your sister’s eyes examined by a physician in London.”

Her eyes darkened. “I intend to, as soon as I have the funds necessary for the trip.”

“I could help you with that.”

She hesitated. “I appreciate the offer. Truly. But—you’ve been more than generous already. And this is something that I…that
we
…should do for ourselves.”

For a time she thought he meant to argue. Then he nodded. Perhaps she was being stubborn. Perhaps she was too full of pride to accept charity. But it was just as she’d said—this was something she was determined to do herself.

His eyes rested once more on her lips. Anxious awareness gathered deep in the pit of her belly. Her pulse began to clamor. It struck her just how much she longed to feel his mouth on hers again.

“Good night, Olivia.” He turned and strode away.

He didn’t kiss her…but oh, how she wished he had.

Andre quietly slipped away from the camp. On horseback, the distance to Emily’s cottage didn’t take long to cover. He knew he was taking a risk, but he didn’t care. All he could think of was Emily. All he cared about was Emily. His people might leave at any time. He would never see her again.

He couldn’t bear the thought.

She was so enchantingly lovely. Her sweet shyness tugged at his heart, yet she was far more at ease with him than he’d dared believe possible when they’d first met. Still, she seemed so delicate and fragile—he was half-afraid to touch her for fear she would break apart.

The cottage was dark when he arrived. He frowned, but then he realized…why would it be otherwise? Emily lived in a world of darkness—what need was there of light? Just then a shrill cry shattered the air.

It came from inside the cottage.

Andre didn’t think. He simply reacted, for his beloved was in danger. He leaped from his mount and grabbed the key he knew lay hidden beneath the pail near the door. He found it and thrust it into the lock, then thrust the door wide.

The cries came from the bedroom. Andre charged within. His feet braced wide, fists raised high to deliver a killing blow to an unknown assailant, his frantic gaze swept around the room.

There was no attacker. There was no one there…no one but Emily.

She lay twisting on the bed, stricken cries tearing from her throat. “Don’t hurt him!” she screamed. “Please don’t hurt him!” Suddenly her arms stretched high in the air.

“Papa!” Her shrill, desperate scream pierced the air. “Papa, no!” She began to sob. “Get up, Papa.
Get up!
”

Andre hurriedly lit the candle at the bedside, then dropped down beside her. He reached for her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake. “Emily, wake up. Wake up, love. Princess, please, open your eyes.”

She stopped twisting beneath his hands. Her eyes opened. Her stare was wide-eyed and glazed, her breathing shallow and rasping. An eerie prickling went through him. He had the uneasy sensation she was still lost in the throes of her nightmare.

“Emily. Emily! Wake up, you’re safe, love.”

Her head turned. “Andre?” she whispered.

Strong brown fingers smoothed a damp lock of hair from her temple. “Yes, princess. ’Tis I.”

She reached for him at the very moment he brought her close against his chest. Her arms stealing around his waist, she sagged against him. He felt the shudder that wracked her slender form.

His arms tightened. “What’s wrong? Can you tell me?”

“It was nothing. Just a dream.” Her reply was muffled against his shoulder.

It was clearly more than that. “Tell me about it,” he invited, his lips against the tender skin of her temple.

He felt her stiffen. “Why?” she asked.

He stroked the tightness from her spine. “I don’t know,” he murmured. “But maybe it wouldn’t be so frightening if you told me about it.”

“It—it’s always the same.”

“So you’ve had it before?”

She nodded. In the beginning, it had come nightly, she almost confided. But no.
No
. Though the images no longer came each night, the memory was still too vivid, still too close. She couldn’t bear to think about that horrible day, not now, not ever.

“You cried out to someone, Emily, not to hurt your father. You cried for him to get up—”

Her hands came up between them. “Don’t!” she said with surprising force. “Don’t say it! I can’t stand to think of it again. Don’t you see, I…I can’t!”

Andre had drawn back so he could see her. She would have pushed away but he wouldn’t let her.

“Emily—”

“Andre, I beg of you.” Her mouth was tremulous. “I cannot speak of it…I cannot!”

Her voice verged on hysteria. Andre stared at her, his mind racing. He had the chilling sensation this dream was something she had experienced. Whatever it was, it remained locked within the prison of her mind…at least for now.

He urged her head onto his shoulder once more. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to,” he soothed.

“You—you won’t make me?”

She sounded so much like a hopeful little girl he almost laughed. “How could I make you tell me something you don’t wish to?” He let his hand drift up and down her back, the motion soothing and monotonous.

She let out a deep sigh. After a moment, she murmured, “You’re very kind. Like Olivia. She doesn’t make me tell either.”

Andre stowed this little piece of information away, for it only solidified the idea that this dream
was something she’d truly experienced.

“I nearly forgot. I have something for you.” He released her and reached inside his shirt. Taking her hand, he pressed something into her palm.

She tipped her head to the side. “What is it?” With her free hand she ran her fingertips over the smooth, cool surface.

“It’s a crystal. Among many in my—” He caught himself just in time. “—my family, it’s believed to have magical healing powers. My aunt always carries one in her pocket.”

She tipped her head to the side. “Really? That almost sounds like something a Gypsy would do. She must be quite superstitious.”

Andre could have kicked himself. Why hadn’t he realized she would know? But wait…perhaps she didn’t. Cautiously he spoke. “Yes, I suppose some might think so.” He held his breath, carefully watching Emily’s face for any sign that she’d guessed the truth. When she said nothing, he went on lightly, “It’s really quite pretty. When held toward the sun, it catches every color of the rainbow.”

Emily smiled faintly. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen a rainbow, I can hardly even imagine it anymore.”

Andre cursed himself. “I’m sorry. I thought it might bring you comfort and—keep you well. I didn’t mean to make you sad.”

“You didn’t,” she said quickly. She stretched out a hand and touched his arm. “Thank you, Andre. I’ll carry it with me always. Will you set it on the bedside table for me?”

He did as she asked, then turned back to her.

“I’m surprised that you’re here so late.”

“I must confess, I saw your sister walking toward Ravenwood.” A pang of guilt shot through him, but he could hardly tell her the truth—that he’d met her at the camp.

“Yes.” Her lovely mouth turned down. “She had duties there this evening. The Gypsy earl pays her quite handsomely to tend to his books.”

“At any rate, I knew you would be alone. I didn’t realize you’d be asleep.”

Emily colored slightly. “I—I wouldn’t have if I’d known you were coming.” Her hand came to her breast. Only now did she remember she wore only a thin cotton nightgown.

Andre nearly groaned, for now that his attention was drawn to it, knowing she wore nothing beneath it wreaked havoc with his insides.

He forced his attention elsewhere. “There’s a market fair in Greenboro tomorrow. I wanted to ask if you would come with me.”

Her hesitation was marginal. “I can’t,” she said, her voice very low. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” she hastened to assure him. “I—I just can’t.”

His gaze was steady on her face. “Why not?” he asked in that direct, dauntless way that was so much a part of his charm.

Emily was not so inclined to think so at this moment. She took a deep quivering breath. “I-I would feel like everyone is staring at me.”

“If they do, it’s only because you are so beautiful.”

“What about you? Do you think I’m beautiful?” The question slipped out before she could stop it.

In answer she felt his fingers beneath her chin. “There is no one more beautiful than you, princess.”

“If that is true, then why have you never kissed me?”

Andre blinked. “I was trying to be a—” He fumbled for the right word. “—a gentleman.”

“I would much rather that you were
not
a gentleman and—and kissed me instead.” Emily cringed inside. Heavens, this was getting worse by the second!

“Princess—” There lurked in his tone just the faintest hint of laughter. “—you have only to say so.”

And then it was done. His thumb beneath her chin, he guided her face to his. Her eyes fluttered shut as his mouth met hers. His kiss was infinitely long and sweet, so tender it almost brought tears to her eyes.

When it was over he rested his forehead against hers. “You make it difficult to leave, princess.”

Her heart was surely flying among the clouds. “Then do not,” she whispered recklessly, “though I fear this is hardly proper.”