Samantha James (17 page)

Last night’s encounter loomed high in his mind. Snatches of little things tormented him. The way her nipples had hardened beneath the eager lash
of his tongue; how her hips had lifted, seeking his, just before he exploded inside her.

He had to glance away, lest his body betray him. He said the first thing that popped into his mind. “Your sister is quite lovely,” he murmured, “almost as lovely as you.”

Olivia burned, there where his hands laid claim to her waist. Her hand paused in its ministration. The color in her cheeks deepened. “You shouldn’t say things like that.”

Dominic paid no heed. His gaze returned, settling on the curve of her mouth. Her lips were the color of ripe summer berries—and just as sweet. He was tempted—oh, so very tempted!—to taste them once more.

Instead he heard himself say, “Why are you doing this?”

She dropped the cloth into the basin. “Because you’ve a nasty cut there.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

There was something in his tone, something that drew her eyes to his in a flash. She found him watching her, his expression dark and inscrutable.

“What do you mean then?” The question emerged rather breathlessly.

“I’m surprised you bothered to help me—that you didn’t leave me lying there. Why didn’t you leave?”

Her eyes darkened. “I couldn’t. I couldn’t leave you like that.” The confession emerged before she could stop it.

He swallowed. “I wouldn’t blame you—” His voice came out sounding low and tight. “—after what I did last night.” There was a heartbeat of silence. “Olivia…are you all right?”

There was an odd tightening deep in the pit of her belly. The subject was one that was best left undisturbed. She smoothed the edges of the plaster on the cut. “There. ’Tis done.”

She tried to withdraw a step. He wouldn’t let her. He rose, pushing the chair away with the back of his knee. He drew her near, so close her feet were squarely between his. A quiver shot through her. He looked totally rugged and masculine in the rough clothing, though the shirt was a trifle small. The muscles of his chest and shoulders strained at the worn material. The shirt was open at the throat, revealing a patch of bronze, hair-roughened skin.

“Tell me, Olivia. Are you…all right?”

His voice was gritty. Their eyes collided. She was the first to look away. “I’m…fine.”

His hands on her waist tightened. He recalled how small and delicate she’d felt in his arms, how hot and tight was her silken channel.

He swallowed. “I didn’t—” The words emerged with difficulty. “—hurt you?”

Heat rushed to her face, through her entire body. She closed her eyes. With a scalding rush she recalled the tremendous pressure of him planted snug and hard inside her. Deep—so very deep. Something strange had happened last night. Something strange and terrible and utterly wonderful.

Her breath wavered. Her eyes clung to his. “A little,” she said faintly.

“I’m sorry.” His heart lurched. “Are you ashamed?”

She floundered. “Yes…no…oh, I—I don’t know!”

He stiffened. When he would have pulled away, she caught at his arms. “It’s not what you think,”
she cried softly, “Not because you’re…”

“A Gypsy?” His lips barely moved.

“Yes.” His muscles were as rigid as stone beneath her fingertips. She wet her lips, floundering, praying she could find the right words. “It’s just…I wasn’t expecting it…”

“Nor was I.”

Her lips smiled tremulously. “I—was hoping you wouldn’t remember.”

The tension began to seep from his limbs. “When I woke up this morning, I—thought it was a dream. A wonderful dream.” His eyes seared into hers. “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, his voice very low.

“I know.” And she did. She didn’t regret that it had been him. Indeed, she could imagine such intimacy with no other man. Just thinking about it made her pulse clamor wildly. “Dominic,” she said helplessly, “I don’t think we should…talk about it.”

“That won’t make it go away. We can’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

He was right, she realized. What she didn’t know was that he didn’t want it to go away. He wanted to remember. He wanted it to happen again…and again. Only this time he wanted to be fully awake, fully cognizant of everything. To feel every breath she took. Every sweet, luscious curve of her body.

“Besides,” he added, staring hard at her mouth, “how could I forget?”

A tremor went through her. She would never forget…never.

“The ball I’m having,” he said suddenly. “It’s very important to me, Olivia. All my life I’ve struggled for acceptance. I thought I belonged with the
Gypsies, only to find I did not—” He paused, and she sensed he was struggling for the right words. “—yet neither did I fit in to the
gadjo
world. But I am the Earl of Ravenwood, and if London can acknowledge me as such, it’s time I was recognized here as well.”

Comprehension washed over her. “By all,” she said aloud, “both villagers and gentry alike.”

“Yes—yes! Ravenwood is my rightful home and it’s here I intend to stay.”

Olivia nodded. Indeed, she’d addressed a goodly number of invitations—and acceptances had been steadily pouring in. Yet after the incident near the river today, she feared the villagers would not come around so quickly…She was frustrated and angry all over again. Why couldn’t they see he was not a man to be feared and distrusted?

“I want you there, Olivia. At the ball. At my side.”

Her breath caught painfully. This was something she hadn’t expected…“Dominic, I—I am honored. Truly. But…I cannot.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

She drew a deep breath. “You forget,” she stated with quiet dignity, “I am but a maid—and you are my employer.”

“To the devil with that!” His expression was suddenly as dark as a thundercloud.

“’Tis easy for you to say. Oh, I wish I
could
be there as your guest! But it—it simply would not be right. What would I tell the others? Franklin and Charlotte. Mrs. Templeton—”

“You need not tell them anything. ’Tis none of their affair.” He was every bit the imperious lord.

Wistfulness welled up inside her. In truth, she
would like nothing more than to attend as his equal; to wear a lovely gown, to dance and sip champagne in carefree abandon. But that would never be, and there was no point in wishing otherwise.

She was…who she was…and so was he.

Her smile faded. “I cannot,” she said again. “I must ask that you show me no favoritism. Please do not try to persuade me—and please do not threaten me with dismissal, for I fear I would have to oblige.”

He glared at her—she could tell he was sorely vexed. “You won’t change your mind, will you?”

“Nay,” she said simply.

His lips thinned. “You are stubborn.”

“And you are every bit the fine lord, accustomed to having his way,” she found herself teasing.

An odd expression flitted across his features. In the next instant an arrogant brow arched high.

“You deny me your presence at the ball…but will you deny me a kiss before I go?”

Even as he spoke, he drew her near. Excitement kindled within her as his head began to lower.

“Never, my lord,” she whispered, even as his mouth claimed hers.

He kissed her long and deep, a demanding caress that spoke of passion and desire and left her weak and breathless, trembling both inside and out…He made her feel both terrified and exhilarated…

And so very, very hungry for more.

Robert Gilmore strode through the front door of his home on the outskirts of the village. Behind him,
the door slammed so hard the windows rattled in their panes.

He went straight to the sideboard and the bottle of brandy he kept there. Seized fast in the hold of his dark, bitter mood, he did not bother with a glass, but tipped the bottle to his lips and drank deeply. The dark brew burned a path down his throat, burned as his anger burned.

An hour later, the bottle was nearly empty. The brandy had dulled his senses—but not the fire of his anger.

“Thieves and whores,” he muttered. “Thieves and whores, every last one of them.”

He thought of her, the Gypsy slut who had given birth to him—to Dominic St. Bride. And he thought of another…

The one who had bewitched his father.

His lip curled. A vicious curse erupted as he damned them all to the darkest, farthest reaches of hell, especially him…Dominic St. Bride. For Robert hated him with every fiber of his being, just as he hated all Gypsies who tainted the earth. His body vibrated with rage as he thought of the Gypsies camped on the other side of the village. No doubt the thieves had come because of
him
…No doubt they remained because of him!

He stumbled to the window and there stared out in the direction of Ravenwood Hall, bringing the bottle to his lips. He drank deeply, then slowly he lowered the bottle to his side. With the back of his hand he wiped his mouth.

Ravenwood Hall. To think the Gypsy earl was so arrogant to believe he could toss him, Robert Gilmore, out of his luxurious manor and be done with
him. Well, it wasn’t that easy, and soon the proud earl would be brought to his knees.

Robert Gilmore would see to it, and he knew he would be honored by the community for his feat.

There would be an end to Dominic St. Bride.

And with that promise, he drained the rest of the bottle.

There was much to be done in the final days before
the ball. The ballroom in the east wing hadn’t been used for many a year and was in abominable shape. According to Franklin, the last time the grand room had held guests was on the occasion of the old earl’s anniversary to his third—and last—wife. Every inch had to be scrubbed from floor to ceiling, for there was dust everywhere. The window hangings were removed, and taken outdoors to be beaten and cleaned. Olivia, Charlotte and another maid spent two whole days cleaning the windows. Olivia fell into bed exhausted every night. In all honesty, she was grateful that the days were so full. They passed quickly, and left little time for thoughts of Dominic…

And the intimate encounter they had shared.

They hadn’t spoken any further. Olivia saw him in the village several days after his heroic rescue of Henry and Jonny. To her shock, she chanced to glimpse several men who tipped their hats to him. From across the street, she’d held her breath as several women with children approached. But this time they didn’t shield their children from his gaze. Indeed, they even deigned to speak to him! He re
plied and the women laughed, then continued on their way. Was it possible that the boys’ rescue had thawed the iciness from the villagers’ hearts? For his sake, she prayed it was so.

Shortly thereafter, he was gone for over a week, traveling to London. Olivia hated the thought which sprang to the front of her mind. Would he seek out Maureen Miller, his former mistress? Or perhaps he would find another. Perhaps he would decide to remain after all…

On and on the turmoil inside her raged.

He didn’t return until the day before the ball. She saw him in the entryway as he strode in. At the sight of him, her heart turned over. Travel-stained and dusty as he was, she couldn’t imagine a man more handsome than he. Though he passed directly by, he spared no word for her, not even a nod.

His coolness was like a slap in the face. Her joy at seeing him again wilted. He had kissed her, and held her tight against his heart. Was it possible she meant nothing to him?
You forget
, a voice inside reminded her,
you asked that he show you no favoritism
.

At last all was in readiness. Even Mrs. Templeton could find no fault. The ballroom was dazzling, alive with color. The floor positively gleamed, an eye-catching pattern of black and white. Indeed, it was the perfect foil for the huge, golden urns filled with fresh flowers—their sweet scent was divine.

Most of the housemaids, like herself, had been given other duties for the evening—helping to serve dinner, and later, once the music began in the ballroom, serving champagne and other tidbits. It was anticipated the ball would go on quite late; for
those who usually returned to Stonebridge, like her and Charlotte, Franklin had made arrangements to stay the night. Because she didn’t want Emily to be alone the entire night, she’d asked Esther to spend the night at the cottage with her.

Almost all of those who were extended an invitation were present. Olivia didn’t recognize most of those who attended. Many were wealthy, upperclass gentry with country homes in the area. Olivia heard someone whisper that a viscount from London and the Earl of Wrenford were among those present. It was Glory the upstairs maid who pointed him out to Olivia. He was tall and blond, rather handsome, with a winsome smile and an exuberant manner. Not an hour later, he took a glass of champagne from her tray. His gaze ran over her from head to toe; he winked at her boldly, then beckoned her close. Olivia blushed to the roots of her hair, grateful when someone else called for champagne.

Every so often, she was certain she felt the weight of Dominic’s eyes upon her. Yet when she found the courage to glance at him, she found she was wrong. She smothered a pang of disappointment—he had no more awareness of her than any of the other servants.

Oddly enough, she found herself caught up in a fanciful musing. What it would be like, she wondered, to attend a ball such as this? To wear a grand, magnificent gown and shed her drab black dress? A sigh escaped. How she wished Emily were here to see how lovely it looked—Emily so loved flowers. Her heart twisted suddenly. How she wished Emily could
see…

Charlotte nudged her. “Look there,” she whis
pered excitedly. “That’s Elizabeth Beaumont dancing with the earl. Don’t they look striking together—him so dark and her so fair?”

Her stomach tensed. It was with a sense of dreaded inevitability that she followed the direction of Charlotte’s eyes.

A hollow band of tightness crept around her chest. Never had she seen Dominic dressed in evening clothes—oh, but he made a wondrous sight! She couldn’t blame Elizabeth Beaumont if she’d set her cap for him. Nor could she look away as they glided across the floor together—the two of them—almost as if they were one. Elizabeth Beaumont was stunningly beautiful, her hair caught up in blonde ringlets atop her head. She was slender but curvaceous; her white satin gown revealed the generous tops of pale, creamy breasts.

Olivia couldn’t look away. Her very heart seemed to hurt. She could imagine nothing more painful than seeing them together. That night at the Gypsy camp, Dominic had confided that, as the Earl of Ravenwood, he had a duty to fulfill; he’d acknowledged the need for an heir…and an heir would require a wife.

Elizabeth Beaumont would fill that role quite nicely.

Certainly Elizabeth Beaumont seemed entranced with him. Was he as dazzled with her? She prayed it wasn’t so! They’d stopped dancing near the edge of the floor. Elizabeth was smiling, coyly peeking at him over the top of her lacy pink fan—and he was smiling back, the cad! Elizabeth slid a white-gloved hand into the crook of his elbow and nodded toward the terrace.

Olivia could not withhold the sharp bite of jeal
ousy deep in her soul. She longed to follow them onto the terrace and hurl champagne in her lovely, heart-shaped face.

In the very next instant she was appalled at herself for daring to even
think
about doing such a thing! It wasn’t like her to be so petty.

From that moment on, she stringently avoided looking at him—looking
for
him. She didn’t notice when they returned from the terrace. They could stay there all night for all she cared!

It was after midnight before the last guest departed. She and Franklin were still in the ballroom when Dominic suddenly appeared. Olivia, who was sweeping in the corner, froze. But he paid her no heed and instead addressed himself to the butler.

“That will be all for tonight, Franklin. There’s plenty of time to clean up tomorrow. Oh, and my heartiest appreciation—you and the staff did a splendid job.”

“Thank you, my lord.” Sounding rather pleased, Franklin bowed and retreated.

Olivia ducked her head and pretended she hadn’t heard.

“You may stop now, Olivia.”

The whisk of the broom stopped. Olivia raised her head and regarded him—he sounded immensely amused. And why was he smiling? He had such a beautifully masculine mouth…and when he smiled the way he was right now…which didn’t happen often enough…he was utterly devastating.

A dozen steps brought him before her. “You avoided me,” he said with preamble.

“Not so.” She feigned a lightness she was sud
denly far from feeling. “Indeed, I should say you appeared quite occupied with your guests.”
And one in particular
.

“Not so.” He borrowed her words of the moment before. “You were on my mind every second.”

“Indeed,” she said sweetly. “Even when you were dancing with Elizabeth Beaumont?”

He gave an unexpected chuckle. “Why, Olivia, I do believe you’re jealous.”

Her chin lifted. He hit dangerously close to the truth—oh, why was she being so stubborn! It
was
the truth! But she, too, had her pride. She would never admit to such a thing—it would have pleased him far too much!

“You make a handsome couple,” she informed him—quite graciously, she was certain.

“I noticed the Earl of Wrenford appeared quite taken with you.” So he hadn’t been so unaware of her as she’d thought. She smiled suddenly.

“Was he?” she said lightly. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Again that low, husky chuckle. “’Tis good we’re not in London, Olivia. I do believe you’re quite the coquette. No doubt I would have to fight my way through droves of admirers to catch even a glimpse of you.”

Their eyes met and held—hers were aglow with pleasure, while his were faintly teasing.

“Seriously, though. Do you think the ball went well? Or was it an abysmal failure?”

Though his smile remained in place and his tone was matter-of-fact, Olivia sensed his anxiety. Oh, he pretended to be coolly indifferent, uncaring of what others thought of him, but Olivia knew the truth—deep inside he longed to be accepted by the
world in which he lived. The ball was his way of announcing to the world that he intended to stay and take his place here at Ravenwood.

She smiled. “I think it went quite well—quite well indeed.”

“Truly?”

It was her turn to chuckle. “Yes!”

But she had to know for sure…“You won’t be returning to London?” Olivia held her breath and waited.

“Only on those occasions when it’s necessary.”

He wouldn’t be returning to London. He was going to stay here—
here!
She felt absurdly happy.

He captured her hand and raised it to his lips. Olivia flushed, conscious of the calluses there. Her heart stood still as he kissed each knuckle in turn, his gaze holding hers all the while. His skin was warm, making her tremble inside.

“I wish you’d been at my side tonight,” he murmured. “But since you couldn’t—nay,
wouldn’t—
”

Olivia gasped as she was suddenly swung high in his arms. To her shock, he turned and strode from the ballroom.

“Dominic! Wh-what are you doing? Where are you going?”

He was mounting the grand staircase. “I should think it would be obvious—though perhaps not.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I do forget you are a prim little miss sometimes—”

“I am not a prim little miss!”

“Not after tonight you won’t be.” He stopped on the landing and grinned at her aghast expression. “What, Miss Sherwood! Have you never heard of a secret liaison? I’m abducting you—that we might share a secret liaison.”

His mood was light, almost carefree. Never had she seen him like this. But she liked it—oh, most definitely.

A slow smile crept across her lips. “That sounds—deliciously forbidden.”

“Delicious? Of that I have no doubt. Forbidden? Most likely. But I promise you…a night you’ll always remember. A night you’ll never forget.”

The huskiness in his tone was thrilling. Her fingertips moved where they rested on the brown skin of his nape, the merest caress. Her eyes searched his. “But what about Charlotte? She’ll be expecting me—”

“No, she won’t. And you needn’t worry that anyone will find out. I told Franklin you would be returning home for the night rather than staying. And I know that you’ve already arranged for someone to stay with Emily.”

Olivia’s heart pounded. There might never be another time like this—another night like this—a chance like this. Oh, and perhaps it was wrong, but she didn’t care. Whatever the night brought, she would welcome it.

All that mattered was that they were together. All that mattered was
him
.

She tipped her head to the side. They were so close their lips nearly met. “Then I wonder, sir, what you are waiting for.”

He needed no further encouragement. He took the remainder of the stairs two at a time. Within seconds they were striding through the dark-paneled double doors that led to his bedchamber. With the heel of his shoe he pushed the doors shut. They closed with a quiet click.

He lowered her to the floor, letting her slide
slowly down the length of his body before he stepped back. Olivia’s gaze swept around the room curiously. She’d passed by his chamber on occasion, but the doors had always been closed. Glory and another maid were the ones who were charged with cleaning here in this wing.

The furniture was made of cherrywood, deep in color and undeniably masculine. The bed hangings were of crimson damask, rich and heavy. But she paid a cursory glance to the furniture, for the room was lit by the glow of dozens of candles. They were everywhere—upon the bureau and bedside tables, next to the inviting chairs pulled up before the fireplace. Flickering candlelight reflected from the windows and spilled across the carpet, filling the room with a golden glow. Olivia caught her breath in awe, unaware that Dominic watched the play of expression on her face.

What was it he’d said?
A secret liaison
. Her pulse began to beat faster.

Her gaze finally returned to him. “You planned this, didn’t you?”

He stood with his arms folded across his chest, unable to hide his smugness—nor, she suspected, did he wish to.

One corner of his mouth slanted lazily upward. “Do you object, Miss Sherwood?”

In truth Olivia was flattered that he had gone to such lengths to please her.

“How could I? Dominic, it…I’ve never seen anything quite so lovely.”

Her answer pleased him. She could see it in his face. He said nothing, but crossed to the huge bed that dominated the center of the room. Upon the coverlet was an enormous box she hadn’t noticed
until now—he gestured to it and beckoned her near.

“This is for you,” was all he said.

Olivia blinked. “What is it?”

“Open it and see.”

Taking a deep breath, she removed the lid. Peeking inside, she saw layer upon layer of gauzy tissue—and a glimpse of jade. Excitement brimmed within her. Unable to stop herself, she tore into the tissue like a child who’d been too long without a gift.

Gleaming jade silk came into view—it was the bodice of a gown—a ball gown, she realized. The material was fine and shiny and smooth, as if it possessed a life of its own; she was half-afraid to touch it, she decided, lifting it from the box. Tiny pleats fell from the Empire waistline. The sleeves were long and tightly fitted. There were spotless white gloves, and even a pair of matching slippers and a reticule.