Samantha James (8 page)

Still Esther didn’t return. She squirmed uncomfortably, wondering if anyone was watching her, thinking how odd it was that she sat all alone here in the village square. Before long, the air began to
cool. Emily knew the sun had begun to wane and a feeling of panic wedged in her breast. Tears sprang to her eyes, but she brushed them away and bravely continued to wait.

There was a touch on her shoulder. “Miss?” said a strong male voice.

Emily turned. “Yes? Who is it? Who’s there?”

Andre couldn’t help but notice the beauteous young blonde waiting on the stone bench in the square. He’d been out to the camp and back, and still she was there. Now, as he stood directly before her, her gaze darting back and forth, he was struck by the realization that she was blind.

Well
, he thought,
perhaps that was best
.

“I’m sorry, miss, but I couldn’t help but notice how long you’ve been sitting here. Are you alone?”

“Yes…no.” She was half-crying. “Oh, sir, can you please help me? Please?” She stretched out a hand and turned her face upward.

Andre sucked in a harsh breath. Unthinkingly he captured her fingers in his. Her eyes were blue as a morning sky, her skin the color of cream. Hair like golden summer wheat was caught in a ribbon at her nape, trailing down her back. In all his days, he’d never seen a creature quite so lovely.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

“I came with Esther, but then she wanted to dash into the alehouse to share a cup with her husband. I—I’ve never told Olivia, but Esther is awfully fond of her ale…and now she hasn’t returned, and I cannot see to go find her…”

Emily knew she was babbling, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Oh, but she hated herself! She hadn’t always been like this, afraid of anything and everything.

She gripped his hand more tightly. “Please, I—I’ve been waiting dreadfully long and I—I want to go home. Could you find Esther for me?”

The tearful waver in her voice went straight to Andre’s heart.

“Miss, I would be glad to, but I’m afraid I don’t know Esther. I’m—” He hesitated. “—new to Stonebridge. My…family has only been here a short time.” He paused again. “What does she look like?” Too late he realized his mistake.

But Emily’s response was telling—apparently she hadn’t always been blind. “It’s been ages since I’ve seen her, but as I recall, she has straw-colored hair, and her bum is quite wide. I know, because she always bumps the doorway at our cottage—that never happens with Olivia and I. Oh, and Esther always wears a pink bonnet—Olivia always laughs because it clashes terribly with her hair.”

He squeezed her fingers. “I’ll see if she’s inside.”

Emily smoothed a fold of her skirt. Her tears had dried; indeed they seemed rather foolish. Who was her rescuer? she wondered. Newcomers to Stonebridge were rare. Instinct told her he was young.

Andre wasn’t particularly eager to venture into the alehouse, but he’d promised the young lady he would, and so he did.

It took a moment for his eyes to adjust once he was inside. The interior was dark and rather gloomy. Perhaps a dozen or so patrons were clustered at various tables. He ignored the sudden silence when those within saw him—he’d expected that, for the
gadjo
who was friendly was rare.

He strode straight to the barkeep. “I’m looking for a woman named Esther.”

“Esther left with her husband quite some time
ago,” the man said grudgingly. Andre gave a nod of thanks and left.

The young woman turned slightly when she heard his footsteps. “Sir? Did you find her?”

Andre squatted down beside her. “I’m sorry, miss, but the barkeep said Esther had already left.” He paused. “If you’d like, I can take you home. That is, if you can tell me where you live.”

Emily took a deep breath. A stranger had just offered to take her home. She knew nothing of him, nothing at all. Should she be afraid?
Most certainly
, warned a voice inside. Yet she was not…

“I do believe I can,” she said breathlessly. “But I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly let a stranger escort me home.” She held out her hand. “I am Emily. Emily Sherwood.”

Andre looked slowly from her hand to her face. She was smiling warmly, a smile that was utterly breathtaking. Not until then did he realize what she was about.

He took her hand and lightly shook it, a trifle uncomfortable.
Gadjo
ways were not Gypsy ways, as he well knew.

“I am Andre,” he said.

“I’m very pleased to meet you, Andre.” If anything, her smile brightened further. “Now we’re no longer strangers.” She rose to her feet. “May I take your elbow?”

Andre was at her side in an instant. He tucked her hand firmly into his elbow, unable to withhold a smile as his hand covered her fingers. He liked this far better than shaking hands…

“Now then. We must turn so that we face the church before we begin walking. Once we’ve
passed the east side, there’s a lane which veers to the left…”

He was tall, Emily noticed almost at once. She turned her head once, and her cheek brushed his shoulder. And his hand hovering just above hers seemed to encompass her own. She loved his name…Andre. Granted, ’twas unusual, but so much better than ordinary John or Paul.

He asked about Olivia, and she told him Olivia was her sister. She explained that Olivia worked for the new earl. Yes, he’d seen the stately brick manor from the road…

They were back at the cottage almost before she knew it. She experienced a smidgen of disappointment—nay, more than a smidgen.

“I must thank you again for escorting me home, Andre.” She took a deep breath, afraid that she was being distinctly unladylike. Later there might be regrets, but she didn’t want to think about that just now. “I hope you’ll feel free to visit. It—it’s very lonely during the day without Olivia here.”

“I’m only pleased that I was able to help,” came his deep voice. A moment’s pause, and then, “Good-bye, Emily.”

“Good-bye,” she whispered, wishing desperately that she could see him.

There was the faintest brush of fingertips coasting down her cheek…or was it just a fanciful yearning?

She would not tell Olivia of her mishap, Emily decided, nor the fact that a strange young man had brought her home. Not just yet…

Several days passed. Olivia was in a quandary
.
Nearly every waking thought was consumed by Dominic. It seemed every time she glanced around, he was there—behind her in the hallway. Coming in from riding. Peering over her shoulder as she made entries in the ledger.

Oh, if only she
could
dislike him! After all, he was half-Gypsy, yet he was not the heathen she’d somehow thought he would be.

Yet neither was he a proper gentleman. Very often he dressed in riding breeches, boots and shirt. He bared his arms and his throat and even part of his chest! On such occasions, ’twas all she could do not to stare, for she was aware of Dominic in a way that made her not the least comfortable.

Certainly a way that had never happened with William.

Lucifer continued to follow her home every evening. The second night it happened, she scolded him fiercely and tried to shoo him off. He merely wagged his tail and remained at her heels. From that night forward, Lucifer remained throughout the night, sleeping on the doorstep; in the morning, he returned to Ravenwood with her. In truth, she
did feel safer when he was near. Nor could she deny she’d grown rather fond of him. Lucifer had also taken to Emily. He spent most evenings with them inside the cottage. Olivia didn’t broach the subject again with Dominic.

She had the feeling he knew precisely where Lucifer spent his nights.

What she didn’t know was that Dominic was in much the same dilemma.

Even when he had business to attend to, he found himself lingering in the house when he knew Olivia was about. He made excuses to go to his study those evenings she spent working on his accounts. Christ, he was acting like an animal in heat!

That was exactly how he felt. His blood fairly burned when she was near. Why it was so, he didn’t know. She was wholly unlike the type of woman he tended to favor. They were worldly and sophisticated, while she was an innocent—that, too, was an enigma. He’d always preferred a woman with experience. He had no patience with tender wooing.

But Olivia…He suspected she had no idea what effect she had on him. He longed to frame her face in his hands, and mold his mouth against hers. He longed to kiss her long and thoroughly—and show her what her disappointing young suitor had not. He longed to arouse her as the other man could not.

A self-derisive smile curved his lips. He wanted far more than a kiss. At the thought, his loins tightened almost painfully. On more than one occasion, her very presence near him stirred his manhood to a rock-hard arousal. He hadn’t dared rise for fear of embarrassing them both. He ached with the need
to lay her down, strip away every last vestige of her clothing and discover the delights that lay beneath. He longed to chip away her quiet, dignified exterior and discover the woman beneath.

He wanted to possess her, possess her as no other man had done.

And yet it was more than that. He liked her inner grace, her calm serenity, her quiet intensity as she diligently worked over his books.

He knew he did not imagine the way she avoided touching him in any way. That night in his study when he’d taken her hand, he’d felt her resistance, felt her straining to pull away. Oh, he knew why—she was a lady, and he was half-Gypsy. No doubt she didn’t want to soil herself, he thought blackly. He was both piqued and impressed by her prim, proper manner. With him, she was ever vigilant, ever reticent. Yet he’d seen her with the village children, laughing and sweet-natured. Ah, yes, he was both intrigued…and irresistibly fascinated. Perhaps his year in London had made him arrogant, but…he wanted her. And someday…someday he would have her.

On this particular evening Olivia was recording the household expenditures for the previous week. Mrs. Templeton and Franklin were charged with making such necessary purchases and leaving the receipts in his study.

The light in the study was dim, so dim that she had to light a lamp in order to be able to see. There was a small worktable in the corner, and it was there that she directed her steps. Glancing outside, she saw that the horizon was a seething mass of dark, churning clouds. With a sigh, she noted that
a heavy drizzle had begun to fall from the leaden sky.

She’d barely sat down and opened the ledger when Dominic walked in. Olivia’s heart immediately sprinted forward. Apparently he’d just come in from riding. Fawn-colored breeches clung lovingly to his thighs, outlining the powerful muscles of his legs. From the corner of her eye she saw him toss his jacket over the back of the velvet wing chair near the fireplace.

“Good evening, Miss Sherwood.”

Olivia raised her head, the quill poised in her hand above the thick, leather-bound ledger. Her eyes ran over him. An unruly lock of hair tumbled over his forehead in a boyish fashion—yet there was nothing boyish about the man! An undeniably masculine aura surrounded him, an aura that made her feel wholly ill-equipped to deal with such virility.

“Hello,” she murmured.

He regarded her with arms crossed over his chest. He’d rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, as he was often wont to do; dark, silky-looking hair liberally coated his forearms. As always when she saw him dressed like this, an odd feeling knotted her belly.

“May I ask you something, Olivia?”

Her heart leaped.
Olivia
. The sound of her name on his lips startled her. He’d always called her “Miss Sherwood,” and now the use of her given name implied a kind of intimacy…But no. She was being silly. Making something out of nothing…

“Certainly.” She deposited the quill in its holder and gave him her attention.

“You’re rather young to be taking care of your sister as you do. Have you no other relatives?”

She smiled faintly. “I’m two and twenty, not so young as you think. And I’m afraid I have no other relatives, other than an aunt—my uncle’s widow—in Cornwall. And I fear she has her own weight to bear.”

“Your parents are dead?”

She nodded. “Mama died when I was twelve. Papa died—” The fact that he had been killed trembled on her lips. “—a little over a year ago.” She paused. “What of you, my lord? Is your mother still with the Gypsies?”

His expression seemed to freeze. “My mother is dead,” he stated flatly.

Olivia wet her lips and dared to ask the question that had long plagued her. Slowly she asked, “Is that why your father came to take you—”

“No.” He cut her off abruptly. “Did you know the Gypsies consider it bad luck to speak of the dead, just as seeing a wolf or a fox is a sign of bad luck?”

A shiver went through her. “I saw a fox this morning.”

“Then perhaps you’re doomed.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Have you heard of the curse? That it’s the reason James St. Bride fathered no other children?”

She knew what he meant—the curse his mother had supposedly put on his father. “Y-yes,” she admitted.

“And what do you think of it?”

“I don’t believe in such things.”

“What would you call it then? Chance? Providence?”

“I—I suppose.”

“And do you believe in a force over which we have no control? Do you believe in God?”

“Of course I do.”

“And would you say it was fate that brought us together that night you were nearly run over by my carriage?” As he spoke, he came to sit on the edge of the table, one long, booted leg stretched out before him. One lean hand toyed with an ivory letter opener. Olivia swallowed, staring at the black hair curling across the back of his hand. His fingers were lean and brown and strong.

His nearness was disconcerting. She had the feeling he’d placed himself next to her deliberately, aware that it would rattle her.

Indeed, it did. She didn’t understand the rush of feeling whenever he was near. She knew only that he made her heart tremble.

Words seemed to dry up in her throat. “I don’t know.”

“Well, I do. I believe it was destiny. Fate’s design, if you will.”

Before she could say a word, a knock sounded on the door and Franklin stepped inside.

“Excuse me, my lord, but Mr. Gilmore is here, asking if he might see you. He’s the solicitor in Stonebridge.”

Dominic pushed himself to his feet and turned. “Certainly, Franklin. Show him in.”

The words were barely out when a presumptuous hand pushed the door aside.

“Is he in there? Let me in then.”

Franklin squared his shoulders. “Now see here—”

Dominic cut him off. “It’s all right, Franklin. Please, leave us alone.”

Franklin quietly withdrew, closing the door behind him.

Dominic waved a hand toward the fireplace and the two chairs grouped before it. “Mr. Gilmore,” he said easily. “Please sit down.”

Robert Gilmore stalked to the nearest chair. He sat his considerable bulk down on the edge.

“I’m not here to socialize. I’ve come about the Gypsies.”

“Indeed.” Dominic took the opposite chair, his voice cool.

Olivia bowed her head low. She’d never particularly liked Robert Gilmore, the only solicitor in Stonebridge; she’d always thought him a bit of a stuffed shirt. Though she tried not to listen, ’twas impossible not to hear.

“Are they here because of you?” Gilmore demanded.

Dominic’s eyes flickered. “I’m not certain I know what you mean.” His tone was ever so pleasant, but Olivia had the awful sensation he was seething.

“Oh, I think you do.” Gilmore’s hands balled into fists on his knees.

“Mr. Gilmore, there are numerous bands of Gypsies traveling throughout England. I can assure you that they are not here because of me; however, even if they were, I fail to see why that should concern you.”

Gilmore made a sound of disgust.

There was a stifling silence before Dominic spoke again. “Perhaps, Mr. Gilmore, you should tell me precisely why you’ve come, and what it is you want.”

“What the devil do you think I want?” Gilmore
was fairly shouting. “I want you to tell them they must leave!”

“Tell them they
must?
” Low as his voice was, there was an almost deadly note therein.

Gilmore was either too obtuse to notice, or else he didn’t care. Olivia held her breath; it seemed her presence had been forgotten.

Gilmore swore. “They’re dirty, thieving—”

“Have they stolen from you? From anyone?”

Olivia dared to glance at the two men. Dominic was regarding the other man coolly, his features a mask of stone. Gilmore’s face had turned a fiery red.

“No, but—”

Dominic’s eyes narrowed. A storm was brewing, not just outside…but within him as well. She sensed it instinctively. “Then they are not thieves, are they?”

“Now see here—”

“No, Mr. Gilmore.
You
see here. From your own lips, the Gypsies have done nothing unlawful. Therefore, I will not ask them to leave. Indeed, as long as they mind their own business, I suggest you do the same.”

Gilmore jumped to his feet. “Oh, but I should have known. I daresay I speak for all of us, everyone in Stonebridge. We don’t want the damn Gypsies here any more than we want you here!”

Dominic was on his feet as well, his smile tight. “A pity. As you’ve noticed, I’ve taken up residence here at Ravenwood—and it’s here I intend to stay.”

“You’ll be sorry you came here. I’ll make certain of it.”

Dominic arched a black brow. “A threat, Mr. Gil
more? I must warn you, I don’t take kindly to being threatened.” He strode to the door. Pointedly he opened it. “Good evening, Mr. Gilmore.”

Gilmore jammed his hat on his head and marched forward. As he passed Dominic, he said scathingly, “It’s not a threat, but a promise! You won’t last the summer. By God, I’ll see to it!”

An instant later, the door clicked quietly shut.

Long moments of complete and utter silence passed. It was as if a sudden pall had been cast over the room. Not knowing what else to do, Olivia rose and moved to fetch her shawl from the hook near the door.

“What about you? Does he speak for you, too?”

His voice, quiet as the night, came from directly behind her. Olivia froze, then slowly turned. Determinedly she ignored the question.

“If you don’t mind,” she said levelly, “it’s rather late. I think I shall finish tomorrow.”

The excuse was ill-contrived, and he knew it. He smiled tightly. “That’s right. Run away, Miss Sherwood. I must warn you, it does no good. I used to run away from school.”

He was right. She
was
running, but she sensed his mood was dangerous.

“I’m quite sure I don’t know what you mean.” Bravely she lifted her chin.

“And I’m quite sure you do.” His eyes were glittering pinpoints of light. “I’m surprised you can stomach working for me, that you aren’t afraid you’ll be tainted by my Gypsy blood. Did you know when I go to the village some of the shopkeepers pull their shades? Women hide their children behind their skirts and scurry indoors.”

Her skin prickled. She hadn’t been afraid of him
before. Yet she was now, for she was overwhelmingly conscious of his size and strength—and his anger. He towered over her, broad and tall. Olivia was not given to thinking herself feeble and weak…yet next to him like this, that was exactly how she felt.

And he knew it. She saw it in his features. Was he deliberately trying to frighten her?

“Why are you doing this?” Her voice was very low. “Why?”

His voice jabbed at her, like the point of a knife. “You haven’t answered, Miss Sherwood.”

Her temper began to crackle. “Please let me go,” she stated levelly.

“All I ask is an answer to my question. Somehow I thought you valued the truth above all else. After all, you’re a vicar’s daughter, or so I’m told. So tell me, do you despise the Gypsies as well? Would you be happier if they were gone?”

Her temper snapped. She took a ragged breath, unable to break the hold of his eyes. “Yes,” she said wildly, the first thing that vaulted through her head. “Yes, if you must know! I wish the Gypsies had never come here—never! I wish
you
had never come!”

Olivia knew as soon as the words were out that she’d made a horrible, dreadful mistake. It wasn’t like her to be so—so small and mean-spirited.

His entire body seemed to stiffen. “So,” he said coolly, “at last we know your true feelings about me, Miss Sherwood. After all, I’m half-Gypsy. Certainly we can’t deny it. But do you know what? I’m tired of narrow, close-minded people like you—people who think they’re better than the rest of the world. Now. I believe you’re right. I believe you
should leave, before I say something we both might regret. Oh, and you needn’t worry. You still have your precious position here at Ravenwood. Despite your opinion of me, I’m not the inconsiderate bastard you think I am.”