A Dangerous Love. Brenda Joyce

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СКАЧАТЬ being. Please give him the benefit of the doubt.”

      Cliff’s expression eased ever so slightly. “You are too kind for your own good. You may be assured he intends to be rude. But I will give him the benefit of the doubt.”

      Relieved, she glanced at the Gypsy, about to smile at him, but his expression was so intense and so speculative that her intention vanished. It made him seem savage and even predatory— as if he was thinking about her in very inappropriate ways. Ariella swallowed. It was impossible to look away.

      “We are Rom,” Emilian said to her and her alone. “And I do not need you defending me and mine.”

      He had overheard her. In that moment, she forgot that her father stood beside her and that four Gypsies crowded behind Emilian. Suddenly it was as if they were alone. She became acutely aware of his pull, as if a charge of some kind sizzled and throbbed between them. Her heart beat thickly and swiftly, almost hurtfully, in her chest; she thought she heard his heavy, thudding heartbeat, as well, although they stood at least three yards apart. “I’m sorry,” she whispered hoarsely. “Yes, you are Romany, I know that.”

      His lashes lowered slowly. She was certain he looked at her still, but it was almost impossible to tell. A frisson went through her, giving her the oddest feeling in her stomach. Her body ached with a new, terrible tension.

      Cliff stepped forward. “Go back to the house, Ariella.” He was sharp.

      He was angry, and she knew it was because the Gypsy had looked at her so boldly. She said, “Why don’t we both go back? It is late, and Amanda is delaying supper for us,” she tried.

      Cliff stared coldly at the Gypsy, ignoring her. “I have been kind enough to allow you a night’s respite here. You may keep your eyes where they belong—on your own women.”

      The Gypsy shrugged. “Yes, you are so very kind,” he mocked. “Do not expect gratitude from me.”

      Why did he have to seek a battle? Did he have to be so hostile?

      “I expect you to be gone in the morning,” Cliff said, his face set. “Let’s go.”

      She didn’t want to leave, but there was no reason to stay. As Cliff turned away, she looked back helplessly. He stared at her, his silver gaze smoldering. No man had ever looked at her in such a way before. A terrible awareness of what it meant began.

      That man was different. She wanted to pull free of her father and go back to him.

      He almost smiled, as if he knew the effect he had on her.

      Her father pulled on her arm and she turned to keep up with Cliff. As she did, a woman cried out loudly in pain.

      Ariella turned back, alarmed. Their gazes locked again. She whispered, “What is that? Is someone hurt?”

      He grasped her arm and murmured, “She does not need you, gadji.”

      Ariella forgot to breathe. His hand was large, strong and burning hot. His breath feathered her cheek, and his knee bumped her thigh. Then he released her.

      It had happened so quickly that Ariella was stunned. Emilian said harshly, “We take care of our own.” He looked at Cliff, his face hard and set. “Take your princess daughter away. Tell her we do not like gadjos. We will leave in the morning.”

      Ariella trembled. “I can send for a doctor,” she tried, but her father cut her off.

      “My daughter is just that to you, Rom—a princess. Never lay a hand on her again,” Cliff exploded.

      “Father, stop!” Ariella cried, shaken and breathless, still feeling the Rom’s touch. “He didn’t want me intruding—that is all! The mistake was mine.”

      But Cliff ignored her, too upset to hear. “Make sure nothing and no one vanishes in the middle of the night. If one horse is stolen, one cow or a single sheep, I am holding you responsible, vaida.”

      Emilian smiled tightly and did not speak.

      Ariella could not believe her father would make such a threat. As she stumbled to keep up with Cliff, she looked back.

      As still as a statue, the vaida was staring after her. Even from the distance separating them, she felt so much strength and disdain—and an intention she did not understand. He swept her a bow, as elegant as any courtier’s, but his eyes were blazing, ruining the effect. Ariella inhaled and turned away.

      What kind of man was that?

      EMILIAN STARED after the gadjo and his beautiful daughter. His insides burned with dislike for de Warenne. The daughter’s defense of his disrespectful behavior echoed in his mind. His body rippled with anger and tension. He didn’t need her or any gadjo to defend him. She thought to be kind? He didn’t care that she was kind.

      His loins were full. To a man like him, she was so far above him she was a princess—the kind of beautiful, perfect, blue-blooded woman that no English matron would ever present to him. But in spite of the differences of class and blood between them, she had looked at him the way all the Englishwomen who wished to use him did—as if she couldn’t wait to tear off his clothes and put her hands and mouth all over him.

      He almost laughed, mirthlessly. He exchanged gadji lovers with almost the same frequency that he did his clothes. Those wives and widows used him strictly for carnal passion, and he used them for far more. There was a satisfaction to be had in sleeping with his neighbor’s wife, when his neighbor looked down on him with so much condescension and scorn. He may have been raised English, but he was still didikoi—half blood—and budjo was ingrained in his soul. A man who mowed his neighbor’s hay and sold it back to his neighbor was considered great. To take what belonged to someone else and reap a profit from it before returning it to its owner, perhaps for even more profit, was a great swindle. Every Rom was born with the need for budjo in his or her blood. Budjo was a Rom’s last laugh—and it was his revenge for the injustice every Rom had ever faced in the world.

      He could have de Warenne’s daughter, if he wanted to bother. More blood filled him, hot and thick. She would be wet clay in his hands. He was well aware of his powers of persuasion. But he had little doubt that Cliff de Warenne would murder him if he ever found out.

      The temptation was vast, because she was so beautiful. He knew she’d whisper about him behind his back after leaving his bed, like they all did. His paramours couldn’t wait to discuss the sexual prowess of their Gypsy lover with their friends—as if he was a stud for hire. She was unmarried, but the way she’d looked at him told him she was experienced. It would be interesting, he decided, to take that one to bed.

      Something niggled at him, bothering him—a sixth sense, warning him, but of what he could not decide.

      “Emilian.”

      He whirled, relieved at the distraction. Then the relief vanished as he stared at his uncle’s sober face. “The woman?”

      Stevan made a sound. “The woman is my wife, and she is having your cousin.”

      A warmth began, unfurling within his chest. Stevan had several children, whom he had met eight years ago, but he didn’t even know precisely how many cousins he had, nor could he recall their СКАЧАТЬ