Vivien stared into the forest, transfixed by the possibility that her dado and dye might be so close. How she longed to see them again, to hear the cheerful sound of her father’s laughter, to feel her mother’s warm arms encircling her. She wanted to savor Reyna’s wild onion stew and listen to the elders tell tales around the fire. She yearned to travel again, to ride in their colorfully painted vardo, to hear the comforting rattle of wheels and the clip-clopping of the horses’ hooves over the rutted roads. The pull of nostalgia was so strong she started to turn.
Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spied a small figure barreling down the hill where the picnic was being set up by a bevy of servants.
“Miss Vivi,” Amy called, her short pink dress revealing the skipping motion of her chubby legs. “Miss Vivi, wait for me!”
Her heart melted, and then another sight banished all thought of the Rom. Carrying a small net attached to a wooden pole, Michael strode down the grassy slope after his daughter. He had shed his coat in the warmth of the day, and he looked sinfully handsome in his white shirt and blue waistcoat. Buckskin breeches and black boots enhanced his powerful legs. When his teeth flashed in a grin, Vivien almost forgot to breathe. She could not understand this enfeebling effect he had on her. She could think only of falling into his embrace and feeling his lips meet hers. How could this gorgio rogue overwhelm her just at the sight of him?
Amy ran straight to her. Vivien bent down to catch her close, enjoying her childishly exuberant hug. “Good day to you, little dove. You must like picnics very much.”
“I do! Come, look what Papa gave me.” She tugged on Vivien’s hand, drawing her toward the marquess. “See?”
Michael’s gaze did a slow sweep of Vivien’s saffron-yellow gown, lingering on her bosom and making her warm all over. Then he took the pole from his shoulder and held it out to his daughter. “Here you go.”
“What is it?” Vivien asked.
Amy brandished the net, her hazel eyes bright. “It’s my flutterby catcher.”
“Butterfly, love,” Michael corrected.
“Flutterby,” Amy insisted with a faintly quizzical frown. “Come watch me, Miss Vivi. You, too, Papa.” The little girl marched off into the tall grasses, her bonnet dangling by its ribbons and her coppery curls shining in the sunlight. With the air of a hunter stalking prey, she held the net poised to pounce as she scanned the meadow near the wooded area.
“The hunt awaits us,” Michael said, his eyes lazily scanning Vivien again. “Shall we proceed?”
“If you’re certain your other guests don’t need you,” she said tartly.
His grin widened. “The ladies do, and they’ll mourn the loss of me. But it’ll show them that I don’t belong to any female.”
He placed his hand at the back of her waist, a seemingly courteous gesture that made Vivien wonder if the butterflies resided in her stomach. Fie on him! Michael Kenyon was a noble rake who would use a woman for his pleasure. He’d proven as much that stormy day in the temple when he had nearly overpowered her.
When, in a fit of madness, she had nearly let him have his way.
As they strolled into the meadow, she kept her gaze on Amy, refusing to feed his conceit by watching him. Yet she was very aware of him, the brush of his leg against hers, the heat of his palm on her back, the scent of his masculine cologne.
In the distance, the lake glistened. She could see several guests rowing a boat across the glassy surface while others on the shore played a game of hitting a shuttlecock back and forth with paddles. The Duchess of Covington stood chatting with Charlotte.
Tense and angry at the sight of Her Grace, Vivien sought to distract herself. “Charlotte Quinton is so very lovely. It’s a pity about her scarred arm. I’d think many men would enjoy her lively character.”
Michael snorted. “It’s her acid tongue that drives them away.”
“Then men are shallow creatures,” Vivien declared. “I’ve wondered if a man once spurned Charlotte because of her disfigurement. Do you know?”
He cast her an irritated glance. “How the devil would I? I’m too shallow to notice such things.”
“She’s your neighbor, the granddaughter of Lady Enid. You ought to remember when Charlotte became a woman and entered your gorgio society.”
Michael shrugged. “She flirted with a lot of men, I suppose. Myself included. But I don’t know if she ever settled on any man in particular. Why do you care anyway?”
“Because she seems so unhappy inside. I can’t help but think she’d wed if the man she loved wanted her.” Vivien braced herself for his wrath. “Do you suppose...that man is Lord Faversham?”
Michael’s affable expression vanished, a muscle tensing visibly in his jaw. “Brand and Charlotte? What the deuce gave you such a notion?”
“I sense there’s something between them. An awareness.” Like the fire I feel for you.
“Charlotte would be a fool to go after Brandon Villiers,” he said harshly. “Irksome as she is, he isn’t fit to kiss her feet.”
His virulence shook her. “His lordship told me what happened, but still, I don’t understand this hatred you have for him. It’s wrong of you to harbor a grudge.”
Michael’s fingers stiffened against her back, and his eyes narrowed. “What exactly did he tell you?”
“That you fought a duel over a woman, and you cut his face. That should be the end of it.”
“You know nothing of it,” he bit out. “So keep your judgments to yourself.”
Fury shimmered from him in almost visible waves. His eyes were like blank blue mirrors, reflecting nothing of his thoughts. His mouth thinned to a strict line that she ached to soften with a kiss. A kiss—when she should hold on to her anger as a shield against his masculine allure. Why did she have the feeling there was more to the story than he was willing to tell? That his anger masked the pain inside himself?
“Papa! Miss Vivi! Come quick! Watch me catch a flutterby.”
Amy’s excited voice pierced the thickness of tension. A tiny yellow butterfly swooped over the meadow grasses at the edge of the forest. Amy brought the net down with a whoosh, missing the insect by at least a foot.
His hostility dissipating like smoke in the wind, Michael clapped his hands. “Excellent, sprite! You almost had that one. Keep trying.” Leaning closer to Vivien, he whispered, “I daresay the butterfly population is in little danger today.”
She was in danger, though, Vivien knew with a bone-deep quiver. She was in danger of surrendering to the longings inside herself. Just like that, Michael had changed from churl to charmer. His breath tickled her ear, stirring the hairs at the nape of her neck. His fingers idly caressing her back, he returned his gaze to her mouth.
She tried to move away, but he held tightly to her. “I’m starving for you,” he murmured. “It’s been forever since I kissed you.”
“Two days,” she said breathily. “You cornered me outside the stable after our morning ride. Have you kissed so many other women that you forgot one more?”
Smiling seductively, he moved closer, his body brushing hers, so that she felt giddy and light-headed. “An eternity has passed since then,” he said in that silken voice. “I’ll tell you what I’d like to do right now.”
“I’ll hear nothing of it.”
“I’d like to lay you down right here in the grass. Have you ever made love with the sun warm on your skin?”
Mutely, she shook her head.
“Nor, I confess, have I,” he admitted with a crooked grin. “But we will, I vow. When we don’t have forty of my grandmother’s guests in sight.”
She glanced at the lake, where elegant people strolled and conversed. Somehow, she found her voice. “Your vanity will defeat you, my lord. I’m not like your other women. I won’t be another conquest for you.”
On that, Vivien caught up her muslin skirt and hastened after Amy. She could hear Michael’s footsteps as he strolled after her, whistling. Whistling! As if he had enjoyed their banter and was confident of his success.
If only she could be so confident of resisting him.
Amy stood stock-still at the edge of the woods, the net held tightly in her little hands. “Look,” she said in a hushed tone. “Do you see it?”
She stared into the shadowed forest, and Vivien’s breath stopped in sudden alarm. For one dizzying moment, she feared the girl had spied a circle of Gypsy wagons camped beneath the trees.
But Vivien could see only the brown trunks and the spreading branches of the trees, the autumn leaves beginning to turn yellow and orange. “What is it?” she asked.
“Shh.” Amy put her forefinger to her rosebud lips. Her eyes were wide with wonder. “There’s a bunny. Over there.”
Slowly lowering herself into a crouched position, Vivien peered into the underbrush. A short distance away, a small brown rabbit nibbled on the tender shoots of a sapling. “Ah,” she whispered. “He’s eating his luncheon.”
“I want to catch him.” With all the brash faith of a child, Amy crept closer, darting from tree trunk to tree trunk, the net held at the ready.
Michael hunkered down beside Vivien. An indulgent expression on his face, he watched his daughter, then glanced at Vivien, and an awareness seemed to radiate between them, the bond of shared love for his little girl. Despite all his other faults, he did love his daughter. Again, Vivien felt that vexing tug of attraction, along with something deeper and richer, something she yearned for with all her heart and soul. Resolutely, she turned her eyes to Amy, who tiptoed with exaggerated patience toward the rabbit.
Sensing danger, the rabbit ceased eating, its nose twitching and its eyes watchful. Amy darted the last few feet and swung the net downward. The small animal bounded toward the underbrush. Aiming at its original position, Amy overshot her target and the net fell straight over the rabbit.
She froze, a look of stark amazement on her impish face. “Papa! Miss Vivi! I caught him!”
“You did, indeed,” Vivien said, hastening toward her. “What a clever girl you are.”
Michael carefully turned the net to lift the squirming animal. “What an amazing feat,” he said, smiling. “When I was a boy, it once took me an entire week to trap a squirrel.”
Amy’s eyes shone with pride. “Please may I keep him?” she asked, reaching up to stroke the rabbit. “He can sleep in my bed. I don’t mind.”
Vivien laughed. “Miss Mortimer will mind. Besides, a wild animal would be happier living outdoors.” Like me, she thought, raised in the sunshine and wind...
“I do want Nibbles to be happy,” Amy said, her expression thoughtful as she petted the rabbit’s fur.
“Nibbles?” Michael asked.
“That is his name,” Amy said with a firm nod. “Could we make a little house for him outside? Please?”
“An excellent idea,” Michael said. “For now, we’ll put the beast in a crate and sneak some lettuce to feed him. Then we’ll build a proper hutch when we go home.”
“Oh, thank you, Papa.”
She threw her arms around him, almost overbalancing him. With a chuckle, he pretended to lose his hold on the rabbit. Amy squealed and he showed her the animal was quite safe, nestled in the crook of his arm.
Vivien felt a sudden, aching sense of isolation. Biting her lip, she glanced into the silent woods. When she returned to the Rom, she’d never see Amy anymore. She would never delight in her smiles or watch her grow into womanhood. And she would never again see Michael...
Father and daughter started toward the picnic. Clinging to his hand, Amy swung back. “Miss Vivi, aren’t you coming, too?”
“In a short while. I want to walk among the trees for a bit.”
“But you’ll miss our luncheon.” Her eyes grew big as saucers. “Grammy said there are strawberry tarts with cream.”
Vivien tucked a stray lock of copper hair behind Amy’s tiny ear. “Then you must save one for me. I’ll return soon, I promise you.”
Michael sent her a penetrating, quizzical look, but he didn’t try to persuade her otherwise. Carrying the rabbit, he and Amy walked through the meadow together.
Vivien watched them for a few moments, listening to the sound of Amy’s excited chatter drifting on the breeze, noticing the way Michael bent closer to listen to her. She had to admit, he was a fine father. She admired his attentiveness to his daughter when he might have abandoned her to the care of nursemaids. It was peculiar and disturbing the way these gorgio aristocrats often ignored their children.
Then her gaze was caught by a lady who left the throng of guests idling by the shore of the lake. The fair-haired woman strolled toward Michael, her hips swaying, a parasol shading her dainty features.
Lady Katherine.
As the woman joined Michael and Amy, Vivien experienced a burning intensity in her breast. Lady Katherine reached out to stroke the rabbit, smiling up at Michael. Together, they started up the hill to the place where the footmen arranged the food for the picnic under Lady Stokeford’s eagle eye. The sight of those two filled Vivien with the fire of anger and another, increasingly familiar and noxious emotion. Jealousy.
She was jealous of the woman who fit so easily into Michael’s world.
Quickly, Vivien turned her back and marched into the woods, heading toward the lane. Curse the gorgios. More than anything, she hoped to visit her parents and see to their comfort.
Keeping her eyes alert for vurma, she walked slowly along the lane where their wagons might have passed. The air was cooler here, and she shivered, drawing her silk shawl closer around her shoulders. She felt an odd prickly feeling between her shoulder blades, as if someone were watching her. But when she looked around, she saw only the natural movements of the forest, the flutter of leaves in the breeze, the swaying shadows caused by the sunshine, the flight of a wren from one branch to another.
A tall granite boulder stood at a crossroads where the lane led back to Stokeford Abbey and a path veered off deeper into the woods. A dark streak on the rock caught her attention. The sign was low to the ground. When she leaned down to touch the vurma, her finger came up black.
Seemingly random, the mark had been made by a charred stick. On closer inspection, it was an arrow that pointed down the narrow dirt path.
In a turmoil of excitement, she strained to see through the trees. Were her parents camped there? Or was it another kumpania? It surely couldn’t be coincidence that a band of the Rom would venture onto Stokeford land.
Then, as she started down the path, a man stepped out from behind the boulder. She gasped in recognition. She knew those angry eyes and the sweeping moustache, the muscled ox-like form clad in a red vest and dark blue breeches, a yellow diklo tied jauntily at his throat
“Janus!”
He thrust his hands onto his hips. “So, Vivien,” he said in the Romany tongue. “I wondered if you would find my trail.”
“Your trail?” Answering him in her native language, she swallowed the dryness in her throat. “Are my parents not here?”
“Pulika will arrive here on the morrow with your mother. One of his horses threw a shoe, and they were forced to lag behind the rest of us.”
Vivien’s spirits fell. So they weren’t camped just beyond the trees. Perhaps a delay was for the best. If she were seen visiting the Gypsies, Lady Stokeford would be upset, and Vivien might jeopardize her place.
Janus’s scornful gaze raked her gown. “You look like a gorgio. If Reyna were to see you now, she would weep all the more.”
Vivien’s stomach tightened as she thought of her mother’s kind eyes and warm smile. “Miro dye... she has been weeping?”
Janus gave a cold nod. “Your father misses you, too. He seldom laughs anymore. This is what your headstrong actions have caused.”
Develesa! She ached to see her parents, to make them understand that she was living with the gorgios out of love for them, and that she really would return. “Why are you traveling with them?” she asked Janus. “Your kumpania was to make its way to the winter campsite in the east.”
“I go with your kumpania for now—until you come to your senses.”
“What I choose to do shouldn’t matter to you.”
His eyes as black as a raven’s wing, Janus shook his fist at her. “Impudent girl! You promised yourself to me. But I saw you making eyes at the gorgio nobleman.”
Vivien stiffened. “What nonsense.”
He took a step toward her. “Don’t try to deceive me. I was watching from behind a tree. You let him touch you.”
Michael had placed his hand at the base of her spine, nothing more. No one else could know that his words had been erotic, arousing. I’d like to lay you down right here in the grass. Have you ever made love with the sun warm on your skin?
“So you’d stoop to spying on me,” Vivien said scornfully. “That tells me you have no honor.”
Janus struck his broad chest with his fist. “When I’m your husband, you won’t behave in so bold a manner. You’ll be a respectful, obedient wife.”
Disgusted, she spat at his feet. “No. I was right to change my mind about marrying you.”
Releasing a growl of anger, he stepped toward her. Vivien realized how alone they were. Janus could abuse her as he willed.
In a panic, she whirled around and dashed down the lane toward the lake. She heard him shouting after her, but with her long legs, she had always been more fleet than any man of the Rom. The breath stabbed her lungs. She ran until she could hear only the pounding of her own feet, the rush of the wind, and the roaring of her pulse in her ears. When she reached the edge of the woods, she slowed, glancing back over her shoulder.
The road was empty; no ox of a Rom thundered in pursuit.
Weak with relief, Vivien slumped against the rough bark of an oak tree, taking in gulps of air. Shading her eyes against the bright sunlight she gazed into the distance at the gorgio picnic. In twos and threes, the aristocratic guests walked up the gentle slope to the tables that had been set with lavish trappings of silver and crystal. Like a dainty general, Lady Stokeford directed the people to their seats for luncheon.
Nearby, Michael settled Amy into a chair. Then he turned his gaze to the woods, his hands on his hips, and it seemed to Vivien that he stared straight at her.
A traitorous warmth stirred inside her, chasing away the cold and filling her with a longing she knew she oughtn’t feel for him. Her loyalty belonged to the Rom, she fiercely reminded herself. Even if she dared not visit her parents for fear of encountering Janus again.