LITMIR.BIZ

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this is what I want.” He gestured at the camp. “Yesterday I sat in the library at Woodland with my steward and the mayor of the nearby village, discussing local affairs.” He shook his head. It became hard to speak. “They call me Gypsy behind my back, but they wish for me to lead them anyway. There was a matter of law to be solved. They wished for my advice—no one in Derbyshire has the education I have received.” It was so ironic. “I am not truly one of them, but long ago, I made my life Woodland. The estate is mine. It is a good place. I have no desire to wed, but if I ever have a son, it will be his. Can you understand that?” In that moment, he wasn’t sure he understood it.

      “How can I understand such affection for land? I do not care about land and I never will. The Romany who have homes are not true blood. You are more English than Rom.” She wiped at her tears. “But I have known that for a long time. And our mother knew it, too.” She turned away.

      He seized her. “There is no place I would rather be than right here, right now. That is the truth, Jaelle.”

      She searched his eyes. “But for how long? And when we leave, you won’t come with us, will you?”

      He stared at her, seeing not Jaelle but Raiza, lying dead in a cobbled street, bleeding from the head, the crowd thronging her, viciously satisfied. His pulse exploded. Did he want to go back to his life at Woodland? He had so many duties there! But what about the life he had forsaken?

      He owed Raiza far more than his respects, and he owed Jaelle.

      The rich and melodious chords of a guitar strummed, slow and haunting. And suddenly the guitarist changed the beat, the tempo lively, joyous—celebratory. No sound could be more incongruous with his anger and despair—or with his profound confusion.

      “We have a new cousin,” Jaelle said softly. “And it is time to celebrate.”

      It was the Romany way. As she pulled him back toward the center of the camp, more guitars were played, as were a violin and cymbals. Laughter sounded, and he heard the men clapping in a strong rhythm to the music. His heart lurched and his body stirred.

      Jaelle released him and ran into the center of the clearing, where four young Rom were dancing, arms folded, their heels pounding the ground in rhythm with the instruments. Jaelle lifted her skirts and whirled, legs flashing, hair streaming. He felt himself soften and smile as she raised her arms and began dancing in the midst of the men.

      Everyone had gathered—men, women and children—and he saw Stevan with his wife, who reclined on blankets, nursing their newborn. Now he recalled her name—Simcha. The gathered crowd was clapping in tandem with the beating heels of the male dancers. The music began to fill his hollow, grieving body. He felt his veins pulse with each stomped foot. He felt his blood heat and race. This was the Rom life and it was simple and good.

      It had been so long.

      Raiza had been murdered and he would not allow the gadjos to simply walk away unscarred from her death. Sooner or later, he would have his revenge. This promise he made now. But the revenge would not come tonight.

      Tonight they would celebrate a new life.

      More men and women had joined the original dancers. A woman with ebony hair, her skirts purple and gold, twirled by him. Her stare was sultry and direct.

      She was a handsome woman, full figured, close to his age, and there was no mistaking the invitation he had just received. He looked at her thighs as she lifted her skirts dangerously high. There was no lover like a Romni.

      She dropped her skirts, sensually raised her arms high, and began to gyrate, her rhythm far slower than the music’s rapid beat. She turned seductively away, but cast a glance over her shoulder at him. He smiled and stepped into the clearing.

      The guitars, the violin, the cymbals, a tambourine and the beating of the earth washed through him. His heels found the ground, right, left, right, left, and he lifted his face to the moon, his arms to the stars. Fingers snapped. His hips thrust and undulated. He remained aware of the woman, who danced on his right, but in that moment, his body needed nothing but the music and the night.

      The moon smiled. The stars gleamed. The trees stood sentinel, and the fires blazed. It was a night for celebration; it was a night for lovers.

      He returned the woman’s bold stare.

      THE LAST OF THEIR GUESTS were gone. Ariella stood in the front hall, watching the Montgomery carriage leave as the family went upstairs to their rooms. A touch on her shoulder made her jump.

      Cliff smiled at her. “I see you have survived our supper party.”

      “Was I so transparent?”

      He laughed. “You were daydreaming, and it was obvious.”

      Gray eyes assailed her and she prayed her father would not guess at the subject of her musings. “I guess everyone is excited about Amanda’s ball.”

      “Yes, they are, as it has been some time since there has been a lavish event at Rose Hill. Ariella, did you like Montgomery at all?”

      She stiffened, incredulous. “I thought a match was Dianna’s idea.”

      “It is. But she confided in her mother, who told me. You have no interest in him.” It was not a question.

      “I am sorry, I do not.”

      He sighed. “Ariella, when you were a small child, I worried about your future. At the time, I decided I would make certain to arrange the perfect marriage for you, when you came of age.”

      Ariella was in disbelief. “I had no idea!”

      He smiled. “That was a long time ago. I realized when you became an independent young woman, of whom I am so extremely proud, that I would do no such thing. In many ways, you remind me of myself before I met Amanda.”

      Her relief knew no bounds. “Thank you. But Father, you were a privateer, not a bluestocking.”

      “I treasured my freedom, darling, as you do. However, I believe that one day you will come to me with stars shining in your eyes. You will tell me you wish to wed—and that you are madly in love.”

      Ariella smiled. “You do know that you are far more romantic than I am?”

      Cliff laughed. “Am I?”

      “I fear I am not like you, Father. My passion is for knowledge. I did try to explain earlier to Dianna that being unwed doesn’t bother me at all. I do not think about handsome men or moon over them like other women my age.” The moment she spoke, she quickly looked away, because she had been doing exactly that since meeting the Rom with the gray eyes.

      “That’s only because you have not yet met the man who is unique enough to stir your interest.”

      She continued hastily, afraid he might sense her distraction. “The men I meet are scholars and historians, and very few of them are noblemen.”

      He laughed. “And if you bring me a radical lawyer without means, I will approve—as long as he loves you in return.”

      Ariella did not reply. She had been thinking about Emilian throughout the evening, almost against her own will. There was something provocative and unsettling about him, although she couldn’t quite identify what disturbed her.

      “It may take you some time to realize that your heart has been captured, but the day will come, I have no doubts. You are too beautiful and intriguing to escape love. And when you ask me for my blessing, I will be pleased to give it, no matter whom you have chosen.”

      She smiled. “I hope you are not in the rush that Dianna seems to be in. I cannot settle, Father. I have no interest in a traditional marriage. Dianna should marry before I do.”

      “I won’t allow you to settle for anything less than what you deserve.” Cliff kissed her cheek. “I will never rush you. Now, I fear I must leave you stargazing by yourself. Good night.”

      Ariella watched

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