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  “Why is it you suspect she ran, then? Did she pack her belongings?”

  “Not exactly,” Tisbury said. “But she left this on her escritoire.” He held up a stunning ring of emeralds and diamonds.

  “Her engagement ring?” he surmised.

  Tisbury nodded again. “I must find her, Barclay. I will be humiliated if I don’t. And besides, I rather liked the girl. She’d make a fine wife, and truly, I could even see myself…falling in love with her.”

  Tom’s eyes widened. It wasn’t often a man admitted such a thing. Still, he wasn’t inclined to help find someone who didn’t want to be found.

  “I can’t help you, Tisbury, but best of luck.”

  Tom started to walk away but Tisbury clamped a hand around his upper arm.

  “I think you can, Barclay,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “I seem to remember helping you out once before. It’s the least you could do.”

  Of course he’d bring that up. “It’s not the same thing.”

  “No. I helped you get out of a marriage, now you’re helping me into a marriage.” He gave a smarmy smile. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

  “Fine,” Tom said, giving in. It wasn’t exactly blackmail, but guilt often worked in the same way. Tisbury had been useful after Tom had nearly defiled a girl years ago and almost found himself leg shackled to the chit. “But how will I know her when I see her?”

  Tisbury extracted a small locket from his pocket. Inside was a miniature of a woman—a very lovely woman at that, if the rendering was to be believed. “You may take this with you,” Tisbury said, dropping the locket into Tom’s palm. “Her name is Bianca Manning.”

  ~*~

  Bianca ducked behind the largest tree she could find, hoping no one in the camp had seen her. The last thing she wanted was for anyone to think she was spying. She preferred to think of it as observing. It was important she understand—at least a little bit—what she was getting herself into.

  She shook her head. What did it matter? Anything would be better than the fate that awaited her at home.

  A shudder skittered down Bianca’s spine. She would do anything to escape marriage to that vile man, and she was about to prove that in a few minutes…or hours, maybe. It still unnerved her to contemplate approaching the gypsy clan about taking her in and hiding her for a while. A little time to watch them and get used to them would help.

  She plopped down and settled against the large oak, then pulled out the bread she’d nabbed from the kitchen last night before boarding the stagecoach out of Oxford. It would go stale if she didn’t eat it soon, and now seemed as good a time as any to have a little bite. Once she’d been fortified, she would go down the hill and approach the gypsies.

  As she tore at her bread with her teeth, she observed them carefully. Children ran about, laughing and screeching, as children are apt to do. It was hard to tell exactly what the men and women were doing from this distance, but they seemed rather busy. They all moved with great intent. Except the man strumming the small instrument outside one of the tents. The exotic music wafted up the hill on the wind, so Bianca could just barely hear it, but the tune was quite lovely.

  She took another bite of her bread.

  “Would you like some water to wash that down?”

  Bianca went still at the male voice behind her and the bread nearly lodged in her throat. She sputtered a bit, but didn’t turn around. She was too afraid to look. What if Tisbury had hunted her down already?

  “Are you all right, miss?”

  Bianca nodded. The panic started to subside a bit when she realized the man had an accent.

  “Then may I ask why you are spying on my people?”

  She finally dared to turn around. Behind her was a man, the likes of which she’d never seen before. He was rugged and handsome, dark skin, dark eyes—an exotic god.

  “I—” What was she supposed to say? I’m hoping I can hide out in your camp to escape my marriage? Well, if not the truth, then what?

  He cocked his head to the side and a lock of his long, dark hair fell away from the mass of wavy curls that had been pulled together at the back by a bit of rope. Bianca swallowed down her intimidation and straightened to her full height, which admittedly wasn’t terribly impressive.

  “I’m lost,” she said, stumbling over the words. It wasn’t in her nature to lie.

  “Lost?” the Rom repeated.

  Blast. He didn’t believe her.

  Bianca nodded anyway, propagating the lie. “Yes, I live…” She turned this way and that, and finally gave up. “See? I don’t even know which direction to go.”

  “And I suppose you’re hungry and could use a place to sleep for the night?”

  “It is getting dark.” She looked up at the sky, which was still bright with sun, even here, under the cover of trees.

  Thankfully, the gypsy found her somewhat amusing. Perhaps he’d humor her, even if he didn’t believe a word she said.

  “Yes,” he replied with a sarcastic turn of his lips. “And soon the wolves will be out to ravage you.”

  Well, that didn’t sound pleasant at all. “I didn’t know there were wolves in these woods.”

  The gypsy moved closer to her, leaves and twigs crunching beneath his boots, and dropped his voice to a whisper. “Great big, ferocious wolves. It isn’t safe for a young woman to wander around alone, even in the daylight.”

  Exactly how Bianca felt about London during the Season. All those rogues preying on the young ladies, and their mamas offering them up like sacrificial lambs of society.

  She ignored the sick feeling in her stomach when she thought of her three sisters traversing those waters alone. Who would look after them now that she was gone? Tempest needed someone there to help control her temper, lest she tromp on the foot of a duke for complimenting her fine features. Verona might be capable of that task if she weren’t so caught up in her books and such. And Robin, well, she was still young yet. Perhaps she’d acquire a modicum of sense and decorum between now and her come-out.

  Still, Bianca knew she’d done the right thing. If she had gone through with her wedding to Tisbury, she’d only have been setting a precedent, and who knew what other monsters her parents would be willing to make such deals with for her sisters?

  No, she couldn’t let that happen. Which was precisely why she’d run away, hoping to seek refuge with the gypsies. If they took her in as one of their own, no one would ever find her. No one would ever suspect that prim and proper Bianca Manning would take up with a band of gypsies.

  “Well,” she finally said, “I don’t fancy being their dinner, so if you don’t mind…”

  The gypsy held out his hand. “I am Emilian, though most call me Emil.”

  Bianca took his hand and shook it. “My name is Bianca. Most people call me...Bianca.”

  Emil laughed, his deep voice reverberating through Bianca’s soul. “Well, Bianca. Come and meet my people.”

  Two

  Emilian Carroll couldn’t have been more surprised to find an English woman lurking in the forest, spying on his people. It was quite a sight to behold—one he’d never seen before and one he’d probably never see again. It just wasn’t done. The English steered clear of the Romani camps typically, probably fearing the Roma would hex them, or some such nonsense.

  But this girl—this Bianca—she seemed to have little fear of him or his people. The wolves, however, seemed to get her back up quite a bit, despite the fact wolves didn’t actually live in this forest.

  He chuckled thinking of her wide-eyed fright that she tried valiantly to hide.

  “Is something funny?” she asked as she trailed after him down the hill to the embankment where his people were camped.

  “I was just wondering what a girl like you would be doing wandering about in the forest all by herself. Recreating a scene from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, perhaps?”

  “Please,” she said, and her tone was most certainly pleading. “Do not speak of Shakespeare.”


  If she thought it was odd that he knew of Shakespeare at all, she didn’t say so. “Has he done something to offend you?”

  “No, you’re right. It isn’t Mr. Shakespeare’s fault. It’s my father’s. A more devoted fan you will never find, which explains why my sisters and I all have Shakespearean names.”

  “I apologize,” Emil said, keeping his smile to himself. Bianca seemed to speak before thinking—or maybe she was just a little daft—but she’d revealed quite a bit just then. Enough that Emil understood she was running from her father and not simply lost in the woods. “I will never deign to bring that playwright up again.”

  They were approaching the camp, and Emil could feel that Bianca was trying to slow down. He couldn’t blame her. It must be as intimidating for her as going into Society would be for him. God forbid he ever had to do that.

  He turned and found she’d stopped a few feet back, so he retraced his steps through the tall grass to stand before her.

  “Are you afraid?” he asked.

  Bianca nodded. Her big blue eyes stared up at him, unblinking. He’d never been partial to English women, but this one, with her shiny auburn hair and upturned nose, was quite an appealing specimen.

  He shook his head. “Don’t be. We’re not as frightening as your people make us out to be.”

  Emil walked behind her, pressing his hand to the small of her back to keep her from turning and running for the forest again. She clearly needed protection, and he was going to be the one to give it to her now that he’d found her. Surely, Adora wouldn’t mind.

  ~*~

  Bianca might have been unnerved by the very strong hand at her back had she not been so blasted unnerved by the fact that she was a very white woman walking into a gypsy camp. She clutched at her portmanteau in an effort to stop her hands from shaking, but they were so damp they kept slipping on the wooden handles.

  But really, if he was being a gentleman, Emil would have offered to carry the bag for her, wouldn’t he have?

  She glanced up at him. Oh, who cared if he was a gentleman or not, he was the most attractive man she’d ever seen in her life. And all this time, she’d thought she preferred green eyes. Seemed that deep chocolate brown ones were much more the thing.

  As they walked through the camp, Bianca felt the eyes of the other tribe’s people on her, but she kept her head down, refusing to make eye contact. At last, Emil stopped at the foot of a small set of steps that led to one of the many brightly colored wagons. He swept a long arm toward the wagon, gesturing for her to enter.

  Bianca stood there, staring at him. “You want me to go in first?”

  “Go,” he said with a smile. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  She wasn’t sure why she trusted him. He could have been throwing her into a den of snakes, for all she knew. But she picked up her skirt, climbed the steps and ducked through the small doorway.

  True to his word, Emil was right at her back. However, at her front was a formidable looking woman. A beautiful woman, who was clearly surprised to find an English woman in her home.

  Her skin had the color and texture of a brand new leather-bound book. Her hair was wild, much like Emil’s, but she aimed to control it with a worn bandana. By far, the most arresting and captivating part of her were her round, black eyes. They bore into Bianca so fiercely that she was certain they’d burn a hole right into her forehead.

  The woman said something in a language Bianca couldn’t understand, though she understood the tone without any trouble. She wasn’t happy that Bianca was in her home, that much was clear.

  Emil spoke back, his tone softer, more cajoling. As they conversed, the woman’s fire began to die a bit. Her eyes softened and her lips even turned up into something akin to a smile.

  “You say you are lost?” she finally said to Bianca.

  “Ah, yes,” Bianca replied, thankful that her voice hadn’t failed her in her fear. “I was taking a walk and lost my way.”

  The woman flashed a skeptical glance toward Emil, who gave a small chuckle in response.

  “You may stay the night in my vardo.”

  Bianca looked to Emil, the question in her eyes.

  “This is her vardo,” he said, answering with a sweep of his hand around the small space.

  Bianca nearly collapsed with her relief. If they let her stay the night, perhaps she could convince them to keep her on a bit longer. “Thank you,” she said.

  “Do not thank me.” The woman gave a flick of her head, her eyes flashing to Emil. “Thank my son.”

  “Oh.” Bianca turned to Emil again, knowing that surprise registered on her face, but unable to do anything about it. “She’s…your mother.”

  Emil nodded and a sly smile came to his lips. “She’s not terribly fond of gaje, in case you could not tell.”

  “Do not speak of me as if I cannot hear you.”

  “So sensitive, my mother.”

  Bianca preferred to remain neutral in this particular instance, so she decided to change the subject. “What shall I call you?” she asked of Emil’s mother.

  “I am called Adora.”

  “Such a lovely name.”

  Adora rolled her eyes, clearly averse to any form of flattery. She and Tempest would get along splendidly.

  Bianca cleared her throat. “My name is Bianca.”

  “Well, Bianca, I will ask you to do your best not to bring any prikaza to my home.”

  “Oh, no! Of course not,” she said, and then added, “How could I when I don’t even know what it is?”

  A loud snort came from Emil, and Adora was clearly trying to hide her own mirth. Bianca didn’t much like being left out of the joke. “Well,” she said, smoothing her skirts and attempting to save face, “I will certainly do my best not to bring…that into your home.”

  Now Emil laughed even harder. “Come,” he said, “I think if you mean to stay here, you should at least learn a bit of our language. We’ll be back for supper, dai.” He kissed his mother on the cheek and then led Bianca from the little caravan, assisting her down the stairs and onto the grass.

  “It isn’t polite to laugh, you know.”

  “I’ll remember that the next time you find something humorous.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Emil turned to her, and his dark eyes bore right into hers, nearly causing her to stumble over the uneven terrain. His hands reached out to steady her, wrapping about her waist, firm and reassuring.

  Bianca’s heart skipped at least three beats.

  “You gaje take everything so seriously,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes it is best to simply laugh. Do you ever laugh, Rinkini?”

  Bianca narrowed her eyes on him. “What does that mean?”

  “Ah! So now you want to learn my language!” Emil laughed and took her by the hand.

  As he dragged her toward the river, Bianca couldn’t help the smile that came to her lips. Perhaps she should laugh more.

  Three

  Tom dashed quickly between his carriage and the front door to his sister’s new Hospital for the Poor. She’d chosen a rather miserable evening to hold its first fundraiser.

  Although, the weather in this part of the world was generally miserable, so he supposed it wasn’t entirely Vickie’s fault.

  Blessedly, the door magically opened for him as he approached and he nearly stumbled over the threshold. Despite running as quickly as he could, water still rolled off of him and dripped onto the gleaming wooden floor planks. Damn, but he missed Jamaica. The warmth, the sun. Sure it rained there rather often, but there wasn’t the bone-chilling cold to go along with it.

  “Tom, you made it!”

  His sister Victoria bounded into the room, just as exuberant as she’d been as a little girl. Her dark curls bounced around her beaming face as she closed the distance between them and threw her arms around Tom’s waist.

  Tom staggered a bit. “Well, that was unexpected,” he said.

  “She’s just glad to be out of pr
ison.”

  Tom turned to find his old friend, Phineas Dartwell—now Victoria’s husband, oddly enough—striding toward them.

  “Oh, stop it.” Victoria let go of Tom and then reached up to straighten his cravat. “I’m glad to see my brother.” Her wide green eyes turned up at him. “He’s the only family I’ve got, really.”

  “I won’t tell Mother and Father you said that.”

  “They wouldn’t care anyhow.”

  Tom looked to Fin for an explanation.

  “They turned down the invitation for this evening’s fundraiser,” Fin said. “And now their daughter has disowned them completely.”

  “Never mind about all that,” Victoria exclaimed, clearly eager to change the subject. “You’re here, and that’s wonderful. Now come, you shall have the first look at Fin’s magnificent paintings.”

  Tom wandered the gallery, marveling at his friend’s work. He’d always known Fin could paint, but he’d had no idea his creations were worthy of the Louvre. Truly magnificent, especially the one of Victoria that took center stage above the great fireplace.

  Other guests started to filter in, and they milled about, emitting occasional gasps over the beautiful artwork while sipping champagne. Tom rounded the gallery a few times, returning to his favorite paintings and alternately observing the other guests. Not all of the ton, of course, and he began to play a game of Ton or Not Ton in his head.

  “What do you think?” came Fin’s voice from behind him.

  Tom pulled his gaze away from the woman with the feather plume and looked up at the landscape before him. “I never knew I lived next door to DaVinci.”

  Fin laughed as he handed over a glass of Scotch. “Not exactly, but thank you. I am rather proud of them, and I’m even prouder that their proceeds will go to a good cause.”

  “You’ve done wonders with this place. Never seen such a well-appointed hospital.” Everything was clean and airy with large windows and a generous number of gas-lit sconces on the walls. It might as well have been daytime for how bright it was in the gallery.

  “Yes, well, anything to make my new bride happy.”