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  “What were you thinking, coming out here in this weather?” he asked as he mounted the staircase to his mother’s vardo.

  “I was looking for you, if you must know,” she replied, shoving her nose in the air in an attempt to maintain her last shred of dignity. “I was…worried about you.”

  Emil paused on the step and gave her a skeptical smile. “You were worried about me?”

  “Yes! You slept outside, and when I heard the rain, well, I didn’t want your subsequent fever and eventual death on my conscience.”

  “How ever did I survive these last twenty-seven years without an English miss looking after me?”

  She narrowed her eyes on him. “I don’t find that humorous in the least.”

  The door flung open before either of them could say another word, and Adora stood there, her expression an odd mixture of concern and annoyance. She and Emil spoke quickly to one another in Romanes as Emil ducked into the wagon and set Bianca down on a small, wooden chair.

  “You’ll catch your own death if you stay in that dress,” Emil said to her.

  She looked up at him, her cheeks flaming anew. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

  “My mother will find you something to wear, but—”

  “Out,” Adora said firmly to Bianca. “You must get out of those wet clothes immediately.”

  “But—” Bianca gestured to Emil, who looked rather pained for some reason.

  Adora made a circling gesture with her finger. “Turn around, Emilian.”

  “I’ll just go back outside.”

  An argument in their native tongue ensued and ended with Emil stalking to the corner and sticking his nose into the wall.

  Adora didn’t waste another moment, now that Emil wasn’t looking. She pulled Bianca out of the chair and began unfastening her dress at the back. The sopping fabric fell to the floor in a heap at Bianca’s feet as Adora began to loosen her corset strings.

  “What ever possessed you to go out in this rain?”

  Bianca sucked in a breath. She hadn’t had such trouble telling the truth to Emil, but telling the truth to his mother was, for some reason, far more difficult. “I was concerned. For your son.”

  “Is that so?” she replied, and Bianca could hear the amusement in her tone.

  “I suppose my imagination ran away with me. I envisioned him huddled outside the wagon, soaked and shivering—”

  “Like a helpless kitten.” Adora laughed heartily at her own analogy.

  Bianca laughed a little too as Adora offered her a clean, white towel to dry herself with. “Yes,” she said sheepishly. “Like a helpless kitten.”

  “I’m not enjoying this at all, you know?” came Emil’s disgruntled voice from the corner, and somehow that made Bianca and Adora laugh even harder.

  “Cackle away, ranis.”

  “I’m sorry,” Bianca said, feeling badly for poking fun at the man who’d rescued her from the mud. “And I’m glad to know you had a dry place to sleep last night.”

  “Where did you sleep, Emilian?” his mother wondered.

  Emil cleared his throat. “Guaril and Lyuba were kind enough to take me in when the rain started.”

  “No surprise there,” Adora said, and then turned to Bianca. “They’ve been the closest of friends since they were children, Emil and Guaril.”

  Silence reined over the tiny wagon as Adora dressed Bianca in gypsy garb. It felt strange with no corset underneath. Freeing, if not a bit disconcerting. The loose, primrose blouse didn’t contain her endowments as did her usual dresses, but perhaps comfort would take precedence over propriety here in the forest. The faded green skirt hung loosely around her waist and barely brushed the floor as she walked.

  “You could use some fattening up,” Adora said, assessing the ensemble. “But it will do for now.”

  “May I turn around now?” Emil asked from his corner.

  “Yes, yes. What do you think of her?”

  Emil turned around and his eyes landed immediately on Bianca. She sucked in a breath when she recognized the hunger in his eyes. She’d seen that look in many a man’s eye—Tisbury had often looked upon her like she was a lamb and he the wolf, ready to pounce on his prey. But never had that look heated her body so thoroughly, head to toe, and left her in such desperate need of fresh air

  Five

  Damn his mother. What was she trying to do to him? All had been just fine when Bianca had been covered properly in stiff, English clothing. But now…

  That flimsy, rose-colored blouse left little to the imagination—not only could he see her nipples, hard against the material, but he could practically determine the outline of her entire breast, unbound by any type of corsetry. The puffy sleeves somehow accentuated her plunging neckline, and the cinched waist of the green skirt made it obvious just how luscious her curves were.

  Good God. If Emil didn’t get out of here soon, he might toss his mother out on her bum so he could have his way with Bianca.

  “Well? Have you nothing to say?” Adora prompted him again.

  Emil stalled. “Uh…erm…”

  “My son, such a way with words.”

  Bianca smiled shyly at him. “It’s all right,” she said. “He doesn’t have to say anything.”

  And neither did she. Her blue eyes, veiled with an innocent kind of longing, told him everything he needed to know. If only his mother didn’t stand between them. But she did, and so Emil would have to wait to act on the all-consuming lust he’d formed for this fair English girl.

  “Besides,” Bianca continued. “I believe it’s my turn to stand in the corner so you can dry off.”

  It wasn’t an easy task to hide his ardor as he changed his clothes. He and his mother had very little modesty when it came to one another, so she went about her chores while Emil undressed. One glimpse in his direction at the wrong time would give him away, though, so he did his best to turn away. However, turning away provided him with a view of Bianca’s perfectly rounded bottom, which did not help his current condition.

  He dressed as quickly as possible and then announced that it was safe to turn around. Bianca did so, slowly, and much to his surprise, she didn’t avoid eye contact with him. Their gazes locked across the small space until his mother came bustling through the empty space between them.

  “The rain is letting up,” she said as she pulled a dark red scarf over her head. “I’m going into the village.”

  “Now?” Both Emil and Bianca asked this same question at the same moment.

  Adora turned to look at them as if they’d both gone mad. “Yes, now. I’ve wages to earn. And so do you,” she added, pointing a sharp finger at Emil.

  Yes, he did.

  “What do you do?” Bianca asked.

  “I work with metals, mostly to make pots and pans, but mother—” he paused, wondering what Bianca would think of his mother’s profession— “Mother is what we call a Drabarni. Though I believe you might call her a fortune teller.”

  A small gasp came from Bianca, but her eyes were alight with intrigue. “Can you tell me mine?”

  Adora looked to him. Of course she would willingly read the girl’s palms, but not if Emil didn’t want her to. And he didn’t.

  After an infinitesimal shake of his head, Adora turned to Bianca and said, “Only if you have coin to pay for it.”

  Bianca visibly deflated, but his mother didn’t seem to notice—or if she did, she chose to ignore it. She bustled past them and out the door, shutting it firmly behind her. Leaving them completely alone.

  “Well,” Bianca said, obviously uncomfortable with being alone in a small space with him. “I shouldn’t keep you from your work.”

  Emil glanced out the small window. The rain had stopped. “Will you be all right here, alone?”

  The look on her face told him the answer was no. He didn’t want her to be alone, either, but having her with him all day might prove to be horribly uncomfortable.

  Then again, they were both here, alone. Together. A
lone.

  Erotic thoughts swirled through his head, images of her laid out on the small bed, him hovering above her, kissing her. Making love to her.

  The door swung open to reveal his mother again, staring at him with a look that said she knew exactly what he was thinking. Damn her.

  “I forgot something,” she said with a lift of her brow.

  Bianca jumped at the opportunity to escape the confined space. “We’ll just get out of your way, Adora.”

  With that she scurried from the vardo and paused on the steps, waiting for Emil to join her.

  “Be careful,” his mother said to him in Romanes. “She’s not like us, Emil.”

  “I know that, Mother.”

  “Yes, but other parts of you don’t seem to have the same understanding.”

  His mother was nothing if not blunt, but it made his face heat nonetheless.

  “Now, go,” she said, standing aside to let him through the door. “You have work to do.”

  ~*~

  Tom didn’t know what the hell he was doing here. It was preposterous, all that had happened in the last few days. A special license. Getting outfitted in the most ridiculous garb by his sister so he’d “fit in with the gypsies.” And then a relentless search of the countryside to find this Bianca girl who clearly didn’t want to be found.

  So why was he searching for her?

  He’d asked himself that question a thousands times in the last three days. It certainly wasn’t for Tisbury, not now that he knew for certain she was running from him. He wouldn’t give a dog he didn’t like over to that man, let alone a young, innocent woman.

  There were only two possible answers to the reasoning behind this quest: 1) He was bored out of his mind and missing Jamaica so much that he would do nearly anything to take his mind off of his misery, or 2) He was desperately curious to meet this brave girl who preferred life with the gypsies to life as a baron’s wife.

  Sure, it wasn’t the most desirable of titles, but for a simple miss of the gentry, it was quite the upgrade. Most in her position would jump at the opportunity to be able to write baroness on their stationery.

  But not Bianca Manning.

  Tom opened the locket to look at her picture again. It was small, and merely a sketch, but there was no mistaking the upturned nose and the soft curve of her cheeks that looked like two rosy apples as she laughed and played with gypsy children.

  He’d assumed her to be an attractive filly, but seeing her in the flesh far exceeded his dreams of her. She was exquisite, and the gypsy clothing fit her quite well—vibrant colors and soft fabrics that reminded him of the island women in Jamaica.

  Tom knew he couldn’t stay there all day watching her. He had a mission to complete, and based on the joyfulness that emanated from her now, it wouldn’t be an easy one.

  He climbed down from his mount and tied him off to a tree before making his way down the hill toward the camp. In mere moments, five large gyspy men stood before him, blocking his progress, and Tom suddenly wished he were in a proper suit and not this ridiculous costume. It must have looked as though he were mocking them, when all he really wanted to do was approach unnoticed.

  “How can we help you, gaje?” one of them asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “Please,” Tom said, holding up his hands in surrender. “My dealings here will be peaceful.”

  “Still, your mere presence could bring prikaza to our people.”

  Tom stared at him, trying to puzzle out what that meant.

  “Bad luck,” the Rom clarified.

  As strange as it seemed that he, a simple Englishman, could bring bad luck to an entire group of people, he understood that every culture had their own strange superstitions.

  “I need not enter your camp. I only have need of speaking to the Englishwoman you are harboring here. Her name is Bianca.”

  The Rom flinched slightly. The movement was small, almost undetectable, and Tom would have missed it had he not had his eyes trained on the man.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Surely you know there is an imposter among you.” Tom looked to the other men, whose faces remained expressionless. “Please, I mean her no harm. I simply wish to speak with her. It will only take a moment. You have my word.”

  “The word of a gaje means very little to us.” This came from one of the other men, but he was quickly silenced by a stern look from their leader.

  “Tell me what your business is first,” he demanded.

  Tom didn’t think he should have to explain himself, but he also didn’t like being outnumbered. He would have to play by their rules for now. “Her family is worried for her. I promised them I would find her and make sure she was safe…and happy.”

  “And that is all?”

  “Nothing more.”

  The man looked conflicted, as he should. Tom’s intentions were not so simple, but the Rom didn’t need to know that.

  “You may speak with her,” he said at last, “but we will be nearby. Watching.”

  Tom nodded. “I understand.”

  The man walked away, headed for the camp where Bianca still laughed jovially with the children. When he approached, she stopped, a wistful expression coming over her face as she tilted her head up to look at him. The wistfulness quickly turned to concern. She looked past the gypsy to Tom, then shrugged and shook her head.

  She seemed wary, but after a brief discourse, she began to follow the gypsy back to where Tom waited. Wary or not, he had a proposition she wouldn’t be able to refuse—he needed but a minute of her time and he was sure she’d be saying goodbye to her nomadic friends.

  Six

  Bianca fought to keep the laughter from bubbling up in her throat as she followed Emil to where the man called Tom waited to speak with her. Obviously an Englishman, she found it quite amusing that he’d dressed himself as a gypsy to seek her out. Did he think no one would notice? That he could just come into the camp and everyone would think he was one of them?

  Silly man.

  Though the stern expression he wore on his face, the cold gleam in his green eyes, told her his business was far from a humorous divertissement.

  She stopped before him and Emil stood between them, as if he were their mediator.

  “Miss Manning,” Tom said.

  “Who wants to know?” she replied.

  “You needn’t pretend with me. I’m here to help.”

  Bianca flashed him a skeptical look. “Help? But as you can see I don’t really need any help. I’m faring just fine here.”

  Tom cleared his throat and looked warily to Emil, then back to her. “May we speak privately?”

  “Anything you wish to say to her—” Emil began, but Bianca silenced him with a hand.

  “It’s all right, Emil.” She turned to Tom. “I will speak privately with you, but they will be watching.”

  “I’m not here to abduct you, Miss Manning,” Tom said, and his lips quirked up slightly, as if the idea were completely preposterous.

  “We’ll be right over there, Emil,” she said, pointing to the large rock at the edge of the clearing. Then she put a hand to his chest and gave it a reassuring pat. “I’ll be fine.”

  She moved around Tom and led him across the field to the rock where she and Emil spent a great deal of time talking and laughing together. It was far enough away that no one could hear what they were saying, but well in sight of others to keep anything untoward from happening. She wasn’t sure why she cared so much about propriety, here with the gypsies. One would have thought she’d be excited to take advantage of the freedom. But being away from home, away from everything that she knew, she sought to hang on to a little shred of her old life.

  They arrived at the rock and Bianca climbed up to sit on the top, then she patted the empty spot next to her. “Come, Tom,” she said. “Tell me why it is you’ve come to find me.”

  He was a bit awkward climbing up, but Bianca kept her amusement to herself.
r />   “I’m not the only one looking for you, you know?”

  A horrible churning started in Bianca’s stomach. “Tisbury.”

  Tom nodded solemnly. “I don’t imagine he’s going to give up, either.”

  “Why not?” Bianca wondered. “It’s not as if I’m a diamond of the first water, or anything remotely close to it.” A chuckle came from the Englishman and Bianca turned to him. “Is that funny?”

  Tom shook his head. “Not funny, so much as…well, I don’t know, Miss Manning, but I do think your opinion of yourself is rather understated.”

  Bianca swallowed. Was he complimenting her? Should she say thank you? Thankfully, he didn’t give her the chance.

  “However, I don’t think how you look is of much consequence in this matter. You’ve embarrassed him, emasculated him. Now he is forced to face the ton and answer questions as to the disappearance of his fiancée.” Tom turned to her, his green eyes piercing her with admiration. “I doubt any man would look favorably on that, but with Tisbury, you’ve become something of an obsession.”

  “Is that why you’re here? Did he send you?”

  “He asked me to help, yes.”

  Bianca shifted slightly away from him. Perhaps he was here to abduct her and take her back to Tisbury.

  “But I’m not here on behalf of Tisbury,” he continued, “I’m here on behalf of my sister.”

  “Your sister?” Now Bianca was thoroughly confused. “What does your sister have to do with anything?”

  “Absolutely nothing!” Tom laughed heartily at this. “But if you knew my sister, you would know that she makes most everything her business.”

  “Who is she?”

  “Now, she is the Countess of Leyburn, though you may know her better as Victoria Barclay, Highwayman.”

  Bianca couldn’t believe it. “Your sister is a legend!” she cried, feeling honored simply to be in the presence of the woman’s brother.