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  “A fact I am quite aware of.”

  “But what does she care about me?” Bianca wondered.

  “Well, she knows Tisbury, and when she heard that I had been enlisted to help find you, she took it upon herself to help.” He paused and narrowed his eyes slightly against the sun that had just poked out from behind a cloud. “She paid a visit to your sisters.”

  “Snitches,” Bianca said with a snort.

  “Victoria can be rather persuasive.”

  “So long as they don’t tell anyone who is in cahoots with Tisbury.”

  “But if they do…”

  Bianca looked up at Tom, her heart racing. “If they do, they might as well be signing my death certificate. Tisbury has a temper as it is. I’m as good as dead if he ever gets his hands on me.”

  Tom turned his full body this time to look at her and firmly gripped her upper arms. “Which is why you need to hear me out. Why you need to listen to the plan my sister and I have come up with.”

  Bianca looked across the field to where Emil stood, his strong arms folded across his chest as he watched them. Her heart ached because she had a feeling she knew exactly why Tom was here and what he was going to say. She’d be a fool to turn down his protection, but if she accepted, she could be throwing away the greatest possibilities for her life.

  ~*~

  Tom had never been quite this nervous in his entire life. Not when he boarded the ship to leave his home for less civilized lands. And not when he returned to England after two years away. Not even when his sister stood before the magistrate, mere minutes away from the gallows.

  Well, that sounded terrible, didn’t it? Of course he was concerned for his sister, but somehow he knew that it would all work out. Somehow he knew that Fin would never let anything bad happen to her.

  This, however, was another matter entirely. He was about to ask a woman whom he’d known for a mere fifteen minutes to be his wife. Forever and ever, until death. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to marry. At all. Ever. Sure, his mother had dropped the occasional hints about his bachelor status, but beyond that, he’d been content with his life the way it was. No obligations. No responsibility. That would all come when Father died, and he supposed that’s when he’d expected a wife to come too. But Father was in fairly good health, despite his penchant for good brandy. That life seemed a million years away.

  Until now.

  Bianca shifted her gaze from the gypsy across the field and finally met Tom’s eyes. Why did she look so pained? Perhaps it had something to do with that tender pat she’d given the gypsy on his chest. Was it possible they’d formed a romantic bond in just a few short days?

  “I know what you’re going to say,” she said, her blue eyes turning misty. “And you’re so very generous for willingly making such a sacrifice for me—”

  “Miss Manning, listen to me. It’s the only way. You already said it yourself. If you return to society—if Tisbury finds you—you’ll be dead, or at least close to it.”

  “If not physically, then emotionally,” she agreed.

  “Then just say yes.” He smiled his most charming smile at her. “I know you don’t know me, but I’m very good company.”

  Bianca gave him a smile, but then he turned serious again.

  “You’ll never want for anything. And you’ll never have to worry for your safety. That much I can promise you.”

  It was obvious she was trying to choke back tears, but once she’d gotten hold of herself, she looked up at him. “I’m happy here, Mr. Barclay.”

  That was unexpected. “Here? Living in tents and wagons?”

  She shrugged and the edge of her blouse fell to the side, revealing just a bit of her milky white breast. Truly, the more he sat there, looking at her, talking to her, the more appealing marriage became. How utterly ridiculous that she didn’t consider herself a diamond of the first water. Had she never looked in a mirror?

  Tom shook his head of the thoughts. None of them seemed to matter. Her attention was fully on the dark, brooding man who stood across the field, watching their every move. Or at least Tom’s every move.

  “I know it seems ridiculous,” she said, but Tom could hardly remember what they were talking about. “A proper English miss, raised for life in the ton—or at least as part of the gentry—who would much rather run barefoot through the fields and bathe in the river than go to a ball.”

  “It’s not that ridiculous.”

  She turned to look at him again, surprise registered on her fair features.

  “I’ve been abroad for two years, in Jamaica.”

  “Jamaica?”

  Tom nodded. “Indeed. I know how you feel. I miss the warm weather, the sand between my toes. I’ve been back for months and still haven’t shaken the chill.”

  Miss Manning laughed—a sweet, lilting sound that set him at ease. “I’ve been cold my entire life.”

  “Then you would love Jamaica.”

  Her laughter died away, replaced with a somber contemplation. Tom wished there were some way to get inside her mind, to know what she was thinking. Perhaps the gypsies could work some magic to turn him into a mind reader.

  Seven

  Bianca had always thought of herself as a strong and rather opinionated woman. Someone who, once she set her mind to something, could rarely be swayed or persuaded to see another side.

  However, in this instance, she was feeling more ambiguous than was normal for her.

  Not even a half hour ago, as she played games with the gypsy children, her resolve had been set. She was never going back home—never going back to society. Even if and when things blew over with Tisbury, she realized what she really wanted in life: simplicity. With a little adventure mixed in. And who better to give her that kind of life than the gypsy? Emil.

  They’d spent a great deal of time together over the last few days, and Bianca couldn’t ignore her growing attraction to him. Perhaps even a growing love. He was everything Tisbury was not. Handsome, strong, playful and protective, yet he let her be her. He didn’t insist she conform to a certain way—not even the way of the gypsies. But he was always willing to show her their ways when she asked.

  And she asked often.

  But then why was she so conflicted? Because this knight had ridden in on a white horse, ready to rescue her? Ready to give up his life to marry her, only to keep her safe? His talk of Jamaica wasn’t helping her fickle mind any. The idea of travelling abroad, exploring the tropics, peaked her curiosity like little ever had.

  How in all of heaven and earth had she gotten so lucky all of a sudden? She would really have to insist that Adora read her palm tonight. Because she desperately needed guidance. How could she ever trust her heart in this matter?

  “I am most certain I would,” she finally said in response to his comment about her loving Jamaica. “Do you plan to return there?”

  Tom shrugged then drew his knees to his chest, loosely hugging his legs with his muscular arms. His elbow barely brushed against her leg as he did so, but it still sent a frisson through her body.

  “I have responsibilities here. At some point, I will inherit the viscountcy and all that entails. Jamaica doesn’t seem to fit into that picture, at least not any time soon. Besides, my sister is with child, and I want to be here for her.”

  “But if you could return, would you?”

  He turned to her, his green eyes intense and smoldering. “In a heartbeat.”

  Blast those green eyes. They were just the kind she’d always thought she’d fall in love with. The exact color of spring grass just after the rain.

  “So,” he said, breaking eye contact, and thereby breaking the moment. “What say you to my proposition? Will you come away with me?”

  “Where would we go?” she wondered.

  “Anywhere. I obtained a special license before I left London. Once we’re wed, I will tuck you away at our family seat in Devonshire.”

  “And what would you do?” Did he plan to drop her there and then re
turn to his bachelor life in London? Just the thought brought up what felt like jealousy, though she knew that was silly and impossible. She’d only known him but a few minutes.

  “There’s some work that needs to be done at the estate, tenants to visit, that sort of thing.” He gave her a half smile. “I would find ways to keep busy.”

  “Oh.” Well, that was unexpected.

  “So, will you come?”

  Bianca shook her head. She couldn’t just walk away now, not after all that Emil and Adora had done for her. Her eyes found Emil’s across the field, still trained intently on her, and her body heated anew from her toes to the tips of her ears. She would be a fool to leave before she’d even had a chance to experience what she’d been longing for.

  “I’m not ready to leave, Mr. Barclay. I told you, I like it here.”

  She turned to look at him, but his gaze was fixed where hers had been—on Emil.

  “Yes, I can see that,” he said, and she couldn’t help but detect a hint of bitterness in his tone.

  She ignored it and went on. “Thank you,” she said, taking his hand in hers, which was a terrible mistake. Goodness, they were nice hands. A little rough, a lot strong. They dwarfed her dainty fingers. She swallowed before continuing. “I don’t know what possessed you to get involved, but it means a great deal to me. You are selfless and kind, but I’m...”

  “No need to say anything else, Miss Manning.”

  “Bianca, please.”

  If he heard her, he didn’t show it. “I will be staying nearby, nonetheless. Should you change your mind, I’ll be at the Cock and Crow.”

  Alarm caused her heart to flutter erratically. “Why?” she asked, and then decided to elaborate when he raised his brows questioningly. “I’ve told you I’m not leaving, Mr. Barclay. I’m happy here.”

  “For now.” His gaze shifted to Emil. “But one can never know what changes the wind might bring.”

  “I won’t change my mind.” She didn’t actually know if that was true or not—she was rather torn at the moment. But she didn’t like the implication that she didn’t actually know her mind, whether she did or not.

  He leveled her with those unsettling green eyes. “I’m staying nearby, no matter what you say. Tisbury could come to find you, and if he does, I’m going to be there to protect you.”

  “I have enough protection,” she protested, though her resolve was weakening by the second.

  “And now you have more.” He jumped from the rock to the grassy field and nodded his head to her. “Good day, Miss Manning.”

  ~*~

  Emilian had rarely felt such a strong surge of jealousy as he had standing there at the edge of the clearing, watching Bianca and the gaje talking and laughing on the rock. Their rock.

  Though the man looked utterly ridiculous in his gypsy costume, even Emil had to admit that he was a handsome man. The kind of man that a young English miss might find attractive—might fall in love with. He was everything that Emil was not. Well kempt to Emil’s somewhat disheveled appearance. Calm and civilized to Emil’s hot-bloodedness. He was everything Emil could never be.

  Everything Bianca deserved, though it pained him more than words could say to admit that.

  After what felt like an eternity, the Englishman finally disappeared into the woods, presumably headed back to whatever London parlor he came from. Bianca watched him for a moment before turning and heading back across the field to Emil.

  Her expression was unreadable, passive. As if she were trying very hard not to show what she was feeling or thinking. That didn’t sit well with Emil. Though he’d only known her a few days, Bianca had been open with him. She’d never hidden anything, not her fear, not her desire. Nothing.

  What did she have to hide now?

  As she approached, she flashed him a wide smile that should have set him at ease, but somehow it didn’t.

  “So,” he asked when she was in earshot. “What did the white man want?”

  “Um, nothing, really,” she said, and it was obvious she was lying. “My sisters sent him to make sure I was all right. That’s all.”

  “That’s all?” He wasn’t going to let her get away with that explanation.

  As expected, she squirmed a bit when he probed further. She gathered her skirt in her hands, wrapping the fabric around a finger, then unwrapping and wrapping the next. “He’s worried that Tisbury is going to come and try to find me,” she finally said, though she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

  Emil folded his arms across his chest. “Well, if he does, we’ll be ready, won’t we?”

  She nodded, still not meeting his eyes.

  “There’s more.” It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded again.

  “Well?”

  “He…he offered to marry me.”

  Though he’d known she wasn’t telling him the whole truth at first, he wasn’t expecting that to be the whole truth. It knocked the wind from him, as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Had she accepted? Had she said she’d think about it even? He didn’t want to know, but he had to know.

  “And?”

  Finally, she met his eyes. “And what?”

  “And what did you say to him in response?” He couldn’t keep the exasperation or frustration from his voice. It was impossible to do.

  She flinched, and her brow furrowed, but she replied at last, “I told him I was happy here.”

  Relief flooded through Emil. It was ridiculous. He kept reminding himself that he barely knew Bianca, so what would it really matter if she did leave and marry this Tom person? But somehow it mattered a lot.

  He stepped forward and grabbed both of Bianca’s hands in his. She looked up at him and batted her long, dark lashes.

  “Are you, Bianca?” he asked. “Are you truly happy here?”

  She nodded. “I wouldn’t still be here if I wasn’t.”

  Emil didn’t stop the smile that came to his lips. “I’m glad.”

  Before she could say another word, he turned, keeping a hold of one of her hands, and led her through the trees and around the camp.

  “Where are we going?” she called from behind him.

  The river was getting closer, the calming trickle of water louder with every step they took. He knew a place upstream where the water pooled, just before it cascaded over the rocks. It was quiet, the perfect place for a private assignation.

  He never answered her question; he simply kept walking, pulling her willingly along with him. When they arrived, he stopped and turned around. She was close—very close. A hairsbreadth away. It would take very little effort to lean down and press his lips against hers.

  “Are we going to go swimming?” she asked innocently.

  Her question could have ruined the moment, but rather it conjured images that made Emil even more desperate for her. So desperate that words eluded him, so instead of answering, he did what he’d been dying to do since the moment he’d found her lurking in the woods just days earlier.

  He pressed his lips to hers, and it was everything he had hoped for. Soft and supple, she opened for him eagerly. She wasn’t schooled in the act of kissing, that was somewhat obvious, but she was a willing student. She followed his every move, tilting her head one way when he tilted the other. Matching his rhythm. Daring to use her tongue, letting it twine erotically with his.

  Emil grew hard. So desperately hard he could barely form a coherent thought in his head. He knew it was too soon to even contemplate making love to her, but good God. What he wouldn’t give to lay her down in the dewy grass right now and make sure she never gave that Englishman another thought.

  She moved closer to him, pressing against his hardness. If it alarmed her, she didn’t indicate as much. Perhaps she wasn’t quite as innocent as he’d thought.

  He looped an arm around her waist and used the other to caress the hair at the nape of her neck. Sasha loved when I touched her there.

  Damn. He pulled back suddenly, angry and frustrated that he’d al
lowed thoughts of Sasha to surface when he was here, with Bianca. It wasn’t fair, not to either of them.

  He stepped away and put his hands on his hips as he sought to gain control of his body. His thoughts. Everything. Because suddenly he didn’t feel in control of anything.

  Eight

  Tom walked away from his encounter with Bianca Manning slightly confused, slightly aroused and just a little nostalgic for Jamaica. Something about her—something in her smile—reminded him of warmer, sunnier days, when he was happy. Content. Without a care in the world. When he stopped to think about it, his existence in Jamaica had been close to that of a child. He’d spent his days on the beach or wandering about the small town, sipping coffee or rum at the local coffee house, as he chatted with his fellow Englishmen who’d found a home in the Caribbean.

  Miss Manning reminded him of that life, that simplicity, and she made him long for it once again.

  He trudged through the woods to where he’d tied his horse off and then rode into the small village nearby. He’d already secured a room for himself—and for Bianca, had she chosen to come back with him.

  It was modest but clean, and it would be home for a while, he supposed. She was rather set in her decision, but hopefully with time she’d come to see his point of view. If she stayed with the gypsies, she’d never be free of Tisbury. Even if she married the gypsy man she seemed so fond of, Tisbury wouldn’t honor the union. Who knew what he’d do to steal her back?

  Though he’d never seemed the violent type while they were in school, he’d always been a little off. Like a ship’s cannon that had become loose from its breech rope, Tisbury seemed capable of anything. Especially nowadays.

  However, Tom would have to keep his suspicions to himself until such a time as Bianca was completely safe and out of harm’s way.

  Once he’d settled in his room, he removed a sheet of foolscap, along with his pen and ink, and began his letters. The first to his sister, telling her about his meeting with Bianca. The second for Tisbury, which he would send to his sister first and have her post from London.