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  The words hung in the air between them, heavy, weighted. Bianca’s throat worked as she swallowed compulsively. Was she trying to hold back tears? Joy? Tom wanted to shake her. Tell her how much he loved her and that she’d be a fool to go back to him. Remind her that life with Emil would be hard and tumultuous. That life with Tom would be easy, comfortable.

  But he knew deep down that none of that mattered to her. She already knew all of that anyway, and yet Tom was still certain of the decision she would make.

  “How long?”

  Tom shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ve been out to sea for two days, but I suspect we’ll dock in a closer port than Portsmouth.”

  “What will we do when we arrive? What about Tisbury?”

  “With any luck my sister has sent Tisbury to Scotland to look for us. Otherwise…” Tom shook his head, the sadness taking over him at the thought of letting her go. “I think we both know the decision is yours.”

  “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?” Tom fought the anger that welled up inside of him, but he was losing the fight miserably. “Don’t try to convince you to stay with me? Don’t tell you that I love you? Don’t tell you that all my hopes for a life with you sank to the bottom of the sea when I found out that we were going back to England?”

  He whirled away to stare out at the ocean. The waters were calm and the sun rose steadily on the horizon. This was why he loved the islands—the calming affect they had on his soul.

  He closed his eyes and let the breeze wash over him before he spoke again. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

  Bianca came up beside him. “You have nothing to be sorry for. I can’t imagine what this must feel like. And I wish with all my heart that I could feel for you what you feel for me.”

  Tom knew she meant it, and damn it, that made him love her even more. But he knew he couldn’t force her to stay with him. They’d both be miserable if he did. He had to let her go.

  “Tom?”

  He must have been silent for a longer time than he realized.

  “As soon as we reach land, I will take you to find him.”

  Bianca’s lip trembled, but she didn’t cry. She simply rose up on her tiptoes, kissed his cheek and then walked away.

  Eighteen

  Despite the fact they’d only been at sea for little more than three days, Bianca still had trouble keeping her balance now that they were on land. As she stood at the end of the dock, waiting for Tom to negotiate a hired hackney to Basingstoke, she felt as though she still stood aboard the ship. Thankfully, Tom made quick work of securing transportation and within a matter of minutes, Bianca was sitting as comfortably as possible on the hard carriage seat.

  “I’m sorry it’s not more comfortable,” Tom said as they bumped along. “If I’d been able, I would have ordered my own carriage to retrieve us.”

  “It’s all right, Tom.” Bianca smiled at him. “Basingstoke isn’t so far from here, is it?”

  “Far enough that we’ll have to spend a night at an inn.”

  “Oh.” Another night nestled against Tom. She had to admit, it wasn’t a horrible prospect. She actually quite liked being in his arms, and she knew she would miss him when they parted ways. But she also knew she was making the right decision. Her heart was with Emil, and she’d never be fully content or completely happy without him.

  The journey proved to be long and boring. They reached an inn at nightfall that same day and Bianca could barely keep her eyes open while they ate their dinner. However when Tom woke her before dawn the next day, she eagerly jumped from the bed to dress herself. By the end of the day, she would see Emil.

  She tried to contain her joy, her excitement, for she knew that with her joy came Tom’s despair. That was what made the journey so very difficult.

  It was mid-afternoon when they reached the familiar inn at Basingstoke. They left the hackney there in favor of horses that would take them the rest of the way to the gypsy camp—to Emil.

  Neither of them spoke as they rode side-by-side to the forest entrance, and silence continued to reign as they approached the clearing on the other side.

  Bianca’s stomach plummeted when she saw the destruction. Her heart came to a halt in her chest. She couldn’t breathe. Dear God, what had Tisbury done? What had she done?

  ~*~

  The ceiling above him was an unfamiliar one. That was the only thought Emil had when he awoke. He wasn’t sure he could move—his limbs felt glued to the bed. At least he could open his eyes.

  But where was he? And who did this ceiling belong to?

  As he stared at it, a face came into view. A woman’s face that he didn’t recognize.

  “Emil?”

  He heard the voice, but it sounded a million miles away.

  “Where am I?” he asked, feeling as if he’d had this same conversation very recently.

  He had. With his mother. After he’d been shot.

  Oh, God. Am I dead?

  “You’re in London, at the Victoria Barclay Hospital for the Poor.”

  “But I’m not poor,” he said. “And who the hell is Victoria Barclay?”

  “You’re speaking to her, Mr. Carroll,” the woman said with a smile. “And I’m afraid that by London’s standards you are considered poor.”

  “Barclay.” He fought to jog his memory. “Why do I know that name?”

  “You might be familiar with my brother Thomas. Tom.”

  Everything came rushing back to him in a painful wave. Of course. Thomas Barclay, the man who’d stolen the only woman he’d ever loved.

  No, that wasn’t true. He’d loved another once, but not like this. Not the way he loved Bianca.

  “Emil…may I call you Emil?”

  He nodded his approval.

  “You became very ill after you were shot, so your mother agreed to let us bring you here. A doctor has been treating your shoulder for the last few days and, based on the fact that you’re awake now, the treatment seems to be working.”

  Emil attempted to sit up. His head spun and his shoulder ached, but he wanted to sit up. He wanted to get better. He had to. His tribe depended on him.

  The woman—Victoria—didn’t try to push him down again. Instead she rushed to assist him. She propped his pillows behind him and eased him back against them with soothing encouragement.

  The room was clean and light, and a landscape painting hung on the wall in front of him. It captured everything Emil loved about England—the lush countryside that he knew so well. That he missed. No matter how comfortable this room was, he would always prefer a cozy vardo and a campfire.

  Which made him wonder at how things would have been with Bianca had they gone through with their plan. How would he feel about living in London half his life?

  Deep down he knew the answer. He wouldn’t give two figs, so long as Bianca was by his side. But it was easier to tell himself that it was better this way—that they would have begun to resent one another if they had married as planned.

  “How long will I have to stay here?”

  “The doctors will determine that, Emil. I’m only here to see to your comfort.”

  “Shouldn’t you have a maid to do that?”

  Victoria laughed. “Yes, and typically I would. But you are a special case, Emil. I have a vested interest in your well being.”

  Emil stared at her, confused. “Why?”

  “Because I think my sister-in-law would throw herself from a bridge if anything were to happen to you.”

  “Sister-in-law.” He leaned his head back and chuckled, but the sound was dark and cynical. “She’s begun her new life now. If I’m not already, I’ll soon be but a mere memory.”

  That display of self-pity should have earned him an equally pitying smile or pat on the hand from Victoria. However, her smile was far more wry than anything when she said, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that, Mr. Carroll.”

  ~*~

  By the time the carriage rolled to a stop in front of his sister�
��s hospital, Bianca was nearly jumping out of her seat. He’d never seen anyone with such a bundle of nerves, but clearly she was desperate to know if Emil was all right.

  When the door opened, she looked up at him with those damned blue eyes that he’d fallen so in love with. She didn’t say anything, but she was waiting for his permission to run ahead and find Emil.

  “Go,” he said with a single nod of his head.

  She darted from the carriage, nearly careening to the pavement in the process, then up the stairs to the front door of the hospital. Tom didn’t need to go in—part of him really didn’t even want to go in—but it was probably necessary for him to stay and see how this all played out.

  It was possible that Emil would turn her away after all the destruction she’d brought to his people, in which case Tom would be there to take her home. And to start to work on winning her affections.

  He sighed as his feet hit the pavement. A man could dream, couldn’t he?

  Voices floated to the foyer from the sitting room on the right. When Tom walked in, he found his sister and Bianca in an embrace. Fin stood nearby, looking on. It should have been a happy family reunion, but it wasn’t. Not for Tom, anyway.

  “How is he?” Bianca asked, pulling away from Victoria.

  His sister’s smile was wide and reassuring. “He’s awake, thank the good Lord. I think he’ll be fine.”

  Bianca clutched her heart in relief. “May I see him?”

  Victoria met Tom’s eyes. She wanted his approval, even though she didn’t really need it. He nodded, and it might have been the most difficult action he’d ever performed.

  “Follow me.”

  The women departed, leaving Tom and Fin alone. Fin—being the good friend he was—didn’t even ask before he began pouring a tumbler full of brandy. Tom silently accepted it and threw it back in one, quick gulp.

  “That bad?”

  “Worse.”

  “What will you do?”

  Tom handed back the glass and Fin refilled it. This time, though, Tom decided to take things a little slower. He took a small sip of the brandy and then set the glass down on one of the side tables.

  “I have no idea,” he admitted. “Two days ago, I had it all figured out. We were headed for Jamaica and I was going to make her forget all about him. Damned ship.”

  “Will you go back now?”

  It was a loaded question. Whether or not Fin meant to imply certain things, he did anyway. The question implied that he would leave his family, his duties, and with no real excuse to do so, other than his own selfish desires.

  His desire to be in Jamaica, and his desire to be as far away from England—and the woman he’d fallen in love with—as he could possibly be.

  “I have no clue what I’m going to do.”

  Nineteen

  Bianca stopped just short of the door to Emil’s room. Her heart was beating out of her chest. She couldn’t understand why she was so nervous—she loved him, after all. She was more comfortable with him than with anyone else in the world. But after all that had transpired, she was maybe just a little worried that he didn’t want to see her. What if he hated her now? What if he wanted nothing to do with her?

  Victoria turned back, her hand on the handle. “Bianca? Are you coming?”

  “One moment.”

  She pulled the necklace he’d given her from her reticule. She’d kept it, of course, though she hadn’t planned to ever be able to wear it again once she’d married Tom. But she wanted Emil to know how much she cherished it—how much she cherished him—so she clasped it around her neck, took a deep breath, and nodded to Victoria.

  However Emil felt about her now, she wanted to see him, to make sure he was alive. To see with her own eyes that he was going to be all right.

  Her feet made very little sound on the shiny new hardwood floors as she closed the distance between Victoria and herself. As she approached, Victoria opened the door, then stepped aside to allow Bianca to cross the threshold.

  Emil was propped up in the bed against a mound of pillows. A crisp white sheet stopped just below his chest, revealing the expanse of muscles under a dusting of dark hair. The hair on his head was unbound, wild. But Bianca barely noticed any of that, because his eyes—dark and stormy—caught her in their gaze and wouldn’t let go.

  They both remained perfectly still, silent. The only sound the click of the latch as Victoria closed the door behind her.

  “You’re here,” Emil finally said, his voice cracking with emotion.

  Bianca couldn’t wait another moment to be in his arms. She ran across the room and threw herself on top of him, allowing the onslaught of emotions that welled up within her. She cried into his shoulder as he stroked her hair. His breathing was heavy, as if he too were trying to contain his tears.

  “I thought I would never see you again,” she whispered, and he tightened his grip on her.

  After a long moment in his arms, she pulled away, eager to look at him, drink him in. She saw his opposite shoulder, bound in white gauze, and drew her hand to her mouth.

  “I’m so sorry!” she said, silently thanking God that the bullet had missed his heart.

  “It’s all right, my love.” Emil took a deep breath and then gave her a wry smile. “Come, sit with me.”

  “Emil,” she said, gently lowering herself to the bed and taking his hand in hers. “You cannot know the depth of my regret. This was all my fault–”

  Emil reached up and put a finger to her lips. “Hush, rinkini. No one blames you.”

  She grabbed his finger and pulled his hand into her lap. “I can’t imagine that’s true. I’m certain Adora would say differently.”

  “Adora will…she will come around with time.”

  “Is she here, in London?”

  Emil nodded. “Going out of her mind, I think. Lord and Lady Leyburn have put her up at their townhouse. She’s desperate for me to heal quickly so that we can return to the tribe.”

  Bianca squeezed his hand. “I’m so sorry about Guaril.”

  The pain that crossed Emil’s features made her want to cry. She hadn’t pulled the trigger or started the fire that killed his friend, but still, it was all her fault. All of it.

  Apparently, though, Emil didn’t wish to discuss his fallen friend. He changed the subject rather abruptly.

  “Why are you here?” he asked, his jaw turning to stone. “This isn’t safe for you, you know? You’re supposed to be…”

  He didn’t need to finish the sentence for her to know what he was going to say. “I know,” she said in reply. “But Tisbury thinks we’ve gone north.”

  Emil looked at her with curiosity in his black eyes. “And what about Tom?”

  “Tom knows, he understands. He brought me here after the ship returned for repairs.”

  “Do you love him?”

  Bianca was afraid he would ask her that question. It wasn’t an easy one to answer. She did love Tom, in a way. He was everything a young English miss could hope for in a husband, and he would marry her in a heartbeat if she said the word. But there was just one problem—she could never love him the way she loved Emil.

  “I do love him…like a sister loves a brother,” she said at last. “But I choose you, Emil. If you’ll still have me.”

  Emil pulled her toward him and she stretched out so they were lying against one another. His arms wrapped around her and his lips came down to meet hers. He kissed her so thoroughly that nothing else existed but the two of them and the aching she felt in her intimate places.

  “Is that a yes?” she asked, laughing as they separated for a moment.

  “It’s a thousand yeses, my little rinkini.”

  ~*~

  The burn of alcohol had never felt quite this good. With every swig he took, the pain he suffered dissipated just a little more. How much would he have to drink to forget completely?

  He held the small glass of pure, dark rum up to the light, then threw it back.

  “I’ll have ano
ther,” he called to the bartender.

  The man eyed him warily, but it was obvious he didn’t want to turn down the money that a self-destructive gentleman was willing to pay to forget his troubles.

  With the next swig, he closed his eyes. Finally, something to penetrate the cold. Something to remind him of happier days on the sands of Jamaica. The noises around him faded until all he could hear was the crashing of the waves on the shore, the ca-caw of the sea gulls overhead.

  Damn it all, if he didn’t leave this bloody place he’d go mad.

  “Another!” he called again.

  This time the bartender returned to him but with no bottle in hand. “Perhaps it’s best ta keep yer wits about ya, my lord,” he whispered.

  It was true Tom was in one of the seediest parts of town, in a pub that no self-respecting gentleman would find himself. But since he had little to no self-respect left, he didn’t really care where the devil he was.

  The bartender leaned forward so he could lower his voice even further. “I’ll beg ya not ta look now, my lord, but there’s a chap been starin’ ya down all evening. I suspect he’s up to no good.”

  Perfect. Just what he needed. The opportunity to beat some ruffian to a bloody pulp. Or be beat himself. Either way, he was sure an altercation would make him feel better.

  Once the bartender had walked away, Tom attempted to turn around as casually as he could to see the man who was apparently “up to no good.” He shouldn’t have been so surprised, yet finding Tisbury there came as quite a shock. The baron was supposed to have been searching for them in Scotland—surely he couldn’t have made it there and back in such a short amount of time.

  Perhaps the man wasn’t as stupid as he looked.

  Well, if he wanted a fight, he was going to get one.

  Tom threw a large note on the bar—it would more than cover his excessive tab—and stood from his stool. As expected, Tisbury stood too and followed Tom from the establishment into the street.

  It was late, so the streets were mostly quiet, save the occasional carriage and the pitter-patter of the rain. Tom was drunk enough that he hardly noticed the cold or the wet. Or maybe he just didn’t care anymore.