Samantha James (3 page)

Her first thought was that be didn’t look like any
Gypsy she’d ever seen. Where was the bright clothing? The kerchief around his neck?

But of course he wouldn’t, goose
, she chided herself. The fall must have rattled her senses; he’d been living the life of a gentleman for quite some time now.

“Miss? Miss, are you hurt? Can you speak?”

So this was Dominic St. Bride, Earl of Ravenwood. His voice was low and deep, smooth as a well-oiled clock. Beside him stood the mongrel beast.

“Miss! Can you hear me? If you are able, please answer!”

A touch of irritation underscored the words. Only then did Olivia realize she was still staring. Why, no doubt he thought she was daft!

“Young woman! Can you move?”

His brow was pleated with lines, there beneath the fall of dark hair. Strong hands curled around her arms. He was bent over her, so close she could feel the rustle of wool against her own clothing, the moist heat of his breath upon her lips. Curiously, it was not at all unpleasant…

Heavens, what was the matter with her?

“I would be quite happy to, sir, if only you would release me.”

Something flickered in his eyes. His lips twitched ever so slightly…a smile?

Nay. Nay, it could not be! The rest of the servants were convinced, as was she…the Gypsy would be a cruel master.

He released her. Cautiously Olivia tested her limbs. He stood above her now, offering a gloved hand to assist her. She took it, letting go as soon as she was on her feet. “Careful now. Not too swiftly.”

There were more footsteps. A stout man appeared, a lantern swaying in his hand.

“My lord. Is all well? Dear God, I swear I didn’t see the chit until it was too late! I tried to veer away but—”

“All is under control now, Higgins. You may return to the carriage.”

Those eyes, so very dark—dark as a moonless night!—never wavered from her own.

All at once Olivia felt decidedly foolish, awkward and clumsy.

“’Tis midnight,” he said softly. “You should not be about at this hour.”

Olivia bristled. He might be her employer—though he was not yet aware of it—but he was not her keeper.

“I’m well aware of the hour, sir, and I assure you, I’m quite safe.”

“You were not, else we would not be having this discussion.”

Olivia blinked. What arrogance! Why, he was insufferable! Her spine straightened. At two and
twenty, she was her own woman. Papa had never dictated to her, but had always urged her and Emily to make decisions on their own, to be independent thinkers.

“I am not a sniveling, helpless female, sir.”

It appeared as if he’d not heard at all. His only response was to pull a handkerchief from deep in his trouser pocket. Olivia stiffened in shock when he pressed it to her right cheekbone.

“You’re bleeding,” he said by way of explanation. “I saw it when Higgins came over with the lantern.”

Her reaction was instinctive. She gasped and one hand went to her cheek.

“It’s only a scratch.” Even as he spoke, he let his hand drop. “It will soon stop.”

All at once Olivia felt chastened and subdued. Lord, but he was tall! Why, she barely reached his chin. She didn’t need the light of day to know that beneath his jacket, his shoulders were wide as the seas.

Her pulse was racing, in a way she liked not at all—in a way that was wholly unfamiliar. Quickly she wrenched her eyes from his form. Most assuredly, she did not wish to be caught staring again.

Her gaze lit upon the dog, who now stood close at his side. From the look of him, he was a mongrel—surely the ugliest creature she had ever seen! His head was immense, his coat black and rather longish. But he was powerfully muscled, his ears erect and pointing.

Her rescuer had seen where her attention now lay.

“This is Lucifer.”

“Lucifer! Why, that is the name of the devil!”

Apparently he found her shock amusing; he threw back his head and laughed. “I assure you, Lucifer is a veritable pussycat.”

“A veritable beast,” she stated unthinkingly. She eyed the mongrel dubiously. Though the animal displayed no sign of aggression, merely stood docile at his master’s side, she was apprehensive. “I much prefer cats,” she heard herself say.

“Ah, but cats have claws.”

“So do some women, or so ’tis said.”

“Ah.” The moon had slid behind a cloud, obscuring her vision. She could no longer see his features clearly, but he sounded amused. “And what about you, Miss…”

Olivia hesitated, oddly reluctant to share her identity. Yet what did it matter?

“Sherwood,” she said at last. “Olivia Sherwood.”

To her surprise, he stripped off one glove and tucked it beneath his arm. He then proceeded to take her hand.

Two things ran through her mind in that instant…For some strange reason she thought his skin would be cold as death; instead it seemed hot as fire. The second was that her hand was completely swallowed by his.

“Allow me take you home, Miss Sherwood.”

Her gaze flew to his. She tried to remove her hand from within his grasp. His grip tightened ever so slightly.

“Y-you’re holding my hand, sir.” To her shame, her voice came out airy and breathless.

“So I am, Miss Sherwood. So I am.” He glanced down at his hand, clasped in his palm, then back up to her face. A slight smile curled his lips…oh,
a devil’s smile surely, for she sensed he was making light of her. “And I would ask again…may I take you home?”

“Nay, sir!” A shake of her head accompanied her denial. “’Tis not necessary,” she hastened to add. “Truly. I live there, just over the hill.”

“In the village?”

“Y-yes.” It wasn’t entirely true, for she lived nearly a mile past the far side of the village.

He persisted. “You may well have injuries of which you are unaware.”

“Nay.” She was adamant, or at least she prayed she sounded that way! “I would know it.”

He gazed down at her, so long and so intently she could have sworn he knew she’d lied.

He released her hand just when she feared he never would.

“Very well then.”

His tone was decidedly cool. Had she offended him? A sliver of guilt shot through her.

“Thank you for stopping, sir,” she said quickly. “And please, tell your coachman ’twas not his fault.”

He inclined his head, then spoke very quietly. “I’m very glad you came to no harm, Miss Sherwood.”

Three steps and he’d disappeared into the shadows. Though she strained to see, she could not. She could only hear the jangle of the harness as the coach rolled off.

She released a long, pent-up breath.
Ravenwood
, she thought shakily. ’Twas a fitting name, for a fitting master. For there was something dark and mysterious about Dominic St. Bride…

Or did the midnight hour—and his Gypsy soul—but fuel her foolish fancies?

Her heart was still beating hard by the time Olivia arrived at the small cottage she and Emily now called home.

Should she tell Emily of the encounter? No. Emily would worry—for the first time she gave thanks that Emily was blind, that she could not see the cut upon her cheek.

She threw open the back door, calling out a gay greeting that shielded her turmoil.

“Emily? I’m home. Where are you, love?”

“I’m here.”

Emily’s voice sounded from the parlor. Olivia’s footsteps took her through the kitchen. The parlor was filled with shadows, but she managed to make out the shape of her sister’s form sitting in the rocker by the window. Briskly she set about lighting the candles. “My, but it’s frightfully da—” Hurriedly she revised what she’d been about to say.

Emily now lived in a world of darkness.

“It’s frightfully cool for a summer night. Why, I thought I should freeze to death on the walk home.”

“It’s only June, and still early, at that.” Emily’s fingers twitched at the fabric of her skirt. Her lovely brow was pleated with a frown. “Olivia, you’re rather late, aren’t you?”

“I am, and I’m terribly sorry, love. I fear it couldn’t be helped.” She gave a quick laugh. “You must be feeling neglected, I suspect. Have you eaten yet?”

“I had bread and cheese some hours ago.” Emily
turned her head in the direction of her voice. “Olivia, you sound…different.”

“Of course I don’t. I simply feel the wretch for having to leave you alone so long.”

“You needn’t feel guilty, Olivia. Esther stopped by and we went for a walk earlier.” When Olivia had begun working at Ravenwood, she’d hired a woman from the village—Esther—to help out with Emily’s meals and take her out for a bit each day.

“It was his fault that you were late, wasn’t it? The new Gypsy master.” There was no denying the disapproval in Emily’s tone.

Olivia sighed. The less she talked about the new Gypsy master of Ravenwood, the better. Emily had had nightmares, reliving the day Papa had been murdered, for weeks afterward. Yet she would not speak of it to anyone—not even Olivia. So it was that Olivia had no wish to stir that kettle anew.

“No, love, it wasn’t. I fear I was a bit of a sluggard today, and Mrs. Templeton made me polish the grand staircase. ’Tis my own fault, and I’ve no one to blame but myself.”

“I dislike you working for a Gypsy, Olivia. If only you could have been a governess—or a seamstress.”

If only…But there were no rich households with young children for whom she might hire on as governess, not in Stonebridge. With a seamstress already well established in the village, it wouldn’t have been fair to take business from her. They could have gone to Cornwall, where Mama’s youngest brother Ambrose had lived. But Uncle Ambrose was gone, too, and his widow Paulina had her own dire straits to contend with—four young children to raise. Olivia would not even think of
burdening her further. Nor would she take charity. Nay, she would not let pride be her folly.

And so she’d had no choice. Money was in short supply, but they had to eat. There was rent to pay. It didn’t matter how menial the task; she was strong and she would do what she must so that she and Emily could survive. And somehow, if it took a hundred years, she would find the money to take Emily to a physician in London. It was so strange…the way she’d lost her vision, so suddenly, but a single day after Papa had been killed.

Olivia’s heart squeezed. She would remember it always—the stricken cry when Emily had awoken the next morning, the way she’d flung out her hands. “
I cannot see. I cannot see!
” she’d cried, over and over.

The physician merely shook his head, at a loss for explanations. There had been no sign at all that Emily had been losing her sight, though she
had
hit her head when she fell from Papa’s horse…

The remembrance made her ache inside.

Emily was but little more than a year younger than Olivia. She had once been a lively, vivacious girl, full of laughter and hope. Of course she’d always been a bit shy. Papa had thought it was because Mama had died when Emily was at an awkward stage—no longer a girl, not yet a woman. But when their father had died—and she’d lost her sight—it was as if a light had been extinguished inside her. Her blindness had made her even more shy and timid. She sat in her chair, a spectator of life, no longer a part of it…

It nearly broke Olivia’s heart to think her sister might be destined forever for such a life.

Kneeling before her sister, she folded her hands
around Emily’s where they rested in her lap. “We’ll be all right, love. We’ve managed well enough thus far, haven’t we? Besides, you’ve always had far more talent with the needle than I.” She swallowed the ache in her throat. “We’ll be all right,” she said again. “I promise.”

“But I feel so guilty, with you out working for—for that Gypsy! It isn’t right that you should spend your days in drudgery. Oh, if only I could see…if only I could help!”

Olivia sought to reassure her. “’Tis not so bad, really. I don’t mind working at Ravenwood. Why, I’ve spent many a backbreaking day working in the garden!” She strived for a light tone but wasn’t convinced she had succeeded.

She knew it for certain when Emily’s lovely blue eyes filled with tears. “First Mama died in that horrible fall. And then the way Papa died…Why are we being punished like this, Olivia…why?”

Olivia’s mind traveled back as well. Mama had always had a fondness for animals, especially horses; Mama’s father had been a stable master for a duke, and Mama had often helped him in her youth. For her birthday one year, Papa had presented Mama with a dappled gray mare named Bonnie that he’d gotten from a nearby farmer. A wistful remembrance went through Olivia. Mama had been so thrilled! Indeed, the swaybacked mare might have been the finest steed in all of England, for Mama had adored Bonnie.

Olivia had always been nervous around horses; Papa had tried to teach her to ride, to no avail. In an attempt to ease her trepidation, one day Mama had taken Olivia up behind her. Olivia remembered the day well. Mama had eased Bonnie into a
slow canter around the field near the house. Olivia had just begun to think that everyone was right—that perhaps riding was great fun after all. She’d even gathered the courage to grip the mare with her knees. She’d raised her arms. She remembered the feel of the breeze against her face, whipping her hair. ’Twas as if she were flying…Then all at once Bonnie faltered. She came to an abrupt halt. Unprepared, Olivia had toppled to the ground. But Mama…

Mama was flung headlong over Bonnie’s head. Bruised and aching, Olivia remembered crawling to Mama. “
Mama!
” she’d cried. “
Mama, get up!
”

But Mama didn’t. She couldn’t.

Mama was dead.

Olivia’s heart squeezed in aching remembrance. So much had changed since that carefree day. Papa, though he’d tried not to show it to his daughters, had never been quite the same. His smile was never quite so bright as it had been before that tragic day…

Olivia swallowed the tightness in her throat.

“Shhh, love. You know what Papa always said—that the Lord works in ways we cannot always understand. We must trust in Him, trust that better days lie ahead.” She squeezed Emily’s fingers. “Please, love, don’t lose faith.”