Taming Her Gypsy Lover by Christine Merrill Page A

never was. Bring him here, and I will show you.”
    Thank God they had given her extra laudanum that day, so that she had not heard the fuss her good boy had raised, biting and kicking and calling for his mama as Geoffrey had hauled him bodily to the Callandar coach, then driven hell-for-leather to the foundling home in somewhere in the north.
    And Emma had stood by, helpless, begging Geoffrey to relent, until he had put his hands on her arms and moved her to one side, telling her in a harsh voice that she should waste no tears on half-breed Gypsy filth that should never have been allowed to soil the reputation of a noble family. Then he’d cuffed the boy hard across the cheek to quiet his cries, and handed his limp body up into the coach with Amanda’s father.
    Emma’s last glimpse of Stephen Hebden had been his dark face, paled to the color of clay by shock, fingers twisted into the hangings at the window of Lord Callandar’s coach as it carted him from the only mother he had ever known.
    “You must calm yourself. You are upsetting the children.” Emma waved a warning to the nurse, to take Thomas and Imogen away again, and then turned back to her cousin. “When you are truly better, your father will send for him, I am sure.” Emma prayed God would forgive her the lie. But she feared the shock of the truth would kill Amanda, should she learn it.
    And yet she seemed to know. Her eyes were as hollow as her true son’s had been, and as full of death. “Thank you for trying to spare me. We know that is not the case, for we both know my father.” She reached out and gripped Emma’s hand. “But he is gone from this house now, is he not? With his lackey Geoffrey Burton?”
    Hesitantly, Emma nodded.
    “Then you must do something for me. You must go as well.”
    “Go where, Amanda?”
    “Anywhere. But get away from him and the man he has chosen for you. Do not fool yourself into thinking that you will be as happy as you were with Mr. Hammond. The only reason Burton offered for you is because I am still in mourning and far too mad to marry. He seeks to curry favor with my father, and my father wants you off his hands. He has no feeling for you.”
    Emma busied herself with the water in the basin, trying not to look at the woman in the bed. The truth was painful. But Emma had long since reconciled herself to her place in the family, and the fact that she was tolerated rather than loved.
    Amanda came halfway out of the bed to grab her by the arm. “Look at me, Emma. I stayed where my heart did not lie. Look what has become of me. You do not love Geoffrey, any more than I loved Kit.”
    “I am a poor relation, and have little choice in the matter. Your father has been more than good to me, to arrange the match.” Another lie.
    “He is good to no one. He has taken my son.” Amanda smiled. “And now I will pay him back, and do you a good turn as well. Run while you can. Take my jewelry with you and sell it. There is no future for you here, or with the man you are likely to marry.” And then she collapsed against the pillows, drifting into an uneasy, drugged slumber.
    Emma backed slowly away from the bed, fearing to wake her. And without meaning to, her eyes shifted to the jewelry box on the dresser.
    Then she looked away again, ashamed. It was difficult enough to be at the mercy of Lord Callandar’s charity. He would not hesitate to brand her a thief, should she take what his daughter offered.
    When she saw Geoffrey again, she would tell him how his actions had upset Amanda, and her as well. Even if the boy was not Amanda’s child by birth, it could not be good for either of them to part at this time. Perhaps Geoffrey could appeal to Lord Callandar.
    But her betrothed had no children of his own. Nor was he a woman. He did not understand. And although Emma would try, she suspected he would not listen to her now, nor was he likely to in the future.
    And suddenly, she felt as though the madness in the room was