by Becky Lower
Several hours passed, and he had to slow his horse to a walk in the darkness. If Libby had trouble with the horse, or ran into robbers along the way, she would not have gone too much further from where he was now. He searched in earnest for signs of her whereabouts. It didn’t take long.
A horse appeared from over the hill, wearing a saddle but without a rider, heading back to Boston and his warm stable and food. Hawk let Old Sam go on but could not help but notice the horse was limping. Must have lost a shoe. Libby had to be close, but what could have happened to her?
When he found her, he would not let her go. She would share the horse with him on the ride back to Boston, and Hawk could keep her safe. If she would have him, he would share the rest of his life with her. His conversation with his mother convinced him to grab life with both hands. He might have to leave Libby occasionally, as his father had done with his mother, but the cause was worthwhile. If freedom was to be gained, if Libby and Hawk and their children could live in peace, it would give him a reason to continue the battle.
He found the signs he had been searching for and found Libby in a ditch a few miles further down the road. Her bag had opened, and her garments were strewn about.
Hawk’s heart was in his throat as he slid off his horse and knelt by her, searching for signs she was still breathing. She was alive, but not awake. He checked for broken bones and found none. Breathing hard, he gathered up her things and then her, and mounted the horse, settling Libby in front of him, and the bag in front of her. It would be a slow ride back to Boston. Her head lolled on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around her to keep her from falling off. What the hell had happened to her?
• ♥ •
She regained consciousness as they entered the city limits, and her head whipped around in a panic. “Let me go!” She struggled against his strong arms.
“Sshh, mon amie. It is Hawk. You are safe now.” He could feel the tremor racing through her body and could sense her fear. He kissed her temple and wished he could remove an arm from around her so he could wipe her tears away. But she continued to struggle, so he held her tightly.
“I can’t go back, Hawk. Please, turn around and take me to New York.” She raised her head from his shoulder, her blue eyes filled with moisture, and locked on him.
“I will keep you safe, Libby. You have nothing to fear.”
“You can’t keep me safe, Hawk. I must leave Boston. I didn’t run far enough, fast enough.” With a heavy sigh, she settled back against his shoulder again.
“What happened with the horse?” He tried to alleviate her panic by changing the subject.
“I noticed he was limping, and I was about to climb off when he got spooked by a flock of birds that took flight as we passed. He reared up, and I got tossed from his back.” Libby faced him. “Will he be all right? He’s such a sweet, gentle soul.”
“It appeared to me Old Sam lost a shoe, that is all. He will be fine. Are you hurt? I did not feel any broken bones, but does anything ache?”
“Only my heart. Please, Hawk, take me to New York.”
“Whatever Sampson did to you, we will get through it together. Did he touch you? Is that why you are running?” Hawk’s fury rose once more.
“No, he tried to, but I hit him with a spittoon from his storeroom and escaped. But that’s not why I must leave, Hawk. He is acquainted with me, from my time in London.” She closed her eyes, but her tears kept coming.
“So?”
She sighed again. “So, I must now tell you about my time there. And then, you’ll reject me.” She opened her eyes and pinned him with her glance.
His heart broke for her. “Nika told me you had many secrets. You can start by telling me your real name.”
She pivoted around and faced forward. Hawk could not read her expression, but he could read her body language. She was tense as she struggled with the thought of divulging even that much. He waited, saying nothing, although he had to grit his teeth.
“The name my mother gave me was Fancy.”
Laughter rumbled up from his abdomen. “It fits. Why did you change it to Liberty?”
“I changed it first when I headed to London. My name there was Anjanette Shelby.”
Hawk nodded. “Then you became Anjanette Wexford, when you married. Indians have multiple names, too. One their parents give them, and then they get to pick a name when they become older.”
Libby shook her head. “It didn’t happen exactly like that, Hawk.”
“We will sort through it all later.” Hawk led his tired horse into the stables, where Jeremiah waited to take care of the animal. Old Sam had returned to his warm pen already. “Ben has been going crazy with worry. We need to see him, to assure him you are all right.” Hawk helped Libby down from the horse and grabbed her wrist when she tried to bolt.
“No, I can’t go back to the Gazette. I must find a way to get to New York.”
“Not before you assure Ben you are unharmed. Even though it is early, he will be there.” Hawk held onto her arm and led her to the newspaper office. Before they entered, he gave into his impulse and scrubbed the tears from her cheeks. Then, he gave into his next impulse, and kissed her lightly, tasting the salt from her tears. “You are safe now.”
She stepped away from him, but he still held onto her arm. Her gaze met his. “After you hear what Mr. Sampson has to say about me, you won’t have anything to do with me, Hawk. I won’t be safe in Boston ever again.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Even in her panic, Libby relished the kiss from Hawk during those final minutes in front of the Gazette office, fully aware it would be the last one she’d ever experience. Her entire body trembled, but this time it was not from his touch. Her past was about to spring from the shadows, and she had to get away. Hawk had an iron grip on her wrist. She could struggle against him, but it would be in vain, and she needed all her strength in order to get to New York. Maybe now, she’d go by coach, since going by horse only got her a few miles out of Boston. It had been years since she’d sat on a horse, and even such a sweet one as Old Sam was a handful. She’d had trouble with him, since all he wanted was to return to the warmth of the stables, which held a basket full of hay. Libby kept urging him to take one stride forward and then he’d take two back, indicating what he wanted. When she noticed him limping, she was about to get off when the birds flew up. The next thing in her memory was Hawk, sweeping in to rescue her.
Again. Just as he had her first day in Boston. Now, she had to tell him the truth about herself. And then say goodbye.
He had marched her to the newspaper office, and she could hear raised voices from inside. Hawk opened the door and ushered Libby in.
“There she is!” Peter Sampson’s pudgy finger pointed at her. “Ben, you need to arrest this woman. She accosted me.” He put his hand to his forehead over the bloody bandage.
Libby’s own blood became ice in her veins. Just as it had when she was in the storage room. Fight or flight. She’d done both then. Hit this grotesque man with the spittoon and then ran. Now, she had to fight again. She took a deep breath to steady herself. “I only accosted you after you’d done the same to me. You locked me in a dark room, with the threat you’d come back and rape me once you could clear out your customers.”
Peter Sampson’s lip curled. “It’s not considered rape if you willingly spread your legs, as you did so many times in London.”
Ben and Hawk exchanged quizzical glances with each other before they stared at her. She swallowed with difficulty.
Peter Sampson faced the two men. “What? You must have sampled her by now, Gentry, since you ran after her. And Ben, you can’t tell me you gave her this job and a room upstairs out of the goodness of your heart. You’ve probably been taking out her rent in trade.”
Libby lowered her head, tears stinging her eyes. It didn’t matter if she was in New York or Boston. Her past would always be a part of her. But these two men, Hawk and Ben Edes, had been nothing but kind to her fr
om the day she arrived in America. She could not let them suffer such abuse. She took a breath and raised her gaze, pinning Peter Sampson. He took a step back.
“You’ve said quite enough, Mr. Sampson. You can degrade my reputation all you want, and you’d be quite correct to do so. But you can’t drag Mr. Edes or Mr. Gentry through the muck with me. They have done nothing other than treat me with respect. Something you’ve failed to do.”
Peter Sampson spat in her face. “I have no respect for whores.”
Libby refused to wipe the spittle from her cheek as she faced her accuser. “It was for that reason I spurned you when we were in London. By the time I met you, I’d seen enough of men to be able to tell good from bad. And you, with your cavalier attitude, were as loathsome then as you are now.”
Peter Sampson pivoted to Ben. “Well, Edes, what are you going to do about this? Once word gets out you’ve been giving shelter to the woman all of London called Miss Spectacular Bosom, who was the highest-priced whore in the city, you and your precious paper’s reputation will be laughable.”
Libby could feel her cheeks begin to burn and Peter Sampson’s spittle coursed its way down her face.
Ben Edes emerged from behind the counter and stood between Libby and her accuser. “You’d best leave now, Peter.”
Sampson’s mouth opened and then shut, resembling a fish. Libby nearly smiled.
“Not until I file charges against her!”
Ben took hold of Peter’s arm and ushered him toward the door. “The only charges being filed today are what I might file against you, for accosting my employee. Good day, Peter.”
Ben closed the door behind Peter and pivoted around. Libby’s stomach had unclenched briefly when he stood up for her. But Ben’s dark look, and Hawk’s unblinking stare made her stomach clench again. She still had a lot of explaining to do.
• ♥ •
Libby took a breath, wiping Mr. Sampson’s spittle from her cheek, then straightened and faced Ben and Hawk. She might forever be known as a courtesan, but she could still maintain her dignity. “Mr. Sampson is correct. I was the highest-paid courtesan in London for a time. But that profession ended when I met Atticus Wexford. He wished to marry me and take me away from England, to a place where my background would not be an issue. We talked about coming to America before he died. But evidently, we were wrong in our assessment. America isn’t far enough away from England.”
Ben Edes stared at her. “So, you aren’t a widow?”
If the situation weren’t so grave, she would have laughed. That was the part of her story with which Ben had a problem?
“No, Ben, I’m not a widow. Atticus was a special agent for the British government, working to unearth a plot to overthrow King George, but his enemies killed him the day before we were to marry. Because he named me as his beneficiary, I could afford to leave London on my own.” Libby ran a hand over her hair. “But none of that matters, since Mr. Sampson will make everyone in town aware of my former profession. I must now leave Boston.” She gazed into Ben’s eyes, noting his concerned expression. “I’m sorry, Ben, but I must tender my resignation. I’ll pack my things upstairs and be gone by this afternoon.”
“You don’t have to leave town, Libby. You’ve done wonders for the paper’s bottom line and I don’t wish to lose you. We’ll protect you.”
Her gaze shifted from Ben to Hawk. He stood, arms crossed, strong and silent. His gaze never left her, but his eyes were hard as flint. She lifted a brow toward him, but he refused to say anything, to agree with Ben. Hawk would not protect her, even though he’d said just that mere minutes prior.
Libby didn’t need to say more, to try to explain further. None of it would make a difference. She had never begged any man before. Now would not be a good time to start. She picked up her red shoes and her satchel, then left the office, keeping her back straight and her gaze on the path in front of her. When she got to her room, she let the tears fall. The shoes were bought with Hawk in mind, and now he’d never see them on her feet. He’d condemned her with his silence.
She quickly gathered up her belongings and stuffed them into two bags. She stuffed her new red shoes and the ones Hawk had fixed for her into the same bag, along with all the others. She opened the door and spun around to take one last look at the room that had been her home. Placing a fist to her mouth to stop the moan, she held back the tears. Happiness had happened here, at least for a few months. Never again, though, here in Boston.
The door on the opposite side of the landing opened, and Patterson Lovejoy appeared, bumping into Libby as she stared at her room.
“Ah, Mrs. Wexford, I’m so sorry.” He latched onto an arm as she swayed, helping her regain her balance. With a frown, he glanced at her bags. “Going somewhere?”
“Yes, Mr. Lovejoy. I’m heading to New York. I will go to the hotel and purchase a seat on the next coach.” She lifted the bag with all her shoes in one hand and her satchel in the other before taking a step down the stairs. “I’ll come back for my other bag.”
“No need. I’ll carry it down for you.” He hustled down the stairs after her. “Do you have a cart to take you and your luggage to the hotel?”
“I planned to walk there.” She placed her heavy bag at her feet.
“Well, I won’t hear of it. Wait here, I’ll go get a cart from Hawk.” Patterson flicked a glance over her. “Is he aware you’re about to leave?”
“Yes.”
“And he’s willing to let you go?” Patterson shook his head.
Libby placed her hand on Patterson’s arm. “He has his reasons.”
“This isn’t right. He loves you. He was frantic when we got back from Maine and you were gone.” Patterson took a breath. “I need to talk to him.”
Libby tightened her hold. “Please don’t. You don’t have the whole story. He has his reasons.”
“Reasons be damned.” He took a step toward the stables before he pivoted back to her. “I’ll respect your wishes, Mrs. Wexford, but I will get a cart. You wait here.”
Libby followed the man’s form as he ran off toward the stables. He might say nothing to Hawk now, but he would, at some point.
And then what would happen? Would he be able to convince Hawk to follow her to New York? Her heart raced. If he ran after her, he’d have to live the rest of his life defending her reputation. And she would have no part of it. He didn’t deserve that fate. Maybe New York wasn’t far enough away, either.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Hawk glanced around his empty smithy shop. The stove was stone cold, resembling his heart. But he had work to do. The donations for lead and silver had kept pouring in while he had been off fighting, so he had material aplenty with which to make bullets. He assessed what needed done, even as his thoughts careened into one another. He had willingly accepted Libby’s multiple names. Although he thought her mother got it right when she named her daughter Fancy. But when Libby revealed her former occupation, he could not control his distaste. How many men had she shared herself with? Ten? Twenty? A hundred? She was no better than Elizabeth Loring, General Howe’s paramour, for whom his disgust had no bounds. In fact, Libby might be worse. At least, Elizabeth Loring only had two lovers–the general and her husband.
His thoughts swirled as he threw some kindling into the stove and lit a fire. He had a war to fight. He had no need of a woman. Especially one who would turn to whoever happened to be available while he was off fighting for America’s freedom. He’d only been gone three weeks, for God’s sake, and she encountered an old paramour, perhaps rekindled their liaison. Could that be what happened? Then, when she decided her initial impression of Sampson had been correct, and she decided to break things off, had he threatened to expose her?
What happened did not matter. The woman was nothing but a whore with a penchant for fancy footwear.
He threw some logs into the stove, anger heating his body. He inhaled the pleasant scent of burning wood. Normally, the odor calmed him, took him back to hi
s roots, but not today. He had iron to pound into shape. The pounding would be good for him. He should not be moping over a whore. He would make a shoe for Old Sam and put a pot on top of the stove to melt the metal and make more bullets. The best time of year for fighting might be drawing to a close, but it did not mean the battle would not wage into the winter. The more bullets, the better.
Patterson ran into the shop, halting abruptly. “I need a horse and a cart, Hawk.”
“What is going on?”
The man gave Hawk a long look, then shrugged. “Nothing important. Just need to transport some goods.”
Hawk tossed another log into the stove. “I will hitch a horse for you.” Patterson’s work with the Sons of Liberty made it imperative he keep secrets from people. The less Hawk was aware about the manner of the goods, the better.
Between them, they quickly got a horse hitched to the small cart in the livery. Patterson jumped up on the seat. “Thanks, my friend. I’ll have this back by the end of the day.”
Hawk was once more alone with his brooding thoughts. Were Libby’s new red shoes a gift from Sampson? Why was she running away? Could she possibly be telling the truth this time, and Sampson trapped her, so she had no recourse except to hit him? Had she been serious about leaving her old life behind? Could she be trusted?
Patterson returned with the cart an hour or so later. Hawk picked up on the noise in the stables as his friend unhitched the horse and put him in his pen. He could not put aside his morose thoughts long enough to help. Patterson made his way into the shop.
“Horse and buggy are back, Hawk. Thanks for the loan.”
Hawk shrugged.
“Are you going to tell me?” Patterson stood in front of him, so Hawk raised his head.