A British Courtesan in America (Revolutionary Women Book 2)

by Becky Lower

  Libby’s heart sank. She had hoped Mr. Yoder would rise up in her defense. Would value her work to the point where he would reconsider his approval of Gideon pursuing her. But she could tell he would be true to his word. Marriage, hard work, and children were the guiding forces of the Amish, and once agreed upon, matters would proceed apace. Her eyes smarted with tears as she sat and stared at her work. She blinked them away. She still had a few months before Gideon would return to claim her. Those few months she would fill with learning all she could about how to create a pair of shoes. Then, before the spring thaw, she would leave Lancaster, this little shop, and Mr. Yoder. She’d go to New York town, blend in there, and open her own cobbler shop. She’d fashion shoes that fit with her visions. Shoes she’d love to wear herself.

  She’d continue to let Mr. Yoder hold on to the notion that Gideon would listen to reason when he came for her, and that she could tool leather from Volant, where Gideon had his farm. Mr. Yoder would have to speed up her education if she were to be ready to work on her own in just a few months. She’d be a sponge and soak up all the knowledge she could, and then head out of town. Mr. Yoder had been nothing but kind to her and deserved better, but her path forward did not involve going back to her roots and spend her days toiling on a farm. She’d seen what a life of tending the soil and placing one’s faith in the weather for a good harvest did to a person. Her father had died young, and so had her mother. She was stronger than they had been, but only if she paid attention to her better sense. And that meant New York, not Volant.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Libby was not in York. Hawk had only spent a day there before he circled back to Lancaster, certain she was here. Or at least had been for some time. The rose scent hung in the air, a siren song to his nostrils. He stopped back in the alehouse for a meal and a drink.

  “Good to see you again, sir.” The patron set the meat pie in front of him. “Do you need anything else?”

  Hawk glanced at the man. “Some information, perhaps.”

  “If I can.”

  “I am searching for a woman.” Hawk dug into his pie as he talked, savoring the beef, carrots, and potatoes.

  The man laughed. “Aren’t we all?”

  Hawk bit back his growl. “A particular woman. She has blond hair and blue eyes. Probably arrived in town last fall.”

  “There are many ladies in town matching that description. Is she Amish?” The patron wiped his filthy rag over the tabletop.

  “She could be.”

  The man raised an eyebrow and glanced around the room. “Amish men don’t share their women, especially with the likes of you.” His hand slashed through the air as he indicated Hawk’s coloring and his braided hair, from which a bird’s feather dangled.

  “But what if she is only pretending to be Amish?” Hawk shrugged. “Would it make a difference?”

  The man straightened. “Why would anyone pretend to be Amish? It’s hard enough to get by without having to live the lifestyle of that sect.” He pivoted away, then whirled back. “Don’t be setting your feathers on an Amish woman. The sect may not take up arms against you since they are a peaceful lot, but they have ways of dealing with folks outside their boundaries who offend them. I rely on their farms for the food sitting in front of you. I don’t need any trouble. It’s best you be on your way.” He grabbed the half-eaten meat pie from Hawk and scurried away.

  Hawk left only half the price of the meal on the table. Then he rose and prowled the streets, searching for Libby’s golden tresses. But the women who passed by did so with their gazes to their feet, and their heads covered with white bonnets.

  He stopped in the middle of the street, barely sidestepping out of the way of a black buggy whizzing by. The Amish were prevalent in Lancaster. What better way to hide out from people who might be searching for her than to hide among them? He guessed Libby Wexford had taken on the appearance of an Amish woman. But to be an Amish woman in Lancaster meant you had to be at work somewhere. Hawk had noticed some of the women were street vendors, selling the produce their husbands had harvested or selling the quilts they had fashioned themselves. There had been a few Amish ladies in the alehouse, working in the kitchen and clearing the tables. But Hawk could not picture Libby in either of those scenarios. What had Sam Adams said earlier, about a cobbler shop with an Amish woman working in it? Made perfect sense. He strode with purpose now.

  It was already January, and he had been searching for her for weeks. By nightfall, his journey would end. And his future would begin.

  At least, he hoped so.

  She had to forgive him. There could be no other outcome. A properly raised English woman who had taken up an inappropriate profession and a half Indian, half French American would be perfect for each other. What fine babies they would produce! Their children would become the backbone of this new country. They would blend their cultures and become the mightiest nation in the world. Patterson was right. Children were the future, and the reason they were fighting for their freedom. And if he did nothing, he would gain nothing.

  He glanced up, tugged his mind away from his tortured thoughts, and stopped.

  There.

  The sign board above, rocking gently back and forth in the breeze, announced the cobbler shop. Hawk stopped, took a deep breath, squared his shoulders and opened the door, hoping his hunch was right. Hoping he had not been too late. Hoping his pig-headedness, as Patterson had called it, had not resulted in him losing Libby.

  • ♥ •

  Libby didn’t need to turn around to figure out who had just entered the shop. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and her skin prickled with a sensation she hadn’t had in months. Hawk had tracked her down.

  Finally.

  Her heart pounded out of her chest. She gulped for air and faced him.

  “Hello, Hawk.” She didn’t even attempt to throw him off, to give the impression she was just another Amish lady. He had followed her scent, just as she had known from one inhalation, that he stood in her space. She faced him and glanced up, her mouth dry. He was every bit as handsome and tantalizing as she had envisioned him nightly, but perhaps even more so now that he was standing in front of her. Her hand raised of its own accord, to touch him, to make certain he was not a figment of her imagination, before she lowered it to her side. “Or should I say Bonjour? Perhaps Qey?”

  She could tell he was gritting his teeth at her cheekiness.

  His jaw clenched and his dark face grew even deeper in hue. “Why did you run?”

  He was not in the mood for fun. Well, neither was she. Libby ground her heel into the wood floor and placed her hands on her hips, forming fists. “Why did you let me?”

  “I needed some time.”

  She stomped her foot, sending up a little cloud of dust. “So why are you here now?”

  Hawk’s flinty gaze locked on her, and she couldn’t breathe. Long moments spooled out. Neither of them said a word or lifted a hand.

  “Mrs. Booker, or should I say, soon to be Mrs. Troyer, look at these shoes! They’re our best effort yet.” Mr. Yoder emerged from the back room with another pair of work shoes she’d helped him make. The trance she and Hawk had been in evaporated, and Libby took a step back.

  “Soon to be Mrs. Troyer? What is that about?” Hawk growled.

  Mr. Yoder stepped between them and smiled. “Yes, indeed, sir. Mrs. Booker is going to marry my nephew in the spring. Having such a talented shoemaker in the family will make my shop a household name in no time.”

  Hawk snaked an arm around Mr. Yoder and grabbed Libby’s wrist. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Mrs. Booker, is it?” He tugged her to his side. “We have a lot to discuss.”

  Libby tried to break free from Hawk’s grasp, but he was not giving her an inch. “Mr. Yoder, this gentleman is Hawk Gentry. We worked together in Boston. May I have a few minutes alone with him?”

  Mr. Yoder bristled. “If you have something to say to him privately, you can do so, but not in my sh
op. Not in my sight. You are to marry my nephew and I’ll not have you soil your reputation here. What I don’t see, I don’t know.”

  “Fine. We’ll go to the alley, then. Plenty of privacy there.” She took Hawk by the hand and led him out of the shop and around to the alley behind, acutely aware of the sparks emanating from the contact. And well aware of the accusing eyes of Mr. Yoder. Again, she hadn’t run far enough or fast enough, and her past had once more caught up to her. There would be no marriage to Gideon, unless she figured out a good excuse for Hawk’s presence that would appease Mr. Yoder. There would be no marriage to Gideon anyway, so it really didn’t matter. She blinked away her sudden tears.

  She dropped Hawk’s hand and pivoted toward him. “Answer my question. Why are you here now?”

  “Why are you pretending to be Amish?” Hawk answered her question with one of his own.

  “I’m the one, the only one, who should be asking the questions, Hawk. Why are you here?” Libby’s back straightened and she stepped away from him.

  “I needed to see you. But I never expected you to be posing as an Amish woman.”

  “I was attempting to blend in. But I guess I can’t even do that, now.” Her shoulders slumped. “You’ve made that impossible.”

  “And getting married? Is that to blend in as well?” Hawk lowered his voice to a growl.

  “No. But I don’t need to explain myself to you. Especially not to you.” Tears smarted in her eyes, but she held her gaze steady. “Again, why are you here?”

  Hawk rolled his shoulders. “To apologize. Moskeyin. Je suis désolé. I am sorry.”

  Libby took a deep breath. As much as she had wished for this, she had not ever really expected Hawk to return to her. To apologize. And in three different languages, no less. The tears escaped and rolled down her face. She brushed them away quickly, angry at herself. Tears revealed weakness, and she had no wish to be weak in front of Hawk.

  “I need to find out why you became a courtesan.” Hawk tried to cup her chin and she recoiled from his touch.

  “What? You finally sorted out it was not something I aspired to from childhood? You came here merely to satisfy your curiosity?” Libby stepped back from his tender touch, bristling at his words but melting from the contact. Her breath hitched in her throat.

  Hawk took a deep breath, noticing her step back. “No, it is not to satisfy any curiosity. But it will help to explain how you became such a remarkable woman.” Hawk led her to a wooden box near a wall and sat beside her.

  Libby took a deep breath. And closed her eyes briefly to keep her tears from falling again. Hawk thought she was a remarkable woman. She took comfort in that. She’d never shared her complete story before, with anyone. Perhaps it was now time to do so.

  “Papa died in an accident the year I celebrated my fifteenth birthday. Mama and I struggled to keep a roof over our heads, but then, Mama took sick. She must have known she was dying, because she spent every last sixpence on a lovely red gown for me. She dressed me, applied makeup on my face for the very first time, and sent me off to the estate house, where a party was underway.” Libby paused and took another deep breath. “It was the last time I ever saw her.”

  “And that is how you got to London?” Hawk took one of her hands and she now allowed the contact, needing his warmth, since her insides had gone cold.

  “Yes. I learned how to take care of myself, and how to entertain gentlemen. Gave myself a new name. Each time a benefactor tired of me, another was willing to take his place. Within a few years, Anjanette Shelby had taken London by storm.” Libby’s voice cracked at the mention of her old moniker. “Peter Sampson attempted to be one of my benefactors, but I turned him down. When he spied me in Boston, he wanted to make me his whore, or at least make everyone aware of my past. That’s why I left town. I can’t go back to that life, Hawk.”

  He placed an arm around her, and she couldn’t stop herself from sinking into his cocoon of warmth and safety. They sat without talking for a few minutes. Libby could feel his jaw working as his chin rested on the top of her head. Finally, he spoke.

  “You do not need to go back to that life. Patterson, along with the rest of the Sons of Liberty took care of Mr. Sampson. He decided to return to England. He will not be bothering you again.” Hawk tightened his grip on her.

  Libby inhaled sharply. “When did that happen?”

  “Right after you left town.”

  Libby’s tears shed anew. “So why did it take you so long to find me?”

  Hawk stiffened beside her. “I had to have my mother talk some sense into me first. And, I was afraid.”

  Libby backed off him, but entwined their fingers, enjoying the way dark and light wove together. “You are the biggest, bravest, brawniest man I’ve ever met. What can you possibly be afraid of?”

  “You have been with many men and I have only been with a few women. Perhaps I cannot pleasure you the way you are used to. Maybe I am not a good lover.” Hawk ducked his head.

  Libby’s laughter bubbled up, and she wrapped her arms around Hawk’s neck. “Part of the reason I considered marrying Gideon is that he never made me giddy, made me lose control of my emotions like you do with a mere glance or touch. He is safe. You, my love, are anything but.” She finally captured his lips in a gentle kiss.

  At least, it started as a gentle kiss. Months of yearning spilled over quickly for both, and when their lips and tongues finally ceased dueling with each other, their breathing was ragged.

  “Are you still going to go through with your wedding to this man who does not make you giddy?” Hawk grasped her chin and dove in for another kiss. His kisses made her thoughts spin, and made her forget all about Gideon, so it took her a moment to recollect who he was talking about.

  “I never planned to. He doesn’t appreciate my newfound love of designing shoes. His grand idea is for me to give up my work and join him in the mountains west of here and work my fingers to the bone on his farm. Just as my father and mother had done.” Libby ran her hand down Hawk’s wide chest. “I planned to head back to New York town and set up a shop there. It was just easier for me to let Mr. Yoder hold on to the idea of marriage to his nephew while he taught me everything he knows about being a cobbler. Then, I was planning to leave town. He’s been very kind to me.”

  Hawk removed Libby’s bonnet. “I have been yearning to take this damn thing off your head since I first found you.” He undid her bun and plunged his fingers into her locks. “So, you are no longer Libby Booker, and you have no plans to become Libby Troyer. Would you care to return to Boston and become Libby Gentry?”

  Libby wrapped her arms around Hawk’s neck again. “That depends. Must I wait until we get to Boston to share a bed with you?”

  Hawk’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “You have a bed here, I presume?”

  “Indeed, I do. But I must talk to Mr. Yoder first. Will you wait here for me?”

  Hawk smiled and tangled his fingers into her hair, drawing her in for another scorching kiss. “I have been waiting for months. A few more minutes, I can handle.”

  • ♥ •

  Libby returned to the cobbler shop, and to Mr. Yoder. She didn’t care for the scowl with which he greeted her. But then, he did have good reason to scowl. And would have more reasons once she delved into their conversation.

  “I owe you an explanation, Mr. Yoder.”

  “Aye, that you do.”

  “You have been nothing but kind to me since the day I first visited your shop. You’ve nurtured my interest in your work and put up with my outrageous suggestions. For that, I thank you.” Libby picked up the shoes he had been about to show her when Hawk interfered. “These are wonderful. You’ll have no trouble selling them.”

  Mr. Yoder crossed his arms over his chest. “Get to the point, young lady.”

  Libby gritted her teeth. He was not going to make this easy for her. “The point is, as much as I tried to fit in, I am not Amish. You were aware of that my first day here
.”

  “But you could be. If you marry Gideon, no one would doubt you.” Mr. Yoder swung his gaze toward her. “You are not going to marry him, are you?”

  Libby swallowed, hard. “No, sir. I am not. Although Hawk Gentry is the reason for my decision, I made up my mind long before he showed up. I would not have married your nephew even if Mr. Gentry had not come for me.”

  “When were you going to tell me?” Abel Yoder broke his gaze and stared at the shoes in her hands.

  “I had decided not to tell you. I would simply disappear before spring, as quickly and quietly as I showed up here. The less you knew, the better.” Tears pricked at her eyes again. Mr. Yoder didn’t deserve her disrespect. “I am sorry, sir.”

  “And you are now going to leave with this gentleman from your time in Boston?”

  Libby bowed her head, unable to meet his gaze. “Yes, Mr. Yoder. Mr. Gentry and I have fought our attraction to each other ever since I arrived from London. It’s time we stopped denying our feelings. My love for Hawk Gentry is the reason I could never have married Gideon. It would not have been fair to him. Or to you.”

  “Will you at least stay here in Lancaster and continue to work with me?” Mr. Yoder took the shoes from her hands and ran his thumb over them. “These are the best shoes yet.”

  “No, I will return with Hawk to Boston. We have a war to fight, against the British. But I will continue my shoemaking there. Perhaps I can send some here for you to offer for sale in your shop?” Libby’s smile wobbled as she glanced at her mentor.

  Mr. Yoder stared at the shoes again for a moment, and then at her. “I shall miss having a shoemaker in the family, Mrs. Booker. But if you can keep me supplied with fancy footwear I don’t have to pay a tariff on, I will consider it a bargain.” He held out his hand to her.

  Libby’s tears overflowed at last. “Thank you, sir. You are, and will always be, my first and most important client.”

  “Have a good life, Libby Booker. You deserve it.”