Endings and Beginnings: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Gypsy Gentlemen Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

“What?” His three friends stared at him.

  “I know who she’s come to kill.” Gyorgy started for the door. “And I’ve reserved that privilege for myself.”

  “Who, Gyorgy?” Luk moved to intercept him, but Gyorgy shook off his hand.

  “Francis bloody Hucknall.”

  Luk and Mat turned as one to Prioshka. “Stay here. Wait for us.” The words tumbled from their mouths as they hurried after Gyorgy.

  She nodded. “Of course.”

  As soon as they’d left, she rushed to the door.

  Chapter Four

  Gyorgy’s heart was in his throat as he waited impatiently for the carriage he’d summoned at the top of his lungs. The servants had run to do his bidding without a second glance.

  A jangling of harnesses heralded its arrival and as Gyorgy leaped for the door, he found two men right behind him, shouldering him into the seat and making themselves at home beside him.

  “Didn’t think you’d get to do this on your own, did you?” grinned Mat.

  “We’re not about to miss out on this, Gyorgy.” Luk’s excitement radiated from him. “After all, we’ve met Marie-Claire too. And liked her.”

  Gyorgy’s temper abated and he smiled back at his friends. “I’m glad.”

  A frown crossed all three faces as a small hand reached in and opened the carriage door again.

  “Oh no you don’t,” said Prioshka, tumbling in on top of them and hanging on as the horses were whipped up by the driver. “Not without me.”

  “Damn it, Prioshka…” sputtered Luk.

  “Good grief sweetheart,” said Mat, holding her close and setting her between them. “Didn’t we tell you to wait?”

  She snorted. “Don’t even consider it. We’re together. In this and everything. Besides,” she glared at them. “You might well remember that Marie-Claire might need the presence of another woman. For…for…”

  Gyorgy bit down on his frustration. “Look, Prioshka. I appreciate your wanting to help, but this is not a task for a woman. It could be dangerous.”

  Mat and Luk moved closer to her, protectively.

  She reached over and took Gyorgy’s hand. “I know that. And I’m not a fool. But where they go—I go. Is that clear?”

  Gyorgy blinked. “Um. Well. When you put it like that…” He glanced up at the two men who stared back at him with a mixture of defiance and concern.

  He grinned. “She’s a fine woman, my friends. You have chosen well.”

  They relaxed and Prioshka settled herself more comfortably between them. “As have I.” A smile curved her lips as she released Gyorgy’s hand and found her own clasped by the men next to her.

  Luk reached for the side of the carriage as it lurched around a corner. “So tell us, Gyorgy, where are we going in such a hurry and why does Marie-Claire want to kill Hucknall? What is all this about?”

  *~~*~~*

  “The Dowager Duchess of Kirkwood, my Lord.”

  The butler’s voice rang impressively through the breakfast room of Kirkwood House. The rest of the elegant Mayfair neighborhood was probably still sleeping, but Marie-Claire had hoped that her nephew-by-marriage would be up early. Her hopes were answered.

  “Marie-Claire!” A young, sandy-haired man rose in surprise as she entered the room. “You’re the last person I expected to see this morning.”

  She smiled. “Forgive me, Dennis. I had to come. It was time.”

  The Duke of Kirkwood looked awkwardly around, and then gestured to a chair. “Have you breakfasted? Would you care for tea?”

  “None for me, thank you. I just wanted to tell you that I was in town, and that I am going to be taking care of some unfinished business. You have a right to know.”

  Dennis’s face paled. “Don’t…don’t tell me you’re here to deal with…with Hucknall?”

  “Look, Dennis. It’s gone on long enough. I need to be free of it all. You’re well established now. There can be no threat to you or Delphine, or the children.”

  “But…there is. I mean there could be…” He stopped and hung his head. “I…you see…”

  Marie-Claire clenched her teeth, but held on to her temper, allowing nothing of her inner furor to reveal itself. “Dennis…what has happened?”

  He raised miserable eyes to hers. “It was the cards, you see. I really believed I could win the hand.” His gaze fell. “I didn’t.”

  Marie-Claire fought for composure. “You’re telling me you played cards with, and lost to, Francis Hucknall?”

  His head came up at that. “No, of course not. What kind of fool d’you take me for?”

  She bit her response back, waiting for the rest of the story.

  “I just…I…it was at my club. I lost a lot, Marie-Claire. A lot. And then when I went to make arrangements to settle, I was told that my vouchers had been ‘transferred’ to Hucknall.”

  She drew in a shaky breath and expelled it again as she absorbed these new developments. “So. Now he owns you too.”

  Dennis couldn’t meet her eyes. “Yes. And I’ve been paying him back, plus interest of course, for the last six months or so.”

  “You couldn’t meet the debt?”

  He swallowed and named a sum that made even Marie-Claire blink. “Good God, Dennis…what were you thinking?”

  “I couldn’t begin selling off my estates…they’re entailed. And what was mine and Delphine’s has to be protected for the children. For Eric and Rose’s dowry…and…”

  Marie-Claire held up her hand. “Don’t explain. Not to me. I understand.”

  Dennis had the grace to look embarrassed. “Of course you do. I’m sorry. You’ve protected us with your absence, exiled yourself from London, done more than I had any right to expect, just to protect us. I don’t know what to say…” He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “I can only assume that you’re here to tell him he can no longer…”

  “Keep me buried in the country? Yes.” She stood and moved to the window. “I plan on leaving England. Soon, I hope…if things go according to plan.”

  If things go…according to Gyorgy.

  She turned. “It has to end, Dennis. This family has had enough of the stranglehold Hucknall’s put on us. I refused to let you and Delphine suffer for my husband’s mistakes, and I’ll find a way to make sure your children don’t suffer for yours.”

  Dennis Kirkwood sighed. “Look, Marie-Claire, I truly appreciate your help…but I just don’t see what can be done.”

  No—he wouldn’t.

  She looked at him. The Kirkwoods were fundamentally weak. The old Duke hadn’t thought twice about marrying a nameless bastard French girl. The young Duke hadn’t considered the consequences of gambling away a good portion of the Kirkwood fortune on the turn of a card.

  The old Duke had spilled the shameful secret of his young wife’s birth one night over his brandy and given a foul and evil man the tools to wring money out of him for the rest of his life, mercifully short though it was.

  Marie-Claire had soon found that Hucknall liked the income. With her husband’s death, he’d appeared at her door, announced that he knew the truth of her origins and demanded she continued to pay him or he’d make it known far and wide through London, bringing disgrace on the Kirkwood name.

  Dennis had been so young. Newly married, ill-equipped to face the duties that went along with being Duke. And—yes, weak. She’d been forced to protect him, and pay. Her town home had gone, most of her fortune, her jewels, all she had was her house in the country, and Hucknall had generously allowed her to keep that. And of course he’d had an ulterior motive.

  The last time they’d met he’d warned her.

  “I’m a patient man, Duchess. I’ll take your money. I’ll wait. Because soon you’ll want to come back to London. A woman like you won’t like life buried in the country.” Marie-Claire suppressed a shiver of disgust as she remembered his words. And his expression. “And when you come back, it’ll be as my mistress.”

  He’d run his eyes lasciviously
up and down her body. “I’ll have you. Maybe not right at this moment. Maybe not this year. But I’ll wait. With you on my arm I’ll have the entrée back into society where I belong. So I’ll take my time and do it right. You’ll have to give in. And when you do…” He’d licked his lips. “I’ll take great pleasure in fucking you, Your Grace. Great pleasure.”

  So she’d left London. And never returned, preferring to pay whatever it took to keep Hucknall quiet than accept life as his mistress.

  She’d protected the young Duke, kept her bed empty, and been in financial bondage to Hucknall ever since. He hadn’t guessed how much she’d enjoy the quiet of country life, but his interests had apparently fulfilled his needs. Thankfully, she’d not had to deal with him in person.

  But she knew he had not lied. He was indeed a patient man. Like a giant spider lurking in the shadows, he spun his web, biding his time and waiting for his victims to make that one mistake that would land them fair and square in his trap.

  Enough was enough.

  She no longer cared that she was a base-born bastard. Neither would society. Dennis had found his feet as Duke, and could withstand the small scandal better now than he would have done several years ago. She needed the freedom to go to Gyorgy, tell him the truth about her past, and see where they would go from there. For the first time there was something she wanted, and she wasn’t about to let Hucknall get in her way.

  But the added complication of Dennis’s gambling debts certainly made her task more difficult. She’d hoped to avoid what had seemed like the only solution. But now…the world would definitely be a better place if Francis Hucknall wasn’t in it.

  She squared her shoulders. “Dennis…I would appreciate it if you would not mention that I’ve been here. I shall attempt to resolve this problem. The fewer people who know about it, the better.”

  “What are you going to do?” His expression held a germ of hope as he stared at her.

  “I shall see if I can talk some sense into Hucknall.” She cradled her reticule in her hand and took comfort from the weight within. “If I can’t, then perhaps there is another way to deal with him.”

  Dennis swallowed. “Do you want me to come with you?”

  Brave words from a trembling man. “No. Your duties are to your wife and children and the Kirkwood estate.”

  He was so young, realized Marie-Claire. He was titled her nephew, and was almost her age, but still…he was so young.

  “But Dennis…one word of warning. No more gambling.”

  He coughed. “You have my word on that…Aunt.”

  She smiled calmly. “Silly isn’t it? We’re of an age, yet I’m your aunt.” She moved to the door. “Goodbye Dennis. And my best wishes for your future. I doubt that our paths will cross again, but I will let you know where I go, so that we can take care of any estate business that might crop up.”

  He nodded. “Thank you, Marie-Claire. Thank you for not…not making me feel stupid.”

  She patted his arm. “Live an honorable life, Dennis. Be an honorable man.” Like Gyorgy.

  *~~*~~*

  “So Hucknall’s been blackmailing her?” Prioshka’s shocked voice echoed through the carriage.

  Gyorgy ran a hand over his face. “Yes, from what I could find out. Regular sums of money have worked their way into his bank from the Kirkwood estate. They started just after she wed the old Earl. It wasn’t hard to dig up information on her if one knows where to look.” His face turned hard. “As if anyone would care about the circumstances of her birth.”

  Prioshka’s face twisted. “But they do, Gyorgy. It’s sad and pretty disgusting, but that sort of thing can destroy someone in less than twenty-four hours. Especially here in London.”

  Mat nodded. “It makes sense. The young lad who became Duke…her nephew I suppose…he’d have been in a bad situation if the word had gotten out.”

  “So she pays up and stays in the country—“ began Luk.

  “—slashing everything she has to the bone to protect some weakling Duke. It’s not like it was her fault to start with.” Gyorgy’s voice was harsh. “And Hucknall milks her dry. Along with an assortment of other poor fish he’s hooked. She’s not the only victim of his filthy plans.”

  Prioshka’s hands clenched. “I understand why she intends to kill him. I think I’d like to help.”

  Gyorgy glanced at her. “You will stay in the carriage.”

  Mutinous eyes gazed back at him. “I will go with Mat and Luk.”

  “Gyorgy has a point, Prioshka-love. This is no place for you.” Mat held her hand tightly. “We will not put you in danger.”

  “You’re too important.” Luk put his arm around her.

  She snorted. “It’s not a subject that is up for discussion.”

  Three men sighed.

  Gyorgy opened his mouth to resume the argument when the carriage pulled up in front of a quiet house, set back from the street and apart from its neighbors. Even though Hucknall’s reputation stank to the heavens, his money had still managed to buy him an excellent property in a respectable location.

  Theirs was not the first carriage to arrive.

  “She’s here.”

  The words were barely out of Gyorgy’s mouth when he pushed his way past his friends and hurried up the neat pathway to Hucknall’s front door.

  He didn’t care now whether Mat, Luk, Prioshka or the devil himself was standing behind him. All he could think about was Marie-Claire. And that scum she was dealing with. Alone.

  The door was half-open and a maid peered around it.

  “Let me in, girl,” said Gyorgy. “I need to see Hucknall.”

  “He’s…uh…he’s…there’s someone…”

  “I know. Trust me. It will be all right.” Gyorgy summoned his best smile and aimed it full force at the poor maid. He realized she bore a nasty bruise on one side of her face. “Did he do that?”

  The words slipped out in spite of his rising temper, and Gyorgy’s heart hardened even more when the girl nodded. “There’s only three of us left. The butler left yesterday. I’d go too but I have nowhere else…”

  The others gathered close behind him. “I have a friend who can help. This lady…” Gyorgy turned, knowing Prioshka would be there. “This lady can tell you where to go. Leave this place. Take the others. There is nothing for you here now.”

  She opened the door wide and let him in. “Thank you. sir. He’s in his study. Please…”

  The tone of her voice and the distress in her eyes added to Gyorgy’s fury. If that vermin had lain a hand on Marie-Claire…

  They started down the long hall towards the room the maid had indicated.

  They jumped as the sound of a gunshot rang out.

  Chapter Five

  Marie-Claire stared at the man behind the desk.

  She’d shot him.

  And yet he rose, glancing down at the blood oozing through his jacket from his arm. “Well, well…the bitch has claws. Didn’t think you had the stomach for it.” His teeth flashed. “You’ll be fine bedsport, that’s for sure. Bring that passion to our fucking and I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of.”

  Her lips curled back from her teeth. “You are lower than dirt, Hucknall. As if I’d let filth like you touch me.”

  He moved around the desk, and in spite of her resolve, Marie-Claire backed up a step, the now-useless gun dangling from her hand. How could she have known it would throw to the left? She’d aimed right for his heart too.

  She cursed inwardly, but held her chin high. “You have taken enough. Stolen enough. It ends now.”

  He laughed, a raspy sound that made his jowls quiver. “Oh I haven’t begun to take. I’m going to start with those tits of yours.” He stared at her breasts, covered by the delicate lace of her gown.

  “Nice and full they are. Just right for a bit of sucking and pinching, eh? And I’ll wager the rest of you will heat right up too. And your arse. Oh yes. I’m going to enjoy shoving my cock right into that tight arse of yours.�
��

  She fought back nausea and let her eyes drift around the room seeking any kind of weapon. For once, her anger might have overridden her common sense. She should have brought another gun.

  He was getting closer, but she refused to back away, preferring to meet his eyes with her own and pour all the hatred and contempt she felt for him into her gaze.

  He sneered. “Looking at me like that isn’t going to help. Remember you’re a French bastard. A whore who got lucky and married a Duke. You’re not fit to lick my boots, bitch. But I’ll let you lick something else. You Frenchies are good at that.”

  His hand dropped to his breeches.

  “I think not.”

  A hard voice interrupted Hucknall and he turned with an oath.

  “Gyorgy.” Marie-Claire breathed his name and her heart soared as she saw him standing so tall and handsome in the doorway. His dark gaze flashed to her and he smiled briefly, then returned his attention to the man menacing her.

  Hucknall snorted. “Filthy gypsy, huh? I should have known someone like her would find a champion in the gutters. Like to like, I always say.”

  Gyorgy opened his hand and the coils of his whip unfurled. “You say a lot, Hucknall. I don’t care to hear any of it. Neither does the Duchess.”

  “Duchess? This whore? She may have the title, but she was born in the slums. Looks like she fooled you too. Of course, you probably don’t care…” Hucknall’s confidence in his own superiority was astounding.

  And, Marie-Claire realized, very foolish.

  Gyorgy’s face creased into a smile. It was not a pleasant one, and in spite of herself, she shivered.

  He moved his hand slightly, and the whip flew across the space between the two men, making Hucknall jump as it sliced open his cheek. “What the fuck…”

  He backed away.

  Gyorgy moved forward, flicking his wrist again and slicing the other cheek. Without moving his eyes from Hucknall, he spoke to her. “Marie-Claire, you might want to leave now.”

  “I think not, Gyorgy. I need to see this.” Her heart was light, singing with the knowledge that Gyorgy had come to save her. He cared.