The Wicked Gypsy (Blackhaven Brides Book 8)

by Mary Lancaster

  However, Miss Muir was too kind to intimidate anyone, and Bernard immediately appointed himself Dawn’s cavalier for the evening. His admiration was instant and obvious, and Gervaise found himself quite irritated by the younger man’s attentions to her.

  “Are you no longer Miss Smith’s favored suitor?” Serena teased him, fortunately before Gervaise said something more cutting and less becoming.

  Bernard sighed. “They have taken her to Manchester, and there is some plan to move on to London thereafter. I was never favored by Mr. and Mrs. Smith, you know. They really want a title.”

  “We could dangle Braithwaite in front of them,” Kate said outrageously. “Just to bring her back into your orbit, of course.”

  Bernard grinned. “Lord, no, he’d cut me out without even trying.”

  Whatever the depths of Bernard’s pain at this parting from the object of his affections, he was of a naturally sunny disposition and seemed very easily consoled by Dawn’s charm.

  “Is Miss Smith the town beauty?” Dawn asked, her light tone and accent perfect.

  “She is extraordinarily pretty,” Kate replied, “but she doesn’t reside in Blackhaven. Her father has businesses—cotton mills or some such—in Keswick, but he has discovered that Blackhaven is generally full of titled people.”

  “Says he wants her happiness,” Bernard put in wrathfully, “but how is shackling her to a fortune hunting nobleman going to make her happy?”

  “We’re all agreed they are awful, encroaching people,” Miss Muir said dismissively.

  Dawn turned her head, such a stricken look in her eyes that Gervaise said “They want an aristocratic connection for their own status, not their daughter’s happiness.”

  He didn’t know if it was enough to convince that her that she would not be regarded as encroaching when the truth came out. At best, she must be only too aware of the snobbery surrounding her. Born into an ancient, aristocratic family, Gervaise had never dealt with anyone looking down on him for his birth.

  “How does that make them different?” Dawn asked. She kept her refined accent although her voice had grown a little hard. Everyone looked at her with varying degrees of unease. She did not look at Gervaise. “Are not aristocratic marriages made largely for the convenience of the parents who arrange them?”

  Serena raised her eyebrows. “Like Tamar and me?” she said dangerously.

  “Of course, many are,” Grant intervened. “And those can be equally damaging. Speaking as the man who performs most of the marriages in Blackhaven, I know when the bride and groom have made the choice freely, whatever their motivation, and when they have not.”

  “But you perform the marriage anyway,” Dawn accused.

  “How can I not, if neither party will speak up? I am not allowed to refuse on the grounds of my own unsubstantiated doubts. And if I did, what on earth would be the consequences for those concerned?”

  Dawn gave a quick apologetic smile. “Forgive me. I do not mean to accuse you. Or any present,” she added with a glance at Serena.

  “Here in Blackhaven,” Grant said, “we are gaining a reputation for unconventional choices in the marriage mart. So, take care.”

  Everyone laughed, and Gervaise felt rather proud of Dawn who had made her point, held her own, and come out of it with grace. Kate then declared it time for dinner and took Gervaise’s arm to lead the way.

  Despite being recently reminded of his love, Bernard showed every sign of rapidly transferring his affections to Dawn, in whom he seemed to take great delight. Smoothing his scowl, Gervaise wondered if this was how fathers felt when men made up to their daughters. Not that he felt remotely fatherly.

  He turned to Miss Muir at his side. “Tell me, ma’am, do you remember the disappearance of the Gardyn child?”

  “I beg your pardon?” said Miss Muir, who was deaf in one ear. When he repeated the question more clearly, she exclaimed, “Oh, yes, of course I do.” She laid down her fork. “Such a terrible tragedy. And they never found her, you know, alive or dead.”

  “Were there not gypsies in the area at the time?” Gervaise asked casually.

  “There were no camps,” Miss Muir replied, “though a few people in the countryside did report seeing a gypsy passing through a couple of days before. Of course, it was the time of the Appleby horse fair, so lots of the Romany people would have been travelling there. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh, just curiosity. The subject came up at Haven Hall. You know, Julius Gardyn wants to terminate the Benedicts’ lease.”

  “A pity, they seem such good people. Not that I object to Mr. Gardyn being there, of course! How could I?”

  “Indeed. But if she is alive, Eleanor is the heir, not Julius. I have been thinking about all the ways she could be alive. I might go and talk to Winslow, actually. Was he not the magistrate at the time?”

  “Only just appointed,” Miss Muir said. “People said he was too young, but there, he has acquitted himself quite admirably, has he not?” She picked up her fork again. “Apart from failing to find the poor Gardyn child, of course.”

  “I was only about ten years old when it happened,” Gervaise said. “And I don’t remember a great deal of detail. Do you remember what they said Eleanor was wearing when she vanished from the garden?”

  “An embroidered dress,” Miss Muir said at once. “Brightly colored daisies on white cambric.”

  “Is that important?” Dawn asked from across the table which was not, strictly speaking, acceptable. But since the Grants’ dinner parties were more cozy than formal, no one would think the less of her.

  “It might be,” Gervaise said. “If we could find it.”

  Grant was gazing at Dawn, his expression thoughtful, but Tamar changed the subject, asking if anyone had heard aught of Lord and Lady Daxton since October.

  Only once the ladies had repaired to the drawing room, and Bernard had excused himself for a moment, did Grant say, “Very well, my lord, who is she, really?”

  “Who?” Gervaise asked innocently.

  “Your protegee. She’s no more your cousin than I am.”

  Gervaise sipped his brandy. “I’m fairly sure the Conways are connected by marriage to both your family and hers. Somewhere.”

  “I ask again, who is she?” Grant said steadily.

  “I don’t know,” Gervaise admitted. “She believes she is the daughter of a gypsy. I believe she is Eleanor Gardyn.”

  Grant frowned. “Not the gypsies who camped up at Braithwaite while I christened their child?”

  Gervaise nodded.

  “I presume you have more evidence than the color of her hair?”

  “It isn’t just the hair. She could be Theresa Gardyn’s twin. And the timing of the disappearance fits with her life. I’m making inquiries.”

  Grant pushed the decanter toward Tamar and sat back. “Why? To spite Julius Gardyn?”

  “In the beginning,” Gervaise admitted. “Childishly, I wanted to give him a fright, shake up his damnable complacency. Only the more I looked, the more I believed that she is Eleanor. But as you say, I don’t know. This could all be flimflam on their part or simple idiocy on mine. So, until I know, I would appreciate your discretion.”

  “Of course. But you know Julius is on his way here? He’s bringing his mother to take the waters while he negotiates with the Benedicts to vacate the hall.”

  Gervase raised his glass in a salute. “So long as it isn’t my mother, he may bring whom he likes.”

  Bernard returned at that point, and conversation turned to other matters, such as Gervaise’s return to London and Lord Castlereagh’s sudden journey to Berne to consult with Britain’s allies in the war with Bonaparte. Gervaise and Tamar refrained from looking at each other during the latter, since Tamar had recently had a letter from his sister, Anna, who seemed also to be on her way to Berne. Just before Christmas, she had apparently eloped from Blackhaven with one Sir Lytton Lewis, whoever he might have been, although Tamar merely gave out that his sister was tr
avelling again. Considering Europe was currently full of armies maneuvering to finish off the French emperor, Tamar seemed remarkably casual about the whole business.

  They rejoined the ladies before too much longer. Dawn did not turn her head as Gervaise entered the drawing room but carried on her conversation with Miss Muir. And yet he was sure her shoulders relaxed subtly, as though she were simply more comfortable in his presence than out of it. He couldn’t help hoping he was the cause, rather than Bernard Muir. Which was ridiculous.

  *

  “Kate didn’t guess!” Serena crowed on their way back to the castle. “I’d say that went splendidly. Well done, Cousin!”

  A faint smile flickered across Dawn’s lips. “Did Mr. Grant guess?”

  “He guessed that you weren’t our cousin,” Gervaise admitted, “but not that you came from the gypsy camp. They both know now and will keep our confidence. But I suggest we tell no one else until the mystery is solved.”

  Dawn sat back in the corner of the carriage, as though hiding. “I wish you would not waste your time on this, my lord. I will give your Mr. Gardyn the fright he deserves and then I’ll go south to find my family.”

  “If that is what you wish,” Gervaise said at once. He would not keep her against her will, and yet the idea of her going appalled him.

  Chapter Nine

  As the winter sun began to peep over the hills, casting its first pale light upon her path, Dawn moved faster, running and sliding her way down the cliffside to the beach beneath the castle.

  Her solitary walks did not normally take her in this direction, since the beach was so overlooked. But this particular morning, from her bedchamber window, she had glimpsed the earl scrambling over rocks and striding across the sand, and on impulse, she had hurried down after him.

  She could no longer see him, so she supposed he must have climbed over the rocks in the direction of Blackhaven. The tide was too high to walk on the sand. But as she reached the bottom of the path, a figure bolted suddenly across the beach toward the sea and she halted in astonishment to watch.

  The earl’s bare feet pounded in soft thuds on the sand. Dressed only in his shirt and some loose-fitting trousers–or even an undergarment, she could not tell for his speed, he splashed into the water, still running, then threw his whole body down with a shout of shock that was half-laughter.

  Entranced, she watched from the foot of the cliff as he swam and flipped in the water. Once, he dipped his whole head under and emerged gasping, then swam back to shore. Water sprayed off him as he rose, sparkling in the early sunlight, streaming off his skimpy clothes in rivers. He began to run again, back toward the cliff. He must have been freezing cold.

  She walked to meet him, a laughing insult forming on her lips. But the words vanished as, still running, he hauled the sodden shirt over his head and threw it on the ground beside a neat pile of dry clothes.

  She stopped dead, her heart suddenly hammering, for she had never seen anything more beautiful in her life than this man’s naked chest rising and falling with his quickened breath. His pale skin seemed stretched tight over the cords of muscle. A scattering of damp hair on his broad chest tapered and vanished in a neat line inside his clinging trousers, which left little of his masculine shape to the imagination.

  Her throat dried up. Butterflies in her stomach sank lower with dark, arousing heat. Worse, he had seen her.

  “Dawn,” he said, blankly. “Where did you come from?”

  It was an effort to pull herself together, but she did her best. “Up there, of course. I came to join you before I realized you were actually trying to kill yourself with cold.”

  His lips quirked. His gaze held hers, and they didn’t look cold at all. He didn’t even seem to be embarrassed by his nakedness, though he must have seen its effect on her. More, he liked that effect.

  Deliberately, he bent from the waist to pick up the towel he had left by his dry clothes. “You should have come in with me.” He began to rub the towel vigorously over his chest and shoulders. “Although that might have defeated the object.”

  “What object?” she asked stupidly, trying to think of anything rather than how much she wanted to touch him, run her fingers over his shoulders and chest and that fine, tantalizing line of hair. Shocked at herself, she snapped her gaze back up to his face.

  There was a profound sensuality in the curve of his lips. His turbulent eyes seemed to burn her.

  “The object?” he repeated. “Cooling my ardor, of course.”

  To her excitement, he took a step nearer. If only he hadn’t overwhelmed her so, she could have flirted, could have invited the intimacy she had always sought and which seemed likely now to engulf her.

  “But I seem to have conjured you up to undo it all.”

  “You would rather I was gone?” she managed.

  “God no,” he said fervently.

  Unable to resist, she raised her hand and placed her palm against his cold, damp chest. She wished she was not wearing gloves, but even so, she was sure she could feel an inner furnace beneath the icy surface of his skin. His hand closed over hers, pressing it over his thundering heart.

  “Now,” he said huskily, “you should run.”

  She swallowed, boldly meeting his gaze. “And if I don’t want to?”

  He lowered his forehead to touch hers. His wet hair dripped onto her face. “Then I must.”

  She counted the rapid beats of his heart, imagining they drummed in rhythm with hers. “You aren’t running,” she observed.

  A warm breath of laughter skimmed her cheek. “I’m not running yet,” he corrected, straightening. As if he couldn’t help it, he swept her hand across his chest and then removed it.

  She laughed, wishing she sounded more mocking than breathless. “Then I had better do it for you before you really do die of cold.”

  She turned and walked away, taking her time. Part of her wanted him to call her back. Part of her wanted to turn and watch him. She began to climb up the path back toward the castle and a smile formed on her lips, because he was far from immune to her. He still wanted her, just as he had said that first night, and she…she was shaken in a rather delicious way by the intimacy of the scene below. She wondered if she could look him in the eye over luncheon.

  The scrape of a boot on the path behind her made her jump and her gaze flew up to the earl’s. He smiled and fell into step beside her. They walked together in silence back up to the castle. Her heart ached and soared at the same time.

  *

  Between her lessons at Haven Hall and those at the castle, Dawn’s days were full. Nevertheless, she always found time to escape into the outdoors at some point, either alone or in company. She was happy to play running games with the girls and once, when she was wearing the old dress borrowed from Mrs. Benedict, she amused them by climbing to the top of a tree.

  “However,” she added a touch guiltily as she swarmed and slid back down to the ground, “It is not ladylike and you should not do it. Not even you, Cousin Helen!”

  Once, she had the pleasure of walking alone with the earl himself. It was a Sunday, and Serena had taken the girls to church. Dawn had chosen not to go, instead meaning to work on her reading and writing. But it was a beautiful winter day, frost glistening on the ground and on the bare trees, with a clear sky. She could not resist swinging the cloak about her and going out to feel the rare January sun on her face.

  She had not gone far into the wood before she ran into Lord Braithwaite. As it often did, the memory of their strangely intimate encounter on the beach intruded. She wondered if he remembered it as frequently as she. If so, he gave no obvious sign.

  “You’re not wearing your bonnet,” he observed. “Serena will scold you.”

  “I have a hood,” she said defensively, “and the sun is so weak, I hardly need shaded from it. In any case, where is your hat?”

  “I am the earl,” he mocked himself, “and may do as I like.”

  “Where are you going?” she
asked as he fell into step beside her.

  “Nowhere in particular. I thought I would clear my head and then go back to my wretched speech.”

  “I thought I would clear mine,” she said guiltily, “and then return to my books.”

  But in the end, they walked farther than either of them had intended, as far as the river winding down into the sea, and along its banks, before following another path up into the hills from where they could gaze over the castle and the town of Blackhaven.

  “It will be dark soon,” he said at last. “And you must be starving.”

  “It’s not my stomach that’s rumbling.”

  He laughed. “I’m sure it isn’t ladylike to mention a gentleman’s stomach!”

  “Then it shouldn’t draw attention to itself.”

  “You’re right, of course, and I must hurry back to quell it. I expect we’ll be too late for tea.”

  “You’re the earl and may do as you like,” she reminded him.

  “I may be, but who will save your reputation from taking tea alone with me?”

  “I’m sure the girls will happily take a second tea. Besides,” she pointed out. “I’m alone with you now.”

  “But no one knows. That is the secret of avoiding social ruin.”

  She glanced up at him, for there was a hint of derision in his mockery. “You sound as if you speak from experience. Who have you ruined?”

  He gave a twisted smile. “No one, by the skin of my teeth! But there are so many ridiculous rules that imply we are no more than animals. My sister, Frances, almost came to grief in her first London season—several times—through innocence and folly rather than the corruption she would have been accused of. And my own mother dismissed Caroline—Mrs. Benedict—from her position as governess simply because the schoolroom door had blown closed while I was speaking to her.”

  “And that is why she went to Haven Hall… Did you miss her?”

  He shrugged impatiently. “The girls did. The point is, the rules dictate we are lustful animals unless we can prove otherwise. Why should I only be a gentleman if a door is open? That would not really make me much of a gentleman.”