The Wicked Gypsy (Blackhaven Brides Book 8)

by Mary Lancaster

  “You are a rebel, desperate to break free of your bonds of tradition.”

  “The bonds are not mine,” he said unexpectedly. “I would not be shunned from society, however many ladies I ruined, though a few mamas might look at me askance. It is the ladies who would pay the price.”

  “I suppose every society has its rules, even mine. You are kind to care, but I would not.”

  “You would not care for what? Social ruin?”

  “Why should I care for the opinion of a set of vulgar-minded nobs whom I’ve never met?”

  A breath of laughter escaped him. “Nobs is not a polite word,” he said, taking her hand to help her over the stream.

  “Then I won’t say it again in your company.”

  “You may say anything you like in my company, just not in anyone else’s.”

  She took him at his word. “Then you are not in love with Mrs. Benedict?”

  His jaw dropped. “In love with…of course I am not! Nor ever was. Nor, I might add, was she ever in love with me.”

  “She is very pretty,” Dawn said accusingly. “Though so is Mrs. Grant.”

  “I’m not in love with her either, before you ask. Or Miss Muir! Why this concern for my love life?”

  “I was wondering why you are not married.”

  He shrugged. “Because I have not so far chosen to be. I am twenty-six years old, not yet in my dotage.”

  “You are a man,” she pointed out. “I’m sure you don’t go without female companions.”

  His eyes, half startled, half amused, flew to hers. “I’m not a saint,” he admitted. “And I have no intention of discussing those matters any further!”

  She smiled encouragingly. “Do you have to clear them out of your London house when your mother and sisters visit?”

  He let out a snort of laughter. “With a shovel,” he assured her. “You must know it would hardly be proper to install one’s inamorata in the family home.”

  “Where then?” she asked with interest.

  “Oh, a discreet house on the outskirts somewhere. Kensington is popular for such purposes, I believe.”

  “Is that where you keep yours?”

  “You don’t know that I keep any,” he retorted.

  She side-stepped that one. “Nor can I believe that your mother—who I gather is a somewhat forceful character—has not tried to match you with at least one very suitable lady.”

  “Several,” he admitted with a quirk of his lips. “But then, I am quite forceful, too, in my own way.”

  “I have noticed that. You never shout or argue much, but things are always done as you wish.”

  “Not always,” he denied. “Just when it matters.”

  “I can’t think why it matters to have me here pretending to be Eleanor Gardyn in disguise.”

  He nudged her gently with his elbow. “You can’t gammon me either. I’m well aware you would not be here had you not wished to punish your father. You do not lack force of your own.”

  She shrugged. “True. But I like being here. With you.”

  “I like it, too.”

  She hadn’t expected the admission, and in her distraction, she stumbled over the rocky ground. He caught her arm to prevent her fall, and suddenly they stood very close together. His eyes devoured her, lingering on her lips before returning with obvious determination to meet her gaze.

  “I like it a little too well,” he said huskily, “if the truth be known.”

  “Too well for what?” she whispered, tilting her head.

  “Comfort. Gentlemanly conduct.” His head was bent, so close to hers that his breath stirred her lips.

  Her heart drummed. “No one would see,” she pointed out. “So, it would not be ungentlemanly.”

  His lips curved, fascinating her by their shape and texture. “Oh, it would.”

  Her stomach fluttered. She could not breathe. She tilted her face the last fraction of an inch until her lower lip touched his, the faintest, slightest of caresses and yet it melted her. And then his finger pressed the corner of her mouth, separating them again.

  “Don’t,” he whispered. “If I kiss you, I’ll never stop.”

  “I could live with that.”

  His breath heaved. “I couldn’t.” He straightened and walked on, dragging her with him, since he still held her by the arm. His grip eased, as if afraid of hurting her.

  “Because of your forceful mama?” She meant it to tease, but she suspected it sounded too bitter for lightness.

  “No. The force here is mine, and you’ll never know how much it took. Takes. Dawn, I want you to see the best as well as the worst of your new position, to be able to choose.”

  “I have no new position except in pretense,” she retorted. “I am not your Eleanor Gardyn, whatever you think.”

  “Neither of us know that.”

  “You are so determined, you cannot see what I am in reality.”

  “And you are determined not to see the possibilities. I understand why, a little. You’ve spent all your life trying to belong, you won’t give it up.”

  “And if I did? If I went along with your possibilities? And then you found I’m exactly what I’ve always said I am? How easy would it be for me then to go back to my own people? How would I even live in that cottage I once asked you for and work for my living? I would be a discontented, over-educated gypsy with delusions of grandeur, rejected by my people and yours.”

  For an instant, he stared at her, as though stricken. And then, unexpectedly, he dropped her arm and instead hugged her to his side. “Christ, I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I’ve upset your whole life for a mere hope, an instinct. But know that I’ll never reject you, let alone leave you to fend for yourself. Whatever happens, you’ll have my protection. Even if you remain our long-lost cousin from America.”

  Refusing to show that she was touched, she pushed his arm away. “Get that past your forceful mama,” she muttered.

  “Oh, I will,” he said with quiet certainty. “Never doubt it.”

  They walked on in silence for a little, until Dawn realized that she had won another admission of his attraction to her. The rest was merely getting to know each other, reaching a better understanding. And she could not doubt he had enjoyed the day as much as she. And so, she smiled up at the sky and pointed out the glorious colors of the setting sun, and things were easy between them once more.

  Only as they finally approached the castle in the gathering dusk did she notice that his step had grown uneven.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “No, no, it’s an old injury. It will be better after I rest it.”

  “What happened to you?”

  “I broke my leg last spring, when my horse stepped in a rabbit hole. It mended well, but it still plays me up if I walk or ride too far.”

  “I would never have guessed.” He had never before given the faintest hint of physical pain. Or perhaps she just hadn’t been looking closely enough, too stupidly concerned with his effect on her. And her lack of effect on him…

  A crooked smile twisted his lips. “You would if you’d seen me confined to bed and then hobbling about complaining,” he said deprecatingly.

  “The pain must have been dreadful,” she said with genuine sympathy. She had broken a toe once when she was a child and that had been agony enough.

  He shrugged. “I didn’t mind, in the end. With forced inactivity, I had time to read a lot, and that is when I really got interested in politics. I returned to London and limped into the House every day.”

  “And one day you will be Prime Minister,” she said, smiling.

  He cast a mocking glance at her. “Still telling my fortune?”

  “Only the bits I saw. It was all very fast.”

  “I’m sure it was.”

  “Why do you need evidence of my skills but not my identity?” she flashed.

  He laughed. “I assure you, I need both.”

  *

  Two days before the l
ong-awaited assembly ball, it snowed heavily, covering everything from the hills and the sea with bright, pristine whiteness. Dawn secretly hoped that the bad weather would keep Julius Gardyn away from Blackhaven for another week or so, just to extend her idyll with the earl and his family.

  But when she walked into town with Serena and the girls that afternoon, her hopes were dashed. They had gone ostensibly to make some last-minute purchases before the ball, though in reality they had all wanted to “play” in the snow. A snowball fight en route had almost seen Dawn victorious, until all the girls had ganged up on her and she’d begged for mercy. Serena threw the last snowball before instantly demanding a truce and instructing everyone to brush the snow off their own clothes and each other’s backs, which was almost as amusing.

  They arrived in town in high humor and were gazing in the hat shop window when Serena murmured, “There is Gardyn, entering the hotel with his mother.”

  Of course, Dawn could not help looking. An elegant man, perhaps in his forties, with a tall beaver hat, was bowing an elderly lady into the hotel. She tottered past him with the sort of graceful frailty only ever achieved by the wealthy. The gentleman was about to follow when, no doubt sensing the scrutiny, he glanced up the street.

  For no reason, Dawn shivered, as though ice radiated from him, and yet at this distance, she could not even make out the color, yet alone the warmth or coolness of his eyes.

  He bowed, and Serena inclined her head distantly before returning her gaze to the shop window.

  “I must send a note to Caroline,” Serena murmured. “I wonder if they know he is here?”

  “Will they be at the ball, too?” Dawn asked.

  “I believe they will.” Serena cast her a quick smile. “Caroline feels a vested interest in your debut. The Grants will be there, too. And Bernard, inevitably.”

  They had begun teasing her about Bernard’s admiration since he had brought her his stepmother’s guitar.

  “She has had no time to play since my little brother was born,” Bernard said. “And when I told her you played, she bade me bring it to you at once.”

  While grateful for the kindness, Dawn could not help hoping the lady actually knew her guitar had been spirited away. But she was glad to have it and even got used to entertaining her hosts with it in the evenings.

  “How on earth do you dance to music like that?” Maria asked once, in clear awe.

  “I’d show you,” Dawn laughed. “Only there is no one to play for me!”

  She caught the earl’s gaze upon her, only for an instant, but it was hot enough to catch at her breath, He wanted to see her dance. And suddenly, she ached to dance with him, not one of the intricate formal dances Mrs. Benedict had taught her, nor even the daring waltz, but the wilder courtship dances of her own people. She remembered only too clearly the insistent, almost primitive rhythms and the slow, sweet ache to be caught by her partner…and the disappointment when she was.

  The earl would not disappoint, she thought with longing. Although she had difficulty picturing him in such a dance in the first place. It was the closeness she craved.

  *

  On the day of the ball, Colonel and Mrs. Benedict came for dinner first. Since the weather was so bad, no one liked the idea of them having to drive so far back to Haven Hall in the dark, and they were to stay the night at the castle.

  Immediately after dinner, everyone repaired to their bedchambers to change once again, and Clarry dressed Dawn’s hair before helping her into the new ivory ballgown with its fine gold mesh overdress. Dawn was doubtfully inspecting the expanse of skin from her naked shoulders to the hint of cleavage, and Clarry was smiling with delight at her work, when Lady Serena sailed in, and came to an abrupt halt, staring at the glass.

  “What is it?” Dawn asked nervously. “Does it not suit me after all? I did say at Madam Monique’s that my skin is too—”

  “Your skin is beautiful,” Serena said impatiently. “Glowing. The whole look is so perfect that you will slay hearts from here to…” She broke off, frowning. “No, I was wrong. It is not quite perfect. Clarry, run to my chamber and ask Denny for the gold filigree set. Quickly!”

  Dawn used the interval to admire Serena, enviably elegant and quite stunning in her yellow silk ballgown. Since they were alone for once, Dawn asked, “And are you still waiting?”

  Serena clearly understood at once, for a quick, happy smile flitted across her face. “I show no sign of bleeding. I shall wait another week, I think, and then summon Dr. Lampton.”

  “And tell Lord Tamar?”

  “Not until I’ve seen the doctor,” Serena said firmly. “There are just too many babies around just now, what with Frances and now Gillie. I could just be wishing the whole thing.”

  “I don’t think so,” Dawn said, regarding her. “There is a look about a newly-expectant mother.”

  “Don’t,” Serena said quickly. “I don’t want to be disappointed. Even though I didn’t think I wanted a child so soon, it seems I do!”

  Clarry rushed back into the room, panting, and proffered a box to Lady Serena, who set it on the dressing table and took from it a fine gold chain, from which dangled an intricate, gold filigree pendant in the shape of a rose bud.

  Serena fastened the pendant around Dawn’s neck and added the matching earrings. Then, she clasped a bracelet about her right arm and stood back with satisfaction. “Now, you are perfect.”

  Dawn swallowed. “I feel like someone else.”

  “No. You are still you, in a very becoming style.”

  “What—?” Dawn began, and broke off, shaking her head.

  When they had left Clarry behind and were walking downstairs, Serena murmured. “Go on.”

  “What if I am not Eleanor Gardyn?” Dawn blurted. “You are wasting your time and generosity on me.”

  Serena shrugged. “I don’t consider it wasted, though I’ll be sorry if we’ve spoiled you for another life. I don’t think it matters since every time I see you I’m more convinced you are Eleanor.”

  “I’m more likely to be her father’s by-blow,” Dawn said bluntly. “Or Julius’s.”

  “Then that, too, must be addressed.” Serena said. “Only for God’s sake, don’t go around talking about by-blows!”

  Dawn followed her into the drawing room, still smiling at the thought of outraging the feminine company at the ball. Then she became aware that Serena had moved to one side and paused, spreading both arms toward Dawn as though displaying her.

  Inevitably, Dawn blushed, for everyone was gazing at her in silence. “Is staring not considered rude in polite circles?” she demanded.

  “Yes, it is,” Braithwaite said, coming toward her with his hand held out. “I apologize for all of us. In my defense, I can only say, you look far too lovely.”

  Her blush deepened, but, tilting her head defiantly, she gave him her hand. He bowed over it, just brushing her fingers with his lips. Even so, her skin tingled.

  “It’s a complement,” he reminded her, straightening. “Don’t look so angry.”

  Just in time, she saw the teasing laughter in his eyes. “I’m not angry. I’m taking it as my due and not troubling to thank you.”

  “Have at him,” Colonel Benedict encouraged, amused, but she caught a look passing between the Tamars that disturbed her.

  Was Lord Braithwaite flirting with her?

  If so, it was no doubt to give her practice. He had made it clear there could be no real relationship between them. All the same, she thought she liked it, and had no objection to more. For the first time, she actually looked forward to the coming ball, not least to her dance with the earl.

  Chapter Ten

  Although Serena had told her that Blackhaven’s assembly room balls were nothing great by London standards, Dawn was enchanted by the blazing candlelight, the myriad colors, and the sheer quantity of glittering jewels displayed by the ladies. The music, provided by a small orchestra in the gallery, might not have been what she was used to, but it
fitted the scene so well that she began to enjoy it.

  By the time the Braithwaite party arrived, the dancing was already underway. As they entered the ballroom, many heads turned toward them, and then, as word spread, many more.

  “Do they always stare so at your family?” Dawn asked the earl, trying not to pinch his sleeve from nervousness as their names were announced.

  “Yes. And at newcomers, especially beautiful ones. Don’t worry. They’ll remember their manners in a moment.”

  He was right. Conversations began again, and any lingering stares turned into bows from the family’s acquaintances.

  “Is he here?” Dawn asked, meaning Julius Gardyn.

  “I don’t see him, yet. Forget him and enjoy the ball.”

  Dawn’s dance card, which seemed a bizarre accessory to a party, was soon filled with the names of young men introduced to her by Serena and by Kate Grant. She found it difficult to match the names to faces which she barely distinguished from each other—apart from a pale young officer with a charming smile called Captain Hanson, whom she rather liked.

  His name came immediately after Bernard Muir’s on her card, but he looked so weary that she denied any desire to dance and suggested they merely talk instead. He looked so relieved that she said, “You are wounded, sir?”

  He grimaced. “A ball in my side—which wasn’t half so bad as the quacks poking around to find it. I’m now as weak as a kitten and as much use as dance partner as I am to my regiment.”

  “On the contrary, you are a great deal of use to me,” she confided. “There are so many precise steps and figures to these dances that I can never remember what comes next.”

  His eyes lit with appreciative laughter. “Perhaps we could waltz instead? I could just about manage a gentle one of those if you could spare me the time.”

  “Actually, I am already promised for the waltz,” she said. If it had been to anyone but Lord Braithwaite, she would have abandoned them for the captain without remorse.

  “Of course you are,” Captain Hanson said. “So, you are one of the Conways of Braithwaite? Do you live at the castle?”