Wages of Sin (Regency Rebelles Book 1)

by Jen Yates

  As if he always carried a leaf in his pocket in case he saw her.

  And she knew his quick, hungry glance had noted the sprig of tiny blue forget-me-not flowers she always wore tucked into the ribbons of her bonnet.

  Try though she did, Liberty couldn’t keep her gaze from lingering whenever she chanced to meet him. He’d now been working for his father in the mill and the stables for several years and the linen shirt and leather jerkin he wore for work clearly exposed the fact naked swimming with Levi now would be much more exciting, inciting and downright tempting than it had been when he was twelve.

  Sundays were the best days.

  Liberty imagined she’d eventually fry in hell for the prayers and thoughts she entertained while sitting demurely in the Earl of Stannesford’s pew, head bowed and hands folded in her lap.

  How could she not be thinking of Levi when his presence at the back of the church paced like tiny hedgehogs up and down her spine? How could she make polite conversation to the squire or his pimply faced son when her whole consciousness was centered on sharing one private smile with Levi?

  How could she manage even the slightest brush of hands as she passed by him on the way out of the church?

  It was six years since they’d ridden, plotted mischief and faced the consequences together, unbelieving their idyllic hours could ever be curtailed.

  ‘Everyone has to grow up,’ Mama had said.

  ‘The miller's son is not a fit companion for an earl's daughter,’ Papa had said.

  She loved Papa, but sometimes he was so aloof and cold. She didn't think he understood about hearts and dreams and love. He seemed only to care about appearances and the estate and Mama—and butterflies.

  She had to concede he took great care of Mama. To the extent when he was with her there might as well have been no one else present.

  Possibly because Mama was beautiful and ephemeral as a butterfly.

  Liberty was not.

  If she had to be likened to an insect she thought she had more in common with the energetic waywardness of the chaser dragonfly.

  Closing her fingers around the green stone, she drew her baby sister forward.

  Every bit as ethereally beautiful and fey as their mother, Verity was a responsibility Liberty gladly shouldered.

  Someone had to, otherwise the child would likely flit off with the fairies.

  Delighted with Madame Jessamine’s promise she'd one day meet and marry a tall dark stranger, and with a polished red stone clutched in her delicate fingers, she followed Liberty from the tent.

  ‘Madame Jessamine is right,’ Verity giggled happily. ‘I see him in my dreams—and he's very handsome.’

  Liberty took her sister’s hand and smiled indulgently down at her.

  ‘You're only nine years old, Very. What would you know of tall dark—?’

  A large hand gripped Liberty’s arm and tugged her behind the tent. She landed with an oomph against a broad hard chest and was wrapped by strong arms and the scent of horses and leather and healthy male sweat.

  Midnight blue eyes blazed down at her and all else ceased to register.

  The fair. Her sister.

  Right or wrong.

  She was in Levi’s arms and his lips were hovering above hers, tilted at one corner in that way they had when he was contemplating something wicked.

  Six years since they’d played and dared one another to wickedness. Childish wickedness.

  They were no longer children.

  Kissing him would be wicked. Enormously wicked. Deliciously wicked.

  Levi kissing her. Dreams could come true.

  ‘Levi?’

  ‘Hush, Liberty-Lou, we shouldn't do this—but dammit, I have to. Just once.’

  Only he ever called her Liberty-Lou.

  Eyes and mouth wide open with the sheer bliss of his presence, Liberty breathed him in. The empty place inside her filled and swelled with a deeply painful happiness.

  Could happiness be painful?

  He’d missed her as much as she’d missed him. His pain was hers.

  Then he pressed his mouth to hers and the memory of that long ago childish meeting of lips beneath the lake was searingly eclipsed.

  Warm and hungry, his flesh molded to the shape of hers, infused her heart with joy and an all too brief sense of completeness.

  It was more than she’d ever believed they would have—and nowhere near enough. But she would accept with gratitude what the universe had flung into her arms and relish what she might.

  Their bodies melded from chins to knees and her untutored hands flew into his hair, gripping his head and holding him to her. Levi's mouth, taste, breath, heat flowed into her, healing the void that had bloomed with his absence from her life.

  She’d not realized what it would mean to touch him, to feel the heated reality of him again. As a man not a boy.

  Against her body. Under her fingertips.

  ‘Dear Lord, I’ve missed you.’

  ‘Missed you too, Liberty-Lou. Need you.’

  The words were the abracadabra flaying her heart open to a bitter truth.

  The enduring bruise of wanting Levi the boy in no way prepared her for the agonizing wound of wanting Levi the man.

  His lips moved over her face, tracing, caressing, memorizing.

  Like a daisy, Liberty lifted her face to the sun, to Levi. Every sense alert and quivering, she curled her body into his embrace, buried her face against his neck and inhaled.

  Levi. For the first time in six years she was whole.

  ‘Libby?’ Verity tugged at her gown. ‘What are you doing? Papa said you're not allowed to talk to Levi. He's—he's just—a village brat.’

  Heart thumping against her breast bone with need and pain and guilt, she jerked back out of his claiming embrace to stare up into bluer than blue unrepentance.

  So Levi. All dare and never a hint of contrition.

  A lump of hysteria blocked her throat, compounded of loss, excitement, nervousness, and twisted amusement at Verity’s comment.

  Calling Levi Longfellow a ‘village brat’ was akin to calling a Percheron stallion a pony.

  ‘God, Levi,’ she whispered, ‘if Papa caught us, he would—have you horse-whipped. Your mama couldn’t stop him now.’

  His lips clamped tight and his squared chin jutted forward as if he ground something to powder between his teeth.

  ‘I know, Lou. But I’ve wanted to kiss you, hold you—and more—since that day in the lake. It’s worth a horse-whipping. Tell me you haven’t wanted it too.’

  The intensity of his words, the deep timbre of his voice tightened her lungs, compressing her chest as if the Percheron stallion had stomped on it.

  ‘Of course I want it,’ she whispered, pressing more desperately into the ungiving muscular body, ‘but we can’t—’

  ‘We will,’ he whispered fiercely. ‘Somehow we will. I love you, Lou.’

  He sounded so certain.

  ‘And I love you,’ she whispered back.

  Pressing her head into the hollow of this throat she touched her lips to the soft skin there. He tasted faintly salty, manly—delicious. Her hands clutched greedily at the strength of his upper arms, tracing, learning and memorizing the carved bulk and hard masculine contours of bone and muscle.

  ‘Libby!’ Verity tugged at her skirt again. ‘Come on. I want to show Mama my stone.’

  Stomach clenched, breath arrested and her heart slammed against her ribcage.

  Mama and Papa were both at the fair and could come upon them at any moment. She was a fool to risk being caught even talking to him, let alone with her arms wrapped around his neck and her body around his—like ivy seeking purchase on a tree trunk.

  Before she could make herself let go, he stole another sweet lash of lips and whispered, ‘Wait for me.’

  Then he was gone, his lithe, athletic body moving with an easy grace over the ropes at the back of the fair tents.

  He didn’t look back.

  Lost
in a trance of heated longing and forbidden desires, the pain of his leaving six years ago buckled her heart all over again.

  The depth of that pain had multiplied exponentially with each passing year. At sixteen she understood so much more of what she was being denied than she had at ten.

  What bitter fortune decreed they could be nothing to each other?

  How did one argue with fortune?

  With pedigree?

  With Papa?

  Wait for me.

  ***

  ‘Now can we go and see the May Queen?’ Verity asked tugging her across the grass to where Charity and their other friends, including Levi’s young sisters, Edith and Rose Longfellow, were watching the Morris dancers while they waited.

  Thankfully they were all too engrossed with the dancers’ antics and chattering about the gypsy’s predictions to notice anything amiss and Verity was already focused on the next excitement the day had to offer.

  Enchantment had stolen her senses and Liberty wasn’t even sure her feet were touching the ground or that she could speak a coherent sentence if it was required of her.

  And she couldn’t keep from constantly scanning the bustle of the fair for a glimpse of Levi, couldn’t keep a small secret smile from curving her lips.

  Levi loved her. He’d asked her to wait for him. Her lips still resonated with the energy of his kiss, his tongue teasing, darting into her mouth. Thinking about it unhinged her knees and if she suddenly collapsed in a heap on the grass they would know something was wrong.

  Excitedly comparing the gypsy’s messages and their stones, the group of young ladies crossed the Village Green to where the May Queen reigned on her gilded throne set on a high stage.

  Lady Caroline Weatherby, a year older than Liberty and her very dear friend, had come home with her from Lady Bessborough’s school in Bath especially to be the May Queen. Next year it would be Liberty’s turn. It was such an honor, such a thrill to be gowned and crowned as Queen for a day.

  But she was glad she hadn’t been stuck on the throne today. If she had, Levi would not have been able to accost her. Hold her. Kiss her.

  She wished Caroline wasn’t stuck up there either for she desperately wanted to talk with her, tell her—

  But she really couldn’t tell anyone. It was too momentous, too frightening.

  He’d asked her to wait for him.

  What did he intend to do?

  Dear God, she needed to talk to someone and that someone could only be Caroline. There was nothing they didn’t share with one another. She probably wouldn’t get the chance until they went back to school.

  A group of young gentlemen clustered below the May Queen's throne, clearly enthralled with her silky golden curls, luminous blue eyes and deliciously curvy figure.

  Two of the young men were in the Horse Guards uniform and Lucy Wolfenden said one was her second cousin, Gabriel Wolfenden, heir to her grandfather, the Earl of Pennington. He, or any one of the gentlemen accompanying him would have been an acceptable suitor for the daughter of the Earl of Stannesford.

  They were fine young men, well built and exceedingly handsome in their uniforms. She could only spare them a passing glance, her focus all on tracking Levi’s progress around the attractions of the fair.

  Bowling coconuts at the coconut shy or giving a display of trick riding with two other lads from the village, he was to be found, as he’d always been, wherever there was excitement and action. She struggled to hide her awareness, to keep the others from noticing her inattention and the cause of it.

  The raven gleam of his long hair flying in the breeze as he rode or the fierce blue glow of his gaze as it rested on her was increasingly difficult to ignore.

  But stripped to his waist and playing anchor for the winning tug-o’-war team was beyond her feeble attempts at showing a ladylike disinterest. She simply stood and watched.

  ‘There's Mama and Papa,’ Verity cried, jolting her out of her lust-hazed reverie. Pray they hadn’t realized the object of her focus was the miller’s son.

  Their mother rarely left the confines of Stannesford Hall or its extensive grounds and if she did Papa was always at her side, as if he was afraid to let her out of his sight. The Earl and Countess of Stannesford sponsored the May Day Fair and their annual attendance was almost as intriguing to the general populace as the attractions of the fair itself.

  Verity adored Papa.

  Liberty wished she could view life through Verity’s faerie lenses. To her little sister, the world was a place of magic, peopled with handsome princes, beautiful princesses and shining white unicorns.

  Papa was the adored King of Verity’s magical realm.

  At sixteen Liberty already knew Papa was the impregnable wall between her and Levi Longfellow and she struggled to offer him the paternal respect that was his due.

  But in this moment even Papa could not dampen her euphoria.

  Verity broke away from her sisters and their friends and raced across the Green towards their parents.

  Liberty’s hand jerked out to grab her back but in her elfin way, the child was already well beyond her grasp. Horror overtook her mind before she could form thoughts or words.

  ‘I saw Liberty kissing Levi,’ she sang as she danced across the daisy strewn grass.

  Each tiny white flower quivered into high relief in the flurry of her passing—like shiny new nails in a coffin lid.

  Liberty squeezed her eyes shut and held her breath then opened her eyes again and exhaled all in one frantic movement, praying the tactic had caused time to reverse, had given her a chance to catch Verity, to warn her not to say anything.

  Papa's dark blue gaze settled on Liberty with a cold implacability.

  Euphoria shattered like axed ice.

  Liberty sucked in breath again but couldn’t exhale. Ice crackled in her toes, stiffened her legs.

  Teetering helplessly on the edge of a crumbling chasm, she could feel the sod and rock falling away beneath her feet but couldn’t move to avert disaster.

  The ice crystalized the blood in her veins.

  Why had she not thought to warn Verity to keep her wagging tongue still?

  And how could she warn Levi to keep out of her father's way?

  ***

  Chapter 2.

  Even in the late afternoon dimness of the Mill Livery & Stables Levi felt as if a brilliant sun blazed down on him.

  He’d finally held Liberty in his arms. Kissed her and told her he loved her. It was everything he’d ever imagined.

  He’d not been able to get near her since that day they’d gone swimming in the lake. The day he’d realized Liberty Lou was not just his best friend.

  She was the reason he breathed.

  They’d managed to leave each other messages through innocuous bits of greenery at the lightning tree over the last six years but neither had dared risk more. Lord Stannesford had been very explicit in banning Levi from any converse with his eldest daughter.

  But today—he was smiling like an idiot and whistling as he hadn’t done in a long time—today—

  ‘Longfellow, you’ve to come with us.’

  The silhouette of a large, heavily built man filled the doorway but Levi didn’t need to see his features clearly to recognize that outline.

  Mr. Reeves, the stable master at Stannesford Hall had taught him to ride. Mr. Gloames, the gamekeeper, loomed behind him, blocking even more light.

  A storm-heavy cloud extinguished his private sun.

  Run was his first thought, quickly abandoned. The influence of the Earl of Stannesford encompassed the whole village. Stannesford Village existed because of Stannesford Hall and the other great houses thereabouts.

  Only a complete fool would think to pit himself against that kind of power.

  ‘Come with you where?’ he managed to ask in an evenly pitched voice.

  He felt as if every horse in the stable had kicked him solidly in the gut.

  It was a stupid question.

  Even so his
habit of facing every challenge head on was too ingrained.

  ‘Up to the Hall. Lord Stannesford wants a word with you.’

  He swung his gaze between Mr. Reeves and the gamekeeper. Both were big men.

  Da would tell him he had no choice, to face his medicine—even if he were able to escape across the yard to the mill house. His Da was likely already settled in his big chair in the kitchen. He didn’t need Levi bringing him trouble at the end of a tiring day.

  Besides, he already knew this would be a battle he’d have to fight on his own. The Earl of Stannesford had the ability to ruin his family and Levi would not be the cause of that.

  He forced himself to move calmly down the stable aisle checking door latches, though his mind danced about like dust motes in an eddy of air spinning across the cobbled floor.

  He could put up a fight—or he could go quietly.

  There was a part of him, the young adolescent part of him that wanted to give in to the former, but he knew Da was right when he said more could be achieved by reason than force.

  In Da’s view a true man would go quietly.

  Face the consequences of his actions.

  For he had no doubt this visit was a consequence of his accosting of Liberty at the fair that morning.

  Following the men out onto the lane behind the shops on Bow Street, he locked the heavy door at the back of the stables, jammed his hands into his coat pockets and walked between them through the woods past Larkhurst Manor and onto Stannesford Hall grounds.

  It was six years since he’d stopped making the daily trek to the Hall with his mother and younger siblings. Little had changed, the path through the woods well-defined by their daily treks to and fro.

  The old hall still dominated the rise above the Stannesford River, a great stone creature, crouched, bunching it’s haunches ready to leap and crush.

  His mind was ever fanciful and this place had always fired his fantasies. Stannesford Hall and Liberty Lou, the princess for whom he would slay dragons.

  There was no way to avoid this confrontation regardless his every instinct clamored to find a way to do just that. Avoidance would never win Liberty for his own.

  Here was the first dragon he must slay.