A British Courtesan in America (Revolutionary Women Book 2)

by Becky Lower

  She could not abide sitting on the sidelines with a cup of tea and making idle conversation with ladies who never soiled their hands. She’d work at the Gazette, read the rousing editorials written by Hawk under the guise of A True Patriot, and help him make bullets.

  For now, it would suffice. But a man who could write such passionate missives had to carry a load of passion of another kind in his body. The kind of passion Libby was familiar with and desperately wished for again, now with him. True, the war, and his cause, took center stage at present. But a man could have two mistresses. She’d seen it time and again.

  Her only fear was he’d end up the same way as Atticus. Shot by some fool to prove a point. A piece of her heart had broken off when Atticus died. Would the rest of it cease working if something happened to Hawk?

  Was he worth the gamble?

  • ♥ •

  Libby ran a hand over her quivering stomach as she strode toward Hawk’s blacksmith shop the next afternoon. Since he had been the one to suggest they work together, she didn’t need to be nervous, but her body paid no heed to her mind. Shivers of anticipation shot through her, pricking her skin with goosebumps at the mere thought of seeing Hawk at work, staring at him in unguarded moments as his muscles strained his shirt fabric when he pounded a piece of metal into shape. Her mouth was dry, and she tried to gather up enough moisture to unstick her tongue.

  The moment she entered the shop, her dry mouth began salivating. Hawk had a mallet in his right hand while his left held the tongs onto which a red-hot piece of iron resided. He raised the heavy mallet over his head time and again, shaping the iron into the head of an axe. Libby stood in the shadows and drank in the image of this powerful man at work. When the iron cooled to the point it was no longer malleable, Hawk lowered it into a bucket of water and the iron hissed before he pivoted toward her.

  “Bonsoir, Madame.”

  She started when he pivoted right toward her. “Oh.” She brushed a hand down the front of her gown. “And here I thought I’d been so stealthy.”

  “I am half Indian.” He offered no further explanation, merely yanked the metal from the water and laid it on the workbench. “I have a pot of silver melting on the stove.”

  She took a step out from the shadows. “How do you say ‘Good evening’ in your Indian tongue?”

  “There is no literal translation. We just say ‘Qey’ regardless of the time of day.” Hawk smiled at her, flashing his white teeth. His eyes narrowed as he took in her appearance. “Your gown is too beautiful to wear while making bullets.”

  She brushed the front of the gray gown again. “I thought it was quite serviceable.” True, it did have elaborate beading at the bodice, but otherwise it was the least adorned gown in her wardrobe.

  He strode over to her then, placed a hand on her neckline, and she held her breath, wondering if his touch would swoop lower and cover her breast again, as he had last night. Her nipple ached for him. His fingers curled around her neck briefly, flexing into her flesh. He lowered his hand and popped a bead off the gown. As he handed it to her, he shook his head. “If one of those beads fell into the silver, and ended up inside a bullet, it would make the bullet stray from its mark. Since our goal is to have every bullet count, we need to cover up your finery.”

  She’d lost her train of thought when his hand caressed her neck, his fingers warming her skin. His dark eyes had glistened as he lowered his hand and popped the bead. Her breast had already peaked in anticipation. Now, it screamed in frustration. She dropped her gaze from him and stared at the bead in her hand.

  “Oh.”

  As Anjanette Shelby, she’d been known as a master of clever discourse. As Liberty Wexford, all she could say was “Oh.”

  Hawk strode to the wall and tugged a leather apron from a peg. He placed it over Libby’s head and tied it in the back. She was covered from top to tail in a shapeless and hot apron. Not exactly the enticing image she’d been aiming for.

  But the way her body hummed at Hawk’s nearness as he tied the garment around her made her agree to wear the apron, if it was the only way to stay close to him for a few hours.

  She fingered the well-worn apron. “Well, then. Let’s get to work.” She carried the bullet forms to the worktable and got them set up to accept the hot silver.

  They worked in unison for several hours, not saying much to each other. It was as if they had an unspoken communication, as if they’d done this dance many times before. As if they’d been partners for years, instead of having known each other for a couple of months. When the last of the silver was poured, Libby backed away from the table and attempted to untie the apron which had only gotten hotter. She was desperate to escape its confines.

  “Here, mon amie, let me help.” Hawk spun her around and untied the heavy apron. He tugged it over her head, undoing her chignon. He spun her back around and tucked an errant strand behind her ear, his fingers lingering a bit at her earlobe, grazing the sensitive spot below her earlobe with his thumb. He gazed into her eyes. “Your hair is lovely when it is loose.” His hand circled around the back of her neck, and he ran his fingers through her tresses. “You worked hard tonight.” He leaned in closer, his lips remarkably soft on hers.

  She backed out of his embrace. When he got too close, she lost all sense of herself and her normal steely resolve melted as if it were hot silver.

  “I’m only playing a small part in the big picture, that’s all.” She had become hot and sweaty from making bullets, but Hawk made her hot and sweaty in a much different way. She needed to escape before she begged him for more. Begging for the first time ever. Maybe as Libby Wexford, she’d have to learn to do things differently. But that didn’t mean she’d have to enjoy the wait.

  “I—uh…I have to go.” She briskly exited the room before he could offer to escort her home. If he had, she would have totally lost her resolve, and he’d end up in her bed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Judging from the way Libby had scurried off tonight, like a scared little rabbit, Hawk doubted if she would be back again. He had frightened her by getting too close, by touching her. But after working beside her all night, inhaling her rose perfume, which only grew stronger as she perspired from the heat and the work, how could he not touch her? How could he not kiss her? She had enjoyed their stolen kisses on Independence Day.

  He had removed the heavy leather apron he made her wear to protect her gown, and when he did, the gown clung to her damp body, becoming almost transparent. He wished to caress her spectacular bosom as he had done before, but instead he caressed an earlobe, showing remarkable restraint.

  Not that any of it mattered.

  A lovely, cultured lady such as Mrs. Wexford had no place toiling in a hot, sweaty blacksmith shop. Making silver bullets, of all things. She belonged in the finest of drawing rooms, being served high tea by a myriad of servants while men groveled at her feet. Feet encased in the most stylish footwear he had ever seen.

  He was over his head. He shook off the vision in his mind as he emptied the forms with their now-cooled contents and stacked them on the shelf. Their night’s work formed a rising pile of bullets.

  Patterson Lovejoy stuck his head into the shop. “Hey, Hawk. Noticed your place is still lit up. What’s happening?”

  Hawk yanked himself from his tortured thoughts. “Just making as many bullets as possible. Have you gotten any more word about the battle brewing up north?”

  Patterson nodded. “Some. Your father is leading the British flank, right?”

  Hawk’s gut twisted. “Oui. He took the job so he could safeguard my mother’s tribal lands. Or so he says, anyway. He will lead the Brits around instead of through their territory. It will take longer, but they will not be the wiser, and my mother and her people will be safe. And, it will give the tribesmen time to get in place to help with the attack.”

  “Makes sense. I assume you are heading up to Maine, then?” Patterson picked up a bullet and tossed it from one hand to the other.<
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  “As soon as I get the rest of the bullets made. I thought I would have help with the job, but I probably have seen the last of her after just one night.” Hawk continued to stack the bullet forms.

  “Ah, your lovely Mrs. Wexford. I ran into her on the steps leading up to her room as I left our meeting.” Patterson smiled at the memory.

  “She is not my Mrs. Wexford. Merde! She offered to help, that is all.” Hawk ran a hand through his tangled hair.

  “Don’t tell me she’s immune to your considerable charms?” Patterson’s smile became a grin. “No wonder you’re so grouchy.”

  Hawk growled. “I have work to do. I cannot waste time listening to your foolishness.”

  Patterson laughed and dropped the bullet he’d been toying with back onto the pile. “Touchy subject, I understand. Tell me when you plan to head north. I’ll go with you.”

  “Adieu, then.” Hawk faced the wall and continued to stack the forms. He did not dare face forward again until the footsteps of his friend faded. Patterson could see right through him. As if he were as transparent as Libby’s gown. Hawk ground his teeth together. A battle might be just what he needed. He could take out his aggression on the British soldiers rather than on a beautiful British woman. He would take steps to avoid her until all the bullets were made and he and Patterson could ride to the Maine coast. A bit of time apart from her would be a good thing. The best thing. After all, he had a war to fight.

  His resolve lasted only until he laid down and closed his eyes. He might be able to evade her during the day, but at night, her face invaded his dreams. Her intelligent cornflower blue eyes lit up with mirth every time he taught her a new word in either of his foreign tongues. The quickness of her mind astounded him, when she pieced together the fact that he was the voice behind A True Patriot. There was much more to the woman than a pretty face. But, oh, what a face! Clear porcelain skin, so flawless it could not possibly be real. But he had touched her dewy softness and could attest to the fact it was, indeed, real. She was real. Her light blonde tresses had come undone tonight from her usual bun. His fingers itched to run through them, preferably in the afterglow of lovemaking. Her lovely swan-like neck. Those beautifully arched eyebrows.

  “Libby. Leave me alone. I have a war to fight.” His whispered words did nothing to dispel the lingering scent of rose attar from the room. He groaned, hoping his stiff shaft would behave so he could get some sleep. The war he fought was not just on behalf of the colonies. His internal war went much deeper. For God’s sake, she was one of them! A Brit. The sworn enemy. Why was she even invading his thoughts?

  Because she made him feel alive in a way he had not in a long time. He had gone into the war, into each battle, aware if the worst happened and he got himself killed, his sacrifice would have been worth it, and he could lay down his life happily. Now, because of a beautiful, mysterious wisp of a woman, his thoughts strayed from the course he had set for himself after the Boston Tea Party four years earlier. His thoughts had evolved into he hoped to live, if she could be beside him. Could he be falling in love with her? Or was what he was experiencing merely lust? He desperately wished to explore every curve of her body. His hands itched each time she was near. The urge to touch her overwhelmed him. He would willingly head into each battle if the end result would be to come home to her. Love or lust? Did it matter?

  Mon dieu. He had it bad for her.

  • ♥ •

  Like a moth drawn to a flame, Libby returned to the hot smithy shop the following evening, regardless of the danger to her carefully crafted new reputation. Regardless of her perilous state whenever Hawk was within arm’s length of her. She stood in the doorway and marveled at his shoulder muscles, which were straining the shirt fabric as he tossed all the items gathered that day into the pot.

  Good. It would take a bit of time for the metal to melt. She’d packed them a supper and had hoped for a conversation to ease into the evening. She needed the time to quiet her rapidly beating heart. To get her thoughts in order. To act prim and proper when all she really hoped for was to take him to her bed. Beyond that, she had no wish to explore her feelings, at this point, anyway.

  “Bonsoir, Libby.” He hadn’t yet faced her, and it still unnerved her that he could be aware of her presence without first seeing her. Her stomach fluttered.

  She approached the workbench and tugged out the checkered cloth from her basket. Busied herself with smoothing out the wrinkles of the cloth before she sat the basket on top, giving herself a steadying moment. Then, she gazed up at him.

  His reddish-brown skin shone in the light from the fire. He was powerful, beautiful, and she forgot every admonition she’d told herself the minute their gazes met. She had no wish to take things slowly. What she wanted was to undo his plaited hair, to fuse his lips to hers, feel the weight of him on top of her. She took a small step toward him, invading his space.

  “I should be used to it by now. Those eyes in the back of your head.” She smiled up at him, one of her saucy smiles that had brought many a man to his knees. “I thought you might be hungry, so I packed us some sandwiches.” She stared up at him, her mouth dry. She was starving as well, but not for the ham sandwich. If he didn’t touch her soon, she’d surely combust before the night ended, and she’d be nothing more than a pile of ashes for him to sweep up.

  As if he could read her mind, he raised a hand and caressed her cheek. Such a tender action from such a rugged man. She nuzzled her face into his hand as he lowered his tantalizing lips to hers. His kiss was light as a feather, the feather of a hawk.

  “I thought you would not return, after last night.” He dropped his hand and took up a spot on the opposite side of the bench. “What did you bring us for dinner?”

  So that was the way tonight would play out. A little dance step forward, then a huge leap back to safety. Well, she had performed the steps to this particular music many times before and had become quite adept at the movements. She smoothed a hand over her hair before she began tugging their dinner from her basket. “I have ham sandwiches, apple slices, and for dessert, watermelon. I rather enjoy the pairing of salty and sweet, don’t you?”

  He encircled her wrist, pausing her motion. She ceased her chatter and glanced over at him. His look stole her breath.

  “Libby.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he tightened his hold. She stepped around the bench, with him still holding her wrist in a vice grip, and wrapped her free arm around his waist, fusing her body up against his. Convention be damned. She was no good at prim and proper. He shuddered as he succumbed to her, dropping his head to devour her lips, and enfolding her in his massive arms. She could not have escaped if she’d tried. And the good Lord help her, she didn’t want to try. His erection poked into her midsection and her heart rate soared as she returned his kisses with all the fervor she was feeling. The music accompanying the dance was about to crescendo. His tongue ran along the seam of her lips, and she opened to him. Her lady parts had been moist for him since he’d first touched her tonight, but when his tongue met hers, she became drenched and was panting for him.

  Her lashes fluttered against her cheek as his hands roamed over her body. He cupped her breast in his hand and bent down, his teeth grazing the peak. She shivered as his other hand slid down her spine and cupped her bottom. He drew her even closer, their bodies fused together, much like the metal melting in the pot. He coaxed her nipple, tormented it exquisitely, rolling it between his thumb and finger.

  She needed to stop this recklessness.

  She needed this recklessness to continue.

  She gripped the nape of his neck and licked her way up his cheek to his earlobe. Salty and sweet. Just as she’d thought. He lowered his mouth again and renewed his onslaught. Her entire body ignited under his touch. Her moans pierced the air as his touch healed the jagged edges of her heart. Blood thundered in her veins. She wanted this man as she had never wanted another.

  Hawk suddenly backed off a moment befor
e noise from the stables permeated her muddled brain. He set her apart from him and focused on the stable door. She tried to get her breathing under control. Swollen lips gave him away as she was certain hers did, as well. Her gaze lowered to the dampened cloth surrounding her taut nipple and his swollen member. Whoever was in the stables could piece things together quite easily, should the person bother to look.

  Patterson emerged from the darkened stables, finally, with a full bag of metal slung over his shoulder. He glanced at Hawk before he slid his gaze toward her. “Mrs. Wexford, how nice to see you again.” His smirk appeared as he canted his head toward Hawk. “You need to finish the bullets tonight so we can get on the road to Maine.”

  “We were about to have dinner while the first batch of metal is melting.” Hawk motioned to the pot on top of the stove.

  “Right. So I heard.” He dropped the bag on the bench. “Get it done tonight, Hawk, will you? If we don’t get moving soon, it will be too late.”

  He tipped his hat to Libby. “The Sons of Liberty appreciate your help, Mrs. Wexford.” Then, as silently as he appeared, he disappeared back into the stables.

  Libby could feel her cheeks bloom with color. “Oh, dear Lord. What must Mr. Lovejoy think of me?” She placed her hands to her cheeks.

  Hawk took her hands in his and lowered them as he gazed into her eyes. “He was joking, attempting to get the best of us. I was aware of him long before he could hear us. You have nothing to be ashamed of.” He held her gaze a moment longer. “But even if he had interrupted us, you would still have nothing to be ashamed of. N’est pas?”

  She placed her head on his shoulder for a minute, unwilling to break from his closeness. “I guess you’re right. We are both single, mature adults who can do what we please. It’s not as if I have a virginity to protect. Merely a reputation.” She finally raised her head. “But we have bullets to make.” She glanced at the mound of metal Patterson had dropped on their table and sighed, taking a step away from Hawk. “Let’s eat quickly and get busy.”