A British Courtesan in America (Revolutionary Women Book 2)

by Becky Lower

  “I do not have the same reasons you do. My mother’s way of life will disappear, regardless of whether it is at the hands of the British or of the Patriots. I will make the bullets, and you and your kind can kill each other off.” Hawk picked up the tossed form and placed it back on the worktable.

  “True enough. Your mother and father made certain you could straddle between the Indian and American cultures, because they could tell your entire tribe would eventually have to do so, and they wished a better life for you.” Patterson filled a ladle and poured the molten lead into the forms. When the form was full, he lifted his gaze to Hawk. “You need to be as brave as they are.”

  Hawk bristled. “Are you questioning my bravery?”

  Patterson shrugged. “I don’t have the details as to what happened between you and Libby to force her to leave town. All I see is how you can’t get her out of your mind. I witnessed more than you were aware of that night here in the shop, before we went to Maine. You were so locked onto her your Indian senses weren’t working properly; otherwise, I never would have been able to sneak up on you. I backed away at first, then made some noise to warn you I was in the stables. So, don’t tell me you don’t care about where she is. If you’re not going to fight with us, then go find her and haul her back here so you can quit being such a fool. Be brave enough to admit she’s worth fighting for.”

  Hawk grimaced. “You are not usually so long-winded.”

  Patterson punched Hawk’s arm. “You’re not usually so pig-headed.”

  Hawk rolled his shoulders. “You only have half of the story. Until you are told all of it, you cannot judge me, mon amie.”

  Patterson waved a hand over the empty forms on the table. “Since we’ll be here all night, I have plenty of time. Enlighten me.”

  Hawk expelled a deep breath. “Her name is not Liberty.”

  Patterson’s gaze flickered over him. “Hawk is not your given name, either.”

  “She also is not a widow.” Hawk’s gaze hardened. Patterson reacted only by blinking his eyes.

  “She was Mr. Wexford’s paid companion.”

  Patterson’s eyes narrowed.

  Hawk steadied himself before continuing. “And before Mr. Wexford, there had been numerous men. She was a highly regarded courtesan in London, known as Miss Spectacular Bosom.”

  Patterson closed his eyes. And then smiled.

  “She does have a rather spectacular bosom, my friend.”

  Hawk growled. “Evidently, Sampson had known her in London, where he had tried to become one of her lovers, but she rejected him. When he encountered her here, he decided to force her to pleasure him or he would sully her reputation here in Boston.”

  Patterson’s smile grew into a grin and he opened his eyes. “So that’s why Sampson sported a goose egg on his head? She beaned him?”

  Hawk nodded. “With a spittoon, as I recall.”

  “Good on her. What a brave woman she is. And, evidently, well versed in how to please a man. You’re one lucky fellow. I didn’t know all the details when Ben Edes instructed the Sons of Liberty to send Sampson packing back to England, but he’d now gone. It will be perfectly safe for her to return to Boston, if you’re brave enough to go to her.”

  “No, I will not. I cannot take a woman until this war ends. It will drag on for years, and I may leave town along the way to take part in the fighting. Maybe I will take a British bullet or be imprisoned.” Hawk shook his head.

  “Ah, I see the problem now.” Patterson laughed. “You feel, because of her past, she’ll turn to another the minute you leave town. Yet, her actions since she set foot in America have proved you wrong. If she were to continue being a courtesan, would she have been working so hard for Ben at the paper? Wouldn’t she have seduced you here in the shop? Wouldn’t she have done Sampson’s bidding? You got as close to her as anyone, and as far as I can tell, nothing sexual happened between you two, although from what I saw, you were getting close. She’s here to start a new life.”

  “It will have to be without me.”

  “Come on, Hawk. Admit you love her.”

  Hawk raised his gaze to his friend. “Do you not worry about your wife straying from you when you leave her?”

  “No. We have an active love life, but I am confident she would not willingly share her body with anyone else, regardless of how long I’m gone. I have the utmost faith in her. And should someone force himself on her, she won’t give up without a fight.”

  Hawk filled another ladle. “You sound so sure of her.”

  “I am. She’s a brave soul, and she is why I fight. She and our children are worth our sacrifice.” Patterson glanced at Hawk. “Libby’s a brave soul as well, and she deserves someone who recognizes that, and who is as brave as she is. If you don’t do anything, you won’t get anything, Hawk.”

  Hawk puffed out a breath. “That is the last of the lead. Come back in the morning and I will have these bundled up. We will take them to the fight in Philadelphia.”

  Patterson slapped him on the back. “So, you’ve decided to join us. And I hope afterwards, you’ll search for Libby.”

  “We will see where the battle leads.”

  Patterson gave him a hard look. “Bravery begets bravery, my friend. Be brave enough to forge your future with this woman while you help forge America’s future. She is worth it. And, having a woman and children is what makes everything worthwhile.”

  Patterson’s voice resonated in Hawk’s ears long after he departed. Could he have a future with a former courtesan? Would his somewhat limited knowledge of lovemaking be enough for her, or would she laugh at him? His mother thought his fears were unfounded. He had received no complaints from the women he had seduced, but they were not professionals. Why had she led such a life in the first place? Perhaps he owed it to her, to them, to find out.

  He thought she had no love for England, the country who had forced her into her former lifestyle, but what if he were wrong? What if, right now, she was informing the British of what General Washington was planning? If he were to add her to his life, would he be endangering his fellow countrymen? His father had proven that folks sometimes had to straddle between two factions to survive his brutal war. Libby could be just like his father. She could learn his secrets and inform the British of her findings. Even as he had these thoughts, he realized she already knew his secrets. He was the one making the bullets, and he was the voice behind A True Patriot. And so far, she had kept those secrets. The only thing holding him back from finding her was his own cowardice. Perhaps Patterson was correct, and he was not brave enough to match her. It was past time to find out.

  • ♥ •

  A short week later, Hawk shivered in his hunting shirt and deerskin coat, unsure whether he was reacting to the weather or to the skirmishes he witnessed as columns of red coats routed the rag-tag American forces. He and Patterson situated themselves on Edge Hill, along with the rest of Morgan’s Rifle Corps, just outside of Philadelphia.

  “If we don’t win this battle, Washington’s forces will probably disband and go to their homes.” Patterson spoke the words Hawk had been stewing over. “It’s fortunate Washington’s intelligence forces were made aware of Howe’s plans in advance. God bless the Quaker woman who bravely crossed the British lines to warn us. We are ready for them.”

  “We must win. Howe hopes to quell this battle and then head back to the comfort of Philadelphia and his paramour for the winter. We must defeat him.” Hawk spoke over the sound of gunfire coming from below them. One advantage to being on Edge Hill was the ability to see the various skirmishes as they were being enacted. “Even though we had advance notice of this battle, we cannot fight these men by a direct attack. There are too many of them, all neatly lined up.”

  Patterson lowered his spyglass. “Their formations are impressive, but formations don’t win wars. I for one, am tired of just looking at them. We need to fight and get this over with.”

  Hawk nodded. “What we need to do is attack th
em Indian style. If we hide behind trees and shoot them as they pass us, we might gain the upper hand.”

  Patterson grinned. “By God, you’re right. I’ll go talk to Colonel Morgan.” He waved his hand to the scene below. “There is a copse of woods right there. We can mount an attack as the lobster backs come through on the pathway.”

  Soon enough, the corps had taken up positions in the dense woods. Howe’s main column of men marched through the trees and could not see their opponents, who crouched behind trees on either side of the column.

  “Want to take the first shot, Hawk?” Patterson whispered.

  “Let us wait until the main body is halfway through. That way, they will be like ducks on the water.” Hawk held his rifle steady as the British passed within twenty feet of him.

  A few minutes later, the sound of marching feet gave way to a volley of gunshot. The air filled with screams of the men as the American gunfire found its mark. A fog of gunpowder smoke enveloped the area, further hindering the vision of the British, and the air became thick with the smell of sulfur and the metallic odor of blood. The orderly retreat of the British troops became an all-out rout.

  Patterson reloaded his rifle. “It doesn’t matter which side they’re on. The screams of the dying sound the same.”

  Hawk nodded his agreement as he ran to the next tree.

  The rifle corps kept up the attack on the British forces as they attempted to make their way back to Philadelphia, having given up the fight. Bodies of the fallen littered the path for those running to escape, all orderly ranks forgotten as the British ran for their lives, unaccustomed to not having the upper hand in the conflict. Morgan’s rifle corps ran out of bullets, and with no reinforcements or more ammunition, they were forced to withdraw, but not until they had done considerable damage to the Brits.

  It was not a clear victory, and not one General Washington was proud of, but the British were in retreat, much to the surprise of the Americans, who relished the outcome.

  Hawk and Patterson joined the rest of the corps as they sat around a campfire in the evening. “Most likely that’s the last battle of the year. Well done, lads.” Captain Morgan addressed the troops.

  Patterson glanced over at Hawk. “I doubt Howe will let the last battle of the year to be chalked up to the rebels. My guess is he’s got something else up his sleeve.”

  “I am of the same mind, mon amie.” Hawk kept his gaze on the fire.

  “So, shall you follow Washington to Valley Forge, or head back to Boston?” Patterson asked.

  “Neither.” Hawk swung his gaze to his friend. “I need to find Libby.”

  Patterson thumped Hawk on the back. “It’s about bloody time.” Then he sobered. “Where do you reckon she is?”

  “I have some ideas. She traveled to Philadelphia, but since it is overrun with the British forces, I doubt she stayed there. There is too much risk of her past being exposed again.” Hawk brushed his chin.

  “So, she perhaps followed the Continental Congress to Lancaster?” Patterson continued when Hawk nodded agreement. “A good place to start, I’d say.”

  Hawk glanced at Patterson. “What about you? Are you heading to Valley Forge for the winter or home to await your new little babe?”

  Patterson shrugged. “I’ll head home for the winter. General Washington needs to feed and care for the troops, and his provisions are slim. I won’t be adding to his worries. I will spend my time rustling up silver and lead for you and Libby to use making bullets upon your return. Godspeed, my friend. Go get your woman.”

  Hawk stared into the fire. He wished he had the confidence Patterson did that Hawk’s next mission would prove successful. He had no doubt he could track Libby’s whereabouts. But whether she would agree to be his life partner after he had shunned her, he was not so sure.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Hawk prowled the cobbled streets of Lancaster with the hairs on the back of his neck bristling. Libby was close, but where? The only inn had no knowledge of a Mrs. Wexford ever entering their establishment. Had Libby taken on yet another name? It would not surprise him in the least to learn she had tried once again to shed her past by giving herself a new name. The woman had changed her identity each time she added on a layer to her life story. He pivoted away from the inn’s proprietor with a growl and returned to the wooden sidewalk.

  His growl became a grunt as he raised a hand to the man coming from the opposite direction. “Bonjour, Sam.” Hawk stopped in front of tall, dark-haired Samuel Adams.

  “Hawk Gentry, good to see you.” Sam shook Hawk’s hand. “Why are you in town? Has Boston become boring now that the Brits are all camped out in Philadelphia?”

  “Boston will never be boring. But I am attempting to find someone, now since the battles have died down for winter.” Hawk rolled his shoulders.

  “Well, let me buy you a drink and you can fill me in on who you’re looking for. Maybe our paths have crossed.” Sam steered them to the local alehouse.

  Once Hawk and Sam were seated and had mugs of ale in front of them, Hawk got down to business. “How long have you been in town, Sam?”

  “We had to leave Philadelphia a few months ago, when the Brits took over the town. We first positioned ourselves here, in Lancaster, but then relocated to York town, a bit further west. The courthouse here in Lancaster was the only place Congress could hold meetings, and it wasn’t quite large enough. Or far enough away from the lobster backs.” Sam took a drink from his mug. “But I prefer Lancaster to York. Good shops, good food, good people.” He lifted his mug again. “And good grog.”

  “It does not sound like you to talk about good shops, Sam. Has your wife finally mellowed you?” Hawk laughed.

  “Aye, that she has. There’s a cobbler here in town who makes work shoes that are actually comfortable. The leather is soft, and my wife has fallen in love with them.” Sam placed his hand on Hawk’s arm. “When you take a wife, you’ll soon figure out how pleasing your woman can result in your own pleasure.”

  The skin on Hawk’s arm prickled under Sam’s hand. Libby’s love of fine footwear had been the catalyst for them meeting each other. “Where is this cobbler’s shop?”

  “Just down the street. Why do you ask?”

  Hawk shrugged one shoulder. “I am searching for a woman. One who fancies fine shoes.”

  Sam stood and Hawk followed. “Well, you likely won’t find her in that shop. Yoder only has one employee, and she’s Amish. Personable enough, but not one to wear fine shoes. The lady you’re looking for may be a patron of the shop though, since Yoder does keep a supply of footwear from England to entice the wives of the officers. You could inquire there. Yoder’s idea of fine footwear that he creates usually translates to nothing more than soft leather and a buckle.”

  Hawk’s heart rate slowed from its rapid pace. He had been so certain he was on the right track. But he was not looking for an Amish woman. Or a woman who would settle for merely a buckle on her shoes. Could Libby have gone on to York, followed the steps of the Continental Congress? Could the sensation she was nearby merely be caused by her passing through? Could the rose attar scent coming from the inn be left over from her short visit here before she traveled on?

  Hawk bid farewell to his friend and strode in the opposite direction. He would head over to York and see if he could track her there. But a sense of foreboding settled over him. When he found her, it may be too little, too late. She may have already aligned herself with a man who would not care about her past. Who might not even be aware of her past. Or if he was, he had accepted it, unlike Hawk’s knee-jerk response to her revelation. Who would cherish her for who she is, not who she had been. Who would thank his God nightly for finding such an accomplished woman in his bed. Who would adore her, as she should be adored.

  Hawk stopped in the middle of the street. He needed another mug of ale before he continued on his quest. He needed to linger here, where the rose attar scent soothed his senses. Where Libby had been, at least for a whil
e.

  Go get your woman. Patterson’s words haunted him. Hawk trusted his tracking skills. He would head over to York, but if he could not discern any rose attar there, he would return to Lancaster. Praying he would not be too late.

  • ♥ •

  Libby’s tongue snuck into the corner of her mouth as she concentrated on the tooling for her newly designed shoes. Mr. Yoder had been so patient with her as she learned the process on the scraps of leather. Now, she was working on the leather she had cured, and she took shallow breaths as she worked. One side of the shoe was nearly done.

  When she finished the side, she sat back in the chair, straightened, and wriggled her fingers, which had been tightly gripping the tool. Mr. Yoder peered at her work and ran his thumb over the design she had created, her indentations in the leather forming a curled labyrinth.

  “Nicely done, Mrs. Booker.” He nodded. “You have a flair for this. I’ve never been quite patient enough to render a technique anywhere near as good as yours. We make a fine team.”

  Libby raised her gaze from the leather. “That we do, Mr. Yoder. I’d like nothing more than to create finely crafted shoes for the rest of my life, but if Gideon has his way, my shoemaking will end once we marry.”

  Mr. Yoder’s hands stilled. “Did he tell you that, or are you speculating?”

  “He was quite adamant it was a waste of my time. He wants my aid on his farm, instead.”

  Mr. Yoder sat at his bench and stared straight ahead. “That young whippersnapper. When I gave my permission for him to court you, I did not consider he might try to steal you away from me.”

  Libby’s hands shook, so she put her tools away for the time being. “Gideon’s a nice enough man, Mr. Yoder, but he did not take into account my feelings at all.” She slid her gaze to her employer. “Nor did he take into account how you would manage.”

  Mr. Yoder continued to sit and stare. “Surely, we can work something out. You need not be in the same room to work the leather or do the tooling. Let me think on this for a while.”