Honor and Secrets: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Gypsy Gentlemen Book 1)

by Sahara Kelly

“Dismissed? It was your home, Freddie. They couldn’t dismiss you like some wayward servant, could they?”

  “They could and they did. I was sent to ‘help’ a friend of my cousin’s. He had a young child, his wife had died, and he was older. I was sent to Fallow Grange as governess and housekeeper.”

  “Oh God. How awful.”

  Freddie pulled a little away from Peter. “Yes, it was. But at least I was away from the Chase. That lasted for about a year, and in all fairness, it wasn’t too bad. I grew to like both Johnny and his father. At least they were kind, and I was treated better by them than I had been by my cousin.”

  “So then…?”

  “Then? Johnny left for Eton. It was considered time. My cousin didn’t want me home. I had nowhere to go, no money to support myself, since the Chase was now my cousin’s, and I had no inheritance of my own until I came of age.”

  “So what did you do?”

  Freddie stared down at her ragged breeches. “I accepted an offer from Charles Fallow to become his mistress.”

  Peter’s breath left his lungs and it took him a moment or two to suck air back in again.

  “You what?”

  His shout disturbed the birds in the willow trees along the bank and they flew up with a squawking clatter that echoed the emotions screaming in his brain.

  Freddie squared her shoulders and turned, looking him straight in the eye without a blink.

  “I became Charles Fallow’s mistress. It was my choice. I had few other options. I could have applied for another governess position somewhere, but I had no experience or credentials, and let’s face it, redheaded twenty-year old girls aren’t likely to be hired willingly by any woman with a lick of sense. I could have been a servant perhaps? Or hired out to a dairy farm? Do you have any idea how many people are trying to find work doing just that? The war was ending. Soldiers were coming home. I’d have been extremely fortunate to find a job as a scullery maid.”

  She looked away again. “I am who I am, Peter. I made the choice to live in a house where there was a wooden floor not a dirt one. Where I could at least sleep in a real bed and eat regular meals. Where life was something like what I’d known before. Giving Charles my body was a small price to pay.”

  Peter reached for her shoulders and pulled her around roughly to face him. “Tell me he didn’t force you.” He couldn’t keep the harshness from his voice.

  “He didn’t force me.” Freddie met his gaze. “He was…kind. I grew to like his affections, I suppose. It was pleasant being touched…held…like that.”

  Peter swallowed past the knot of anger in his throat and dissected her words. Of course it had been pleasant. The man had given her warmth and security. What more could a bruised and lonely girl ask for?

  “Did he love you? Did you love him?”

  Freddie snorted in derision. “Love is not something that either of us considered. A useless and often dangerous pastime, Peter. Don’t tell me you’ve turned into a romantic over these past years.”

  “So why didn’t he marry you?” Peter was not about to be swayed by any attempt to turn the conversation from Freddie and her troubles.

  “Peter, darling,” she drawled. “One doesn’t marry one’s mistress. Surely I don’t have to tell you that.”

  He could hear a world of hurt beneath her words, blasé though she’d pretended to be.

  “Sadly, one does marry eligible widows, especially when they’re possessed of a nice annual income. And that’s what Charles eventually did. Leaving me, of course, out in the cold again.”

  A tight and brittle laugh slipped from her lips. “So I decided to take my future into my own hands. I cut my hair, stole the stable boy’s clothes and I’ve worked for my food and my lodging ever since. As a boy. Although recently…”

  “Recently?”

  “I’m not a very good farm-hand, it seems.”

  “You’ve been working in the fields?” Peter’s mind spun once more at the vision of the Freddie he’d know all his life laboring in a farmer’s field.

  “It was simple stuff once I got the hang of it. Unfortunately, last night one of the other workers got the idea that I wasn’t quite as ‘manly’ as I seemed. I had to get out, and fast.”

  She knotted her fingers unconsciously on her lap. “So there you have it. I’m running away, like some stupid chit in a Fanny Burney novel, and trying to work out where I’m going to go next.”

  She glared at him as he covered her restless hands with one of his. “And don’t think you’re going to talk me out of it.”

  “I don’t see anything to talk you out of.” He knew his words were stern, but he also knew she didn’t need or want sympathetic noises right now. “However, give me a little time here and I’ll think of something to talk you into.”

  He glanced absently at her, running all the possibilities, intricacies and considerations of her situation through his mind at lightning speed. “Where exactly are we?”

  His question must have surprised her since she jerked her head up at his words. “Um…we’re about twenty miles east of Little Steering. Harlow would be north of here and…”

  Peter nodded. He’d already developed a reasonably accurate map of the area in his head. “Excellent.”

  “Excellent?”

  He grinned. “Yes, excellent. We’re probably little more than a two-day ride from Aunt Margaret’s. I’ll take you there.”

  “You will not.”

  Peter’s eyes narrowed. “Oh yes I will. If I have to tie you up and sling you over my saddle.”

  An odd expression flashed through her eyes, gone in an instant. “Peter, be serious. Look at who I am. What I’ve been. What I’ve done. You can’t take me to Lady Margaret. She’s one of the highest sticklers for propriety…”

  “Who used to be an actress before she married my uncle.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “No.”

  Freddie digested this information. “But you can’t be seen to be in the country. Had you forgotten you’re supposed to be in exile?” She let a little look of triumph curve her lips.

  Peter shook his head. “My exile ended when my father died, Freddie. You know that. It was his word alone that got me sent abroad. I’ve been quite content to let Mark have Chalmers, I don’t want it or the burdens that go with it. I don’t want to be Lord Chalmersbluntly even the name turns my stomach. In fact, I…”

  “You what?”

  Peter grinned. “Well, if you want to hear my story, you’ll just have to agree to go with me to Aunt Margaret’s.”

  Freddie grimaced. “Does Mark know you’re in England?”

  Peter thought of his staid brother and his placid sister-in-law and squelched a grin. They would not have appreciated six wild gypsy musicians erupting into their lives.

  “No, dear, I haven’t told him.”

  “But you’ll tell me what you’ve been doing?”

  “Some of it. But only if you agree to hop on that very convenient second horse of mine and head out towards Aunt Margaret’s. With me.”

  Chapter Two

  Freddie absent-mindedly watched the sun as it dipped behind a few clouds gathering in the skies above her. Her arse was sore and stiff, and she couldn’t remember the last time she’d ridden for so long. It showed too.

  Peter was slightly ahead of her, relaxed in his saddle, and riding as if he’d been born to it. Well, stupid, he had.

  They’d left the riverbank and headed into the morning, Peter smiling and chatting about nothing in particular, and she…what was she?

  She was confused.

  She wanted to rest her head on his shoulder and let her troubles vanish for a while. She wanted to find that happiness she’d known as a child, chasing around after Peter, and sometimes Mark, as they’d created all kinds of adventures for themselves. She wanted to tell him that he’d stolen something very special from her when he’d come to say goodbye on that fateful night so long ago.

  When he’d left and dropped a li
ght kiss on her lips. Not her cheek or her forehead, but her lips. She’d been so young, so angry at him for leaving, for being so stupid as to kill a man in a duel and get himself sent out of the country.

  And so damned in love with him she couldn’t stand herself. And now?

  One glance from his gorgeous eyes and she could feel herself tumbling headfirst off the edge of a precipice all over again.

  Dammit. She wouldn’t let her heart get involved and shattered once more. She would not love him. She would not love anybody.

  But she ached. She knew what lovemaking entailed now, and what pleasures it could offer.

  She licked her lips. The thought of Peter, naked and aroused and leaning over her was one hell of an image. And he had yet to tell her what he’d been doing with his life. She’d bared her soul, told him every darn thing, and he’d been tight-lipped as a clam.

  Well, that was going to change. As soon as she got off this damned horse and stretched out the muscles that were kinking at the base of her spine.

  Freddie’s thoughts scampered around like bewildered rabbits. To have sunk so low and yet to be so free. It was an odd combination of horror and joy.

  Shamed before the country society she’d grown up in, and yet freed of the restrictions she’d chafed against for so long.

  Able to travel anywhere she wished on a whim, without the confining presence of groom or relative, and yet unable to go anywhere at all, since she was now pretty much “nothing” in the eyes of the world.

  She chuckled to herself. Life was full of contradictions.

  Peter was certainly one of them.

  He turned slightly and flashed a grin back at her, keeping the pace steady and the horses comfortable. It was a good way to travel over long distancestiring neither mount nor rider, but inexorably heading for one’s goal.

  His smile warmed her heart. And other places.

  She licked her lips once more, almost unconsciously this time. She wanted him.

  And why, came the thought, why couldn’t she have him?

  Why not indulge her wanton instincts, just this once, for her pleasure, on her terms? Why shouldn’t they enjoy each other? It was a sure fact that Peter could handle himself. The man oozed sensuality and had the body to back it up.

  She found herself glancing down at his breeches where they molded around his buttocks on the saddle. He was solid, muscular, and a very good-looking man.

  If he didn’t mind his women a bit on the skinny side, and with hair that had beenwhat had he said? ‘‘Badgerized” or somethingthat was it…then they could pass the time quite pleasantly. Before she left him.

  And that was going to be long before they reached his Aunt Margaret’s, no matter what Peter’s intentions were.

  Freddie considered the question. Doubtless Peter would still regard her as a child. And even if he didn’t, there would be the whole business of “childhood-friend” to overcome.

  Yes, there was no doubt in her mind now. If Freddie wanted him, she was going to have to seduce him.

  Something low in her body leaped at the thought and she shifted once more in the saddle, just as a fat drop of rain pelted her on the nose.

  A curse from ahead told her that Peter had felt it too.

  “Freddie…blasted rain. Over there. Don’t dawdle or we’ll be soaked.” Peter pointed to a patch of trees that rose from the fields surrounding them. He spurred his horse to a canter and Freddie followed, ducking her head against the raindrops spattering down with increasing force.

  Together they rushed for the sparse shelter offered by the trees and slid damply off their horses, breathless and panting.

  And laughing.

  *~~*~~*

  Hearing Freddie laugh was music to Peter’s ears.

  He’d struggled to come to terms with what she’d endured over the past six years, and cursed himself for the moment of insanity that had sent him careening off to Europe without a care in the world for anyone but himself. Their long ride together had given him a chance to do some serious thinking. Not only about Freddie and the devilish predicament she was in, but about himself and his life too.

  He was smart enough to know that he and his five friends had been useful. That what they’d done had saved lives and made a difference, in a small way. It had helped him get past the fact that he’d killed a man.

  A man who surely deserved it, but a man, nevertheless. Peter’s life since then had been turned towards righting that wrong. Making amends. Becoming Pyotr the gypsy violinist, and Pyotr the stealthy agent of a small band of men who simply wanted to help their fellows.

  Leaving Peter Maloney, the Chalmers name and all that went with it, far behind.

  But now, thanks to Freddie, it would seem that it had all caught up with him again.

  She laughed once more as the rain dripped through the trees onto her nose, and held her arms out letting the spatters soak through her shirt.

  Peter gulped as his smile faded, to be replaced by the heat of…something else.

  She was Freddie, for God’s sake. The child he’d played with. The little girl with braids and short skirts.

  He blinked as the rain dampened worn cotton and revealed a pair of incredibly beautiful breasts. Dark areolas circled tight budded nipples, thrusting through the thin fabric. Dammit, she might as well be naked. She sure as hell wasn’t a child anymore.

  She raised her hands to that dreadful mass of shorn locks and her breasts pushed even more against the wet cloth.

  Peter’s cock didn’t give a damn who she was. It responded with a surge of lust that rocked him to his toes.

  Shit. Not now. Not Freddie.

  Her laugh was deep and full-throated and shot through Peter’s body, heightening his arousal. He must have been too long without a woman. There could be no other excuse for his response to her.

  He turned away and busied himself with the horses, hoping like hell that she hadn’t seen his very obviously hard cock leaping against his breeches.

  “Peterisn’t this fun?”

  He snorted. “Your definition of ‘fun’ and mine differ somewhat, Freddie. I don’t see getting soaked, having no shelter and…” He rummaged in the small saddle bag, “…two pieces of day-old bread and a little cheese, as ‘fun’.”

  “When did you get to be such an old stick-in-the-mud?”

  “When I discovered how much I hate mud.” And when I got a look at your breasts.

  Freddie laughed again. “Well, you don’t know what you’re missing. It’s…liberating, Peter. It’s just rain. It’ll dry off. Enjoy it.”

  He turned, only to find his words of rebuke dying on his lips.

  She had her back to him and was taking her damned shirt off.

  Skin like cream, dotted with a few freckles across her shoulders, emerged as she slid the wet shirt down her spine. Her lovely smooth spine that just begged to be licked from neck to…

  “Freddie. Stop that this instant.”

  She tossed a look over her shoulders that burned him. Green eyes full of mischief glittered and her mouth pouted adorably.

  No. Not adorably. Those were Freddie’s lips. They were not kissable or adorable, nor were they meant to open and slide down the length of his cock.

  Oh fuck. He was in trouble now.

  “Spoil sport. It’s my way of taking a bath. Do you know how hard it is to keep clean when you’re working in the fields?”

  The shirt slipped from her hands to the ground at her feet and she moved her hands in front of her. Terrified that her breeches were about to join the shirt, Peter leaped forward.

  “Freddie, enough…” He reached unthinkingly for her shoulders and gripped them firmly.

  Which was a big mistake.

  Velvet smooth skin met his touch, warm and slippery from the rain. And she didn’t help by leaning back against him.

  “What’s the matter, Peter? It’s only me.”

  Peter swallowed as an armful of desirable woman pressed her back into him. And parts of
him that were even harder than the muscles of his chest.

  Her bottom wriggled slightly, settling his cock in a perfect spot…

  He made another mistake by looking down.

  Over her shoulder he could see those gorgeous naked breasts. Full and round, they glistened as the rain dropped on them, little droplets gathering on each nipple and slipping slowly from the hard peaks.

  His mouth opened, but whether from a desire to berate her for her behavior or suckle away those raindrops he had no idea.

  She shivered a little. “Isn’t this nice? But a bit chilly…Peter, warm me up…”

  She grabbed his hands from her shoulders and pulled them around her waist, snuggling herself even closer into his body.

  Peter fought a fierce internal battle with himself. He had a wet armful of beautiful woman, naked from the waist up, and rubbing herself against him with all the skill of the most wanton and passionate creature he’d ever encountered.

  She was giving off signals that would have been clear to a blind man in the middle of the night.

  When she slid her hands over his and moved them upwards to cup her breasts, fireworks exploded in Peter’s brain. And his cock nearly exploded in his breeches.

  “Oh, that’s much better,” she sighed.

  It was on the tip of Peter’s tongue to ask “For whom?” It wasn’t better for him. It was twenty times worse.

  In spite of the fact that his hands had automatically turned to accept the warm weight of her breasts and they were now lying pillowed in his grasp, Peter bit down hard on the tide of lust that was swamping him.

  “Freddie.” He cleared his throat of whatever it was that made him squeak and tried again. “Freddie. It’s a good thing you picked me to try these wiles on. Someone else might have taken advantage of this situation.”

  Christ. Now he sounded like an eighty-year-old dowager.

  “How?” Freddie’s voice was slightly husky too. Must be pollen or dust.

  “How what?”

  “How would they have taken advantage of me, Peter?” She drew in a breath and her breasts swelled in his palms. “Would they have done…this…perhaps?”

  She pushed his hands up a little further, making sure that her nipples were now pressing into his skin. “I don’t think I would have minded that so much. It feels…ooh…lovely.”