She’d never really belong to the ton—and she didn’t want to. She suspected the only reason she was allowed at Almack’s was because of the social standing of her aunts. She knew the gentlemen only flocked to her because they had heard she would be rich when Papa died. She would have to marry. But whom? Surely among these absurd young men there was one…
In the midst of these unhappy thoughts, she saw him for an instant among the dancers. Her heart skipped a beat. No, it couldn’t be. She shook her head. It must be wishful thinking, a trick of the light. Surely Liberty would never dress like a dandy, and surely Liberty would never wear his hair cut short and brushed forward in that foppish fashion.
Without a word, she left her aunts’ side and made her way through the crowd toward the dancers.
She found a place between a couple of elderly women where she could stand and watch. Her breath caught—her eyes had not deceived her. There he was in a navy coat, white waistcoat, and fawn pantaloons with an immaculate silk cravat tied at his throat. Beau Brummel himself could not have cut a finer figure. He danced beautifully and smiled at his partner the way the men in search of a rich wife smiled at her.
She could have wept with frustration. Liberty, a dandy. Liberty, flirting with his dance partner. How could he? The dance came to a close and she saw him bow to the woman across from him and lead her to her seat then bow again. He turned and met Lucy-Ann’s gaze. Her heart stopped. There was a loud rushing sound in her ears. Happiness flooded her from head to toe—it really was Liberty, at last!
She took a step in his direction. He was looking at her, but he did not move. The world stood still, the rest of the room an immaterial blur as she waited for him to smile, to run to greet her. But he didn’t move. She saw him pale and frown.
The happiness that had coursed through her turned to ice as terror overcame her. What if he simply turned and walked away? What if he didn’t even recognize her? Or didn’t want to see her?
To her own surprise, she flew into a rage. How dare he flirt with that stupid girl? Just as suddenly, absurdly, she thought she might burst into tears. She turned and ran from the room.
***
Liberty had not danced the first several dances in order to keep watch on the entrance, hoping Lucy-Ann might appear. When she did not, he’d told himself to be realistic. It had been two years since her aunts took her away to make a lady of her. If they had succeeded, she would be a married woman by now. Probably living in one of those enormous country houses with a socially acceptable husband and a baby on her knee. He’d told himself sternly that it was best to forget his hopes of seeing Lucy-Ann and to get back to business.
As they had promised, the Almack’s dragons had introduced him to their nieces and granddaughters and goddaughters. Foolishly, he had not asked any one of them to dance or even managed much proper conversation, all for thinking of Lucy-Ann. In order to set that to rights, he’d engaged the chief dragon’s niece for this one and the dance preceding it, and another’s granddaughter for two later in the evening, and so forth until all the dances save the next one were booked. He’d smiled and preened, and they’d simpered and murmured platitudes.
He had just escorted the unutterably dull young woman to her seat when he’d seen her—Lucy Ann. He gasped. But no, it could not be. Frowning, he had just decided he must have imagined it when she appeared again much closer, her eyes shining the way they used to whenever they were together and she was happy. Yes, it really was Lucy-Ann. His heart stopped and he stood immobilized. There stood the girl he had loved, looking much as he remembered her, except that now she was a fashionably dressed woman with her hair piled up and looped with ribbons—not at all like the Lucy-Ann he had adored, but he thought her beautiful just the same.
Warmth flooded his being and his heart soared, but she scowled and then turned and rushed away. What could it mean? Did she not approve of his presence here? Did she not want to see him again—was he an unwelcome memory? Understandable, although the sight of her had made it painfully clear to him that he still cared for her. He started to follow her only to be stopped by a portly gentlewoman whose acquaintance he had made earlier in the evening.
“Mr. Derbyshire, allow me to introduce my other niece, Miss Pym. Emily, this is Mr. Derbyshire, a personal friend of His Royal Highness.”
“How do you do,” he said shortly, bowing. He turned to follow Lucy-Ann only to be accosted by another matron with a daughter to introduce and then another.
Normally all this would have been an excellent thing. London was a big place and there was plenty of money to be made from the gamblers here before he would have to move on. Introductions were essential to his plans. The largest wagers were made among social equals and a man needed to be properly introduced to be considered an equal of the men—and women—who played at cards at Almack’s and in private homes. But right now these introductions were infuriating. His sole interest was Lucy-Ann. Never before had he bowed so quickly, nor said “how do you do?” in such an uncivil manner as he did now in his rush to pursue the girl he had once loved with all his heart and soul.
***
When she had composed herself sufficiently, Lucy-Ann returned to the assembly room and went in search of her aunts, intent on begging them to take her home.
“My dear, there is someone you must meet,” Aunt Emily said, taking firm hold of her wrist and, before Lucy-Ann could protest, dragging her across the room.
“Ah, here he is. Miss Lucy-Ann Taylor, allow me to introduce Mr. Derbyshire.”
Liberty Wood bowed. “Miss Lucy-Ann Taylor,” he murmured. “How charming to make your acquaintance.”
Lucy-Ann curtsied in return. Her blood hammered in her ears and she was so filled with confused emotion that she could not think what to say.
“Mr. Derbyshire is a personal friend of His Royal Highness,” said Aunt Emily.
Lucy-Ann looked at him in surprise. Could this dandy be an exact physical replica of her beloved Liberty? What was that mark across his cheek? Had that been made two years before by the handle of the coachman’s whip?
Mr. Derbyshire winked.
Lucy-Ann gasped. “Liberty!” she croaked. “It is you.”
Mr. Derbyshire shook his head.
“I beg your pardon,” said Aunt Emily, putting her hand behind her ear, “but I don’t understand.”
“I, um…that is…”
“She said she was pleased to meet a friend of our future sovereign,” said Mr. Derbyshire.
“Oh, we are all pleased to have you among us.” Aunt Emily smiled. “I must find my sister. She will want to meet a friend of His Royal Highness. Excuse me please,” she said, then hurried off.
Lucy-Ann took a deep breath. Her lips twitched slightly as she tried to hold back a smile. “Well, Mr. Derbyshire, how was the prince when you left him?”
Liberty smiled broadly at her. “He was sleeping soundly and thus never knew that I had left. Nor for that matter did he know of my arrival.”
“Do you mean that you—”
“I do,” he interrupted. “And ‘tis best not discussed here.”
She nodded.
“And perhaps best we do not discuss our past relationship,” he whispered. “Nor look too closely at what I have become.”
“Well then, sir,” she said, smiling. “What manner of thing may we discuss?”
“We may discuss the weather, the room, the merits of the orchestra, even the company.”
“And is there a time and place where we may discuss other things?”
“Indeed there is, but first, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”
“You may, sir,” she said, taking hold of Liberty’s offered arm. They joined the end of the line and bowed to one another.
Liberty stood across from her and Lucy-Ann could not stop studying him. He looked so…so manly. The Gypsy boy whom she had loved so passionately was a handsome, broad-shouldered man with foppish hair. Her thoughts were broken as the lead man crossed to her. They went t
hrough the steps, only a minute or two passing, but she resented every second that she could not see the man she once loved.
Finally it was time for them to repeat the steps with each other. Liberty’s dark eyes looked at Lucy-Ann as though he would like to devour her.
“Sir,” she said softly as they passed close by one another, “it does not do to stare at me so.”
“Nor should you look at me as you are doing,” said he as they passed the other way. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks and tore her gaze away.
“I think the weather fine,” he said, smiling down at her as they moved around each other once more.
“Yes, no chance of rain.”
“I hope for only sunny days ahead.”
“And I the same.” She could not stop smiling, although now they were at the head of the line and must dance with others all down the line.
When the music ceased, Liberty stood once more before her. Bowing deeply he said, “I fear my next dances are all promised, but I would dearly like to see you again.”
“And I you. Will you call on me?” she asked as he gave her his arm and led her off the crowded floor.
“No, it would be best that your name never be associated with mine. We have met now in your world.” He stopped and looked her full in the face. “Do you dare meet me in mine?”
“I dare,” she said boldly, meeting his eyes. “I will meet you anywhere you wish.”
“Tomorrow, during the day, the Gypsy called Liberty Wood will be at Smithfield preparing some horses for Mr. Derbyshire to sell at the Bartholomew Fair. On Saturday the fair begins, and Mr. Derbyshire will be there to sell his horses.” He bowed once more, turned on his heel, and disappeared into the crowd.
Chapter Four
Lucy-Ann barely slept, anxious for the day to come, and preoccupied with thoughts on how to get to Smithfield unescorted. Finally she decided she would tell her aunts that she had arranged to spend the afternoon with a friend she had met at the ball, a fictional Miss Darnsworth, who lived overlooking the large open field called Smithfield. She did not like to lie to them, but her desire to see Liberty again and her fear that if she did not she might lose him forever overcame her reluctance.
Her aunts were satisfied with her tale and the carriage was ordered. If the old ladies wondered why Lucy-Ann tried on every dress and every bonnet and found every one of them wanting and could not decide for many minutes between her spencer and her cloak, they said nothing. They were only pleased that she had made a friend, although both said they could not remember which young lady was Miss Darnsworth.
Aunt Emily accompanied her—no proper young lady went anywhere alone. When the carriage arrived at the fictional Miss Darnsworth’s address, Aunt Emily said she would return for her at dusk and ordered the footman to accompany her to her destination. They took the walkway beside the house and then turned on the path that led to the front door. As soon as they were out of sight of the carriage, Lucy-Ann assured the man that she preferred to arrive alone and instructed him to turn about. She put a guinea in his hand and he bowed and turned his back, pausing for a moment before walking, very slowly, back to the carriage.
Lucy-Ann hurried down the hill and onto the field. She saw several pens holding horses and off to one side, perhaps twenty feet away, an encampment of seven gaily painted gypsy wagons—vardos, the Gypsies called them.
She was not sure quite where to go, so she began to tramp across the field toward the encampment, passing by Gypsy children who played near the vardos. Soon her dainty white shoes and the hem of her cloak were covered in mud.
As she approached, she spied Liberty training a horse in one of the pens next to the encampment. She hurried over to the enclosure where she watched him put the horse through its paces. He wore a blue workman’s cap and tight breeches and his shirt was patched and rough. Her heart lurched. She much preferred him thus than as the well-dressed Mr. Derbyshire.
In fact, she found herself yearning to be in those powerful arms that handled the horse so expertly. A wave of heat coursed through her as she imagined those strong hands on her breasts, those powerful thighs intertwined with her own softer ones.
When he saw her, he dismounted immediately and ran, smiling, toward her. He leapt over the fence and took her in his arms.
“I did not expect you to come so early,” he said. Mere seconds later, he kissed her hungrily, demandingly, and she returned the kiss in kind, her heart beating wildly as she swept her hands over his broad shoulders. It had been so long, too long that she had dreamed of this.
Lucy-Ann thought she could stand here for an eternity with Liberty’s lips on hers, Liberty’s arms around her. Suddenly, he pulled away from her.
“I must be mad,” he muttered, “to be kissing you here where any might see us—as though you were a common trollop. Come, my darling Lucy-Ann.” He offered her his arm.
They walked slowly and silently to the encampment. She held tightly to his arm, dazed, every sense tingling. They passed by an array of brightly colored vardos, as well as the group of wide-eyed children who looked at her curiously as they passed. Lucy-Ann paused beside a green vardo. It looked exactly as she remembered.
Liberty smiled and gave her his hand as they climbed the steep wooden steps and stepped through a yellow curtain.
The sunlight streamed though the yellow curtain, infusing the interior with a dim, golden light. Lucy-Ann remembered the way the wooden walls bowed out, the bed at the far end. She recalled how happy she had been, how free she had felt, when she had been here last.
She looked up at Liberty and gently touched the scar on his cheek. It was painful to think of the injury he had suffered—and that it had been at the command of one of her own family.
“How can you ever forgive us?”
“Can you forgive me for not succeeding in rescuing you? I followed after you to London, but I could not learn where you were staying.”
She stepped close to him, put her arms about his waist, and rested her head on his broad chest. “I dreamed about you, longed for you, and now here you are.”
“I am with you at last,” he said, “after so many months of wishing for it.”
When she looked up at him, she saw the raw passion evident in his eyes, and she felt the heat of an answering desire ignite within her. She brought her arms about his neck, pulled his head down so she could kiss him, and did so softly. He kissed back gently and then his lips grew harder, more demanding, and his tongue pushed past her lips as he held her tighter to himself. She could feel his member pressing against her as she caressed his tongue with her own.
Liberty slid his hands up and down her back and then up her sides, barely touching the edges of her breasts, making her shiver and ache for more. Then he untied her bonnet, tossed it aside, and tried to run his hands through her hair. He pulled back and looked at her, smiling.
“I never thought to see you with pins in your hair,” he said.
She raised her arms to pull out the pins, conscious of his gaze upon her, conscious that her breasts lifted and that he looked at them with desire. She longed for his touch, she longed for him to reach out to her, to stroke, to fondle, to make her feel as she used to. His hands moved toward her, as though he knew what she wanted, but then dropped to his sides again. He watched her intently. She pulled out the pins so her hair tumbled about her shoulders and down her back.
Liberty stepped toward her and took a strand in his hand. “The color of sunlight,” he mused, letting it slip through his fingers.
He took her by the shoulders and drew her to himself again. He kissed her hard and deep as he pulled at the ribbon that held her dress together and opened the bodice. He kissed the tops of her breasts where they rose above her petticoat and short stays. His hands snaked through her hair, stroking, smoothing, and then took tight hold and pulled her head back. He kissed and nuzzled her throat, tenderly, tantalizingly. He nipped and nibbled as she sighed with the pleasure of it.
He helped her out of her
dress, then she helped him pull off the patched shirt. He kicked off his boots and, kneeling, he tenderly untied Lucy Anne’s mud-stained shoes and the ribbon ties that held up her stockings while she ran her fingers again and again through his luxuriant black curls, amazed at the softness of them and at the miracle that Liberty was really here.
She turned so he could undo her petticoat, and she pulled it off over her head. She undid the buttons of his breeches and he pulled them off. She gasped as his shaft, hard and erect, sprang free. She turned and he unlaced her stays and dropped them to the floor. He brought his hands to her breasts and she leaned back against him, luxuriating in the feel of his touch through her chemise. His member pushed hard against her back. She moaned with overwhelming desire for him.
She said softly, “I’ve dreamed of this for so long.”
“And I too,” he said as he nipped the back of her neck, bending his knees a little to do so. Now his member pressed hard against her bottom, finding its way between her cheeks while his finger stroked her nipples, making them hard and sending a fire racing down her body to that secret place between her thighs, setting it aflame with the wanting of him.
He tore off her chemise, turned her toward him, and took her mouth again as his hands roamed hungrily over her body. Then he scooped her up in his arms, carried her to the bed, and laid her upon it.
He kissed her face and her throat. He kissed between her breasts and then the breasts themselves. Finally his tongue was on a nipple, circling it until he drew it between his lips and sucked as she moaned with pleasure. A minute later, he did the same to her other breast.
“I want you,” she whispered. “Please, Liberty, take me now.”
A Proper Lady's Gypsy Lover Page 2
