“Don’t scowl so!” The lady laughed, mistaking the reason for his expression. “I believe you. I shall believe every word you say henceforth, just so you don’t scowl so.
“Tell me, Mr. Derbyshire,”—she put her hand over his, which rested on the fence. He did not allow himself to recoil at her touch—”do you think I will look charming riding sidesaddle upon it?”
Lady Chinton was beautiful. So beautiful that he wished her personality were less abhorrent, for then he might allow himself to be seduced and thus perhaps forget Lucy-Ann for a night or two. Forcing a smile, he said truthfully, “Madame, you would look very pretty indeed.” But he wondered if she would ever take herself from the gaming tables long enough to go riding.
“Shall you ride beside me?” she asked, pouting her pretty lips.
He laughed to avoid answering and turned slightly and there was Lucy-Ann looking solemnly at him. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs and he had to stop himself from hurrying toward her. It was madness to want her the way he did. He had thought perhaps he had his feelings for her under some control, but the sight of her proved to him that that was not the case. He stood silent, rooted to the spot, as she and her aunt walked toward him.
“Mr. Derbyshire,” the elder Miss Taylor said. “Lady Chinton, Lord Chinton.” There were greetings and bows and curtseys all around. His lordship’s bow was cursory, his words slurred. Her ladyship’s eyes narrowed as she looked Lucy-Ann up and down, infuriating Liberty.
Out of the generalized din of greeting, he heard only Lucy-Ann’s voice—how he loved the sound of it—saying, “Mr. Derbyshire, what a pleasure to see you again.” He heard himself return the compliment as he bowed and she curtsied.
“Mr. Derbyshire,” said Lady Chinton, “is helping me choose a horse. He advises this one—Mr. Derbyshire, tell the lad to walk her up and down again.” She gestured toward the Gypsy boy who stood watching impassively.
“Noah,” Liberty said loudly. “Would you walk her around again?” He could feel Lucy-Ann’s eyes upon him.
“Mr. Derbyshire has been most good to me,” said Lady Chinton in honeyed tones. “He explained all the points of importance on the animal.” She moved indecently close to him. “Mr. Derbyshire is a particular friend of Lord Chinton and myself.” Liberty cringed, fearing that Lucy-Ann might think he was good friends with people such as these, but he could not think what to say.
“Indeed?” Lucy-Ann queried. “I have had the pleasure of knowing Mr. Debyshire since we were children.” Miss Emily Taylor stared at Lucy-Ann in surprise while Lady Chinton scowled, and Liberty thought the sale was lost, though he no longer cared. “It is true that he is an excellent judge of horses.”
Lucy-Ann leaned close to Lady Chinton and said just loud enough that Liberty could hear, “I know him to be quite the rascal—so beware, my lady. I am sure that if you buy this fine horse, Mr. Derbyshire will be a frequent visitor. Do not allow him to be alone with you.”
Lady Chinton smiled. “Why thank you, my dear. Believe me, I know exactly what to do with rascals.” She turned to Liberty.
“My dear Mr. Derbyshire, your little friend here assures me that you are as well-versed as you claim to be in matters of the flesh.” She smiled prettily and gazed up at him. “I refer, of course, to horse flesh. Lord Chinton will take your advice.” She waved her fingers at her husband, who struggled to rouse himself from his torpor.
“Buy that horse, darling,” she commanded.
“It’s rather expensive, don’t you think?” he asked, slurring his words.
She regarded him with a frown. “Don’t be absurd, it’s perfectly worth the price.” She turned back to Liberty, smiling once more. “Mr. Derbyshire, you will deliver it in person, will you not?”
“Should I for some reason be unable to do so, I will look forward to the pleasure of meeting you at the gaming tables,” he said, and then bowed. Lady Chinton took her husband’s limp arm, bade the misses Taylor good day, and walked away smiling.
Liberty turned to Lucy-Ann and saw that her eyes were sparkling with mischief.
“Perhaps,” she said under her breath, “we could sell that same horse to another gentleman as well.”
Liberty laughed. “I think not. I plan to stay in London a little longer than I had intended.” He lowered his voice, “I much prefer to enjoy my visit here as a free man, on this side of Newgate Prison.”
“That, sir, is a good idea.”
She turned to Miss Emily Taylor—the good lady, Liberty realized, was rather deaf—and asked loudly, “Aunt, may we invite Mr. Derbyshire to dinner this evening?”
“Oh, yes, that would be most agreeable,” the old lady said, and smiled benignly on the two of them.
“I accept with pleasure,” he said, smiling back at the two of them. “Would you ladies permit me to escort you about the fair?”
“We cannot permit it, sir,” said Lucy-Ann, “I suspect Lady Chinton will decide she needs no new horse if we are seen together.”
Liberty threw back his head and laughed uproariously. “You are still the mischievous imp I remember,” he said, then whispered, “and the devilish woman that I love.” In louder tones he declared, “I would far prefer to lose Lord Chinton’s payment than lose the pleasure of a stroll with you and Miss Taylor.”
“We are flattered,” Lucy-Ann replied, and added softly, “but I am anxious to see America and every guinea earned toward that goal brings our mutual departure to that country closer.” She blushed furiously.
Liberty thought she had never looked so charming, that he had never loved her more.
“Nothing,” he said, his voice low, “would please me more than to sail to America with you by my side.”
She murmured, “Come an hour before dinner and find me in the garden by the Northwest wall. I will leave the gate open.”
***
Lucy-Ann walked about the fair in a daze. It was difficult to believe that she had really been so excessively bold. Liberty had liked it. And he’d liked the way she’d dealt with Lady Chinton—that cork-brained chit who thought she could have Liberty as a lover.
“Ha!” she said derisively—and loudly. Her aunt started at the sound and looked about her.
But had she been too forward? Might Liberty actually enjoy the company of Lady Chinton?
Between clenched teeth, Lucy-Ann whispered to herself, “That harlot, that nincompoop.” No, he was simply selling her a horse. Probably for twice—or even thrice—its worth. And had that horse been selling for a hundred times as much, or a thousand times, it would barely make a dent in the vast wealth of Lord Chinton. That fatwit was rich enough to indulge his wife’s every whim for several lifetimes.
Mr. Derbyshire had not actually agreed to deliver the animal in person. Lady Chinton would get the horse her husband paid for, but Mr. Derbyshire was not part of the sale.
Chapter Seven
John Derbyshire quickly entered the garden gate and hurried up the side path to where Lucy-Ann stood waiting. He took her hands in his own.
“Is it true what you said this afternoon?” he asked.
“Quite true. You are a rascal.”
“I am,” he said. “No one would deny that. It was the other thing.”
Lucy-Ann blushed. “Perhaps,” she said, “I was too bold and presumed too much.”
“It is not possible that you could be too bold or presume too much with me. Why should you not be bold? That is one of the things that I love about you, you say what you think and do not waste time with silly platitudes.”
She smiled up at him and he thought his heart might burst with love for her.
“You must tell me, Lucy-Ann, do you truly want to go to the colonies with me?”
“If you will have me.” It was a miracle that his heart could feel so full and not shatter into a million pieces.
“Then shall we wed?” he managed to say.
“Mr. Derbyshire, is that a proper proposal of marriage?”
“Only if i
t’s Liberty Wood that you wed. I won’t have you marrying that intolerable coxcomb, Derbyshire.”
“Oh, but for the sake of my good aunts and my papa that is exactly who I must wed—the prince’s good friend, Mr. Derbyshire. But I would much prefer to spend my life with Liberty Wood.”
They both laughed merrily. When they kissed, the lighthearted mood vanished, replaced in an instant with one of intense passion. They gazed at each other and the desire he saw in her eyes matched his own.
He ran his hands over her back, her sides, the sweet curve of her bottom, pulling her closer to him, and closer still, his member pushing hard against her softness, his ears filled with his own rough, raw breath.
He backed her against the garden wall. He stroked her hair, her cheeks, her lips. He kissed her forehead and her eyes. He kissed her neck and gently nipped the soft pale skin. He trailed kisses down her chest and ran his lips across the soft, creamy swell of her breasts, which rose above her dress, inviting him, luring him to them.
She pulled down the bodice of her dress, petticoat, stays, and shift as far as she could, freeing her breasts, offering them as a gift to him. Overcome with desire, he took a rosy nipple between his lips and felt it swell and harden against his tongue. Her breath grew loud and ragged as he sucked. He ran his hands over her waist and hips until she arched against him, groaning as she came to orgasm.
He released that sweet, swollen nipple and took the other, flicking his tongue across it, nipping and sucking. His hands slowly made their way down her belly and over her hips and thighs. He pulled up her skirts and stroked the gentle swell and delicate folds until he felt her convulsing against him as she cried out.
He fumbled with the opening of his breeches and she helped him open them. She clasped his shaft and he shuddered and groaned.
She slid her hands softly along the sides and he put his hand over hers, showing her how he wanted her to hold him, showing her how he liked it. Before he hurtled toward his own release, he took her hands from him—one more stroke like that and he could not have held back.
He fell to his knees before her. He lifted her skirts, bringing his lips to that most secret part of her. She gasped, but did not move. As he kissed and licked her, her breathing grew rough again. He brought her thigh over his shoulder. He plunged his tongue deep within her as she murmured his name. Tasting her hot sweetness, he felt himself overcome with tenderness for her.
He lapped the delicate folds once more and gently brought a finger into her. She arched her back, her hands clutching and pulling his hair.
When he stood again, he lifted her, somehow keeping her skirts out of the way, and she folded her legs tightly about him. He whispered, “Lucy-Ann,” as he entered her and then repeated it as he plunged all the way into the moist, welcoming warmth at her very center.
When he felt her climax begin, he called her name again and fell into the vortex with her, abandoning thinking, leaving selfhood behind, knowing nothing except that he loved and was loved, and nothing in his life mattered more than that.
Panting, he set Lucy-Ann on her feet. They stood silent, holding one another tightly. Finally she looked up at him, her eyes luminous.
“I love you, Liberty,” she said.
He grasped her tighter yet. He could not speak for the happiness that washed over him.
Epilogue
Two Weeks Later
“What is a pack of Gypsies doing in our church?” Aunt Louisa demanded, but Lucy-Ann stopped in her tracks, laughing out loud with joy.
Here were the Gypsy friends of her childhood, every one of them grinning back at her. Papa had come too, grumbling only a little over the precious time that he could have been working on his manuscript. Lucy-Ann thought that several times that morning, before they left for the church, she had seen the glint of a tear in his eye. As for Aunt Emily, tears of joy had coursed down her cheeks for days before the wedding and even Aunt Louisa had sniffed a great deal since Lucy-Ann had become engaged.
After luncheon with her aunts and Papa, her aunts’ coach delivered Mr. and Mrs. Derbyshire to the inn where they had said they would spend their first night. In the morning, the groom’s carriage would meet them and carry them on a tour of the countryside.
The new couple walked through the inn and out the side door where a green gypsy vardo with two fine horses stood. No one saw the elegant Mr. Derbyshire help his new bride up the steps and through the yellow curtain.
Once inside in the golden glow, they threw down hat and bonnet, neckcloth and pearls, coat and shawl, and the rest of their fine clothing. Naked, they held each other for a time, laughing and kissing, and Lucy-Ann was sure she had never been so happy.
After some time, a dark, handsome man wearing a blue cap and a coarsely woven, patched shirt climbed down the steps and turned to give his hand to his wife, who wore brightly colored skirts and a scarf covering her pale hair. They climbed onto the seat at the front of the vardo, he took the reins while she put her hand on his knee, and they made their way to the open road and freedom.
***
Be sure to pick up For Love of a Gypsy Lass, the next installment of the Gypsy Lovers series:
Lord Harry Beresford is used to having everything his way—that is, until he falls in love with Gypsy singer Talaitha Grey. Proud Talaitha is as unimpressed by his title as she is by his wealth, but can she fight her powerful attraction to the man behind those things?
Biography
As an ex-fashion photographer, Juliet Chastain says that, in a way, writing fiction is a lot like photography. She takes a few elements—models and clothes in photography, characters and setting in her writing—and makes them come alive.
Ever since she wrote a tragic tale of two kittens back in sixth grade, Juliet has had a yen to write. Now that she’s put down her camera, she indulges herself by writing short steamy romances with models, er, heroes, like a passionate sea captain, a sweet-natured hunk of a werewolf, and the devil’s own sexy-as-hell grandson—every one of them ready to fulfill his lady’s deepest desires.
Juliet’s other titles include The Captain and the Courtesan and Cry of the Wolf, as well as For Love of a Gypsy Lass, the next book in the Gypsy Lovers series.
You can learn more about Juliet and her collection of out-of-the-ordinary heroes at julietchastain.com, and contact her at or on Twitter as @julietchastain.
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