by Claudy Conn
“Not your man?” the Gypsy returned with eyebrows up. “Well, as you say.” She turned over another card and clucked her tongue. She reached out and grabbed Bess’s gloved hand. “Listen to me, child. Beware. Forget things you have seen, or someone will try and hurt you … beware.”
Lady Bess had enough and got to her feet. “Thank you. I will beware,” she said kindly.
The older woman remained seated, pulled her brightly embroidered shawl around herself, and said, “You are forewarned. If you believe, you are forewarned.”
Bess couldn’t get out of the tent fast enough and with a sigh of relief felt the warm sunshine on her face as she looked around the busy throng of people.
A goat apparently had broken free from one of the petting enclosures and nearly bumped into Bess as it scurried behind the tent she had just emerged from. She laughed and followed it a few steps but then came up short.
The Gypsy wagon at the back of the old woman’s tent was familiar, all too familiar. It couldn’t be the same one. No doubt they all looked alike? That was it; it simply looked like the one she had seen the other day. It couldn’t be the same one—that would be too much of a coincidence.
A creaking sound made her duck out of sight. She hid herself behind a large water barrel as a gentleman whose foppish clothes and style reminded her of the stranger who had accosted her at the Red Lion approached the wagon.
He sounded more than a little annoyed with the Gypsy as they argued near the caravan. He brushed off his coat, said something low that sounded harsh, though she could not make out the words, and then turned on his high-heeled boots and carefully minced away.
Was it the same dandy who had stopped her from investigating the Gypsy wagon at the Red Lion? She couldn’t see his face, but it could have been.
~ Ten ~
MR. BERNARD HOLLAND was not a wealthy man. He had been cheated out of his inheritance when his father, an inveterate gambler, lost everything, and subsequently blew his brains out.
Thus, he had had to live by his wits and his instincts. He was acutely aware that he was gifted with a certain sensitivity, ‘gut feelings’ to be perfectly vulgar, he thought, but such feelings allowed him to protect himself.
At that moment, he felt as though he were being watched. He looked away from the path he was forging through the crowd and saw a beautiful young woman. He immediately recognized her from their encounter at the Red Lion, when he had taken steps to stop her from bearing down on Raphael’s wagon. Had she seen him with the Gypsy? He couldn’t be sure, but even if she had, she really knew nothing. He made up his mind to handle it head-on.
Before she could look away, he tipped his hat to her and allowed her a soft curve of his lips. He started moving in her direction and witnessed her panic as she turned and ran right into the Earl of Dunkirk’s arms.
Trouble lay there. The earl had a reputation of being handy with his fives, and Bernard had no wish to antagonize him. He ducked into the crowd and weaved his way to the back of the row of tents.
It was time he left and made his way back. He didn’t need anyone pointing fingers or asking questions; that wouldn’t serve his plans at all.
* * *
“Ho, m’sweet lass.” The earl held Bess in place as she plowed into him. “What is towards? Did ye miss me that much?” The tease was in his eyes as well as his voice, and Bess almost threw her arms around him and held him close.
Instead, she said, in a voice that was higher pitched than normal, “My lord, my lord.” She turned and frowned, for the fellow from the Red Lion was already gone. “That man … that awful man—he was there, right there, I swear it.”
“Which awful man, for if we are going to swear to things, I would swear there are many awful men parading about this carnival,” he said, and she saw he was trying to ease her tension.
“You must think me mad,” she said as she calmed herself.
“I think ye are the most adorable lass of my acquaintance, but something has upset ye. Why not tell me what it is?”
“It was just that I was so surprised when I saw him, that I must have stared, and he caught me staring, you see. When he started for me, I … I—”
“Devil ye say!” snapped the earl, suddenly angry. “Who started for ye?”
“That man, the one from the Red Lion, remember? That absurd dandy fellow.”
He took her chin. “Ah, I should have taught the blackguard a lesson at the time.”
“My lord, there is something about him.” She bit her lip.
“What is it, love?” He slid her hand through the crook in his arm as he walked her slowly.
“Never mind. I am being silly.”
“I am persuaded ye could never be silly. What is it, Bess m’darlin’?”
“It is something about him—and I think he was talking to that Gypsy, the one at the Red Lion, though I can’t be certain. I didn’t see his face.” She shook her head. “It is no doubt just because the fortune teller got me rattled. She told me that I was in danger.”
“Did she, by God!” His lordship was clearly annoyed. “Well, perhaps I shall just go and have a word with the woman, scaring young ladies—”
She held his arm. “Oh, no, please do not. She meant no harm.”
“She frightened ye,” he said on a frown.
Lady Bess peeped up at his handsome face. She knew herself lost to this big and capable man. She said softly, “If she frightened me, ’twas my own fault. Please do not refine upon all this nonsense, for that is all it is. Come—let’s go join Donna and the boys.” Even as she said this to placate him, however, she didn’t believe it. Her instincts were on high alert.
* * *
“Bound to be dull work tonight,” Robby grumbled as he attempted to relax in his tight-fitting black satin dress breeches.
Fleet had returned to his friends’ establishment only to dine with them and then came back to Searington also wearing ball attire. He stood back now and burst into laughter, pointed, and said, “You look as though you were poured into those. You’d better talk to Byron and find out about that diet of his.” He proceeded to laugh some more.
Maddy leveled an ‘I am watching you’ look at the two young men, adjusted her mop cap on her short gray curls, and clucked her tongue before she returned to her knitting. “Tsk, tsk. Now, now, boys.”
Bess giggled and went to her nanny, whom she had found waiting for her at Searington when they returned from the carnival. She put an affectionate arm around her and said, “That’s it, Maddy, do tell them to grow up, for they are behaving like—”
“Ho there.” Fleet interrupted her and would have continued had Donna not interjected at this point.
“Potatoes and vinegar!”
“Potatoes and vinegar?” Bess turned a startled face towards her friend.
“Byron’s diet—read it somewhere,” Donna explained.
“Never say so!” exclaimed her husband in shocked accents. “Upon my soul.” He shook his head and said, “Well, I won’t eat nothing but potatoes and vinegar. Dashed lame thing to do.”
Bess and Donna laughed out loud, and Bess said, “Robby, don’t listen to Fleet. There isn’t an ounce of fat on you. Tell Mr. Beanstalk that you are all muscle.”
“Well, as to that, if I have to sit around tonight watching a bunch of old biddies play at whist, my muscles just might turn to fat,” Robby said dolefully.
“Whist?” Bess said with horror. “Oh, no, I won’t play whist either.” She turned to his lordship, who had been sitting with her nanny during this time, speaking to the older woman in asides. “My lord,” she said doubtfully, “is that what we were invited over to do? Play whist? I think I shall develop a quinsy and go to my bed.”
“Nonsensical lass,” said the earl with a chuckle. “Mary Russell said she was getting up a party for her houseguest. She did say there would be card tables set up for those who wished to play but that she was also going to have music in her ballroom.”
“Dancing, Bess!”
Fleetwood said, taking up her black velvet cloak and draping it over her shoulders. “Will you dance with this beanstalk, then?”
She laughed. “Of course I will.”
“Don’t want to dance,” Robby said flatly.
His wife slipped a hand in his and said, “Oh, Robby, don’t you? Not even with me?”
He surveyed her face and relented. “Aye then, with you, always with you, but not with any of the dowagers and ninnies they are bound to throw my way. You know they always do.”
Everyone laughed at this, and Bess turned to watch the earl don his black top hat over his head of thick blonde hair. She watched him, large and muscular as he reached for his cloak. She went into a world where she was alone with him, and he was bending to …
“What are you doing, Bess? Daydreaming?” Fleet nudged her back to reality.
She saw her friend look between her and the earl, who now had his back to them. She eyed him ruefully. Very little got by Fleet. She couldn’t stop the dratted heat from filling her cheeks and knew she was blushing when he said, “Just so. Quite out of your range, my dear.”
She sighed. “I suppose he is.”
* * *
The earl could scarcely look away from Bess when she came into the parlor. Her black hair piled on top of her beautifully shaped head caught his attention, and then his gaze traveled over her provocative body in the ivory silk of her form-fitted gown.
The sarsnet material of her gown was trimmed with embroidered roses that made a collection of color over the bodice where her breasts swelled and kept his eyes transfixed! He had to look away. He had to, he told himself and tried transferring his glance over her lace trimmed puff sleeves. However, there he discovered her lovely bare arms and knew where his imagination was taking him. Trouble—he was in trouble..
She is quite out of yer range, he told himself.
The sooner her father came and fetched her away the safer it would be for him and for her. He was finding it nearly impossible to keep from touching her. He wanted to whisper in her ear, Coom lass, let me, och, let me taste ye …
Physical discomfort accompanied his thoughts of her, and he thought of her all the bloody time! In fact, he felt his shaft throbbing in his breeches at that very moment. Damn his soul but he wanted her. He couldn’t think of bedding any other to satisfy the raging need that burned in his blood. She was everything he wanted, and why was she always laughing with that puppy Fleetwood?
Wide awake he was, yet it seemed like he was dreaming all the time, all the damn time.
She stood in some flimsy thing in her room, and he was there, bending her to his body, to his needs, and satisfying hers. Hell! He was in hell.
Could he visit her in her room on some excuse later this night? Could he kiss her luscious lips, pull off her pretty gown and suckle at her breasts?
Would she want him?
Would he die if she told him, Doona touch me?
Aye, he would die if she dinna want him.
He wanted her beyond reason. He wanted her with a passion that bordered on savagery. He wanted her with a desire that stripped him of honor.
Could he take the lass—a virgin lass? Och, yes, but no, no, he couldna do that. He’d promised her father he would keep her safe.
He must keep her safe from himself.
Could he? He must.
A war went on inside his head as he thought about tapping at her door later that night when the house was all quiet and before she went to sleep. He could make up some excuse.
Och, but could he do such a thing?
No. He couldna do it to her. He was a cad as to even think about it. A blackguard and a villain.
And if he gave in to desire—what then of the consequences? There would be consequences.
Damn the consequences, damn it all.
~ Eleven ~
MARY RUSSELL’S SOIREE was already festively in progress when the Earl of Dunkirk and his party arrived on the scene.
Robby grumbled still until Donna grabbed a tidbit from a tray a servant held high as he passed them and dropped it into her husband’s mouth.
Bess laughed at Robby’s sudden change of expression and turned to see Fleet happily greeting a couple of his cronies. Where the earl was, she could not tell.
Champagne flowed, and she was chatting up friends and noting that the assembled guests were having an excellent time when an old friend of her father’s caught her elbow and steered her into private conversation for a few moments. He sighed suddenly and chastised himself. “Oh, listen to me going on and on. I am certain you should be flitting about enjoying yourself. Go on—you are a dear child to keep an old man company.”
“Nonsense,” Bess said merrily. “I loved chatting with you.”
He gave her arm a nudge and said, “Go on—those young people you came in with are by now looking for you.”
Bess smiled and inclined her head as she started off. Her eyes found and locked with the earl’s as he looked her way. She couldn’t stop herself if she tried, and she wasn’t trying to stop herself as she walked towards him. His was the only company she wanted.
“Finally,” said a male voice at her back.
She turned, and instinctively a hand went to her heart as she stepped backwards and away. It was the dandy from the Red Lion!
The dandy smiled sweetly at her and repeated, this time, more softly, “Finally.” His eyebrow went up, and he added, “Ah, have I startled you? Forgive me. Perhaps I should observe the proprieties and fetch my cousin, Mary Russell, to introduce us?”
Bess found her voice. “Mary Russell is your cousin?” She heard the disbelief in her tone.
He laughed. “But yes, I am Bernard Holland, my Lady Elizabeth.” He wore a puzzled expression. “I have always thought that Mary and I have a family resemblance. Do you not see it?” Bess didn’t see it, but he didn’t wait for her reply as he added, “Indeed, our mothers are sisters.”
“How did you know my name?” Bess asked, still astonished to find that Holland had a respectable connection. Looking into his hazel eyes at the Red Lion, and again now, she saw something quite different.
“I made it my business to find out who you were as soon as I saw you walk into the ballroom. You must know how refreshingly exquisite you are, as I am certain the earl has told you many times. I understand you are a treasured guest in his home.” He made a show of looking around. “Yet, where is your father?”
“He could not make it this evening,” was all she answered, thinking he was a typical gossipmonger.
“And so you fend for yourself?”
She didn’t like the sound of that. There seemed to be some hidden meaning behind each and every word, though she couldn’t fathom what. She put up her chin. “Absurd. I am with trusted friends. What are you implying?”
He put up his hands. “Acquit me. I imply nothing more than the facts.”
“You, sir, are impertinent,” Bess returned sharply.
His eyes narrowed as he regarded her, and he was about to answer her when the earl arrived. The earl dismissed Holland with a withering look and bent over Lady Bess’s hand to say quietly, “I have asked for a waltz to be struck up.”
Bess eyed him woefully, suddenly diverted into a grimace and a mild wail. “Oh, a waltz! I am not certain that I can waltz with you.”
“Why ever not?” he answered in surprise.
“I have never waltzed with anyone other than my father, Fleet, and Robby—except for some nonsensical boys I met in London who couldn’t do the thing any better than I. I don’t think I am terribly graceful at it.”
He laughed. “Doona think, lass, just give yerself over to me. Coom then,” he said sweetly as he led her away.
His hand on her waist, his other hand holding hers, she felt protected and impassioned all at once. She couldn’t meet his gaze because all she could think was she wanted him to kiss her.
She heard him chuckle, looked up into his blues, and felt herself lost. What was she going to do? She loved him,
and he was a rogue.
“Don’t distract me, my lord,” she said. “I am minding my steps.” He laughed again, and she clucked her tongue. “Don’t laugh at me, my lord.”
“I am not laughing at ye, sweet lass. And as to minding yer steps, ye are doing that very well.”
She looked up and beamed, and he indicated with his chin another couple on the floor. She saw Donna and Robby, and now it was her turn to laugh.
“Aye, we seem to be doing a great deal better than they.”
“Yes, but Robby is so very sweet. Whenever he tried to waltz with me, he was all feet. He doesn’t quite feel the music.”
“No, but ye—och lass, ye feel it,” he said on a husky note.
As she glanced away from Robby and Donna, she saw Bernard Holland looking at her and the earl and said, “That awful man, he is Mary Russell’s cousin, and he is the same one—”
“I know, I recognized him at once and made it m’business to find out aboot him. He is, in fact, her cousin, and the entire incident and the way he is looking at ye now makes m’want to land him a facer.”
Bess saw by the set of his mouth that an excellent chance existed the earl meant to do just that, and she clutched at his hand.
He did something then, very sensual, very provocative, something that made her heart race. With his left hand he held her hand up and out a bit as they waltzed, as was the custom, but then he brought it to his chest and clutched it there at his heart.
This simple act turned her knees into porridge. This simple, sensual move made her stare into his blues, and she felt the excitement rush from his eyes into hers, scurry through her body. She knew a moment when she wanted to purse her lips, right there in the ballroom, right there in front of the world.
She cleared her throat as she sought for control of herself and stammered, “You must not.”
“Och, lass, but I must,” he said on a low-throttled growl, and at that moment she wasn’t sure of his meaning.
She needed to think of something else. She turned the subject back to Bernard Holland. “I believe I am being fanciful, and I am certain he is nothing but a harmless dandy … yet I have this ‘feeling’, if you will, that something horrible is going on, something to do with that Gypsy.”
