GypsyDukeEpub (10 page)

She felt a weight settle in her stomach. Not yet. He couldn't be gone yet. "How do you know, Michel? What has happened?"

"He left last night. I don't know where he is, but he asked me to keep an eye on you."

Defiance flashed, and she glared at him. Then her shoulders crumpled with regret. John had left without her. The tears formed again, but she kept them from falling. Her chin lifted, and she pulled at the reins of her horse until Michel released him.

"I don't need you, Michel. I don't need anyone."

"Kitty…wait."

His familiarity stopped her. She'd known for years that John spent much time with Michel whenever the gypsies gathered nearby.

She turned back to look at him. The sun had crested the roof of the stables, and it glinted off the gold earring at Michel's ear. His black hair gleamed with the orange light, and her mouth twitched in a smile. A gypsy looked completely out of place in the middle of Somerset's immaculate, landscaped courtyard.

"John left in a rush. He rode out alone on his horse, but his thoughts were of you. He begged me to protect you."

Hope flickered in Kitty's heart. He had thought of her? Actually begged someone to watch her? That wasn't like John. He never asked anyone for anything. Mayhap he really was in trouble. "Will he be safe…where he is going?"

"Safer than he is here."

They said nothing for a few moments while Kitty considered this then she nodded her head. Her horse moved off, and Michel let her leave.

"Write him," he said. "You can send word through the duchess. She will be moving into the Dowager house."

Kitty urged her mount through the woods that formed a boundary for her father's estate. As much as she appreciated Chester, this time, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone.

Waves of misery rushed through her. How could she ever face the next few years without John? She had no other friends. Robert barely tolerated her. Because of John, he was forced to be civil. And Michel would never be considered a suitable escort, not that she would seek him out. Gypsies frightened her.

She was alone. Again.

1814

John Seymour, Duke in hiding, carefully folded the letter and placed it in his worn leather vest. Almost three years had passed since he'd been home. Three years since he'd seen his mother, his home, Robert…and Kitty. The pain of separation had been acute, though he'd been forced to hide it. And now this.

Inside his mother's letter was a note from Robert, an intriguing note. Robert was sending someone to see him. How had Robert found out about his life with the gypsies? His mother would never reveal his whereabouts.

Robert asked for John to come to the town of Lancashire. Someone would meet him there. No explanations about why or who it would be. He supposed it wasn't too much to ask of an old friend…total trust. He would feel safe asking the same of Robert. Truth be told, he'd asked total trust of a lot of people when he disappeared.

He rubbed the ache at the back of his neck. He'd been shoeing horses
all day. It was one way the gypsies earned money from town to town. He probably knew as much about horses as the head groom of Somerset Park. He certainly knew more than he wanted.

Maybe it was time to go home. He'd had nearly three years to think about it. Three years to grow into a man. Three years to see there was nothing in his uncle for him to fear. Every part of John's lean body was muscled and toned from hard work. Hardly anyone in the gypsy camp could match his strength. And he'd learned to fight like a demon, dirty and mean. Gypsies took no quarter when they fought. He'd learned the hard way and bore the scars to prove it.

Yes, he was a grown man. No one could take what was his. He was going home to claim his legacy. Perhaps Robert was even now sending someone to bring him home.

He stepped out of the tent, his home for the last few years, his, along with Rasvan, Michel's brother, and two other single men.

Amongst Gypsies, privacy was unheard of. Every nook and cranny of the wagons was filled with something necessary for the survival of the camp as a whole. Someone or other always rummaged through his things. He'd become adept at hiding his personal possessions, as Rasvan had taught him early on. That and how to live through the day without getting pushed around by all those stronger than he. He was grateful for the lessons.

This evening, he intended to get Renegade and ride ahead to the town. Another thing he'd learned from Rasvan, know the lay of the land. Your survival might depend on it.

Before he could move across the outskirts of the camp, Marga confronted him. She'd been after him for weeks, watching his every move and flaunting her obvious charms.

If she only knew how close he was to giving in to her temptation. But Rasvan had taught him well. If John took the gypsy girl, the clan would force him to wed her. And he was sure Kitty would not care for the idea.

Marga reached a hand around his waist and tried to pull him against her plump breasts. He stiffened and pulled away from her. "I've asked you not to do that, Marga."

"You may say you don't want me, but I see the way your eyes follow me. You want what I want."

He sighed. She was much too perceptive. "I want my life back, Marga. You belong here, not with me. You would hate being trapped in a manor house for the rest of your life."

She slid a finger down his cheekbone. "Is that the only thing holding you back? You think I wouldn't like your fancy manor?"

He took her hand and pushed it away, explaining the situation again. "I already have a wife. She's waiting for me. We've been promised since birth. I've…"

"I'm sick of hearing about your little duchess. What can she do that I can't do better?"

He shrugged, beyond being shocked at the earthy manner in which gypsies conversed. "I have little choice in the matter. It's done. It's what I want. Marry Dago. He wants you."

He moved to his horse, listening for the jingle of her anklets as she went back to the circle of wagons.

Many more encounters like that, and he was going to lose what little self-control he had. It had been so long since anyone had touched him in love or with compassion. He hadn't exactly been welcomed into the Gypsy world.

Renegade neighed as John walked up. They'd become close since his forced habitation with the gypsies. He'd even learned to ride without a saddle. The gypsies excelled at quick escapes.

He took one more look around him before he rode away. He didn't want to be followed. Another lesson learned. Keep your business to yourself.

As he rode, he imagined Kitty's reaction if she saw him now. Certainly, not the way Marga acted. Kitty would probably turn up her pretty button nose at the mere sight of him. His black hair hung well past his shoulders, but he rather liked the feel of it flaring behind him. But it was not at all in vogue for members of the ton.

Nothing about his attire would attract a young woman of the ton. His tight breeches were worn and showed numerous patches. His once pristine shirt was a dingy shade of grey. Though he washed them often enough, none of his shirts appeared white. And gone were the fashionable waistcoats with matching vests. None of the gypsies wore such attire. And now, neither did he. A leather vest covered his shirt. A simple costume for a simple people. But to the Quality, John was barely dressed.

Still, when he rode into a town, it had been impossible to miss the keen interest of the women. He was a striking man even with earrings in his ears.

He smiled at the thought. His mother had been right. Once Maria had pierced his ears and given him different clothes, no townspeople had ever accused John of being an aristocrat.

He'd have to cut his hair before he returned home and buy more appropriate attire. He didn't want to shock his mother. Perhaps he'd rent a room and have a real bath. The tribe with which he traveled didn't seem at all favorable toward bathing. John was often ridiculed for his fastidious behavior.

The prospect of returning home brought a sense of elation. It was time. He was tired of traveling as a vagabond.

Chapter 5

By the time he reached the outskirts of Lancashire, dusk had fallen. Many villagers still ranged about, but few women and none of the Quality. They were safely ensconced in their country manors outside of town.

He greeted no one as he rode by, and no one greeted him. Gypsies were either ignored or abused, rarely welcomed.

He had come to understand why this tribe felt it owed allegiance to his mother. She was one of the few who welcomed them onto her land. She had convinced his father they would work for lower wages than the villagers; otherwise, the duke would have been happy to turn his back on them as well.

When John reached a watering house, he hitched his horse to a post, and after a quick look around, strode forward. An establishment as lowly as this shouldn't object to a gypsy.

He opened the rickety door and stepped inside. Few of the other customers looked up as he entered. He seated himself in the corner, ignoring the unpleasant odors from the neighboring tables.

He'd smelled worse in his years with the gypsies. He could abide with much worse to get an ale.

A tavern girl wandered about taking orders, but not from such as John. When he waved at the girl, she actually sneered at him. "We don't cater to your kind. Go somewhere else and steal."

He kept his face impassive. After hearing this countless times, it no longer raised his ire.

He held up a bright coin and waited for her to respond. No matter how loud the townspeople yelled about not wanting gypsies nearby, they always flocked to the gypsy carnival, and John had yet to meet a merchant that turned down good coin.

This time was no exception. The girl sauntered back with a mug and sloshed it on the table beside him. Then she had the audacity to wink at him.

He tossed her a smile. It would be advisable to know a friendly face, especially one that would talk freely about any strangers in town.

He would have courted her favor, if not for the two men who suddenly seated themselves at his table.

For all the attention he paid them, he might have been alone at his table. He took a long draught of the ale and wiped his mouth.

Finally, the taller, older of the two, spoke. "We really weren't expecting you until tomorrow, but I thought you might be curious."

John eyed them warily, without answering. He remembered the advice
he'd received from Kitty's father years ago. "Never reveal your thoughts until you perceive the intentions of your opponent." That advice that had stood him well during his time with the gypsies.

"How are you faring, your grace?" The shorter, younger man spoke quietly. John doubted anyone at the nearest table could have heard him. "May I present Sir Lincoln James…" The tall man tipped his head slightly. "…and myself, Reginald Newport. My brother is the earl of Trent." He thrust an envelope toward John. "This is a letter of introduction from Robert Westley."

John left it lying on the table while he finished his ale. These men knew who he was, and obviously they had Robert's confidence, but they didn't have his.

Unfortunately, it would prove exceedingly awkward for his mother and for Kitty if the ton ever learned of his whereabouts for the last three years. Kitty, even more so. She might be ruined socially. No one would ever believe that John had not thrown her over in favor of the life of a gypsy. It was ridiculous! The steps he had taken to protect her from his uncle could very well ruin her.

"What do you want…sirs?"

A glint of admiration flashed in the older man's eyes. He glanced at the envelope, ignored on the table. "Do you not want to verify our claims, your grace?"

John shrugged indolently. "What would be the point? You have me at a distinct disadvantage. Considering your knowledge of who I am, who you are is irrelevant."

A smile tugged at the corner of Sir James' mouth. "Indeed." He raised his hands to the table and leaned forward. "We have a proposition for you. Regardless of your decision, your whereabouts and lifestyle are your secret."

This man's countenance exuded sincerity.

John turned his attention to the other. He sat comfortably in his chair, arms loose at his waist, hands hidden under the table. He raised them and crossed his arms over his chest then offered John a stare of assessment. Hard, cold eyes. Not a man who revealed his intentions haphazardly.

John leaned back against his chair and raised his chin. "And you, brother of Trent, what have you to say?"

Newport's mouth smiled, but his eyes did not. "I am certainly agreeable, your grace."

"Yes, but agreeable to what? It matters not. Those precious to me would be ridiculed by my…choice of recent companions. I find I am at your mercy, as well you know."

This time, Newport's smile was genuine.

Sir James surveyed them both then settled his remarks on John. "It takes courage to admit that you hold your women in high esteem. It can certainly be used against you…but it will not be. Your downfall is not our aim. We seek your help, your grace. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, your country needs your help. You are in a distinct position to assist us because of your…profession."