Control and Compassion: A Risqué Regency Romance (The Gypsy Gentlemen Book 2) Page 4

  Gyorgy, who seldom ate early in the day, brushed the man’s words aside. “Where is she?”

  Heedless of his nakedness he jumped from the bed. The servant took a step backwards. “You’ll find tea and some scones on the tray, sir. I believe she left a note. Other than that, I cannot answer as to Her Grace’s whereabouts.”

  The man seemed unsettled by Gyorgy’s appearance and his eyes skittered everywhere but on Gyorgy. “A bath has been prepared for you and your clothing awaits.” The hint was clear.

  Gyorgy dismissed him. “This will do. Thank you.”

  His eyes were fixed on the elegant tray and the folded paper propped against the silver teapot. He ignored the tea, the sound of the door closing behind the servant, and just about everything except that paper.

  The one that bore his name in elegant flowing script—Gyorgy Vargas.

  He couldn’t help but notice the slight chill that crept down his spine as he picked it up, and he knew it had nothing to do with the fact he was naked. Absently grabbing a blanket, Gyorgy wrapped it around his waist and sat in one of the elegant chairs.

  He stared at the note. He stared at his hand, amazed that there was a slight tremble to it. He swallowed roughly and broke the seal.

  “Dear Gyorgy,

  It is almost impossible for me to find the words to thank you for last night…”

  The chill down Gyorgy’s spine turned into a fully-fledged shiver. He took a deep breath and poured himself a cup of tea after all. He had a feeling he was going to need it. A foreboding of bad news was creeping up on him.

  “…So I will not try. I will only tell you that playing your games brought more into my heart and my life than I ever could have imagined possible, and for that I shall always be eternally grateful.

  I asked only one night of you, Gyorgy, and you fulfilled each and every one of my desires, and so much more. But our night has ended, as all such nights must. I shall be forever happy that our paths crossed, and forever sad that they must part again.

  But part they must. You have a journey to complete and a life of your own to live. Your friends await you in London, and I have a feeling that you will soon find new challenges to meet. My life is here. It can be no other way. I can never return to London, nor do I wish to. And I would never ask that you make a choice that might eventually lead to your despair. I could not do that to someone for whom I have come to care so much in so short a time.

  Forgive me. Forgive me for not being brave enough to stand before you and tell you this in person. Forgive me for leaving you as you slept. Forgive me for not pressing my lips to yours in farewell.

  And forgive me for being a coward. For a coward I am. This is why I had to leave you, and why you must leave me. I fear the power your touch could have over me. It would be all too easy to lose myself in you.

  If you can find it in your heart to understand my cowardice, then let me know by bidding farewell to my home. Go, Gyorgy. Do not try to find me, since I will be long gone by the time you read this letter. My servants will see that you are well equipped to continue your journey back to London. I wish you well in all things, and safe passage to wherever life takes you.

  I hope you will remember our night together as I will…with joy.

  Ever yours,

  Marie-Claire”

  Gyorgy stared at the signature, unable to comprehend for a moment or two that she’d actually gone.

  A fierce longing erupted into his throat, burning him and making him want to crumple the paper into a ball and scream out his anger and pain.

  How could she leave him?

  Did she not realize that last night had taken his world, shaken it, turned it upside down and realigned his entire life?

  Slowly, it dawned on him. No. She didn’t know that, because he hadn’t told her. He’d let his body and his desires speak for him, and assumed that her responses indicated that she understood. But he’d never said the words. Never said out loud that their loving had been special. A one-of-a-kind experience that had marked his soul.

  “Az anyad!” The curse broke from him in one explosive breath.

  He stood and threw the blanket down, striding into the next room where his bath awaited. It was time to plan. To think clearly about what his next step should be. To ask himself some questions and to answer them with an honesty he wasn’t sure if he could manage.

  And, maybe, it was time to leave. For now.

  *~~*~~*

  Less than two hours later, a man appeared on the front steps of Kirkwood House and mounted the horse that awaited him.

  With a nod to the stable boy holding the reins, the man rode smartly down the formal drive and into the lane beyond, picking up speed as the road opened up and beckoned travelers towards London.

  He never looked back.

  And never saw an elegant face watching from a far wing of the house—never saw the soft draperies fall back into place as she released them.

  And never saw the pain in a pair of cool blue eyes as tears fell from them to the sill on which Marie-Claire Devereaux, Dowager Duchess of Kirkwood, rested as she watched him leave her life forever—taking her heart with him.

  No, the man never saw any of those things. In truth, he barely saw where he was going, which was very unusual for a man like Gyorgy Vargas.

  His mind was still circling his problems, exploring options, seeking solutions. He knew he had to honor Marie-Claire’s request and leave. He’d honored her request for one night. Neither of them had talked about more.

  But it was likely that neither of them had realized what that night would mean to them.

  Gyorgy’s spirits rose a little as he re-read her letter in his mind. Those were not the words of a woman unaffected by passion. They were not the words of casual thanks and dismissal he’d feared. They were the words of a woman who hated to say goodbye.

  And why did she hate to say goodbye?

  Probably for the same reason he did. Something had been born last night. Something had begun between him and this mysterious blue-eyed Medusa. Instead of turning him to stone, she’d melted him. She’d touched places no other woman had even come close to.

  She’d challenged him and driven him to new heights of pleasure, but it had been so much more. Her eyes had told him, as loud as if she’d spoken the words. Gyorgy knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Marie-Claire had found pleasure last night in his arms. A pleasure that had swept away her past, taken her into realms she’d not even guessed at, and started an emotional avalanche that had frightened her even as it was sweeping her off into her orgasm.

  He had to overcome that fear. Along with some of his own. His fears that an unimportant Hungarian landowner would have nothing to offer a Dowager Duchess. His fears that his past as a rebel, a Gypsy, a musician and erstwhile soldier-of-fortune would not recommend him to one as gently bred as Marie-Claire.

  Yes, there was a journey ahead of him, but this one wasn’t counted in miles or in the hoof beats of his horse. It was counted in the beats of his heart.

  The heart he’d left with Marie-Claire.

  And damned if he wouldn’t be back to claim it. But this time, he’d not come empty handed. This time he’d have information, facts, knowledge about her that he so desperately needed. And he could only get that knowledge in London.

  Gyorgy touched his spurs to his horse.

  He had a mission.

  Chapter Five

  London

  Count Viktor Karoly stretched out his legs in front of his fire and sighed with contentment. Across the hearth, Lord Peter Chalmers did much the same thing.

  The two men grinned at each other.

  “I love them dearly, but…damn. Sometimes a man needs to just…relax a little.” Peter’s smile was rueful, and Viktor’s matched it. He passed the cigar box over to Peter.

  “I know what you mean. Madelyne and Freddie together…they’re a force to be reckoned with. What do you think of this place Freddie’s found?”

  Peter pulled at his ci
gar and watched the fragrant smoke coil upwards into the darkness of Viktor’s study. “I like it. The building is sound, the work is coming along well, and you wouldn’t believe the response she’s received from women wanting to work there.”

  Viktor tilted his head in inquiry.

  “Well, free room and board is a huge lure, of course, but when they found out that it was to be a sanctuary of sorts, they started to put their hearts into it too. Wonderful thing to see.” Peter leaned back in the large leather chair. “Freddie has more workers than she needs right now, and the first signs that word is spreading are starting to show. Two women appeared today asking for help.”

  Viktor stared into the flames. “It’s really appalling, isn’t it? That a woman has nowhere to go to escape from abuse or other horrors.” He shook his head. “Thank God we’re helping, if only in a small way.”

  “It’s what we do, Viktor.” Peter’s voice was quiet as he too watched the fire. “It’s what we’ve done for how many years now?”

  Viktor chuckled. “I’ve lost count. I remember the day Fabyan got us all drunk and made us take a vow to help those in need.”

  Peter smiled. “I remember that too. And he did it without saying a word. Damn, I miss him. Any word from him?”

  “No. Not since he left a message that he was visiting friends. Nothing from Gyorgy, or Lukasz and Matyas either. Still…” Viktor drew on his cigar. “They know where to find us.”

  Peter nodded. “So where do we stand with the Eventyde thing?”

  “Ah yes.” Viktor’s voice took on an overtone of menace. “And his cohort, the unspeakable Francis Hucknall.”

  “I’d rather not speak of him, if you don’t mind. Sours my port.”

  Viktor snorted. “Agreed. We’ll deal with him separately I think. But as for Eventyde…I have managed to find out a few things.”

  Peter raised his eyebrows and glanced around making sure the door to Viktor’s study was closed tight. Neither man wanted anything of this conversation to reach the ears of their wives.

  “Anything useful?” Peter leaned forward.

  Viktor nodded. “Oh yes. And interesting too. Our friend Eventyde is stretched very thin financially. His investments are scattered throughout a variety of interests, and several have not done well recently, now that the war is over.”

  Peter’s lips curled into a sneer. “One of those, was he?”

  “Definitely. If there was a profit to be made, regardless of the cost, Eventyde would jump at the chance. However, now he’s suffering some losses. And also, I hear, looking for newer opportunities. He’s sold out of several companies, and has sunk a good portion of his remaining money into one venture. A shipping company.”

  Peter thought about this. “I’ll wager Hucknall was going to come up with some financial support in exchange for Madelyne.”

  A swift flicker of fury licked at Viktor’s eyes as he met those of his friend. “No doubt.”

  “But…” Peter continued his line of thought. “If he’s putting most of his ready assets into one company…”

  “And that company should fail…”

  “Doesn’t even have to fail,” said Peter. “Just a hint of impropriety. Enough to send the value tumbling and wipe out Eventyde. He’d be finished. Financially and socially.”

  “Good.” Viktor’s face was a mask.

  “We don’t often set out to destroy someone,” mused Peter. “But in this case, I can’t imagine doing anything else. And right after him…Hucknall.”

  Viktor sighed. “It’s wrong to be so vengeful, I know. But these men are a blight. A vicious and destructive force that cannot be allowed to ruin more lives than they have already.” He sipped his port. “I prefer to think of it as protecting those who would have been potential victims, rather than a personal quest for revenge. Although…” He paused. “It is personal. Very personal.”

  Peter was silent.

  “Will it take long, do you think?” Viktor straightened his spine.

  “No, I don’t suppose that we’d need more than a week or two. Now that Lord Peter Chalmers is returning to the hallowed streets of London, it’s quite natural for him to chat with old acquaintances. You know, of course, he’s been involved in work for his family on the continent for some time now…”

  Viktor laughed. “No, I didn’t know that, actually. Busy man, that Lord Chalmers.”

  “Who’s Lord Chalmers?”

  The third voice slid through the shadows and sent both Viktor and Peter off their chairs with a curse.

  The shock gave way to grins of pleasure as they turned to find Gyorgy standing just inside the door and looking at them with a mixture of curiosity and pleasure.

  “Gyorgy…szervusz,” beamed Viktor.

  “Gyorgy, you sod…still creeping around like a shadow, eh?” Peter clapped his friend on the shoulder with a smile.

  Gyorgy cocked his head to one side. “It appears I have missed a lot…care to fill in some blanks? And share that port while you’re at it?”

  A couple of hours later, the three men finally fell silent. Adventures had been shared, congratulations offered, and ideas tossed around like the third bottle of port they’d required.

  “So, we are decided then?” Viktor’s hair was tousled, and his cravat long gone.

  “’T’would seem so,” nodded Peter sleepily.

  Gyorgy added his assent. “Information is going to be our most valuable weapon in this small war of ours.” He stared moodily at the dying fire. “I need everything I can lay my hands on about the Kirkwood family. Especially one Dowager Duchess…”

  Peter and Viktor shared a glance—our friend has fallen too.

  “And there’s no reason I can’t begin to pull some gossip or rumors about Hucknall while I’m at it. Shouldn’t be hard. His name isn’t unknown to some of my acquaintances.” His mouth tightened.

  Viktor straightened. “So be it. While you are digging with your sources, Peter and I will tighten the noose around Eventyde’s neck. Will you stay here, Gyorgy? There’s plenty of room, and that way the others will find us all together when they return to London.”

  “Any news of Lukasz or Matyas?” Peter glanced at Gyorgy.

  “Not a word. What of Fabyan?”

  Both Viktor and Peter shook their heads. “Nothing.” Viktor rose. “But I’m not worried. God knows we’ve proved we can take care of ourselves. After all, what could possibly happen to them that hasn’t happened already in some rat-infested corner of France?”

  Peter snickered. “Well, seeing as two of us are married, and one in serious lust, perhaps you might want to rethink that question, my friend.”

  “Um.” Viktor colored slightly. “There is that.”

  Gyorgy rose too. “I probably should tell you…it’s more than lust, you know. I intend to marry Marie-Claire. If she’ll have me.”

  “Why on earth wouldn’t she?” Viktor’s eyebrows rose.

  Gyorgy grinned. “My question exactly. I’m for bed. Do you have a room or shall I just curl up on that rather inviting rug in front of the fire?”

  *~~*~~*

  Lady Chalmers untangled her legs from those of her husband and stretched contentedly in front of the fire. Lord Chalmers snuggled her close and idly ran his hand over her naked hip.

  “You’re plotting something, Peter.” Freddie’s voice held a slight accusation.

  “Me?”

  She snorted. If he thought she couldn’t tell, well hell. His life was about to get interesting. “Yes, you. You have that thoughtful look about you.”

  “Perhaps I’m plotting some new and delightful ways to take this delicious body of yours,” he answered.

  Freddie smiled. “You’re always doing that. And don’t think I’m unappreciative.” She shivered as he gently ran his moustache over one soft nipple. “Especially of that…”

  She sighed. “But you’re plotting something with Viktor. And now you tell me that Gyorgy is here. The forces are gathering, aren’t they?” She pulled he
rself up on one elbow and brushed Peter’s hair away from his face. “Is it Eventyde?”

  Peter stared past her into the fire. “He’s a foul swine, Freddie. He and Hucknall are beyond the pale of acceptable human behavior.”

  Freddie swallowed. “I understand. Believe me I do. Madelyne has shared some of what she went through…and I can guess a lot of the rest.” She snuggled back onto Peter’s chest. “I’d be the first one in line to string him up by his balls.”

  Peter huffed out a laugh. “That’s my Amazon warrior.” He held her tight. “I’m not sure how it’ll play out, Freddie. He’ll be ruined, that’s for sure.”

  Freddie was silent for a moment, enjoying being held, and still trying to accept how much she loved this man. “Good.” And yet her fears still niggled at the back of her mind. “Peter…I should hate for this to result in our exile from England. You’ve faced that once before—is it likely to happen again?”

  Peter was silent for a moment. “Freddie, with you by my side, I’ll never be exiled again. Not like I was before.”

  Sensing that there was more to come, Freddie simply dropped a light kiss on his skin.

  “Before, I turned my back on everything. My home, my family, my life. I wandered around, getting into trouble, getting out of trouble, just being a wastrel really, until I met Fabyan and Viktor and the others.”

  “What happened then?”

  “Then? We all found we needed to do more than just idle away our days playing our music. Oh the music brought us together, but something else bound us into a group. Some need we all had to right wrongs, to help others, to thank the Heavens that we were alive, perhaps…I don’t know.”

  He paused, as if collecting his thoughts. “It was France, it was wartime. There were so many people suffering. Not enough food, or young lads being cruelly taken to serve Napoleon, leaving women and children to fend for themselves.”

  Peter fidgeted, as if plagued by the memories. “There was so much pain, Freddie. Nothing can be worse than a country caught in the ravages of war. It was as if we’d all been sent to meet at that one inn at that same time. All of us needing or wanting to help. So we did. Certainly we were bosky at the time. We must have been to come up with some of our more outlandish plans.”