Gypsy Legacy: The Earl Read online

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  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Copyright ©2009 by Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

  First published in 2009, 2009

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  CONTENTS

  Gypsy Legacy: The Earl

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Epilogue

  Author's note

  About the Author

  Look for these titles by Denise Patrick

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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  A panther. A prince. A promise. Can destiny tie the knot?

  Gypsy Legacy, Book 3

  During a magical childhood summer, a gypsy woman gave Lady Amanda Cookeson a black panther statuette, promising that the man who came to claim it would also claim her heart. Amanda believes the Earl of Wynton is the prince she has awaited. Yet his reluctance to declare them anything more than friends leaves her wondering if she waited in vain.

  If he wasn't the last of his line, Jon Kenton, Earl of Wynton, wouldn't marry at all. Since leaving his inheritance to the Crown is out of the question, however, he is compelled to search for the statuette his great-grandmother promised him. His quest leaves him empty handed—and secretly relieved. Finding the statuette would mean embracing the gypsy roots he has long denied.

  Amanda is perfect countess material: lovely, admirable and—he thinks—statueless. Their passion is unquenchable ... until the gypsy magic Jon thought he'd buried nearly destroys his future with Amanda.

  Warning: Trying to outrun your destiny is dangerous to your beloved's health, but a little bit of the right drug goes a long way.

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  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Samhain Publishing, Ltd.

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  Gypsy Legacy: The Earl

  Copyright © 2009 by Denise Patrick

  ISBN: 978-1-60504-644-0

  Edited by Lindsey McGurk

  Cover by Natalie Winters

  All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: August 2009

  www.samhainpublishing.com

  Gypsy Legacy: The Earl

  Denise Patrick

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Dedication

  To a great editor. Thanks, Lindsey. For everything.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Prologue

  Lake District, August 1853

  The two little girls traipsed blithely through the gypsy camp, giggling at some private joke. No one spared them more than a cursory glance as they went by in shifts rendered nearly transparent from swimming in the lake. The smaller of the two had golden ringlets streaming down her back, but the other's hair was the blue-black of a raven's wing.

  Mira looked up as the two girls approached, and smiled. They had been camped in this place for nearly three weeks now and she was glad Caro had made a friend. ‘Twas fortunate the other little girl did not know why her mother brought her to the camp each day then left her to her own devices, but Mira would not decry the fates who saw fit to provide Caro with a playmate.

  "And what is so funny, little ones?” She greeted each girl with a length of cloth to dry themselves and their hair.

  "A fish tried to eat Katie's toe,” Caro told her with a big grin. “Didn't you hear her scream?"

  "I did not scream,” Katie interrupted in seven-year-old indignation.

  "Yes, you did,” Caro replied with all the confidence of one who was a year older. “And I'll bet Mira heard you too."

  Mira had not heard any scream, nor had any of the others, she was sure. Otherwise the boys, whom she knew were not far away, would have gone to investigate. Sixteen-year-old JoJo was inordinately protective of his little sister.

  "I heard no scream,” she said now, and received a brilliant smile and adoring look from Katie's blue eyes.

  Caro's eyes, a darker blue and more intense, studied Mira for a moment before she conceded, “Well, maybe she didn't scream that loud. But it was funny."

  Mira glanced up at the sky, noting the lateness of the day. They would break camp early tomorrow and leave this place. She hoped Caro would not miss her friend too much.

  Katie sat on a blanket, accepted the comb Mira handed her and began working it through her tangled locks. Caro didn't bother with her own wild mane, but sat beside her friend and, using a comb, began to work on the other side.

  It was a familiar ritual and Mira watched the girls fondly as they worked to restore order to Katie's long, golden tresses. Soon the hair was combed smooth and re-plaited into the same two plaits she'd worn when she arrived. A short time later, her shift was dry enough for her to put her blue and white dress back on, then her stockings and shoes. Suddenly she was a young lady again.

  Across the camp, the shuvani emerged from her vardo and Caro got up and ran to greet her. Hair as black as Caro's flowed down her back, streaked liberally with grey. Old before her time, but wise beyond her years, Nona possessed high cheekbones beneath wrinkled brown skin and alert dark eyes. Nona was the leader of their small band—the final word on where they went and what they did. And she was Caro's great-grandmother.

  As the two approached, Mira could hear Caro recounting the fish story to Nona, and was relieved when Nona did not laugh within Katie's hearing. “Now you must say goodbye to your little friend, Caro,” Nona said as they stopped. “We will be leaving early tomorrow, for it is time for you to return home as well."

  The two little girls dutifully gave each other hugs under Nona's warm regard and said goodbye, then Nona sent Caro off to find her older sister, while Nona sat beside Katie. She was holding a parcel, which she handed to the little girl. Mira left the two of them alone.

  "I am sorry we must leave you, little Katie,” Nona said, “but I have given you a very special present."

  Katie unwrapped the heavy brown paper and found a small statuette of a black cat with green stones for eyes. “A kitty?"

  Nona smiled. “Yes. A very big kitty. It is a panther—a big kitty found in a faraway place."

  "For me?"

  "Yes.” Nona's smile broadened. “It is yours. And it is magic too. Just as real panthers are fierce and protective, so will this one be
for you. It will keep you safe, and some day it will bring you your prince."

  "A prince?” Katie's eyes grew round with wonder, and Nona glimpsed the beauty she would become.

  A feeling of rightness settled in Nona's heart. She had not wanted to come this far north this year. It was farther than her small band had traveled in a very long time, but the cards decreed they should come here, and now, looking at the small child beside her, she did not doubt the cards had been right again.

  "Yes, a gypsy prince. He will be your destiny. When you get to be a big girl, you must only marry your gypsy prince."

  Katie nodded happily. “JoJo,” she stated. “I'm going to marry JoJo when I grow up. Then Caro will be my big sister.” Setting aside her statuette for a moment, she gave Nona a hug.

  Nona laughed and hugged her back, enjoying the feel of the small warm body. “You will know when you find him,” was all she said.

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  Chapter One

  London, April 1867

  The Earl of Wynton was trapped.

  Surveying the luxury around him, he had to admit it did not look like any prison he'd ever imagined. Royal blue velvet floor-to-ceiling drapes framed large windows overlooking the front of Waring House, yet he could hear none of the noise of the street. A plush cream-colored rug covered the floor, matching the cream and blue silk striped wallcovering. A large gilded mirror hung over the fireplace to his left, the mantel sporting a small gold and white porcelain clock which proclaimed the time as five minutes past six. Scattered throughout the room were various pieces of furniture, all upholstered in cream and blue. At the far end sat a piano, the bench with its back to the wall so the player faced the room. He wondered briefly if his sister had shaken her dislike of playing for large gatherings.

  He should have recognized the possible trap in the carefully worded note he received earlier, but he hadn't. Instead he had blithely arrived for tea with his youngest sister, Felicia, Duchess of Warringham, only to find his other sister, Tina, Marchioness of Thanet, also in attendance. His jailers might be friendly, but they were still bent on his confinement.

  He was slipping. Three years ago, before he left for a tour of the Continent, he would never have fallen for such a tactic. But returning to London after an extended absence, he had not questioned how his sisters knew he'd returned, nor was he suspicious of the invitation he received.

  He mentally kicked himself for returning at this particular time. Perhaps that's where he'd failed. But he had become restless. He was not willing to admit to being homesick, but the wanderlust which prompted him to pick up and go three years ago had waned and he found himself missing home and family. Now, however, he wondered if he should have resisted the pull—at least for a few more months until the Season was over.

  Not that he didn't love his sisters. He did. He'd felt keenly the responsibility left to him to ensure their happiness, and taken it seriously. With Felicia it meant using force, as his great-grandmother had hinted, but the results were well worth the discomfort he had felt at the time at doing so.

  "Jon!” His musings were interrupted by the object of his thoughts. “You are not paying attention."

  Eyeing the figure perched across from him on a cream damask upholstered sofa, he was struck by the changes in her over the past three years. Her ebony hair was still thick and lustrous, blue eyes bright under dark winged brows in a creamy complexion. Physically, she looked much the same, but the young, insecure girl of nineteen he'd left behind had been replaced by a mature, confident woman of twenty-two. Secure in her position at the pinnacle of London society, she seemed to have shed her personal doubts concerning her background. He wished he could do the same.

  "No, I'm not,” he told her. Leaning forward, he replaced the gold-rimmed porcelain teacup on its saucer and set them both down on the low table before him. “I did not return home only to have the two of you immediately begin matchmaking. If and when I decide to marry, it will be to the woman of my choosing."

  "What about your ... What did Nona give you, anyway?” Having merely been a spectator so far, Tina finally joined the conversation, and Jon shifted his attention to her for a moment.

  Petite and dark-haired like Felicia, but six years older, she was the calm one. The one who always seemed under control. If she was excited about something, her large aquamarine eyes would sparkle, but never did she radiate the same kind of energy Felicia did. Sitting on a blue sofa that matched the one Felicia occupied, she took a sip of her tea as she regarded him speculatively.

  "Or, more to the point, what are you supposed to be looking for?” Felicia asked.

  He sat back in his chair and eyed the two of them warily.

  "I don't know that I should tell you,” he answered. “You'll only hound me for the rest of the Season."

  "We wouldn't do that, would we?” Tina asked Felicia, and smiled serenely when Felicia shook her head emphatically, causing her dark curls to seem in danger of tumbling out of her elegant coiffure.

  "Of course we wouldn't. But I'm sure we could be of some help. After all, we know most of the young women out now. I would wager we already know our future sister-in-law."

  Jon could not dispute that statement, but the wide-eyed innocent look on her face set off warning bells in his head. He knew better than to trust either of them. Happily married, they only wanted the same for him, but their method of doing so would require that he fall in love with his future wife—something he had no intention of doing. He only needed to find the young woman who possessed the statuette and decide whether he would offer for her. His title and wealth ensured that whoever she was, if he offered she'd accept—or rather her parents would—and all would be well.

  He was under no illusions about his value on the marriage mart. Most families would welcome him with open arms, regardless of his tainted background. He would be satisfied with that. Love, as he saw it, required letting go and opening yourself up to too much emotional instability. It made no sense whatsoever. As a man of science, logic and reason were his cornerstones. Things that didn't fit those models—like love and destiny—didn't belong in his world. He'd often observed that women who thought they were in love tended to become too dependent upon their husbands. Even his own sisters seemed to have succumbed at one time or another. He wanted someone he could hold an intelligent conversation with—not a limpet.

  When his great-grandmother, a Romany shuvani, told him shortly before her death six years ago that she had given his statuette—the one she had promised would someday be his—to the woman she'd determined to be his destiny, he nearly swore in frustration. A firm believer in fate and destiny, her actions should not have surprised him. In fact, he should have expected that she would fulfill her promise in a roundabout way.

  "Maybe it would be better if you let me find this person myself,” he suggested now. “After all, Nona expected me to.” Nona also expected him to marry the person. Something he was not inclined to do. He wanted a reasonable marriage built on mutual respect, and a wife who would not demand too much. While he expected to be faithful to his vows and expected his wife to do the same, it did not mean they had to live in each other's pockets.

  "True, but maybe she knew you'd need some help,” Tina reasoned. “That's why we had to be married first. So we'd be able to devote the time to helping you.” He could not fault her logic, but could hear his mental teeth grinding.

  It wasn't that he didn't want them to know. He'd actually considered how they could possibly help him identify the woman. The problem was that his goals were very different from what they expected them to be. If he didn't tell them, however, he'd never hear the end of the speculation and they might let something slip which would alert whoever had his figurine.

  "So,” Felicia repeated, “what are you looking for?"

  Jon looked into her eyes, bright with curiosity, and barely refrained from shaking his head. He was convinced he'd never find the woman otherwise. After all, he couldn't picture any y
oung lady carrying it about with her. It would never fit into a reticule. And there was no harm in looking around for what was left of the Season.

  He sighed. “Very well, but if you know who has it, you have to promise not to tell me unless I can't discover it on my own."

  Tina stared at him quizzically. “Then what would be the benefit of us knowing what you are looking for?"

  His smile was more of a grimace. “Perhaps to let me know if I'm showing interest in the wrong person,” he responded, then added hastily, “when I decide to be interested, that is."

  "Very well,” Felicia said at last, “but I reserve the right to tell you if I think it's best. After all, it might be better at the outset if you did your own discovering, but if complications arise you might need to know."

  The clamor in Jon's head got louder with her last pronouncement. “Such as?"

  "Suppose she's already engaged or, heaven forbid, married. Maybe she's put whatever it is away somewhere, lost it, or doesn't remember it."

  Jon admitted she had a point. What would he do if the woman hadn't waited? He'd consider himself lucky to have escaped. But he still wanted the figurine. He could not explain to himself why possessing it was so important, just that it was. So, how was he to get it without marrying the woman in question? Maybe if he found it, he could decide whether it was truly important enough for him to sacrifice his freedom. For that, however, he needed his sisters’ help. He looked from one to the other. There was no way out. He could see his sisters were already well on their way to planning his downfall as he began describing the object Nona told him would someday belong to him.

  "It's a statuette or figurine. A little larger than the teapot. Made of black onyx. It's a figure of a panther with emeralds for eyes.” He nearly grimaced at the thought of Nona telling some impressionable young woman the panther represented himself.

  Felicia briefly stilled at the description, but the pause was so slight, he thought he imagined it.