A Forbidden Love (10 page)

Ashley’s staid glare soon withered. Her eyes darted from the bed to the floor, and she began to chew on her bottom lip.

“With you here, it’s most…well, you see…”

The woman’s newfound struggle for words brought more worries to Sabrina’s mind, and she scrunched the bed sheets hard between her fingers. But then the obvious broke through her uneven thoughts and she whispered, “I know about the ball tomorrow.”

“It’s not the ball.”

“Then what is it?”

“Anthony’s reputation, is all.” Ashley wrung her moist fingers. “Women tend to fall at his feet.”

“I’m not clumsy.”

Ashley gave her a blank look. “No, I mean to say women lose their hearts to the viscount. He has this irresistible allure when he smiles and ladies fall under his charms and my brother isn’t one to resist an invitation…It’s all rather fickle,” she rounded off hastily.

Sabrina’s dark brows pinned together in confusion. “An invitation?”

A tinge of color stretched over high-rounded cheekbones. “Oh, lud!” Ashley whirled around and hastened over to a window, muttering to herself, “This is all so vexing. My brother knows his place, surely. To think that he would…with a…even if she offered to…”

Ashley made her way back over to the bed, her steps steady and deliberate. She took in a deep breath, and said firmly, “This is most improper but it must be said, and the burden falls upon me to deliver the counsel. Anthony is a rake.”

Sabrina blinked in surprise.

With that last tidbit of information now in the open, Ashley seemed a little more at ease and recommenced with her sermon. “My brother enjoys the company of a woman—more than he should—and you may find yourself unable to withstand his inherent charms. I would advise you to look past his smiles, for he treats all women in a similar fashion.” Her fingers knitted tightly. “Furthermore, my brother is not one to refuse an invitation…to resist an affair with a fawning young lady—a vice I do not approve of. I recommend you keep your wits about you and my brother at bay. Think of him solely as your temporary guardian.” The oration at an end, she let loose a long-winded sigh of relief. “I’ll let you rest now.”

Ashley hastened back to the writing desk, where she proceeded to cap the vials of ingredients used to prepare the cider wash.

Bemused, Sabrina could only stare at the pale violet of the muslin-clad figure. It took her another moment of reflection before the full impact of Ashley’s words walloped her with startling clarity.

There was an unexpected rush of peculiar emotions that clustered in her chest, making it difficult to breathe. A fawning young lady? Is
that
what Ashley thought of her? A wanton ready to hurl herself at the viscount?

Sabrina didn’t think it was possible, but her whole body was blushing at that point. She wanted to disappear under the covers and never emerge. To be considered something so shameless? Why, it was no better than being called a “filthy gypsy.”

And then it struck her. Ashley
did
see her as nothing but a filthy gypsy. All those murmurings of one’s proper “place” were her desperate attempts to convince herself of her brother’s respectable behavior, that he would never stoop so far below his rank as to consort with a mere gypsy. But Ashley had failed to convince herself of such a thing, and had resolved to caution the trespassing gypsy instead.

If Ashley held her in such dismal esteem, what, then, must Anthony think of a half-naked gypsy in his bed? An easy conquest? Did he expect payment for all his efforts to conceal her with a night of…

She couldn’t even bring herself to consider the thought. Oh, curse those blasted mongrels who’d chased her in the woods! Had it not been for their cruel persistence, she would never have found herself in this predicament, grappling with such a flurry of questions and fears.

There was a firm rap at the door. The mayhem in Sabrina’s soul was abruptly put aside as her wide eyes darted to the entrance.

“Anthony, I insist you join the family for luncheon.”

“Mama!” a panicked Ashley whispered.

The rattling of the door handle was followed by another persistent set of knocks. The trapped women exchanged horrified glances.

“Anthony? What is the matter? Open this door at once.”

“Mother!” a distant voice echoed from the other side of the barrier.

There was a brief pause before a confused woman demanded, “Anthony, if you are out here, then who is in your room?”

“No one,” was his swift reply. “The handle is stiff and has been difficult to turn for quite some time. It may appear to be locked, but a firmer push will eventually get you inside the chamber.”

“Do you mean to say, I’ve been pleading with the
door
asking if anything was amiss?”

“Think nothing of it, Mother. The servants already suspect we’re all mad, overworking them to such an extent. Your conversation with the door will only confirm their opinion.”

“Why thank you for those words of comfort,” came the dry retort.

The murmuring voices soon withdrew.

Two long-held sighs of relief burst into the room. The women glanced at each other before their discomfort resurfaced and both turned their attentions away.

Chapter 9

“I
t looks like rain.”

Anthony stood by the window, observing the gathering storm clouds with mild curiosity. He released the pale sheers that swung back into position and turned away from the glass.

Sabrina was watching him intently. She’d grown quiet ever since his return from luncheon, more quiet than usual. Attempts to draw her out of her reticent mood had failed. His questions went unanswered. His comments went ignored. And if she wasn’t studying him so profoundly, he might wonder if she even noticed him in the room at all.

“Sabrina, what’s the matter?”

Silence.

“I know the near encounter with my mother was frightening, but it’s over now.”

Still nothing.

Women and their fastidious ways! Couldn’t she just tell him what was wrong and be done with it?

Well, if she refused to be forthcoming, he’d just have to pry it out of her. He moved away from the window.

Was she sinking deeper into the feather mattress?

Anthony paused at the end of the bed, his eyes searching her features for clarity.
He
was the cause of her sudden angst? He bristled, indignant at the thought. How was it she still viewed him in the same vigilant light as a common stranger?

Bloody hell. It just wasn’t right. Why should Sabrina spend the next few days in needless fear of him?

He had to do something. But what? What would it take to do away with her persistent suspicions? His word alone was obviously insufficient. But how to offer her proof of his just intentions? And then the thought came to him.

“Do you read palms?” he asked.

“What?”

He came around to the bedside and dropped to one knee. “It has occurred to me that gypsies often read palms to assess a person’s character. Unless, of course, I am mistaken.”

Those dubious blue spheres dimmed under the thick dark trim of her lowered lashes. “You’re not mistaken. I’m gifted with the sight.”

“Wonderful.”

He promptly flipped his hand upside-down, presenting her his palm.

“What are you doing?” she demanded.

“I’ve never had my palm assessed. Curiosity beckons me.”

Anthony had no idea whether a man’s character was actually engraved in his palm, so he was taking a mighty risk in volunteering his hand. His gypsy might see nothing but a treacherous knave in the lines. Then where would he be? But since she already considered him a threat, he decided to go forth with his dodgy gamble. At worst, she’d continue to ignore him. With luck, however, she’d detect something other than an uncouth disposition, something more favorable to put her qualms to rest.

“Come now, Sabrina, you’ve done this many times before. What’s one more palm?”

She studied him hard for a long while. Apparently his palm
was
one too much, for she made no outward movement to accept his challenge.

His voice low, he offered an encouraging smile before suggesting, “Wouldn’t you prefer to know the kind of man I am?”

He was beginning to doubt the credence of his plan when she shrunk back against the cushions even further.

“Is something the matter?”

He already knew something
was
amiss, but he also knew his gypsy was too stubborn to admit to it. At last, she sighed in concession.

With faintly trembling fingers, she grasped the strong hand extended before her. His heart thudded a bit faster. It was such a thrilling sensation to feel her caressing his skin, even if her intentions were wholly innocent. Her touch was warm and soft as she gingerly trailed her forefinger along the grooves of his palm, assessing their merit, careful to avoid any contact with his eyes.

“This is your life line,” her voice faint, she pointed to the etch nearest his thumb. “Its depth means you’re passionate and enjoy a good challenge.”

Right so far, though the challenges he preferred were reserved for the bedchamber. But Sabrina didn’t need to know that.

His breathing deepened as her finger moved up to the middle line that slashed across his palm.

“This line stands for knowledge. It reveals you use your wisdom for a good cause.”

This is progressing splendidly, he thought with confidence, unwilling to interrupt the girl with any comments of his own. She should consider him a saint by the end of the reading—though he hoped the reading was nearing an end. Being so close to her, feeling her feathery touch, a true healer’s touch, was beginning to rouse within him passionate and wily emotions he had tried to restrain. He couldn’t feel this way for her, aroused and possessive. He shouldn’t want what he could not have. But therein lay the very trouble. There was nothing in life he could not have, at least there hadn’t been before Sabrina had come along. And now here she was, a true temptation, touching him, her warm breath falling onto his palm, her beautiful body snugly tucked under
his
covers.

It was cruel, to be this near her, to want to reach out and feel the heat of her skin in return. It was devastating, feeling her hands cradle his palm so delicately. A simple gesture that provoked such a fiery response within him. The intensity was building inside him. He noticed her hand shaking, moving slowly over the last of the three lines that streaked across his palm.

Her voice dwindled, and he had to lean in to hear her whisper, “This is your heart line.”

She stroked the heart line softly, as if mesmerized by what she saw. And he, in turn, was mesmerized by her.

He looked down at the groove, so meaningless to him, and wondered what she saw in it. His palm suddenly closed around her fingers, trapping them. She gave a quick gasp in surprise, her questioning eyes darting up to meet his. What beautiful eyes they were. How much he yearned to know what burned within them.

He found his voice, rough and urgent, almost pleading in its tone. “What do you see in my heart, Sabrina?”

He had never asked anyone such a fool thing. It was obvious to him who and what he was, an aristocrat, a lover, so few and simple terms. And he had never cared to know what anyone else had thought of him. But he did care to know what his gypsy thought. For some reason he had yet to understand, it mattered to him what she saw in his heart—if there was anything to even see.

“Well?” he urged her gently.

She stared intensely at him. “I see peace.”

Peace? He crinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”

But she had no more left to say on the matter, and he realized, disgruntled, he would simply have to dwell upon her cryptic words.

Peace.

He couldn’t comprehend the meaning. He certainly didn’t feel very peaceful at the moment, such a torrent of passionate emotions battling inside him.

Sabrina wrenched her fingers away from him. She was displeased with the reading’s outcome. It was there in her eyes, a brewing storm. But there wasn’t a stitch of wicked intentions revealed in his palm, so he didn’t understand why she was so upset.

He gathered his fingers together and pulled his hand away. “You doubt your own reading?”

She hesitated before admitting, “I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“And why is that?”

She recoiled in silence. It appeared as though her suspicions of him would have to remain intact, much as he wished it were otherwise. He was just another
gajo
in her eyes, just another stranger to be anxious about, and that was all he would ever be. And he hated knowing it.

Anthony heaved out of his squatting position and headed over to his writing desk, intent on finishing the letter to his butler, there being nothing left to say to dissuade his gypsy of her relentless misgivings.

But it was a few minutes later that he heard the hesitant voice pipe up behind him.

“I’m thirsty.”

Slowly, he turned around to look at the demure figure huddled under the blankets, the compress dipping below her brow so only the thin black slits of her eyes were visible.

He could feel those assessing blue eyes on him as he retrieved the pitcher from the privy and poured her a refreshing glass of water. She downed it greedily.

“Still thirsty?”

When she shook her head, he took the empty glass and set it aside. Back at his desk, he resumed the letter. But three lines later came the next interruption.

“I’m cold.”

He didn’t rise from his seat this time, only glanced at her from over his shoulder. Her features were inscrutable. What was the girl up to?

Hoisting out of his chair, he walked over to the trunk at the foot of the bed and lifted the heavy lid to rummage through the articles buried inside. No blanket.

The lid thudded closed. Next he went over to the wardrobe and riffled through the paraphernalia there, again meeting with defeat. He didn’t know where else to look. This was a task for a chambermaid. Perhaps his mother or even Ashley might know where the bed linens were stored, but he had no idea.

In the end, a cloak would have to suffice and he laid the garment over the blankets already piled atop his gypsy.

“Will there be anything else?” he asked.

“A book.”

He lifted a brow at her ambiguous request, thinking perhaps he hadn’t heard her correctly. “A book?”

When she made no effort to correct him, he traveled over to the bookshelves and randomly selected a title.

He returned to the bed and handed her the volume. “Will this suffice?”

She accepted the book of poetry and said not a word. Opening it to the first page, she began to read—upside down.

Without any irreverence, he plucked the book from her hands, flipped it right side up, and placed it back between her fingers. “Enjoy.”

Anthony sat back down at his desk, still unable to fathom what had just happened. What purpose had all those errands served, other than to distract him? He sighed and stared at the half-written parchment, unable to recall what else he had intended to mention in the letter.

At last, unable to stir his memory, he set the note aside and plopped the quill back into the inkwell. Hands clutching the armrests, he swiveled the chair around so he was facing the bed.

Sabrina was watching him, the book closed and resting in her lap.

“Was the poetry not to your liking?”

“I can’t read,” she said.

“So why did you ask for the book?”

“To see if you’d bring it to me.” Then she added, her tone accusing, “You’re too kind.”

He chuckled at that. “So that is my crime.”

“Your crime?”

“If your silence is a form of punishment, then I must assume you’ve condemned me for a crime. Though I admit, I’m taken aback by the charge of kindness.”

“You mock me.”

“Untrue.” His voice deepened. “I merely wish to understand why you find my consideration so sinister. I am your protector, after all.”

Her lips twisted, as though in dispute of that proclamation. “A man like you shouldn’t care about a gypsy’s comfort.”

He stretched out his legs and wove his fingers together in his lap, his elbows positioned on the armrests. His eyes intent on the girl, he asked, “Must all nobles be villains?”

“No…but I don’t want to be in your debt.” There was a faint trembling in her voice as she spoke. “I can’t repay you for saving my life, so if you expect anything—”

“I ask for no payment,” he cut in, indignant at the thought that his chivalry was for hire. “My duty is to your well-being.”

“And you want nothing in return? At all?”

“Certainly not.”

He heard a sigh of what he assumed was relief, and wondered if perhaps he’d been tricked into offering a promise he couldn’t keep. Though the thought of any monetary compensation was repugnant, a more personal reward, such as a parting kiss from the lovely young Sabrina, would not have been unwelcome. But he would never ask for such a gift now. Not after the promise he had just made.

Anthony sighed as well, not with relief, but with disappointment at his sealed fate.

Chapter 10

A
crooked flash of light split the dark sky. The distant groan of thunder followed seconds later.

Sabrina stared at the curtains, mesmerized by the dance of lightning, clutching the bedspread harder each time the grumbling thunder boomed.

It was nearing
eleven o’clock
. Time for sleep, though the rush of footsteps just outside the door indicated otherwise.

The occasional cry of a distraught Cecelia, followed by the firm reassurances of her mother, penetrated the room.

“Be thankful it rained tonight,” Sabrina heard the consolation, “for tomorrow promises to be a beautiful day.”

“And if the rain doesn’t stop in time for the arriving guests?” was heard the sorrowful lament.

“Nonsense, child. It won’t rain all night and then all day without break. And if by some act of God it does, we’ll see to all the guests’ comfort.”

“Oh, Mama, what if a storm rages and the guests won’t come?”

“Hush, Cecelia. That’s rubbish! The whole county is privy to the great lengths we’ve gone to orchestrate this gala. So much so, this ball will be spoken of in St. James’s court for weeks to come. No one will dare miss such an event for a few pelts of rain. Now off to bed with you, or your complexion will be sickly in the morning.”

Another desperate cry was detected before the doleful voices withdrew.

Such mayhem governed the sky and land. Equal mayhem reigned within the walls of the house. And the mayhem gushing about in Sabrina’s heart was no less powerful.

Anthony was asleep on the sofa, or so she presumed. He’d not stirred nor made a sound for more than an hour, though she couldn’t understand how anyone could sleep under such conditions. She hated storms, always had since she was a child. Grand acts of nature were revered by her people as moments of great magic, but she’d never grown to admire a force so powerful it could shake the very earth. She felt so helpless and alone at such a time. So tiny and insignificant. And with the addition of soaring walls surrounding her, she felt even smaller.

The glass rattled as the wind howled and the rain beat against the panes. She scrunched her eyes tight and brought the covers up to her nose.

It was subtle at first, the images slinking through her mind, but soon, unabashed, she was envisioning the round, muscular contours of Anthony’s formidable shoulders.

Sabrina’s cheeks tinted at the unfitting thought, but the man happened to be more appealing to dwell upon than the wild tempest raging just outside the windows.

She’d seen him for the first time that night without his shirt. After the lights were extinguished, he’d removed his garments, all but his trousers, before sliding under the blankets. It was the repetitive streaks of lightning that had illuminated the darkened room, providing her with the startling vision of the vast expanse of muscle. Robust curves, shadowed by peaks and valleys of light and dark, made up the tightly built chest that had stolen her breath for a second before he’d disappeared behind the sofa.

What was wrong with her? Was she turning into a “fawning young lady,” as Ashley had termed it? She dearly hoped not. But she couldn’t seem to get Anthony out of her head. It didn’t help matters that that afternoon’s reading had served to highlight only honorable character traits, quite the opposite of what she was expecting to see in his palm, especially after Ashley’s scalding assessment of her brother. And then Anthony had promised he wouldn’t ask for compensation—of any kind—so
that
, along with the favorable palm reading, should have put her mind at ease about the man. But it did not. She still felt something in her belly every time she looked at him. She still felt those damn jitters and they were beginning to rule her senses.

It was what she had seen in his heart line that really troubled her. Peace. Her peace. Her future happiness and well-being was laid out before her in his hand.
His
hand. What could the man possibly have to offer that would bring her peace? He was an outsider. Everything in his world frightened her. But there it was, peace, staring back at her when she’d assessed his palm. It just didn’t make any sense.

An ear-shattering clap of thunder jolted Sabrina upright. Her nerves rattled and her eyes sprang open, shooting instinctively to the sofa—and to Anthony. There he was, seated like a statue, staring straight at her. When he realized she was awake as well, he was on his feet.

That powerful body treaded softly toward her, and she felt an overwhelming rush of both giddiness and panic at his approach.

He stopped just short of the bed, his back to the windows, the entire front length of him masked in darkness.

“I had a dream,” he murmured thickly, attesting to the fact that he had been asleep until only a short while ago.

She bent her knees and crossed her legs at the ankles, blinking up at the shadowed figure. “About what?”

Anthony settled on the bed, the mattress dipping with his newly imposed weight, and leaned over her.

“What are you doing?” she demanded hastily, only to find he was reaching for the candle.

He struck the match and lit the wick. She gulped hard at the feel of his bare shoulder rubbing against her breast, and the silk of his tawny-gold mane brushing against her naked arm, like feathers scraping softly over her skin.

He withdrew to his previous position, the mellow kindle of the low-burning flame illuminating his frame. A brooding faerie king, that’s what he looked like, beautiful, dangerous, and mighty.

Her sea-blue eyes, brimming with wonder, poured over him in a keen, raking look. A tuft of hair spiraled from his belly, vanishing beneath his unfastened trousers, and a blush adorned her cheeks at the thought of where that hair ended up. Her eyes quickly skated up his wide chest, blanketed in a thick fleece of golden curls, and she suddenly wondered what those curls felt like. Were they soft? Or rough like the sonorous depth to his voice?

By the time her eyes elevated to meet Anthony’s, it was to find he’d arched an amused brow at her examination. His lids were heavy with sleep, but his eyes were attentive and probing. Had she really gawked at him for so long? She was sure it had been only a few seconds, a quick survey of his build. But her sense of timing was apparently off.

Sabrina gave a tiny prayer of thanks for the dim light in the chamber. It helped to conceal the brightness of her flushing features.

“Your dream?” her voice cracked as she reminded him of his reason for coming over to the bed in the first place.

A faint smile touched his lips. She scooted further back against her pillow.

“I dreamt of you.”

Those words, the gruff tone in which they were uttered, had an unnerving effect on her.

“I saw you amidst a sea of flickering lights,” he went on. “You were disoriented. When I reached out for you, you vanished into the darkness. I searched everywhere for you, but the blackness and specks of light seemed to stretch on forever, and I finally had to admit, I had lost you.”

Massive shoulders bowed forward. He brushed a knuckle gently across her cheek. It was like a streak of fire scorching her skin.

“I’ve never had such a disturbing dream,” he murmured softly, still caressing her cheek, his eyes growing darker, more intense.

She was hypnotized. Her breath trapped in her throat. Her heart knocked hard against her ribs. She could only grip the bed sheets tightly in her lap, her knuckles turning white from the lack of blood flow.

“I won’t let you fall into an abyss,” he vowed. His thumb pressed tenderly over her mouth. “No one will hurt you, Sabrina.”

She shuddered under the warmth of his words, and rebuked herself for allowing those words to affect her at all.

He was much too close, only inches from her. Panic prompted her to smack a hand flat against his chest to hold him at bay. Her pulse sprinted at the feel of the golden curls beneath her touch. The hair was soft. A pectoral muscle immediately jumped in response to the hand resting on top of it. Like wild horse hooves, his heart thundered beneath her palm, as a surge of heat invaded her finger tips, gliding up her wrist, her forearm…

Time stopped in that moment. She felt as if she’d melted into the dark pools of Anthony’s eyes, lost in his soul for a fraction of a second. The moment was fleeting, but it was long enough to make her appreciate that she was treading over dangerous waters.