A Forbidden Love (28 page)

“Apparently not,” the viscount said sternly.

“Well, then, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” His eyes, more alert, skipped back over to Sabrina, and he added with a dashing grin, “And explain who this lovely creature is.”

“Sabrina’s no ladybird,” Anthony rectified tersely, closing the door. “She’s staying in my room, under
my
protection. So behave yourself and tell no one that she is here.”

“A damsel in distress?” Vincent’s eyes reverted to the viscount. “Why do you always have such good fortune?”

Sabrina almost choked on that. Her life was ruined and it was Anthony’s
good
fortune? She refrained from making any comment.

Moving deeper into the room, Anthony gestured toward the other man. “This is Vincent,” he completed the introductions. “He’s a good friend of mine and he’s going to watch over you while I’m away.”

Sabrina’s eyes flew back to the miscreant in alarm. “He will?”

“I will?” said Vincent, a devilish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I say, old chum, are you sure you want
me
looking after her?”

Anthony spun about, eyes sizzling. “
You,
Vincent, owe me a rather large sum of money, if I remember correctly.”

The other man winced.

“And you will begin paying off the debt by keeping Sabrina safe,” the viscount continued in a firm tone. “Tell no one that she is here. I should be back in a few hours.”

Anthony took his coat from the chair and slipped into the garment.

The sight of him preparing to leave caused Sabrina’s heart to knock frantically against her breast. By the time he made his way over to her, her heart was making so much racket, she could scarce hear her own desperate pleading.

“Anthony, you can’t leave me alone with this man.”

“It’ll be all right.” He gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her brow. “I know he seems a bit of a…scoundrel. But I trust him. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

And with those few soothingly whispered words, he was striding for the door, shooting Vincent one last, admonishing look in the process. “Take good care of her.”

Vincent nodded. “Right, old chum.”

The door closed with a soft thud, leaving the two occupants in the room to stare at one another in dismal uncertainty.

Anthony stood in the entrance to the gaming hall. The gusty laughter of male carousers had guided him to the spacious and opulent arena. Now on the threshold, he witnessed the hedonistic revelry firsthand.

At each of the gaming tables, adoring doxies regaled their patrons with bawdy humor and sensual caresses. Drinks and wealth drained from glasses and pockets respectively. And a piano in a corner provided the already animated atmosphere with a bubbly jig, inducing some of the more besotted patrons to belt out a rather slurred chorus in accompaniment.

It was a glorious display of debauchery—and for once in his life, Anthony wasn’t tempted to immerse himself in it.

Tacking on an engaging smile, he sauntered into the room. He thoroughly scanned the arena for any sign of Gillingham, but the man was nowhere to be seen. An advantage to Anthony. He wasn’t interested in speaking with the elusive club owner directly. Quite simply, he needed a woman. His charms weren’t likely to coax any answers from a reticent male employee standing guard in the club. He needed a more malleable target for all his smiles. He needed Emma Kingsley in all preference.

He glanced around the room again, this time in search of a particular doxy. But as chance would have it, a particular doxy was in search of him.

Slender fingers rounded his shoulder in a lascivious caress. He looked down at his side to find the stunning Emma Kingsley circling him, a broad and amorous smile hooked on her rosy lips.

“Good evening, Lord Hastings,” the seductive creature purred.

“Good evening,” he returned in the same throaty vein. Gillingham was sure to hear of his return to the Lion’s Gate, and would naturally wonder why the viscount had come back after so thoroughly expressing a desire to never do so. If Anthony could convince Emma he had returned because of her, there was no cause for Gillingham to think anything was amiss. A lustful viscount was hardly a menace.

He pried Emma’s fingers off his shoulder, and brought the back of her hand to his lips in a playful display of gallant behavior. “You are a dangerous temptress, madam.”

A slender blond brow cocked ever so slightly. “Am I?”

“I vowed never to return after forfeiting a great sum of money to your employer, and yet here I am, unable to endure another night without gazing into your lovely eyes.”

She gave a husky and spirited laugh, and hooked her hand through the viscount’s arm, steering him through the room. “Lord Hastings, I do believe you are mistaken. If memory serves, it was not my eyes that captivated your attention during our last encounter.”

“I stand corrected, madam.” His eyes went to the decadent display of her abundant breasts—and narrowed on the familiar gold locket engraved with the face of a lion. He resumed his roguish manner with a downright wicked grin. “It was another lovely pair that captivated my attention.”

Emma ushered him to one of the cushioned love seats that dotted the outskirts of the arena. Cupping two glasses of spirits from an attentive server, she then snuggled next to him in the seat, her fine lavender fragrance drifting all around him.

She handed him the glass. Even with a drink in hand, a firm body pressed close to him, and a soft scent tickling his senses, Anthony wasn’t lulled by the deftly orchestrated seduction. He knew the game well. It was all intended to loosen a patron’s purse strings. But he wasn’t there to get his pockets bled. He was there to get some answers.

“And what is your desire, Lord Hastings?” Emma inclined her head toward the gaming tables. “To try your luck at cards?”

Anthony followed her gaze to the center arena and the cluster of men at each table. His eyes drifted over the faces, some familiar, some not. He recognized Jeremy Fielding, third marquess of Winbourne, a renowned rake and wastrel in his own right. And then there was General-Major Archibald Adington, whose exemplary service during the Battle of Waterloo had gained him laurels galore. There was also Lord Bradford Derwent, a political man in the House of Lords, and a known thorn to the house for some of his radical views on reform. All in all, it was a rather eclectic mix of patrons.

And then Anthony’s gaze narrowed to the doxies hanging over the men’s arms. His muscles stiffened at the sight. The women all wore the very same locket as Emma Kingsley! He couldn’t believe his eyes. Was Gillingham marking his whores? If so, why?

To quell the sudden apprehension rising in his chest, Anthony flashed Emma a dashing smile. “You are much more alluring than a mere game of cards.”

“Am I?” she coyly quipped again.

“Most definitely, madam.” And to prove it, his eyes went back to caress the full swell of her breasts. But he couldn’t play this flirtatious game indefinitely. It was time he steered their discourse in a more useful direction.

In a daring gesture, he fingered the locket cushioned between her breasts, his voice a lazy drawl. “My, what a simple ornament for such a striking creature.”

Emma’s fingers came up to intertwine with his. “I have always believed, if the ornament glittered and sparkled too greatly, it might detract attention from…my lovely eyes.”

He chuckled at her double-entendre. But in his gut, frustration was slowly forming. Emma wasn’t being very forthcoming. And he couldn’t continue asking questions about the locket, not when he was supposedly there to dote on her “lovely eyes.” He would end up arousing the woman’s suspicion if he continued with any interrogation.

Anthony dismissed all further mention of the locket for the time being, and pressed on. “And what will it cost me to gaze into your ‘lovely eyes’ at my leisure?”

She leaned even closer to him, her breasts pushing up against his arm. “One hundred pounds.”

Anthony gave her a look of genuine incredulity. He had never heard of such an exorbitant rate. And to spend one night with a whore?!

“One night with you must rival an eternity in heaven,” he said.

Her smile was enigmatic. “You shall have to forfeit the figure to find out, my lord.”

He gave a soft grunt. He would have to forfeit the figure indeed. And he wasn’t the least bit looking forward to it. Imagine dropping another small fortune into Gillingham’s pockets, just so he could ask the woman a few questions in private.

And then another thorny thought took root in his mind. Once he and Emma were alone, and he had a few answers from her, could he just leave the room, offering the excuse of a forgotten engagement? Or would that appear too suspicious? Would he have to spend a few hours in bed with the woman? And why the devil was he even fretting over the dilemma? Better yet, why did he consider it a dilemma at all? He may be here to learn more about Gillingham, but he couldn’t go about his investigation in a heady manner. He wanted to convince Emma he had returned to the club because of her. If he had to have a tussle with the doxy to prove it, then so be it.

And yet dread or guilt or apprehension stalked him. He wasn’t sure which of the three it was. It might even be a combination of the trio. He only knew he had never felt this way before. So…nervous about being with a woman.

What the deuces was wrong with him? He didn’t often pass up an opportunity to sleep with a beautiful wench, especially since he had to pay a hundred bloody pounds to be with her!

But that unpleasant sensation in his gut continued to gnaw at him, despite his sound attempts to reason it away.

With some discomfort, he forced a roguish grin to his lips. “I accept your price, madam.”

Chapter 23

“H
ow about a game?” Vincent uncrossed his legs and moved away from the sofa, where he’d been sitting for the last half hour. “Why gawk at one another in silence the whole night? A game will melt away the time.”

Sabrina cast him a wary look. They weren’t children. What kind of a suggestion was that? And then she remembered where she was. In the land of the
ton
. Of course Vincent would suggest the diversion. What else did wealthy
gajos
do with their spare time except play games and throw parties and chase after skirts?

An image of Anthony dallying with some buxom wench skipped through her head just then. His mouth pressed on another woman’s lips stabbed through her thoughts. She could see the two lovers tumbling in bed. She could hear the doxy’s giggles and Anthony’s husky laughter. Sabrina could even sense what the other woman must be feeling right about now; Anthony’s touch on her breast, his hands stroking her thighs in a rhythmic caress, making her gasp and pant as he trailed his fingers to the inside of her…

Sabrina took in a sharp breath of her own, banishing the disturbing vision. The distraction of a silly amusement suddenly held appeal.

“How about Piquet?” suggested Vincent.

She shook her head, never having heard of it.

“
Vingt et un?
”

Another shake of the head.

“Hazard?” he offered hopefully. When she still said nothing, he sighed and waved a dismissive hand. “Then I’ll just teach you the rules of Hazard. Do you have any blunt?”

Her brows pinned together. “Any what?”

“Coins?”

“Oh!” She nodded this time.

That brought an eager smile to Vincent’s face. “Wonderful. I’ll just duck back into my room and gather a few coins. Be back in a moment.”

Sabrina found herself staring at the closed bedroom door, mulling over the need for coins in a game, and also pondering why Vincent had a room in Anthony’s townhouse. Surely the man didn’t live here?

But she would have to wait until Vincent’s return to learn the answer to that mystery. In the meantime, she busied herself with scraping together what few coins she had.

Rummaging through the clutter of her bag, she yanked out the bright green skirt she had worn on the night of her wedding celebration. She gazed at the skirt with a pang of longing, thinking of all she had lost. Fondling the velvety fabric in her hands, she bit back her tears and went to work, tearing out the coins she had sewn into the hemline. So much for gold bringing a gypsy good fortune!

Vincent soon returned to the room and locked the door behind him. “Help me move these chairs.”

She did as he asked, pushing aside one of the armchairs positioned in front of the fireplace, while he pushed away another, leaving a gap in the carpet.

He settled onto the floor and motioned for her to do the same. She did, reluctantly sinking to her knees opposite him.

“Now, all we need are two of these.” His palm unfurled to reveal a pair of dice.

Sabrina arched a brow. “And what do we do with those?”

“Well, the rules are…”

And it was two hours later that the dice were still quietly spilling onto the cushioned carpet.

Sabrina watched in anticipation as the little ivory blocks tumbled and tumbled, and finally teetered to a stop, revealing the combined number of seven.