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.
She hastily snatched her hand away, but before she could think to move again, his lips were over hers.
Soft, warm lips caressed her mouth, slowly at first, and then the kiss deepened. His lips parted and with rough urgency his mouth moved over hers. The strong scent of him filled her nostrils. The moist heat from his naked torso swathed her skin. The hungry movements of his mouth had her quivering right down to her toes.
She didn’t know how to react to the kiss. She felt inept, gawky in her response. No man’s lips had ever touched hers before. Forbidden to taint her gift of healing, such intimacy was denied her, so she was naïve when it came to the art of lovemaking. Not ignorant of the act itself, for the women in her caravan spoke candidly on the matter, but she lacked all personal experience. Her instincts didn’t seem to be functioning. She didn’t know what to do, how to hold him, how to return the intense feelings of pleasure he was giving her.
It was in that very moment she understood why a man’s touch had been denied her for so many years. Anthony had the power to disorient her sense of being, to disrupt the very center of who she was and toss her amid a whirlwind of unique sensations.
His large, powerful hand slipped down her cheek, stroking her skin, beckoning goosebumps to erupt all over her body. Those long fingers scraped toward her midriff, caressing the wool crepe of her undergarment, teasing her sensitive skin, sending shudders of tickled delight throughout her weakened limbs.
“So sweet,” he whispered thickly against her mouth. “So beautiful.”
She blushed at his words. His touch, the sound of his deep and rich voice was doing things to her she had never felt before. Wonderful things. Things she had never even dreamed of. Emotions were all moving inside her, swirling together, colliding, erupting. It was like a dream. An intense, soul-wringing dream.
Wide-spread fingers rubbed up and down her ribs, massaging her sides, the pressure building against her skin. She shuddered in response. Her heart throbbed. A profound impulse to touch him in return eclipsed her, and she timidly reached for the firm muscles of his upper arms, gripping the taut biceps in inexplicable urgency.
At her hesitant touch, his hand began to move. Up and up it went, slowly, until his thumb and forefinger wedged under her breast and he cradled the swollen mound.
She inhaled sharply. What sweet pleasure it was to feel Anthony’s hand caress such an intimate part of her. The heat in her belly was churning. A spark seemed to flare, as his thumb darted over her thrusting nipple, and he pressed down hard on the tightening bud.
There was an intense explosion of sensations. A startled cry escaped from the depth of her throat. He quickly slipped his hand back down to her waist, stroking her hip, soothing her skittish passions.
Something was happening inside her. A fluttering in her belly, more intense than anything she’d ever felt before. So great was the disruption to her being, that she took no heed of the falling world around her. Not until her head bumped into the wooden headboard, and she yelped in pain at the timely throbbing in her skull.
It was then the magical moment was shattered. Guilt and fear came rushing forward. Guilt at the pleasure she had found in another man’s arms. And fear of what her father would say if he ever discovered her indulgence in such a wicked kiss.
The noise of the tempest must have muffled her common sense, she thought in alarm, or she would never have done such a thing. Hands trembling, she braced her palms flat against a pair of wide, muscular shoulders and shoved.
A breathless Anthony broke away from her lips. His eyes burned under the misty yellow candle glow. His chest, heaving, pushed against her breasts with each draft of air he inhaled.
Confusion descended. The look in his eyes altered to that of a man who had just awakened from a dream, bewildered and befuddled by his surroundings.
His hands slowly slipped away from her waist, the last caress sending one final, sensuous tremor vibrating throughout her limbs. When his warm body shifted upright, a distinct chill gripped her. The heat they shared was gone. The closeness severed.
The deafening drum of her heart filled the silent void, and she was sure Anthony could hear every erratic beat.
“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to be so bold.”
He withdrew from the bed, running a quivering hand through his tawny hair to comb back the curls.
She needed another moment to steady her own irregular breathing. “Why did you kiss me?”
He hesitated before admitting, “It must have been the dream. I was not entirely awake when I, ah…I apologize. It will never happen again.”
She sunk back against her pillow, pulling the bed linen up to her chin, and closely watched his tall, wiry frame make its way over to the sofa, where he sat down for a moment before spreading out along the furniture’s length.
Those tender words he’d whispered, those soft caresses, had all been part of a waking dream? He’d meant nothing he’d said or done?
A single pearled tear pooled in the corner of her eye and she wiped the moist nuisance away, determined not to succumb to sobs. What a ridiculous state to
be reduced to. Just what did she find so upsetting? That the man hadn’t been trying to seduce her? She should be grateful to hear it was all just a mistake. One that would never happen again.
But the ache welled in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. She’d never felt so inadequate, so demoralized. The kiss may have been wrong, but it had been her first kiss, opening a whole new world of emotions for her, and that she’d shared it with Anthony was unexpected, but not worthy of an apology.
Yet there was no concealing the remorse in his voice. He was sorry to have opened his eyes to find his lips on hers…a gypsy’s.
It looked as though Ashley’s concerns were misplaced, for her brother did know his place in world, and it was not to consort with the likes of her.
She leaned over and blew out the candle. For a long time, she just stared into the darkness. The clattering panes of glass and shuddering earth faded into oblivion, as the ramble of her thoughts raved greater than the spring storm drenching the countryside beyond.
Chapter 11
W hat a ghastly old man.
Anthony studied the unsightly subject matter looming above the fireplace in the main salon. Great-great-grandfather Kennington, he presumed. He had always hated the image staring back at him from the canvas, but with such a prominent position in the room, one could hardly ignore the macabre figure. He tried to, though, slowly twirling the glass of brandy between his fingers, shifting through his muddled thoughts.
And what a muddle they were. There wasn’t a moment in the day when he wasn’t rapt with the memory of what had happened the night before. He had vowed, to both Sabrina and himself, not to inflict any harm on her. He had even offered the girl his palm to prove there was no reason to mistrust him. And then look what he had done? Aggrieved his gypsy by prowling about the bedchamber bestowing unwelcome kisses.
Those baffled blue eyes stared at him still. That flustered voice, demanding a reason for the kiss, revolved over and over again in his mind. He had made a sheer ass of himself. And there was no easy way to rectify his blunder. All he could do was keep his distance from the girl, hoping the estrangement would bring her some mild comfort.
He sighed. What had possessed him to resort to such scoundrel intentions? The answer eluded him. But a remote part of his being was obliged to admit his reasons might not be so obscure as he preferred to think. That his actions, though veiled in a light mist of drowsiness, were more deliberate than inadvertent.
To think that he lacked such control! It was difficult to accept. Whatever desire he felt for his gypsy, his gentleman’s duty preceded it—or so he tried to convince himself.
It was all a bloody mess. He needed to redirect his energy, his thoughts. He needed a conduit to do away with his mounting lust so he could focus wholly on his duty.
And then in rushed the perfect solution to his frustrating predicament.
His Mary—Meg!
Polishing cloth in hand, the young maid set to work on the wood furnishings, buffing first a small side table to an illustrious sheen before she moved on to a larger piece.
She had yet to notice him in the room, so engrossed was she with her task. The salon had been designated a ladies’ parlor for the evening and his Mary-Meg was clearly eager to brighten the room and thus please her mistress.
Anthony’s smile was slow to form. He knew firsthand the merry maid would be eager in other ways, as well, and he slowly sensed his sullen mood dissipate in anticipation of the release he would soon have. Once rid of his distracting lust, his mind would be at peace, and there would be no more grueling battles between his duty and desire.
He set his brandy aside. The young parlor maid shuffled past him in her haste, and he reached out to grasp her wrist. She gave a startled gasp, her cheeks turning a bright sunset pink when their eyes met.
“I beg your pardon, your lordship.”
“Not at all, my dear.” His voice was thick, deliberately so, in his attempts to woo the pretty little maid. She was petite, blonde, with a soft set of pouting lips guaranteed to ease his suffering.
And the more he admired her well-rounded figure, the less inclined he was for words. He pulled the little creature down into his lap and curled his arms around her. She let out a bubbly squeak, and he brought his lips together to whisper a soothing “shhhh” before his mouth captured hers in long-suppressed hunger.
It felt so good to be with a woman again. He needed his merry maid and the energy gained from a passionate tussle. He needed it as much as he needed food or water to survive.
Giggling and wiggling in his lap, the maid fumbled with her skirt until it was hiked up over her knees and she straddled him with a familiarity he found invigorating.
Her derrière undulated against his groin in slow, sensuous motions, her fingers groping beneath her petticoat to unfasten his trousers. “What if someone sees us?” she breathed excitedly.
“Devil take them if they do.” He slipped his hands beneath her livery to grip the naked flesh of her posterior.
Their kiss intensified. His cock hardened, ready to plunge inside the merry maid…And then the most appalling thing occurred to distract him from the coupling. An image of Sabrina flashed through his mind, followed by an intense feeling of pain in his chest. A pain he could only assume was guilt. And since he had little experience with the emotion, he found it all the more baffling.
But he had no time to dwell on his puzzling guilt. Footsteps and cheerful whistling were coming down the hall.
Anthony hoisted his Mary-Meg off his lap. Muttering every vile word he knew, he shakily refastened his trousers, while the distraught maid skittishly smoothed her black skirt into its proper position. Her cheeks were a blooming pink blush, her lips swollen and red. She was a perfectly appealing sight—and he damn well didn’t understand why he found it so hard to be with her.
Guilt?
What rubbish! What did he have to feel guilty about? Certainly not some daft notion that he was betraying Sabrina in some way. Why, the gypsy wasn’t even his. And he definitely didn’t belong to her. So where was there a betrayal?
Nowhere. He was just being ridiculous. He didn’t get very much sleep last night, so no wonder he was such a mess.
With a quick curtsy, the merry maid scurried from the room, almost colliding with the strolling figure of Lord Winthrop. She gave an abrupt and mumbled apology before she hastened away, Daniel casting an odd look after her. But once he noticed his brother-in-law wedged in an armchair, Daniel’s features brightened with mischievous amusement.
“Recuperating again are you, old boy?” Daniel strode into the salon with a jovial grin and settled into a cushioned seat opposite his brooding brother-in-law. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”
That got him a dark scowl, as Anthony tried to fight back the heat that still twisted and raged in his groin.
With an unrepentant chuckle, Daniel crossed his legs and removed his white gloves, slapping the pair over his bent knee. “Well, shift your attention for a moment. I’ve a piece of on-dit for you.” He gave a roguish wink. “A little bird just whispered into my ear that an unexpected guest will be in attendance at the ball.”
Since Anthony didn’t give a fig for any of the soon-to-be-arriving guests, his frustrated passion making him sorely uncomfortable, his words were rather sharp and biting. “And this guest would be?”
“A marchioness.”
“Am I to find this report engaging?”
“Well, you should,” Daniel asserted, ignoring the viscount’s darkening glower. “She’s to be your next mistress, after all.”
Anthony groaned and cupped his head in his hand. What ill-rotten timing! With a blasted ball to get through and ensuring Sabrina was safe and battling with his own swelling desire for the girl, he did not need the added distraction that this particular marchioness would impose upon him.
“It seems her ladyship is officially out of mourning,” Daniel resumed. “And our dear Cecelia’s début will be her first public pres
entation since the marquess’s death. Word also has it that you and this particular marchioness are an intended lover’s item.” And then with his hand to his cheek, he whispered, “There’s a discreet bet at White’s over how many months the affair will last, or so I’ve been told.”
“Not very discreet, is it?” he nearly growled.
“Come now, why the long face?”
“I’m not inclined to take a new mistress, is all—not yet anyway.”
A disbelieving snort from his kin. “You not inclined? Become a monk, have you?”
In no affable temperament to engage in a badinage, Anthony glared at his brother-in-law. “Dare I confer with my sister on how encouraging you’ve been?”
Daniel’s humor dwindled at that. “No need for threats, old boy. You know very well I’ll not hear the end of it from Ashley if she suspects I’ve aided her brother in his philandering ways.”
“So why are you aiding me?” he wondered dryly.
The man’s grin returned. “Well, you see, I have it from another little bird—”
“You should get your head examined,” he cut in tersely. “You have too many little birds fluttering about.”
“That may be, but they do keep me thoroughly informed and entertained. Now, as I was saying, word is the marchioness is intent on having you for her next lover and this ball might prove to be the perfect forum to achieve her objective. Of course, your mother will have your head on a pike should you engage in a scandalous liaison during such a pinnacle time in our dear Cecelia’s life.”
“And you intend to watch me lose my head, is that it? A little retaliation for coercing you into that trip to Paris?”
“Consider it a parting gift before I set sail for the mainland.”
“How very kind of you,” he mumbled dryly.
Daniel’s smile broadened. “Think nothing of it, old boy.”
“We had best put this subject to rest.”
“And why’s that?”
A Forbidden Love Page 9
