“Your wife is on her way.”
“How the devil do you know that?”
Ashley hastened into the room just then, her brisk steps so faint, the satin of her pale green gown barely whispered with a rustle.
Daniel shifted his bewildered gaze to his brother-in-law, but Anthony kept silent on the reflective glass of windows to his right, which allowed him a full view of the corridor, and thus his approaching sister.
“Mama bids us all to the front hall,” said Ashley. “The guests are slowly arriving and we are to stand in the receiving line with the rest of the family.”
A still-mystified Daniel slipped out of his chair. “Very well, my dear. Duty calls.”
Anthony, too, hoisted himself from his seat, sure that the hardness in his groin had tapered enough so as not to offend any delicate miss and her mama. “Let us see this monstrosity to an end.”
They all liberated a weary sigh in acquiescence, and then headed for the door, attending to any final adjustments in their accoutrements before stepping out into the corridor and proceeding toward the front hall to greet the arriving ton.
Anthony, his mood dark, his body still burdened with unfulfilled lust, straggled a short distance behind the chattering couple, mulling over the possibility he had rejected only moments ago.
A fling with the marchioness?
The lady was reportedly willing. His body was certainly willing. But could he cope with the demands of a mistress now? Could he afford to go without one might be the better question?
If he didn’t find a way to rid himself of his distracting lust, Sabrina would be the recipient of all his attentions. And he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
A mistress it would have to be.
The sun drowsily slipped behind the distant crowd of trees. Vibrant shades of coral pink and magenta streaked the sky, like flaming arrows shot through the heavens.
Sabrina sat curled in an armchair, a blanket around her shoulders, fingering the locket hanging from her neck. Lined on either side of the window were heavy velvet drapes, a deep walnut brown in hue, tucked in swags and tied with golden chords. She skimmed her fingers lightly over the soft and supple fabric, warm from basking in the afternoon sun. Suspended from an iron rod and dangling to a pool on the floor, pale ivory sheers shrouded the barred panes of glass, and she peeked through the thin fabric to take note of the blossoming garden and the small lake in the distance, bouncing rippled sunbeams off its glasslike surface.
A perfect day to host a ball, she reflected, if the brilliant dusk foretold anything. Cecelia must be elated by the favorable outcome of the weather, and according to Anthony, close to three hundred guests would be in attendance for the dinner and ball scheduled to start at precisely seven o’clock.
Sabrina glanced over her shoulder to see the dials pointing to half past six, then returned her attention to the congested grounds. The windows in Anthony’s room faced the rear of the estate, so she wasn’t permitted a view of the arriving carriages, but many of the guests were enjoying a leisurely stroll through the garden before dinner was served.
The moving dots of colored gowns winding through the rows of spring blooms and shrubs, the hum of the orchestra rehearsing somewhere in the house, the patter of feet scurrying though the corridor as servants tended to last-minute details, injected a lively spark to Sabrina’s otherwise dull spirit.
She’d been alone for much of the day. The solitude shouldn’t bother her; she knew Anthony was needed elsewhere in the house. But still, a part of her suspected it wasn’t brotherly duty keeping him at bay, but his desire to avoid her.
It was that damn kiss!
It was, wasn’t it? The kiss? The root of all her troubles, her emotional angst? Had the kiss been a slobbering mess or Anthony’s touch not nearly so artful, she’d have pulled away from him without a second thought and never ventured near the man again.
But the kiss had been none of those things, quite the opposite, leaving her innards all knotted and tense and still winding.
So many of her people had come to her throughout the years in search of love potions. But she’d never really understood what she was brewing. The herbal mixtures were intended to garner emotions she could not fathom…until now, that is.
Now there was such a raft of sensations still lingering, she almost wished there was a contrary potion to do away with them—almost. The feelings inside her weren’t all that unpleasant. Her cousin Istvan certainly never incited such feelings. Though, truthfully, he’d never touched her in any real sense. But she knew, deep down in her gut, when he did press his lips to hers, Istvan would never be able evoke the emotions Anthony had.
And that troubled her. She hated to admit what the viscount could do to her with just one kiss, bringing her whole soul into disarray. She hated that the kiss had meant so much to her and nothing to him. She hated even more that he’d dismissed her from his mind, not offering her a look or more than a trivial word for much of the day.
Three swift raps on the door startled her from her meditation. There was a pause, followed by another two taps.
Sabrina sighed and glanced briefly at the time. Twenty minutes left in the hour. Anthony had promised to return before dinner, both to check in on her and to deliver her evening meal. To avoid calling out to her, he’d devised a series of knocks to let her know it was him at the door.
With the blanket still firmly wound around her body, Sabrina rose from the chair, her dizzy spells growing fewer and far less intense as the day progressed.
She shuffled over to the door, careful not to trip over the blanket’s dangling ends, and unlocked the barrier, allowing Anthony to whisk inside the room before she fastened the bolt once more.
His long legs strode toward the small circular table, centered amidst a gathering of armchairs, where he deposited the meal.
“I apologize for my tardiness, but there was an endless procession of guests I had to greet before I could sneak away.”
He glanced at the isolated chair positioned by the window, then turned to face her. She observed that the green silk of his waistcoat matched the hue of his eyes, and that his black, well-tailored garment emphasized his height and broadness of chest. She’d seen his attire earlier in the afternoon, but hadn’t taken a good look at him then, for he’d rushed out the door the moment he was ready. Now she couldn’t resist a quick comb of his frame, from the slicked curls of his tawny-gold hair to the shiny tips of his booted toes. He was stunning, all decked out in his finery.
For the first time that day, sharp, forest-green eyes darkened and regarded her with a hint of emotion. “You should be resting in bed.”
Holding the blanket tightly around her shoulders, she returned quietly, “I prefer the chair.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then gestured toward the window. “And what do you think of this extravaganza?”
“It seems peaceful.”
“The ruckus is about to commence and I must be getting back to it. I will return in the early hours of the morning, after the last guest has departed or retired to bed.”
She nodded in understanding and stepped aside when he advanced. He paused by the door, his fingers on the handle, as though he’d forgotten to say something, but then he turned the knob and slipped into the corridor.
Sabrina locked the door behind him and settled back into the armchair, ignoring her dinner for the time being. She parted the sheers to view the grounds, just as an announcement was made that dinner was soon to be served.
The scurrying dots of color wove through the garden aisles, making their way toward the house, and she slumped back into her chair with another sigh.
It was some hours later that the buzz of the ball infused the entire household, and Sabrina found herself curled under the covers, a single candle burning by the bed. She’d spent the greater part of the evening listening to the murmur of three hundred celebratory guests, followed by the drone of the orchestra striking up dance after dance.
With slee
p impossible, she delved into her imagination, thinking of what was happening below stairs. But her thoughts weren’t very engaging. She didn’t know what to envision, never having witnessed a gajo spectacle before.
The style of the dance couldn’t be all that striking, she concluded, since the music was rather steadily paced without much of a lively tempo. And based on the rigid postures she’d seen strolling through the garden, the guests weren’t likely to be all that spirited either. The richness of Anthony’s room confirmed the ballroom was equally, if not more, lavishly adorned, though particular details were hard for her to imagine. Beyond that simple picture, she could think of little else.
Her imagination wanting, she wandered elsewhere in her thoughts, suddenly aware that her end of the house was relatively quiet except for the distant murmur of rambling guests. The servants were all likely crammed in the kitchen tending to a mountain of dishes. And that meant that the house was virtually deserted on the second level…and probably certain wings on the lower level.
It was a few seconds later that the blankets landed on the floor at the foot of the bed.
Sabrina was slow to sit up, wanting to avoid any light-headedness. It was perfect, she thought, the darkness outside, the many bodies huddled below, too densely packed to notice any one face in particular. She could leave without risk of discovery and be home in a couple of days. She would move slowly through the countryside, resting more often, delaying her return to her camp if she had to in order to offset any chance of faintness. But she didn’t think risk of further injury was great. She felt fine, much better than she had two days ago.
Her excitement grew at the prospect of retreat without heart-aching confrontation. Freshly filled with energy, she quickly located her belongings in the shadowed room and got dressed. When her boots were on, she pulled her hair back and tied the long tresses with a dark red kerchief she found tucked in her bag.
After a swift glance around the room to ensure she’d forgotten nothing, she patted her ears to feel that the gold hoops were still there and touched the locket at her breast. With a deep breath, she blew out the candle. Only moonlight spilled into the room. Her bag in her hands, she headed for the door.
Wait!
Could she really go through with this? Could she just leave without bothering to say thank you to Anthony? Whatever disaster may have befallen them on the night of the kiss, he had saved her life, nursed her back to health. It was cowardly to abandon him without a single word of gratitude.
She leaned against the door with a weary sigh. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears. To face Anthony tomorrow and the day after tomorrow, to spend more time dwelling on how awkward their relationship had become, required strength she simply did not possess. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be far away from all the bewildering emotions that consumed her. Anthony unsettled her more than he comforted her, and she was tired of the feelings battling inside her.
It’s better this way, she thought.
Sabrina pushed away from the door and stepped toward the bed. She untied her scarf, her hair fanning free, and laid the red fabric over his pillow. She hoped he would understand.
The hinges squeaked, as the door opened wide enough for one blinking blue eye to peer into the corridor beyond. The wood barrier swung further back. She poked her head around the corner to inspect the other end of the long causeway. It was deserted, a far cry from the noisy, foot-stomping channel it’d been earlier in the day.
Tiptoeing out the door, she closed it softly behind her. It was the strangest feeling, entering the hallway, like stepping out of her skin. She was suddenly in a mysterious world, filled with unknown dangers, the sanctuary of Anthony’s room instantly forgotten.
Her skittish nerves ruled her senses. Ignoring her elaborate surroundings, she listened instead for any advancing footsteps.
It was the music that steered her though the winding and unfamiliar passages. And try as she might to avoid it, the sounds only grew louder.
Minutes passed. Cautious to move stealthily along the corridor’s edge, her hand lightly skimming the candlelit walls, she ducked within a narrow passage, hoping the brief rest in dark seclusion would help ease her thundering heart.
Anthony hadn’t exactly offered her a map of the dwelling’s interior, and so she had no idea where she was going. Each hall looked the same, and for all she knew, she was traveling in circles. Where were the bloody stairs?
She took a deep breath, clutched her belongings tighter, and stuck her head back into the main corridor. She eased her way out from the shadows and froze. Voices were approaching, about to turn the corner.
Her back hit the wall and she slipped into the darkened passageway once more, her heart pounding, her blood rushing through her veins. She moved quickly to the aisle’s end, listening to the clash of thrumming instruments, bubbling laughter, and lively chatter that invaded her narrow hideaway through a set of looming double doors.
Though her steps seemed deprived of strength, she crossed the inlet, with every intention of hiding until the corridor was clear. Her fingers quivering, she caressed the luminous brass handle before opening one of the glass doors.
The fanfare blasted her the moment she stepped over the balcony’s threshold and into a world of privilege and pomp. She closed the door behind her. Instinct had her crouching on the floor, so only her assessing blue eyes veered over the balcony’s stone ledge, scanning the remarkable mixture of twirling colors below.
It was overwhelming. Nothing could have prepared her for the brilliant array of gowns and elegant suits, or the bright torrent of jewels that winked under the blaze of candlelight with each graceful movement of the dancers. The music filled her soul, the scent of melted candle wax invaded her nostrils, the sparkling gleam from the crystal chandeliers flooded her vision.
The din took her breath away—and almost her senses—as the heat from the ballroom doused her with a cloud of dizziness. But the vertigo was fleeting, and the blurred sets of dancers, all advancing and retreating, holding hands and rotating, regained distinction in form.
Sabrina’s eyes narrowed on one particular pair, standing off to the side, watching the celebration with mild interest, more intently focused on one another instead. The woman at Anthony’s arm was laughing, her head tipped back so a few cinnamon-brown curls bobbed past her naked shoulders. Dark purple plumes trimmed the rest of the locks coiled atop her head. A brilliant gem sat tucked above the cleft of her tightly bound breasts, the much-too-low cut of her plum-colored bodice visible even to a balcony-perched Sabrina, and Anthony definitely had a better vantage point than she.
The sight was like a blow to the gut. What were the chances that that woman was just another relation to Anthony? Flimsy. No man looked at his kin like a rogue in a sea of beautiful maids. Besides, Anthony’s family was blond.
She chided herself for her folly. What did she expect, to find Anthony off to the side, drink in hand, a look of boredom on his face? She scoffed. The viscount may deplore disruptions to his peace of mind, but some disruptions were evidently worth enduring.
Sabrina closed her eyes and turned away from the ball, her back against the balcony ledge, her bottom secured to the floor. She released a long, grated sigh. What did it matter whom Anthony talked with? It shouldn’t, of that she was sure. That it did bother her, even a trifle, was troubling beyond words.
The music stopped. Sabrina lifted her dark lashes and focused on the reflective glass doors in front of her. Gathering her valor, she rolled onto her knees and cast her eyes back over the celebration.
Ladies were giggling and fanning themselves. Gents were playing the part of dutiful escorts, leading their partners away from the dance floor, while the orchestra set down their instruments for a brief repose.
The crowd parted slightly near the arched terrace doors, where an elderly nobleman stood, cane in one hand, tall glass in the other.
“Your attention, honored guests.”
Sabrina found something about his
countenance familiar.
“A toast.”
Servants bustled through the masses, filling every empty hand with a glass of some sparkling spirit.
“To my daughter, Cecelia. May she have many happy and peaceful years before her.”
There was a hearty laugh from the crowd. “Here, here,” chimed, as hundreds clinked glasses in a concordant wish of contentment for the young debutante.
So the elder man was Anthony’s father? Sabrina gave him a more thorough scan. No wonder she had found his features so familiar.
Upon the lord’s signal, the orchestra resumed their instruments and struck up another dance. Her gaze passed indifferently over the crowd, and returned to rest on Anthony and the same well-endowed lady, who was laughing again, this time over a remark Anthony was whispering into her bejeweled ear.
Sabrina saw red.
Chapter 12
“I f Cecelia’s life turns out to be peaceful, she will never forgive our father for that toast,” Anthony remarked gruffly in Cassandra Livingston’s dainty ear.
The woman’s pearled smile and husky laughter were intended to dazzle the senses. “The dear girl would have every right to be in a dander. Imagine a life void of balls, luncheons, and picnics. What would she do with her time and fortune?”
“I hear the route to the Orient is adventurous.”
“Abandon the London season to travel to the far side of the world? Good gracious, Anthony, you don’t know your sister very well—or women in general for that matter.”
He offered her a sly smile. “Untrue, madam. I know my sister very well indeed, and if not acquainted with the manner of all women, I do, at least, know you.”
“Or you soon will.”
Up went an amused blond brow at her brazenness. “Is that so?” he drawled.
Cassandra’s only response was a falsely demure gesture, as she lifted her glass of champaign to conceal her amorous grin.
Anthony need not crawl into Cassandra Livingston’s bed to know all the woman’s secrets. Widowed one year past, the twenty-five-year-old marchioness had lost her husband, Percival, in a duel. It was all one sordid affair that had delighted much of the ton for months, and there hadn’t been a scandal quite like it for some time. As the tale went, poor old Percival had fatuously issued a challenge to the much younger, and more experienced, Devlin Landcastle—Cassandra’s lover at the time—proclaiming it his duty to recapture his wife’s honor, as he had heard rumor of her alleged affair with Landcastle. Apparently, the marquess was as blind as he was old, for he staunchly believed his angelic Cassandra could do no wrong, and he laid down a challenge to the boastful Devlin: either desist from all slanderous remarks concerning his wife or meet him on the dueling field the following morning. By noon, the marquess was lying in state with a hole in his heart.
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