What was she going to do? Where was she going to go? No other gypsy caravan in England would take her now. Word would spread of what she had done, of the shame she had brought upon her father, herself, her people. She would have to leave England and join with another caravan on the mainland. She would have to go to the ends of the earth to find a place where she would be welcomed. She just couldn’t be alone. The world was cold and cruel. She was hated by gajos just for being a gypsy. She would never be safe anywhere but with another caravan. Only fellow gypsies would protect her. Only her own kind would love her.
The arms that wrapped around her shoulders were strong and gentle, and such an aching contrast to the horror of what she had just been through, that her silent cries soon turned to loud, soul-wrenching wails.
She didn’t notice the tender embrace that scooped her up and carried her away. She didn’t notice the movement beneath her, as she found herself on a horse, trotting steadily through the dark, deserted valley. She didn’t notice the arms that kept a firm hold of her the entire time she wept, never letting go for even a moment.
It was only after the tears had stopped flowing, it was only after the sorrow had washed away and an empty void taken its place, that she thought to ask, “Where are we going?”
“To London,” said the soothing voice by her ear.
She didn’t say anything more. She didn’t care where she went. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore.
Two nights later, Sabrina found herself slumped against the squabs of an enclosed carriage, traveling through the gloomy streets of London.
The journey to the city had been a quiet one. Her spirits dark, her thoughts bleak, she had very little to say to Anthony. He made no effort to coax her from her doleful mood. Instead, he remained by her side. A silent shadow watching over her. It was comforting, without being distracting.
But now in London, she had a flurry of new troubles to face. It was such a big, imposing city, full of twisting alleyways—and gajos. Lots of gajos who hated gypsies. How was she ever going to find her way in such a threatening place?
The dark silhouette of brooding buildings reached far into the misty skyline. Chimneys galore puffed their sooty ash and smoke, blanketing the city in a hazy fog. It was like a disturbing dream. And she was trapped in it. Never again would she awaken and find herself in the safe confines of her father’s wagon.
Her heart tightened at the mere thought of her father. Grief poured into her empty heart, and poured and poured, and would have poured on forever, it seemed, had she not put a cap on her sorrow and forced the tears into submission. Is this what her life was going to be like from now on? A drab existence of endless pain and regret and sorrow?
She looked over at Anthony, a discreet peek before she turned away again. He had everything he could ever want in this world. Did he even realize or care that she had lost so much?
It would be so easy to lash out at him; so simple to blame him and rail at him and make him feel every murky emotion crushing her own spirit. But she couldn’t do that. It was troubling to admit, but Anthony was now the closest thing she had to a friend in this world, and she was afraid of losing him too. Besides, he hadn’t come to her camp to destroy her life, but to save it from Gillingham. It would be unfair of her to scream at him.
Sabrina sighed, shifting her attention to the window, staring absently at the clustered homes, all ghostly quiet for the night. Suddenly, her thoughtful reflection in the glass morphed into a grimace.
The carriage whizzed by a ragged figure, but not so quickly that she couldn’t recognize an old gypsy peddler woman, all her charms and talismans dangling from her hip, white wisps of her hair escaping from under her bright red kerchief.
She was a wretched vision, hobbling the dark and empty streets, and Sabrina’s heart squeezed at the fleeting sight of her, as she saw a glimpse of her own lonely future.
It was Anthony who noticed her stray tear and asked gruffly, “What’s wrong?”
She tore her eyes away from the glass, fearful of what else she might see. “I’ll be alone for the rest of my life,” she said quietly.
His voice softened. “Can you really never go home?”
She shook her head. “My father banished me.”
“Do you have family elsewhere?”
“Yes, but I can’t stay with them. Word of what I did will spread to other caravans, and I won’t be welcomed anywhere in England soon.”
“I’ll take care of you.”
Her eyes filled with a mixture of surprise and suspicion. “You?”
“I’ll make sure you’re always safe. I won’t abandon you to the streets.”
Dabbing at her moist eyes with her fingertips, she said, with a trace of bitterness, “You can’t give me another home and family.”
He was quiet for a moment, his features staid and masked in shadows. And then his voice filled the dark space of the carriage, so deep and determined. “I’m sorry, Sabrina. I didn’t mean to take you away from your father or your husband or anyone else you love.”
She sniffed. “I have no husband.”
“What?”
“I’m not married.”
He sounded bewildered. “But the celebration I witnessed?”
“I’m not married anymore,” she amended. “I was banished, remember?”
“And just like that your marriage is dissolved, without even a ceremony of divorce?”
“The tribal elders will grant my cousin the right to remarry. He deserves to be happy and have a family.”
After a long pause, he said gently, “You deserve to be happy, too, Sabrina. You know that, don’t you? This was all a mistake, an accident. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
If only she could believe in that conviction with all her heart. Perhaps, then, her misery wouldn’t be so unbearable.
But she couldn’t believe in such a fanciful thing, not for too long anyway. The guilt always came back to rest on her conscience, despite her best attempts to shoo it away.
She had wanted Anthony, longed for him secretly in her heart. She had betrayed her father, and her betrothed, with that will-o’-the-wisp longing. It wasn’t easy to dismiss the blame from herself. Not easy at all.
The carriage came to a teetered halt. It was late. There was no real risk of being seen—not by anyone important—so neither Sabrina nor Anthony took any precautions when stepping down from the carriage. The driver was ordered around the back, and then Sabrina was whisked up the stairs and ushered into the home without a word.
But both the viscount and the gypsy were oblivious to the figure skulking in the shadows just across the street, watching the late arrival of the couple with avid interest.
Chapter 20
“A re you hungry?”
Sabrina shook her head and wrapped her arms around her shoulders. Her gaze wandered until settling on a window at the far end of the room.
“Tired?” Anthony wondered next.
She shook her head again. She didn’t feel much of anything, except for a dull ache in her chest.
Anthony set the oil lamp on a nearby table and proceeded to light a few additional candles around the room, bringing more and more of her lavish surroundings into better view. The more wicks he lit, the more the shine of brass and the glitter of white marble pierced her vision.
Sabrina was right back where the whole ordeal with Anthony had begun—in his bedchamber.
She looked to the large bed, blanketed in blue velvet splendor.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not again.
Anthony approached, his glossy green eyes reflecting the dots of candle flames throughout the room.
He placed his hands on her upper arms and gave a light squeeze. “It will be all right.”
The low, decisive tone of his voice was strangely comforting, despite the vagueness of his words. And the feel of his hands on her, so warm and soothing, made her skin prickle and dance. She realized then her spirit was not as dead as she
had previously believed.
“If you’re not very tired, we should talk about this.” He touched the locket at her neck, his fingers grazing her skin ever so softly.
Her own fingers, trembling slightly in the wake of his tender touch, went around the locket, clasping the cursed piece of gold that had ruined her life.
“Here.” She whisked the locket up over her head and dragged it through her long hair. “Have it.” She dropped the gold into his open palm.
He stared at her for a moment, his green eyes aglow with sympathy, before he brought the locket to his face for a closer inspection, murmuring, “To think, such a little thing could cause so much trouble.” He thoughtfully twirled the gold between his fingers. Then his eyes shifted back to her. “Unlikely as it seems, Gillingham must have lost this locket years ago, then one of his cohorts simply found it around your neck.”
Bad luck! Her life was ruined because of a mere chance encounter. It was enough to make her want to weep again. She didn’t, though. She firmly turned her attention to the locket, wanting to know everything about it. In particular, why it had brought about her demise.
“It’s welded shut,” he observed curiously.
She nodded. “I found it that way. I didn’t want to tarnish the gold by breaking it open. I didn’t think there was anything important inside anyway.”
“Then perhaps it’s time we took a look inside. Do you mind?”
Her words were curt, her voice bitter. “You can melt it for all I care.”
Anthony offered her another compassionate glance before he headed over to his writing desk and shuffled through the drawers. He pulled out a brass letter opener, long and slender with a relatively sharp end. “This will have to do. I don’t think there’s a jeweler open at this late hour.”
He propped the locket on its side and positioned the letter opener between the two clenched faces. Both hands bracing the opener, he pushed down hard.
The locket shot across the room and smacked into the opposite wall with a resounding thwack.
They both flinched at the loud blast in the stone-silent house, then exchanged bewildered glances.
“I think we’ll need a hammer,” he reasoned, and walked across the room to retrieve the locket.
And so the search began for a blunt object in the room. But with everything made from fragile porcelain, or polished wood, or refined brass, or gilded gold, there wasn’t much in the way of a hammer to choose from.
Sabrina finally slipped off one of her boots. “Use the heel.”
He cocked a blond brow at the unanticipated suggestion, then smiled. She suddenly felt as if she had been hammered, the breath knocked from her very lungs. She had forgotten how beautiful the man was when he smiled.
Fortunately, he took the dangling boot from her hand just then and set to work, giving her a much-needed moment to compose herself.
Again he balanced the locket on its side, with the letter opener serving as a chisel, and tapped the heel against the head of the opener.
At the pathetic first strike, she folded her arms under her breasts. “You’ll have to hit it harder than that.”
He cast her a quick, indecisive glance. “I don’t want to damage whatever’s inside.”
“We’ll never know what’s inside if you don’t break it open.”
He appeared to concede on that point. In the next instant, he gave the letter opener a forceful whack. The locket didn’t open, but neither did it sail across the room this time. Another two poundings and Sabrina heard the faint clink of metal snapping.
She shuffled over to stand by Anthony’s side, and looked down at the stained and folded piece of parchment that had spilled out of the locket.
Disappointment swamped her. She wasn’t sure why. What else did she expect to find in such a tiny compartment?
But still, when nothing grand and valuable tumbled out, she felt somewhat desperate at the thought that her life had been ravaged over a mere scrap of paper.
“This better be a treasure map.” It was a terse retort, to offset the sorrow she felt rising and clawing in her throat.
Anthony carefully peeled back the stiff edges of the paper. No treasure map. Just a few garbled characters she had no hope of understanding.
She looked to him in anticipation.
“Well?” she prodded when he still said nothing. “What is it?”
His brows pinned together. “I’m not quite sure.”
“You can read,” she said curtly. “What does it say?”
“It’s an…address.”
“A what?!”
“It’s just an address.”
She gawked at him in disbelief. But she could tell by the expression in his eyes that he was just as baffled by the insignificant discovery as she was.
She whirled around to stalk about the room in quick, agitated strides. Her thoughts were spinning. Her heart was thumping at a mad rate. Grief was welling up in her breast, making it hard for her to breathe.
Everything in her life was gone. Her home, her family, her friends. And for what? A trivial missive?
A set of thick arms folded around her shoulders, squeezing the grief from her bones, bringing her nervous pacing to an end.
She needed something to grab on to, and Anthony’s deep and steady voice was the only semblance of sanity there was in the room.
“It will be all right,” he murmured by her ear.
He had already said that once before. Whether he was making her a promise or just offering consolation, she didn’t know. A part of her didn’t care. Words held little meaning to her at that moment. All she knew for sure was that she didn’t feel quite so alone and hopeless when in Anthony’s arms.
Anthony could hear the bed sheets rustling. He’d been listening to that same faint swooshing sound for the last hour or so. It was obvious neither he nor his gypsy could sleep. And whereas Sabrina tossed restlessly about in bed, he lay still on the sofa, one hand tucked behind his head, the other slung over his naked midriff. He had a foot planted on the cold floor, and another propped up on a small pillow, his bare toes peeking out from the end of his blanket.
It was dark inside the room. Only a pale, misty glow from the kerosene street lamps down below filtered in through the window sheers, casting the furnishings in a ghostly silhouette.
He stared out that dimly glowing window, trying to come up with a reasonable account of why a nefarious scoundrel like Luther Gillingham would bother to undertake the enormous effort of obtaining a tiny piece of gold and a scrap of paper. Even with the mysterious address scribbled on that scrap of paper, it didn’t seem like a very bountiful prize.
But Anthony knew that conclusion was illusive. As poor a treasure as that locket seemed, Gillingham was not the kind of man to waste his time, energy, and money on a venture that was anything less than extraordinarily profitable. And with that indisputable premise in mind, Anthony had the irksome task of trying to decipher just what was written on that scrap of paper. What was really written on it, that is.
The address was unfamiliar to him. It could be a location anywhere in the world. And staring at the paper or reciting the village name over and over again in his head would get him nowhere. To learn what secrets Gillingham wanted so desperately to get ahold of, he would have to come to know Gillingham better. And that meant he would have to return to the Lion’s Gate.
The sound of quiet weeping interrupted Anthony’s thoughts.
He sat up slowly, peering into the misty darkness. He hated to hear her distress. The muffled cries were piercing to his ears and wrenching to his gut.
Without another thought, he tossed his blanket aside and treaded softly toward the bed, crouching beside it.
Sabrina had her back to him. She was trying to muffle her tears by burying her face in his pillow, but he could see her quivering shoulders, and the sight ignited a deep desire within him to wipe away all her grief.
He reached out and grazed her hair, whispering, “Dry your eyes.”
&n
bsp; She stiffened at his touch. “I can’t. The tears won’t stop.”
He didn’t pull his hand away from her cool and silky locks. If his touch was disturbing her, she would have smacked his hand away. And so, he continued to stroke her hair idly. It wasn’t long before he noted the tension fade from her muscles.
“I miss my family.” She sniffed, and slowly turned around to face him.
He settled both knees on the floor and propped his elbows on the mattress. His fingers lazily flicked at the ebony fleece of her hair, strewn across the pillow in a wild, silky wave.
He gazed into her shadowed eyes, so doleful, and thought about his own family and how fortunate he was. Whatever scandal he had instigated in the past, he had never been shunned by his family for it. There was great comfort in that security. A security Sabrina now lacked in her own life.
“I can’t change the past,” he said in a somber voice, “but I can try to make your future a better one.”
It was dark inside the room, but not so dark that he couldn’t see her brow furrow. “How?”
“I’ll buy you a house.”
It was his protective instinct that had prompted him to admit that. He hadn’t really thought too much about what he was going to do with her, now that she had nowhere else to go. His first priority was to her welfare, and with Gillingham still searching for her, her welfare was not yet secure.
But his gypsy had no real fear of Gillingham, he realized. She had never met the man. He was just a name to her. But the predicament of finding herself homeless and alone was very real to her, and he should have addressed that issue sooner.
But the ad hoc solution he’d just come up with seemed to be as reasonable as any. With all the money he possessed, why shouldn’t he give her a new home? She would be safe and he could always look after her.
“You’ll buy me a house?” she said in confusion.
“A little cottage,” he clarified, the idea taking firmer root. “Anywhere in England. It’ll be yours. Always. No one will ever make you leave it. And you’ll be safe. Far away from Gillingham and his prying eyes.”
A Forbidden Love Page 18
