“You can still trust me,” Ashley insisted defiantly. “I did what I thought was best.”
“You made me look like a liar,” he said in a tight voice. “I’d promised Sabrina she would be safe with you and you attacked her the moment I left the room.”
“I would hardly call a prudent caution an attack. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? The whole of London is whispering about your little tryst the night of your sister’s début ball, so my advice to the gypsy obviously went unheeded.”
He stiffened. “I’ll have you know I never bedded Sabrina the night of the ball.”
Too angry with his sister’s perfidy, he hadn’t realized how awkward his assertion sounded, implying he had bedded Sabrina on some other night instead. But, thankfully, Ashley was too wound up to notice his little faux pas.
She pressed on with her complaint. “Oh, what difference does that triviality make? The whole of London thinks you bedded a peasant on the night of the ball. And now we have to salvage this season for Cecelia.”
He sighed again, shelving his anger for the moment. “What do you propose we do?”
“You are to come to Papa’s townhouse tomorrow morning.”
His brow crinkled. “But I thought Cecelia didn’t want me anywhere near it?”
“She doesn’t, but Mama insists.” Ashley headed over to his desk to recover her reticule and parasol. “Mama isn’t about to cause a greater stir by letting everyone think her son has been banished because of his transgression. She wants the rumors squelched, and so she intends to go on with Cecelia’s come-out as scheduled. You’re expected in the West End at ten o’clock sharp.”
Her peremptory tone made it clear the issue was not negotiable, and he mentally cursed that conniving witch of a marchioness for spreading the whole sordid tale of his “transgression” across London. Now he had to do what he could to appease his kin, and see to it that his sister married well, despite the shaky ground on which her début had been launched. Though he was curious. “Just why am I expected in the morning?”
“Cecelia is to be presented at court.”
“Oh, good God,” he groaned and brought his fingers to his temples.
“You’re not wiggling out of this, Anthony,” she said tersely, and touched the curls at her temples to ensure nothing had been disturbed during their heated exchange. “Nor can you avoid the other obligation you’re expected to perform later that very same day.”
“Which is?” he all but growled, dreading to hear what else she was going to stack upon him.
“We are both to escort Cecelia to Vauxhall.”
Bloody hell. A visit to St. James’s Palace and a night out among the ton. He had never had the urge to do a woman harm before, but throttling the conniving Marchioness Livingston was suddenly an appealing thought.
“Fine,” he relented with total ill grace. “I’ll be there.” But where would he tuck Sabrina while he was off gallivanting the whole day? And when would he get the chance to visit with Gillingham and learn more about that cursed locket? He was going to have to do some quick thinking.
Ashley gave him a swift nod of approval and headed for the door. He escorted her to the front entrance.
“I will see you tomorrow, Anthony.” Then, she added sternly, “Don’t be late.”
He let loose an exasperated sigh when his officious sister finally departed. God, that woman was becoming a handful. He hadn’t realized just how much until now.
Anthony headed back for the sanctum of his study, pondering what he was going to do about Sabrina. He couldn’t return to his room and confess the mess he was in without also confessing a handy solution to that mess.
If only he could go to see Gillingham tonight, then tomorrow’s gadding about wouldn’t matter all that much. But what would he do with his gypsy for the few hours that he was gone? Should he inform the butler that he had her concealed in his room? Or should he just give the order that his bedchamber was not to be disturbed for the night? The servants might think the command a little odd, but then again, he was a wealthy bachelor, and they just might conclude his peculiar request was nothing more than the whim of a pampered lord. He could always hope.
Anthony would be able to think with a clearer head if it wasn’t for the blasted incessant whistling in his ears.
He was about to castigate whichever fool servant was making the ungodly racket, when his eyes rounded in surprise at the approaching figure. “Vincent?”
The whistling stopped and his best friend gave him a jovial grin, apparently well recovered from his previous degenerate state. “Ah, there you are, old chum. Missed you these last few days. Where have you been?”
He was incredulous. “Vincent, are you still living here?”
“And where else would I be?”
“Where indeed?” The sarcasm was unmasked. “It’s been three days. Why aren’t you back in your apartment?”
“Well, I couldn’t go home,” he said with resolve. “Not yet anyway.”
“And why ever not?”
“Hadn’t heard from you, old chum.”
Anthony doubted his ears. “I told you I would pay your gambling debt.”
“Yes, and then I never saw you again. How was I supposed to know that everything had gone as planned, and it was safe for me to go home? I wasn’t going to risk my neck again…Besides the food here is so much more delicious than the meager rations I’m accustomed to.”
“Out, Vincent!” he ordered in a perspicuous tone. “Your hide cost me five thousand pounds and is perfectly safe—at least from Gillingham.”
“All right, all right.” The man whirled around and ambled back in the direction he had come from, grumbling all the while, “What has you in a tizzy?”
Anthony studied his comrade’s retreating figure, mulling over the sheer audacity of the man, when the thought suddenly struck him. “Vincent, come back here!”
The flummoxed man spun around again and strolled over to the viscount. “What is it now?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Vincent sighed heavily. “Do make up your mind, old chum.”
Chapter 22
T he viscount prowled his bedchamber in search of his cravat. Sabrina knew that was what he was looking for because he kept muttering about it under his breath.
Apparently, his lordship was accustomed to being dressed, and the task of dressing himself was proving a mite irksome.
Compelled to dismiss the servants from his room, for her sake, he had to do much for himself, and watching him try was rather amusing.
Sabrina didn’t laugh, though. She didn’t even smile. She just sat in the middle of the large bed, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs, and her eyes following the viscount’s every move in merriment.
He was a handsome sight. Tight-fitting trousers, a walnut brown in hue, cupped and caressed his every muscular curve. The bone white of his shirt contrasted with the deep forest green of his waistcoat, bejeweled with shiny gold buttons. Tipped off with high black leather boots, and the dark green coat he had draped over the back of a chair, he would make a fine vision as soon as he was all put together.
She found pleasure in just watching him. She liked being unobserved, free to let her eyes roam over his masculine figure with no worry of reproof for her shameless admiration. Not that Anthony would think her admiration of his body shameless. Certainly not. The man would be honored, thrilled, excited to have her looking at him in such a wondrous way.
But no one else would approve. Not on his side of the family and definitely not on hers. Though she didn’t have to worry anymore about what her people would think. She needn’t concern herself with censure from her father or the tribal elders. Ever again.
Her amusement dwindled as a tight knot slowly formed in her belly.
She was alone.
The wretched truth of her predicament, forgotten for a moment, came back to strike her with stinging intensity. She had no one to care for her anymore. Oh
, sure, Anthony had vowed he wouldn’t abandon her, but she knew better. She had seen the magnificent ladies of his world, adorned with their jewels and gowns. Such splendor would entice any man. And Anthony was no different. Her simple ways and her wild gypsy looks had no hold over him. At least, no lasting hold. He would forget all about her in time. He would stick her in some cottage in the middle of nowhere and leave her there. All alone. And she would feel the pain of that loss greatly, now that she had grown so close to him.
She gulped in a deep breath, blinking back the moisture pooling in her eyes. She had to come to terms with the ghastly truth. There was no one left in her life to guide her. No elders to steer her down the path of her destiny. No father to instruct her in the old ways. No husband to comfort and protect her. No friends to offer her advice and confidence. For the first time, she had to look to herself for all her needs.
“Found it. Blasted nuisance…”
Sabrina glanced over to the mirrored dresser to find Anthony, elusive cravat in hand, muttering and fastening the scrap of cloth around his neck.
It was dark outside. Soon he would be off to the Lion’s Gate. She’d been told that was the name of Gillingham’s club, though what Anthony intended to do once he arrived at the club was still a mystery to her. And she intended to solve it before he set foot out of doors.
She eased off the bed and approached him from behind, her eyes meeting his in the reflection of the mirror. “What do you plan to do at the club?”
Still fumbling with his cravat, he returned, “I plan to learn all that I can about Gillingham.”
“How? He isn’t likely to tell you about himself.”
“True. Which is why I don’t intend to ask him.”
Her brow furrowed. “So who will you ask?”
“Emma Kingsley.”
Sabrina had no idea who the woman was, but just the mention of her name had her palms fisting. “And who is Emma Kingsley?”
He gave the cravat a few finishing tweaks. “One of the doxies working at the Lion’s Gate.”
“The same doxy you visited before?”
Smoldering green eyes narrowed on her. She regretted her harsh tone the moment she saw the dark look in his eyes.
“Is that a streak of jealousy I hear in your voice, my dear?”
Yes!
“No,” she bit out mulishly.
A blond brow arched. “Really?” He turned around to face her. Those brilliant green eyes seemed to dance with laughter. “I had hoped it was jealousy.”
Since he was taking a step toward her, Sabrina thought it wise if she took one back. And to keep from dwelling on the giddy panic storming her breast, she demanded, “Why ever for?”
“If you were jealous, then I’d know you care for me.”
Her back bumped into one of the bedposts, and she looked up at the towering figure of masculine energy, undaunted. “Why would it matter to you if I cared?”
Her question seemed to give him pause. A spark of indecision flashed through his mesmeric green eyes before a faint and roguish smile touched his beautiful lips. “It’d just be nice to know.”
He brushed a knuckle softly across her cheek and she shivered at his touch.
“I’m not jealous,” she insisted then, belatedly and a little breathlessly. Heavens, the man was stunning under lamplight, glowing like a faerie king surrounded by sparkling faerie dust. “I’m upset,” she went on to clarify. “While you’re hopping into Emma’s bed again, I’ll be all alone—”
His voice was low and a little rough, making her shiver, as he cut in, “I never hopped into Emma’s bed the first time I met her.”
“So how did you find out about the locket she wears?”
Like a magical spell, he entranced her to the spot with his heated gaze. His knuckle strayed to her neck, stroking softly, sending more shivers of tickled delight throughout her weakening limbs.
“I only saw Emma wearing the locket,” he drawled, his lips so close to hers, she could feel his warm breath bathing her skin.
“Then what were you doing in Gillingham’s club if not chasing after skirts?”
He chuckled softly, his voice thick. “I don’t spend all my time chasing after skirts.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
She gasped at the hot feel of his palm cupping her breast, his splayed fingers kneading the supple flesh.
He murmured roughly, with false injury in his tone, “It’s rather unjust to have such an undeserving reputation.”
Undeserving indeed! But the feelings brewing inside her overshadowed her cynicism just then.
Gripping his face in her hands, she guided him down to her lips, opening her mouth to the aggressive thrust of his tongue.
It was a hard, steamy kiss. And with Anthony grinding against the front of her, and the wooden bedpost digging into the back of her, she was being rubbed and stroked and caressed into a dizzying frenzy.
An abrupt knock at the door.
She gasped. Anthony plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth before he broke away from the kiss with a growled oath.
She clutched the bedpost for support, dazed. Heavens, would she ever get used to the man’s kisses?
A smoky pair of deep green eyes raked over her from head to toe. After a brief, piercing survey of her figure, he sauntered over to the door and opened it.
“For once, Vincent, I wish you’d arrived late.”
At Anthony’s curt words, Sabrina’s gaze flitted to the clock to see that it was half past seven. Just who was Anthony expecting?
“What the devil is wrong with you, old chum? First you mysteriously summon me to your room, then you go into a dander when I arrive. You’ve been acting rather…”
The man’s scowl morphed into a lazy smile as soon as he spotted the third occupant in the room.
“Well, hello there.” Vincent swept an assessing eye over a thoroughly flustered Sabrina. “No wonder you’ve been so distracted, old chum. Been hiding a ladybird—”
A sound punch to the shoulder diverted Vincent’s attention. He grabbed his arm, massaging the muscle, glaring back at Anthony. “Haven’t I suffered enough bruises at your hands?”
“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.
A Forbidden Love Page 21
