“I told you, I don’t have the locket,” she grit through teeth and tears alike, gathering her crumpled wool skirt tight between her fingers.
He leaned in just a smidgen to whisper, “The trouble is, I don’t believe you.” Then rocked back on his heels. “Now, how to nudge your memory? Let me see. A fortnight in dark isolation might help you to remember the locket’s location. But unfortunately, I can’t wait a fortnight. So that leaves me with a rather grisly alternative.”
Sabrina’s muscles, pinched taut in apprehension, jerked wildly at the sound of the sudden shrill scream that ripped through the building.
Gillingham only grinned. “That must be Lizzy. Perhaps it’s time we find her a replacement? I think you’ll do very nicely.”
Fresh, briny tears soaked her flushed cheeks. “W-what will you do with me?”
“Well, you see, very beautiful women like yourself, who happen to find themselves locked away in here, will occasionally find themselves chained to a wall, where respectable gentlemen—who pay a small fee of course—are free to make merry havoc with their bodies.”
Sabrina gulped back a sob. She suddenly wanted to howl like all the other miserable souls trapped in hell.
But she kept her trembling lips pressed together. She wouldn’t give Gillingham the sadistic pleasure of witnessing her fear. And to stop from shrieking, she bit the inside of her cheek hard, the warm blood seeping through the corner of her mouth.
“Why don’t I give you some time to think about my proposition?” suggested the fiend, rising to his feet, lantern in hand. “And I advise you to think carefully on the matter. A quick death is so much more appealing than torture. You have until dawn to decide.”
The boom of the closing door was like a death knoll.
A choice? It was the last thing she had. For torture or no, she would never endanger Anthony’s life. That was final and absolute.
And so, the sorrow she had tried to hold back from Gillingham’s eyes now came rushing forth in a torrent of silent sobs, which only she heard and in which only she drowned.
Chapter 27
A nthony found the door to his bedroom unlocked.
He paused in the corridor for a moment, glancing down both ends to find it deserted, before he entered the chamber.
His eyes went straight to the bed. It was the first place he always looked for Sabrina when he entered the room. He liked the thought of her curled under the covers of his bed, waiting for him to return, ready to welcome him into her outstretched arms. And he had great need of her arms tonight. The jaunt to Vauxhall, usually a mediocre event, had been trying and downright lonely. Masses had bustled all around him, and yet he had felt so isolated. Such a solitary condition had never affected him before. He didn’t like the feel of it. And there was only one soul he could think of to banish the disturbing sensation.
But where was she?
His eyes suddenly narrowed on a tiny obstruction. There laid out on his pillow was a cluster of knotted vines. The very same cluster of vines he had once seen Sabrina grapple for with a bush.
He walked over to the bedside and picked up the gnarled twigs, caressing the charm in his palm, pondering its meaning. And it must have a significant meaning for her to have left it over his pillow in plain sight like that. But what was she trying to tell him?
Better yet, where was she?
“Sabrina?”
Anthony scanned the room, his gaze glazing over a snoring Vincent sprawled out on the sofa.
Pocketing the vines, he headed for the privy and knocked on the door, calling for Sabrina again, but he received no response. He opened the door to find the privy empty.
Heart beating a bit faster in his breast, Anthony went around the room, stalked across it was more like it, and looked behind the curtains, in the armoire, and even under the bed.
No Sabrina.
“What the devil!?” A sound blow to the shoulder stirred a somnolent Vincent to life, who, after rubbing at his eyes, looked up to find a brooding Anthony hovering above him. “Sorry about that, old chum.” Vincent gave a gaping yawn, the air filling with the scent of brandy. “Seems I fell asleep.”
“Where is she, Vincent?”
Still somewhat drowsy, Vincent made the unfortunate mistake of remarking, “Who?”
But the two gripping hands at his collar, pinching his airway, quickly roused him from his lethargy. “Oh, Sabrina. She’s fine. She’s right here.” But when he caught sight of the empty room, he amended, flustered, “I-I swear she was here when I fell asleep.”
“And when did you fall asleep?” demanded Anthony, a dark glow smoldering in his gem-green eyes.
“It was just after nine o’clock.”
Anthony glanced at the clock. Half past eleven. He released Vincent and marched over to his writing desk, yanking open the top drawer and rummaging through the sheaf of papers. The twinkle of gold ended his search. It was still there, the locket. So no one had come in search of it.
Anthony grabbed the locket from its hiding place, stuffing it into his inner breast pocket. He turned next to examine the door. There was no sign of a forced entry. Had someone tried to break down the door, surely even a sluggard like Vincent would have heard all the commotion.
It appeared as though the door had been opened from the inside. And that meant Sabrina had willingly unlocked it. He was certain she would never have opened the door for one of his servants, so that left him with only one other possibility to consider—Sabrina had left him.
Anthony didn’t bother to change out of his formal evening wear. He only moved over to the dressing table to divest himself of his hat and gloves. He was heading out to look for his gypsy. He wasn’t going to abandon her to the streets of London. Not with Gillingham still out there searching for her.
Bloody hell! What was the girl thinking to have run off like that? Surely she still wasn’t afraid for her future? Had he not promised to take care of her? Didn’t she trust him yet?
London was such a treacherous place for someone so inexperienced. She knew nothing of the sectors to avoid or which folks to sidestep. How would she survive? Did she even have any money with her?
Impatience was taking root in his gut. Eager to begin his search for Sabrina, Anthony didn’t even think of arming himself. He only strode toward the doorway.
Vincent called after him, expressing his grief and regret, asking if Anthony needed any assistance, but Anthony said not a word in reply. He was too furious with Vincent to exchange any more words. And forgiving his best friend—his former best friend—would all depend on what condition he found Sabrina in, for it was not a question of if he would find her, but when.
Anthony paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced around the front foyer. The grandfather clock tucked against the opposite wall caught his eye. He walked over to it and removed the locket from his coat before placing it in the belly of the clock. He wanted to be sure the locket was safe. If Sabrina’s disappearance had something to do with the locket, he would need the jewelry to get her back.
The night air was crisp. Smoke and soot clogged much of Anthony’s view of the sky. Only a few stars, the very brightest in the heavens, poked through the London smog.
Anthony was on foot, having decided a carriage would roll by too quickly for him to get a good look down every alley and enclave. But he couldn’t decide in which direction to go first.
He glanced to the skyline at his left. Nothing but tall buildings with dots of light peeking through draped windows. He looked over to his right and saw the exact same thing. And then something struck him. An odd and strangely familiar sensation. That he had done this all before. That somehow, he had stood on his front stoop and gazed out into the dark beyond in search of Sabrina.
His dream!
The memory came back to him. He had dreamed of this moment back in the country, the night of the storm…the night he had kissed Sabrina for the very first time.
He remembered that kiss now. The warmth, the desire, th
e peace he had felt when he’d touched his lips to hers. It had been utter bliss to feel her in his arms after such a disturbing dream. A dream in which he’d searched through the darkness for her and wasn’t able to find her.
But it was only a dream, he reminded himself. This time he would find Sabrina and he would not let her go again. She would be with him forever. He’d see to it. If he had to buy her a house in London, so be it. But never again would he wonder where she was or if she was safe. Never again would he feel this pang of abandonment, as though someone had just snatched away his soul and hidden it far, far away, where he could never find it.
Anthony retrieved the knot of vines from his pocket and fingered the charm. With a brief prayer, he set out toward the north.
But he didn’t get very far. He caught sight of a shadowy figure shuffling about in the servant alleyway next to his house.
Thinking it a member of his staff, but not quite sure of it, Anthony called out to the figure to identify itself. When there was no immediate response, his impatience prompted him to demanded a reply or he would summon the authorities.
The threat seemed to do the trick. The shadow stirred, hobbling toward him, and Anthony soon realized it was not one of his servants.
An old gypsy peddler woman emerged from the darkness, leaning on her crooked cane for support.
“I was only lookin’ for somewhere to sleep,” she huffed. “No need to holler at me. I’m goin’ on my way.”
For a moment, Anthony said nothing, looking after the decrepit creature with a mixture of guilt and remorse. But then the thought struck him.
“Wait.” He came round to block her path and held out the charm in his hand. “Do you know what this is?”
The old woman squinted at the knotted cluster. “Perhaps I do.”
“Will you tell me its meaning?”
“Perhaps I will.”
His sigh was swift and exasperating. Anthony dug into his pockets and removed all the blunt he had, stuffing it into her eager hands.
“Now will you tell me?” he all but pleaded.
First, she tucked away the coins, then her gnarled fingers went to examine the crisscrossing vines. “Where did you find it?”
“On my pillow.”
“Ah, a powerful gypsy love charm.”
Anthony’s heart bounced at the word. “Love?” He felt as if someone had just punched him in the gut. No, that wasn’t true. He felt as if someone had just plowed a horse into his gut.
“Hmm.” She nodded, still studying the twisting vines. “Very rare to find a charm the faeries have tied. You place this on the pillow of the one you love so he or she will never forget you.”
Slowly, Anthony recovered the charm from the old woman’s grasp. “Thank you,” he murmured, and turned to walk away, his soul in turmoil.
“Do you want more charms?” her voice croaked after him. He stopped and looked back at her. “I have lots of charms.” And she proceeded to open her sack and riffle through the articles within.
Anthony could hear metal clanking and wood knocking, and he put his hand up in the air to disabuse her. “No, thank you. It’s not the charm that I want, but the one who gave it to me.”
“But my charms are better than hers. Look here. This will bring you luck.” She held up a horseshoe. “And this will protect you from the evil eye.” She pulled out a polished stone.
“Her?” said Anthony, taking a step toward the old woman. “Do you know the gypsy who gave me this charm?”
“No, no. Look at this.” She shoved a rabbit’s foot in his face. “This will bring you—”
“Please,” he interrupted her sales pitch, his request earnest. “Can you tell me where she is?”
“Don’t know where she is. But I can make you any charm that you need.”
“I told you, it’s not the charm that I want, it’s the woman.”
She sighed, disenchanted, and stuffed her charms and talismans back into her leather sack, moving on. “She’s gone.”
Anthony fell in step beside her. “Where?”
“She left with three men. In a carriage.” Her crooked finger pointed down the street. “That way.”
Anthony allowed the old gypsy peddler woman to pass him. He stared down the deserted and misty street after her.
The direction of “that way” wasn’t very specific, but the mention of “three men” told him exactly where he needed to look for Sabrina.
The fury in his belly wreaked havoc on his innards. Anthony let the rage consume him, let it twist and worm its way into every pocket of his soul, for if he did not, fear would surely take its place.
Sabrina had not just found herself in trouble, she had found herself in the hands of Gillingham. And what that man could do to her…
Spinning on his heels, Anthony bounded up the steps to his home, bellowing for his horse to be saddled.
The door to the Lion’s Gate opened without delay.
Anthony was expected.
Waiting for him were two hefty blokes, who escorted him down the corridor and into Gillingham’s office.
Once inside the dimly lit room, Anthony searched the shadows for Sabrina. But there sat only a scoundrel, hunched over a desk, shuffling through a stack of papers.
“Have a seat, Lord Hastings.”
Anthony didn’t budge, too furious to acquiesce. Two burly hands had to cup his shoulders and push him down into the chair. It was only then that Luther Gillingham abandoned his papers to observe his guest.
“Where is she?” demanded Anthony.
“Where she belongs.”
He bristled at the cool reply. “And what does that mean?”
“It means she belongs to me now, and I will decide her fate.”
Not bloody likely, thought Anthony. Without the locket, Gillingham wouldn’t be making any decision regarding Sabrina’s fate. He would. “You will give her back to me.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because I have the locket.”
Gillingham’s eyes darkened. “Yes, the locket. My locket. I wonder how it found its way into the hands of a lord and a gypsy.”
“Coincidence.”
“Coincidence indeed.” The fiend leaned back in his chair, fingers lacing over his midriff. “I assume it was you who attacked my men in the woods a fortnight ago, thwarting their efforts to capture the gypsy? And I know you’ve been hiding her here in London.”
“What do you mean you know…” His words trailed to a stop. This was no mere mishap. Sabrina hadn’t just stumbled upon Gillingham and his men. The scoundrel had been watching them for some time now. She had never really been safe.
Anthony gnashed his teeth. “You have very keen eyes.”
“And yet the locket still eludes me.”
“Then I propose a trade.”
“A trade?” echoed Gillingham, with true interest or mockery Anthony wasn’t sure. Either way, the exchange was going to happen, for bravado or not, Gillingham wanted the locket as much as Anthony wanted the gypsy. And neither was going to get what the other wanted without cooperation.
“The gypsy for the locket,” said Anthony, studying the unflappable scoundrel, searching for any hint of a reaction. But the man remained as stoic as ever.
“I reject such a trade.”
Anthony gave him a look of genuine disbelief. “Then how do you intend to get the locket back?”
“You’re going to give it to me, of course.”
“Not until you give me Sabrina.”
“Is that her name?” Gillingham waved a dismissive hand. “It doesn’t matter. I have something of greater value than that filthy gypsy’s life. Something I’m sure you’ll want to have.”
Those words, filthy gypsy, uttered in contempt, made Anthony cringe inwardly. Is this what Sabrina had confronted her entire life? Disparaging insults? Threats to her safety? Did she ever have any peace?
Perhaps. With her family. Is it a wonder she grieved so boundlessly at their loss? And then he had come
along, promising to stick her in some isolated cottage, denying her, and any child she might bear, protection from such vile abuse. The protection she deserved. The protection he had once so earnestly wanted to give her. And when his chance to offer her that protection had come, he succumbed to the unjust morals of the ton, discarding fatherhood and the woman he cared for.
It was a shameful realization.
“I want nothing from you but Sabrina,” said Anthony.
“What about your family honor?”
He paused to consider the man for a moment. “And what does my family’s honor have to do with this?”
“Well, the Kennington name will be tarnished once you are condemned for high treason.”
“Treason! Are you mad?”
Fidgeting with the emerald ring on his finger, Gillingham returned confidently, “If you refuse to surrender the locket, you will be committing treason.”
“Ridiculous.”
“I warn you, Lord Hastings, I have the authority to do as I will. If you want your family free from persecution, you will give me the locket.”
“Horse shit. Now give me the gypsy.”
The cold façade crumbled. Gillingham slammed his fists against his desk top, knocking away a number of his papers, all fluttering to the floor in disarray. “I refuse to believe you give a tinker’s damn for that vagrant!”
“I don’t give a rat’s bloody arse what you believe,” was the curt reply. “I want the girl.”
“The girl must die.”
“Why?” challenged Anthony, as a sickening vision invaded his thoughts; an image of Sabrina’s lifeless body floating down some watery channel, and him fishing her from the channel, cradling her limp limbs in his arms, howling at his loss. He quickly dismissed the disturbing thought.
The scoundrel stood in frustration, paced before his desk, then paused to demanded: “Do you think I would risk this nation’s security for a gypsy’s meager life?”
“Don’t be absurd.” Anthony rejected the suggestion at once. “Sabrina cannot jeopardize Britain’s security.”
Cupping the edge of the desk, Gillingham leaned forward. “She knows what is inside the locket, doesn’t she?”
A Forbidden Love Page 26
