“That scoundrel also fell asleep and allowed this whole blasted—”
Anthony looked away from her again, but this time she grabbed him by the arm and pulled him back in her direction. “He allowed what? This whole blasted tragedy to occur?”
It was a twisting blow to her gut, hearing the truth, from her own lips no less, of what she had suspected—and dreaded—all along. Anthony did regret marrying her. He did regret ever having saved her life and forsaken his own.
She let go of his arm, trembling, fighting against the suffocating urge to surrender to her grief. There was no hope for them if he loathed her. There was no hope for them if he regretted the day he had rescued her from Bedlam.
“Don’t be angry with Vincent because you find yourself wedded to me,” she said, voice cracking. “Be angry with yourself instead. If you didn’t want to make the sacrifice, you should have left me in that dungeon to die. Then we would both be free of this hell.”
And before her knees gave way under the pressure of her splintering heart, she walked out of the room.
Anthony sat alone in the darkened study. Save for the occasional spat of lightning and the low burning embers of the fire, there was little to distract him from the haunting words of his wife.
If you didn’t want to make the sacrifice…
He’d certainly wanted to make a sacrifice. His bachelorhood for Sabrina’s life had seemed a paltry forfeit. Exile from his family was a much greater price to pay.
He reached for the cough syrup, drinking the last of the soothing liquid. His parched throat coated, he was feeling much better. And that had him thinking about how much better he had felt, in body and soul alike, since the day he had met Sabrina. She had changed his life, made him realize he could be more than just a rogue. She made him want things he had never wanted before, like a family of his own.
Anthony burrowed into his pocket, withdrawing a knotted cluster of vines. He fingered the charm, given to him with love. He thought of a pair of stormy blue eyes, of a gentle hand reaching out for him in trust and hope. And then he thought of an existence apart from those blue eyes and tender touch, and he realized it would be true hell, a life without Sabrina.
A peace settled over him. A kind of acceptance. He had his gypsy. Without her, there was nothing. No joy. No hope for the future. And as much as it hurt to lose his kin, it was unfair of him to take his grief and frustration out on her. She had lost her family, too. She understood better than anyone what he was feeling. And she was the only one who could take away his loneliness.
You still have me, echoed her words in his mind.
But he had to wonder about that now. After the abysmal way he had just treated his wife, he wasn’t so sure she would be willing to forgive him.
Chapter 31
D awn broke. Pale blue light streamed in through the unmasked window, rousing Sabrina from a deep and troubled sleep.
She had dreamed of Anthony last night, that he had come to her room and kissed her softly on the cheek. The wonderful, loving gesture had warmed her to the very depth of her soul. And she wished with all her heart it had not been a dream.
Opening her eyes, she gazed out the window toward the breaking dawn…but a gnarled cluster of vines obscured much of her view.
Sabrina squinted at the knotted bundle, the very same charm she had once left on Anthony’s pillow.
Her heart pattered. So Anthony had had it all along. But why give it back to her?
Wait! If Anthony had snuck into her room to give her the charm, then that tender kiss…might not have been a dream.
A mixture of hope and dread tangled up in her belly. Hope for a future not lost after all. And dread that her newfound hope might be dashed yet again. Anthony had given her the vines. But what did it mean? To him anyway. He knew not the tale of the faeries. Not really. He knew the faeries had tied the knots, but he didn’t know why. He didn’t know it was a love charm.
Perhaps he just wanted to return it to her, to do away with any memory of her…Or perhaps he was trying to tell her something? Something more promising?
The cluster in hand, Sabrina rolled off the bed and sprinted for the door. Dressed in the same clothes she had worn the previous day, she didn’t pause to change or even comb through her tousled locks. Instead, she headed straight for the stairs and clamored down the wooden steps.
Hailing the housekeeper, eager to know where Anthony had gone, she was informed the master was out in the garden.
But the blasted manor had one too many passages, and it took Sabrina a few minutes to wander through the unfamiliar causeways before she finally located one of the doors leading out to the estate.
Once on the green, her heart was in her throat. She scurried around the exterior of the house, scanning the property for a sign of her husband.
It didn’t take her very long to spot the lone figure perched on a boulder near a cluster of young trees. Anthony leafed through a small book nestled in the palms of his hands, oblivious to her company.
Eyes longingly fixed to the man she loved with every thread of her soul, Sabrina remained rooted to the spot. It squeezed her heart, pinched her lungs, the yearning to be with her husband, to share in a wonderful life with him. She thought she had lost all chance of such a fate, but now…
She took in a deep breath. Don’t be foolish, she chastised herself. Don’t expect all your dreams to come true. One night it appeared Anthony had loved her, the next night it appeared he had not. Now he loved her again? It was best she guard her heart for a time, until she discovered exactly what Anthony had meant by leaving her the charm.
Her heartbeats savage, she gripped the vines, each step hesitant as she approached Anthony from behind.
The soft rustle of grass distracted the viscount from his reading, and he raised his head, a thoughtful reflection in his glistening green eyes. He set the book aside.
Sabrina paused a short distance away from him, her body thrumming in expectation, and unfurled her palm to reveal the cluster of vines. “What does this mean?”
“It’s a charm,” he said, a soft timbre to his voice. “You place it on the pillow of the one you love so she will never forget you.”
Her heart missed a beat. He knew its meaning. But how? And what did he mean by love? She realized she couldn’t blindly accept his words. After all, last night she was the cause of all his pain. She was nothing more than a burden. And today everything had changed?
She didn’t want to risk being hurt again. She didn’t want to release the joy pounding on her chest. A second devastation would be too much to bear.
Anthony took advantage of her stunned silence to hastily snatch her into his arms and pull her between his parted legs. His sinewy thighs locked around her hips, holding her flush against him.
“I love you, Sabrina.” It was a gruff whisper, prickling her skin and making her shiver. “Don’t ever think I regret taking you for my wife. My life without you would be barren.”
She could feel her heart throbbing, demanding she accept his words as truth. Delving deep into his lucid eyes, she searched for clarity, for truth…and she found it, gazing back at her candidly, lovingly.
That once so unlikely light of hope inched back into her heart, the oppressive darkness that had settled in its place retreating.
But the joy spilling through her was tapered by her next thought. “And your family?”
Warm palms cupped her cheeks. “I will learn to live apart from them. But I could never learn to live without you.”
The heartfelt pledge possessed the power to heal all the wounds in her soul. Warmth spread through her, tickled her, doused her in a glorious blanket of comfort and peace and joy. Such joy she had never felt in all her years. She wanted to dance and laugh and shout.
She kissed him instead. Took his lips in hers with a possessive instinct that left them both breathless when it was over.
“And I love you, Anthony.”
He hugged her tight. “I know.”
&
nbsp; “The charm!” She suddenly remembered. “How did you know its meaning?”
“On the night you were abducted I met a gypsy in the street, an old peddler woman with a sack of talismans and a trove of wisdom.”
An image came to mind, of a hobbling figure making her way through the deserted streets of London. It was that lonely fate Sabrina had wanted so desperately to avoid. And now, looking into her husband’s soulful eyes, she knew such a fate would never befall her; she knew she had found her true home.
After a brief pause, Anthony went on to admit, “I wrote a letter to Vincent this morning.”
More surprises. “You did?”
“I invited him up for a visit, once we’ve settled in, and all.”
Her lips brushed his in a gentle kiss. “What else have you been doing this morning?”
“Reading this.” He picked up the book and spun her around, so her back was pressed snugly against his chest. Perching his chin on her shoulder, he read, “‘Sonnet to a Lady Seen for a Few Moments at Vauxhall.’”
“A poem?”
“About a temptress seen for an instant under the twinkling lights of Vauxhall. I’m going to take you to the gardens one day, and dance with you under the dappled lights and starry sky.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s a magical place and I want you to see it. I’ve dreamed of us dancing in the garden for some time now, wrapped in each other’s arms, lost to the music and the stars and our hearts.”
She took in a shuddering breath, so overcome with serenity and bliss. Twisting around in his embrace, she gave him a tender smile. “Then you’ll have to teach me a gajo dance.”
He smiled back, the same mesmerizing smile he had showered her with since the day they’d first met. “If you promise to teach me how to mix that cough syrup.”
“Of course, I will.” And she kissed his throat for good measure. “Feeling better?”
“In more ways than one. I feel like a man who has found his place in the world at last.” His brow came to nuzzle her cheek. “Loving you, loving our future children, this is where I belong.”
She sighed at his whispered words, so sultry and truthful. And she knew whatever happened in the future, however much she changed to adapt to her new life, one thing would remain forever constant—her adoring love for one unforgettable rogue.
Epilogue
T he steed hopped the low wooden fence without hesitation. Hooves pounded over crisp fallen snow as an eager rider made his way across the wintry glen.
I’m late, he thought. She’s going to kill me.
He would have stayed home that day had it not been for the summons of his tenants, concerned with the structure of the bridge at the far end of the property. Anthony had gone that morning to inspect the bridge, the only link between the tenant farmers and the local village, to find it was indeed damaged. Heavy snowfall and ice had weakened the structural supports, and if not attended to soon, the bridge was bound to collapse. A foreman had to be summoned in the morning.
It was near luncheon when he’d set out for the manor, plenty of time remaining before the ceremony was scheduled to begin. And he would have arrived in time had the wails of a lost and trapped sheep not interrupted his journey home. It had taken nigh an hour, with the help of one very distressed shepherd, to hoist the snared animal from the pit it had tumbled into.
Now he was late, and bounding for the manor house—or more precisely, the little church structure nestled at the rear of the house.
A few minutes later, the steed came to a skidded halt just yards away from the sacred entrance. Dismounting, Anthony hastened inside the holy dwelling, sweating and smelling of sheep fleece. A true country bumpkin, as his father would say. Not that he minded anymore. The title suited him just fine.
Sabrina was pacing in front of the altar. She glanced up at him with a disapproving glare, then wrinkled her nose as he approached. He offered her a contrite smile and a quick peck on the cheek before turning his attention to Vincent, who looked ready to faint from the strain of two wiggling infants in his arms.
“’Bout bloody time,” he heard his best friend whisper.
“May we begin?” the rector wondered.
“Yes, of course,” returned Anthony, and took his place next to his wife.
Vincent turned to face the altar, the rector lifted his spectacles to his nose, and soon the ceremony was underway.
When at last the blessed water hit the scalp of the first gurgling infant, a loud wail of protest ripped through the hushed surroundings. But when the water hit the scalp of the second infant, all Anthony heard was a soft yawn.
And so, with little fanfare, Edan and Gabriel respectively were christened into the Kennington family, the twin boys, no doubt, to be a joy, and perhaps a bit of a handful, to their parents.
But only time would tell.
About the Author
ALEXANDRA BENEDICT has been writing stories ever since she was a little girl. She spent many childhood summers in Europe visiting family—and old castles, of course. The crumbling, vine-infested ruins helped fuel her imagination and her love of history. After taking a creative writing course in high school, she rediscovered her passion for storytelling and set to work on her writing career. A graduate of the University of Toronto with a B.A. in History, Alexandra enjoys collecting art and reading classic British literature. To learn more about her writing, please visit www.alexandrabenedict.ca.
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Copyright
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A FORBIDDEN LOVE. Copyright © 2006 by Alexandra Benedikt. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
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