A Forbidden Love Page 4

  The gaji, as of yet, had not demanded she leave her brother’s bed, and little by little, Sabrina’s heartbeats returned to a somewhat steady pace.

  “Now for the salt.” Ashley tended to the last ingredient before handing her brother the spoon. “Stir until the salt dissolves.”

  And so Anthony swooshed around the bowl, as Ashley resealed all the bottles, and Sabrina closed her drowsy lids, abandoning the siblings to prepare their mysterious concoction at their leisure.

  Chapter 4

  W ith a furtive glance, Ashley captured sight of the dozing gypsy, then looked back to her brother, whispering grimly, “You couldn’t avoid causing a scandal this one time?”

  He raised a brow. “Did you expect me to leave her in the woods?”

  “Well, of course not.” She lightly smacked his arm. “But the ball is in two days, the house is already in a state of uproar, and if our parents were to learn that a gypsy was now sleeping in their son’s bed, heads would roll, yours and mine among them.”

  “Be easy, Ash. No one is going to lose their head.”

  “Why did you bring her here?” she insisted in quiet reproof. “Why not take her to the local physician instead?”

  “I have a duty to take care of the girl and keep her assailants at bay.”

  “But to hide her in your room?”

  “Where else was I to put her? The spare rooms will be occupied by guests on the night of the ball. Besides, no one is going to barge into my chamber without my permission. She is safe in here with me.”

  He glanced up at the sound of her huff and connected with her glare.

  “Safe?” echoed Ashley. “With you?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Really, Anthony, do you expect me to believe mere duty brought about this carte-blanche arrangement? That you had no other motive in bringing a beautiful girl to your bed?”

  Up went another startled brow. The allure of a fair lady may be his Achilles heel, but to suggest he’d machinate this entire rescue just to seduce his vulnerable gypsy was a blow even to a man as jaded as Anthony. “You think me such a scoundrel?”

  “I know you such a scoundrel,” she corrected tersely. “Do you suppose I ignore all the accusations I hear from irate fathers and brothers and husbands and—”

  “No need to continue,” he quickly cut in before a tirade ensued. “I get the point, Ash. My reputation is deplorable.”

  “Then you understand my distress,” she went on. “There is Cecelia’s happiness to consider, and I intend to make sure her début is a smashing success.”

  “It will be a smashing success. Do you honestly think I would devastate my own sister’s evening by announcing I have a gypsy in my bed?”

  “I don’t know what you intend,” she grumbled warily.

  “Really, Ash, I thought you would be more supportive of my efforts, always dictating I need more responsibility, and all.”

  “Hiding a nude woman in your bed is hardly the kind of responsibility I had in mind.”

  Indeed. Anthony knew perfectly well it was the responsibility of a husband his sister was referring to. And to counteract that dampening thought, he turned to a more wicked one, imagining himself caressing his nude gypsy in soothing ministrations. Now there was a responsibility he would greatly enjoy.

  Ashley gave a short, fretful sigh. “How are you going to manage as caretaker?”

  “With your help, of course.”

  “Of course,” she returned dryly.

  “Come now, Ash. Don’t despair. The house is in a state of chaos, remember? No one will suspect anything out of the ordinary.”

  Ashley appeared to concede on those grounds, but was quick to point out, “And while we dine below, who will stand watch over the girl?”

  “I simply won’t leave my room. A few missed meals won’t generate much attention, not with pandemonium already reigning throughout the house.”

  “And on the night of the ball?”

  He paused to look over his shoulder at the slumbering gypsy. “Perhaps a few days of rest will restore her strength and mend her injury. She may yet be well enough to leave before the ball begins.”

  “And if she is not?”

  “I will find a solution to that predicament should it arise.” He glanced back at his troubled twin to underline, “But the girl isn’t leaving until she has recovered.”

  There was a brevity of silence in which Ashley absently aligned the bottles on the desk.

  “Anthony, if those men labeled her a criminal I don’t see why you dismissed their claim so effortlessly. What evidence do you have of her innocence?”

  “What evidence do I have of her guilt?”

  “That isn’t sufficient reason to conceal a possible offender.”

  He sighed heavily at that point. “I doubt very much she is the offender. Those men weren’t seeking justice when they attacked an unarmed woman.”

  “Perhaps they were.” Ashley glanced over to the bed. “For a poor gypsy, she wears a rather well-crafted gold locket.”

  Anthony paused his mixing to peer over his shoulder. Resting on the small table next to the bed was the gold ornament Ashley was referring to. “Then perhaps the girl is not so very poor after all. I’m not going to assume she has stolen the locket simply because you believe the piece is beyond her means.”

  “Why? Because you don’t like to think poorly of a handsome woman?”

  “No, because I refuse to believe those men would risk life and limb by fighting me for a mere trinket of a locket.”

  Her doubtful eyes lifted to connect with her brother’s. “I do hope you know what you’re doing, Anthony.”

  “I always do.” An unladylike snort came his way, and he offered her a reassuring smile before setting the spoon back on the desk. “The salt has dissolved.”

  Peeking into the bowl to confirm her sibling’s assessment, Ashley then took the scrap of linen and dipped it into the saline wash, wringing the excess liquid.

  “I have another favor to ask of you,” he began tentatively.

  She quirked a questioning golden brow.

  “Will you go below to prepare our patient a meal?”

  Her shoulders slumped forward in dismay. “Do you really think you should be alone with the girl?”

  “I don’t believe my life is in any peril.”

  “I mean, it’s improper for you to be tending to a woman not your wife,” she qualified, somewhat annoyed.

  “There is nothing improper about setting a compress over her brow. Now will you fetch her some food? She’s likely to be famished after all this time.”

  Ashley’s verdant green eyes darted between the patient and her brother, all the while mulling over the request. At last she sighed. “Oh, very well.” Dropping the cloth into the basin, she headed for the door. “I’ll be back soon.” Then more sternly: “Behave yourself, Anthony.”

  He shook his head at his sister’s monition. Honestly, did she expect him to act any other way?

  Gathering the bowl, he treaded quietly toward the sleeping nymph. She looked so peaceful, he reflected, taking steady, even breaths, her eyes closed, the thick fringes of midnight-black lashes fluttering on occasion.

  He placed the tonic on the nightstand, then proceeded to lock the door to stave off any unwelcome visitors. Back by his gypsy’s side, he studied her for a long while. She seemed so vulnerable, adrift amidst the layers of blankets, dwarfed by the four-poster bed and looming canopy above. This wasn’t to say she was petite—she was actually much taller and more firmly built than most of the delicate flowers of the ton—but she was seemingly fragile when sprawled over his vast bed, her spirited temperament subdued by dreams.

  And she was stunning. His eyes were fixed to the soft contours of her golden features. He took in more fully the dusty-rose tinge of her cheeks, the small rounded tip of her nose, the fine curve of her lush lips…

  Steady, old boy, he heard a little voice inside him. Remember your obligation. The girl is under your
protection. You can’t be an ass and seduce the vulnerable creature.

  Rightly so. Where had his mind gone? He wasn’t that great a scoundrel, whatever his twin sister might say. The gentleman within him was strong enough to overcome the rogue, he was sure. It was just a bloody tragedy to have a veritable nymph in his bed, nude at that, and he could do naught but dream about her.

  But it wasn’t long before more sinister thoughts took hold of his imagination, and he wondered how long she’d been pursued in the woods and by whom. Why were those men so intent on causing her injury? Pure malevolence? Or was something more nefarious at work? He hoped to learn at least some of those answers in time.

  But for now, thoughts of the future yielded to the priority at hand. He still had to tend to his gypsy’s wound, and though he loathed to disturb her, he needed to unwind the linen coiled around her head in order to apply the compress. Perhaps, if she was in a deep enough sleep, he could remove the bandages without rousing her.

  Or perhaps not.

  Her hand latched onto his wrist, just as he was about to disentangle the knotted dressings.

  “What are you doing?” she asked tersely. What remnants of lethargy still lingered, quickly vanished, and her deep blue eyes, alert and scrutinizing, pinned on him.

  “I must remove your wrappings to apply the compress,” was his steady reply. “It will help with the healing.”

  Her eyes shifted and narrowed on the basin. “What’s in there?”

  “There’s some brandy, vinegar, and salt mixed in with water. It will ease your headache.”

  She appeared to study the bowl carefully before returning, “There should be apple cider mixed with vinegar and water, not salt and brandy.”

  “And why is that?”

  She gave no response. Her attention was snagged elsewhere as she scanned the extensive chamber, then demanded brusquely, “Where is she?”

  “Ashley has gone below to prepare your meal.”

  Her eyes were back on him. Such a deep shade of cobalt, he reflected, so riveting, so powerful, like a churning ocean revving before a storm.

  At last, she released her hold on his wrist and slung her hand back over her belly.

  “May I remove the wrappings?” he ventured to ask.

  With no outward protest to dissuade him otherwise, he reached for the bandages a second time. Slowly unfastening the knot near her temple, he nudged the wrappings upward until they slipped over her head.

  His fingers lightly brushed against her onyx-black hair, still damp and silky to the touch. The locks smelt of pine and birch and all the other fragrances of the woods.

  He fetched the cloth from the bowl and squeezed it firmly. “This should provide you with some relief.” He smoothed the moist linen so it spanned the entire length of her forehead. “I’ve never heard of apple cider used in cases of headache,” he began off-handedly, hoping to draw her out of her reticent mood. “Do you know much about healing?”

  In the wake of her prolonged silence and dissecting gaze, he pressed on, imploring, “At least allow me the pleasure of knowing your name.”

  Her skeptical gaze narrowed in further scrutiny.

  He sunk to one knee, so their eyes were level, having noted earlier that the position appeared to bring her some mild comfort.

  “I can appreciate the distress you must be feeling, but neither I nor Ashley mean you any harm.”

  There were a few long moments of thoughtful blinking before she broke her silence to state, “I heard whispering.”

  “Ashley and I were discussing your recovery.”

  “She doesn’t want me to be here.”

  For someone who should have been asleep throughout the discussion, his gypsy was certainly perceptive. But she’d reached a rather uncomfortable—and unfortunately accurate—conclusion. Ashley definitely held doubts over his ability to handle the situation at hand, but Anthony felt it wise to downplay his sister’s misgivings, without outright denying their existence. “Ashley is a little apprehensive—”

  “Because of who I am.”

  “That isn’t true.”

  Her features, circumspect in their make, told him she believed otherwise. “Then why are you hiding me in your room?”

  “To protect you from your assailants.”

  She offered him a sad, ironic smile. “And from your family?”

  He paused, ascertaining how best to respond. In the end, he tilted his head to the side as a sign of reluctant concession. Why deny the obvious?

  Intent on dismissing her fears of his family, he steered the conversation toward a more pressing concern, and asked, “What happened in the woods today? Why were those men chasing you?”

  Her voice grew distant. “I don’t know.”

  “You mean to say, they randomly selected you off the road to accost?”

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  She reverted to silence. What was the girl hiding? He had never really considered her a criminal, as one aggressor had claimed, but if he’d misjudged the situation, and she was in some sort of legal muddle, he’d still not hand her over to the authorities.

  “If you are a criminal, I will still protect—”

  “I’m not a criminal!”

  “I believe you,” he said sincerely. “So tell me what really happened.”

  Sighing heavily at that point, her features grew somber, a dark cloud of torment spiraling in the despondent pools of her deep blue eyes. “A few days ago, I was at the county horse fair. My father was trading studs with the local farmers and gents, and I was telling fortunes to the women and children. These gajos walked by my wagon a few times during the day—”

  “Excuse me, but what walked by your wagon?”

  “Gajo, a man not of gypsy blood.”

  “I see. Please continue.”

  “I didn’t think very much of them at the time,” she resumed. “One finally asked for a card reading, but all the while, he couldn’t stop staring at me. By the end of the reading I just wanted to get away from him, but he grabbed me and said I had nowhere to hide. He said I was too precious to lose again, as if we’d met before. I knew I was in trouble, so I kicked him in the groin.”

  Anthony cocked a brow. Well, she was spirited, and unabashed in her word choice, he’d give her that. But, then again, he was already acquainted with her lively spirit, for his chin still tingled from the sound blow she’d dealt him earlier in the day.

  “I ran away,” she continued with the harrowing tale. “Both men have been chasing me ever since.”

  “For how long?”

  “It’s been two days now. I stopped to wash in the stream, thinking I’d finally outrun them. But I was wrong.”

  His attentive green eyes grew thoughtful. Stolen locket indeed! In the end, the supposed crime his gypsy had committed was to deflect the unwanted advances of two pompous jackasses. Anthony had expected as much. With such savage fire in their eyes, the assailants were obsessed with something greatly personal, such as seeking “justice” for their battered prides. And he had no doubt their form of justice would have ended in the gypsy’s ravishment.

  His features darkened on that morbid note. “I’ll see you safely home once you’re well enough to travel.”

  She eyed him curiously. “Why?”

  “Because you are under my protection.”

  Anthony rose and headed over to the writing desk to retrieve the matches. The sun had made its way into the underworld, leaving the sky in a limbo of twilight. The dwindling fire did not provide the room with enough light, so he lit the candle on the nightstand, a soft glow enveloping the immediate area.

  The locket glinted under the luminescence, capturing his attention as it had earlier that day in the woods. He’d removed the adornment when he’d first brought his gypsy into the chamber, not wanting the chain to get tangled around her neck. He reached for the ornament now, fingering it with his thumb.

  It was a simple oval, he observed, well crafted and somewhat larger t
han a traditional locket, but not overtly unusual. Dangling on a thin gold chain, the locket was plain, with only a small insignia of a lion’s head carved into the center face.

  He set the necklace back on the nightstand and looked down to find his gypsy watching him closely.

  “Now that you’ve confessed your troubles, will you give me the honor of your name?”

  A mist of indecision passed over her eyes, as though she’d already disclosed too much, and this one last detail was exceeding her confessional limits for the night. But, at last, as he’d hoped she would, she relented.

  “My name is Sabrina Kallos.”

  Chapter 5

  S abrina detected his smile under the faint flicker of candle flame. She didn’t understand why the smile had such an effect on her, why it had the ability to soothe her angst. Considering who Anthony was and where he had brought her, she should be more alert, more cautious as to when she allowed her guard to fall. But right then, with a throbbing headache and a somewhat drowsy temperament, a friendly smile was all it took to quiet her jitters.

  Anthony treaded softly to the other side of the room and collected one of the armchairs. He positioned the seat next to the bed and sat down.

  “For a gypsy, you have a very interesting name,” he said.

  “I was named after the river Sabrina.”

  “In Wales?”

  “Yes, it’s where I was born.”

  He nodded. “I was named after my grandfather.”

  “Do you have a large family?”

  “It’s steadily growing,” he admitted with another grin. “Ashley and I are twins. She married some years ago and now has two children of her own. We have a younger sister, Cecilia, who is about to embark on the marriage market. That’s what the ‘bustle below’ you heard Ashley mention earlier was all about. The house is gripped in the throes of preparation for a ball, introducing my youngest sister to the rest of society.”

  “When?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  Her heart thumped faster. She quickly skimmed through the many catastrophes awaiting her on the day of the celebration, should she still find herself laid up in the viscount’s bedchamber. Foremost on her mind was being discovered by one of the hundreds of guests no doubt scheduled to attend. She was no fool when it came to such grand spectacles, having often heard the tale of her cousin Gulseren’s vicious treatment by the nobility.