A Forbidden Love Page 5

  It was last spring when her cousin had traveled through the countryside, offering her fortune-telling skills to the ladies of the more prestigious homes. Gulseren had unfortunately happened upon a stately dwelling the morning of a similar festivity, and was promptly run off the estate by the vengeful hostess, who summoned stablehand and footman alike to see the “filthy gypsy” off her land.

  Sabrina shuddered at the prospect of a similar fate. “I have to leave before the ball begins.”

  His voice was authoritative. “You’ll do no such thing. Don’t fret,” he added in a reassuring tone. “You’re safe in here. The servants won’t trouble you the day of the ball with so many guests to attend. Besides, the door will be locked.”

  The way in which he spoke, one would think it was an absolute truth she would be left in peace, but she had far too much experience with the mistreatment of gypsies to blindly accept his claim.

  “No harm will come to you,” he said, disturbing her wary thoughts. “Trust me.”

  Trust him? She didn’t even know him. He wasn’t even part of her blood. The man had no real obligation toward her. He would never stand by to protect her from a throng of angry bluebloods—his fellow bluebloods. He’d set a compress over her head and feed her and perhaps even escort her home, but beyond that, he would not side with her against his own kind.

  His warm hand clamped down over hers, her heart missing a beat when he gently applied the pressure.

  “Trust me,” he said again, gruffly, more forcefully than before. His eyes narrowed intensely, the dance of candlelight reflecting in the deep green pools.

  It was like a shock to her system, her response to such a simple gesture, and she didn’t understand why she was reacting so oddly. The flips of her belly, the hammering of her heart? She must be hungry.

  The knock on the door diverted Sabrina’s attention, and her muddled gaze immediately sharpened on the entrance.

  Anthony unlocked the barrier, allowing Ashley to slip inside.

  “It’s almost seven,” she said, handing the server over to her brother. “Will you be joining the family for dinner?”

  “I think not.”

  Ashley wrung her fingers. “What if Mama suspects you’re ill and comes looking for you?”

  Sabrina stiffened at the dreaded possibility.

  “Simply assure Mother I’m in perfect health. Tell her I’m…immersed in a matter of business, that’s it. I’ll dine at a later hour—preferably when all have gone to bed.”

  Sabrina relaxed her braiding muscles.

  “Very well,” sighed Ashley. “I’ll make your excuses. But, please, don’t stalk down the corridors at night. I’ll deliver your meal after dinner.” Then, muttering as she turned to leave the room, “What will Daniel think when he sees me sneaking off with a tray of food?”

  “Just don’t let your husband see you,” was her brother’s sage advice.

  Another sigh and Ashley was out the door, Anthony drawing the bolt behind her as he balanced the tray on one knee.

  At the aromatic whiff of still piping-hot soup, the pains in her belly made Sabrina acutely aware of the fact that she was famished.

  Anthony settled back into the armchair, the tray in his lap. “Are you hungry?”

  “A little,” she admitted, though her stomach almost reeled up to interject “a lot.”

  He took the spoon and dipped it into the bowl, sliding the utensil’s underbelly along the porcelain rim to dispense with any dripping.

  She crinkled her brow. “What are you doing?”

  “Feeding you. I’m not blind to the look of pain on your face whenever you try to sit up. It’s best this way.”

  She protested the feeding, claiming she was no helpless babe, but seeing as the spoon was already hovering near her mouth, and the strong scent of pheasant was ever so scrumptious, she merely surrendered with a sigh of annoyance and pried her lips apart. Her eyes closed, she savored the rich flavor. The soup tasted even better than she’d imagined.

  And so the feeding went on for a while, with Anthony occasionally dabbing at her chin with a kerchief when a few drops strayed. And as the bowl’s belly grew empty and hers grew full, he broke the lull in the conversation.

  “You know, your English is very good.”

  She eyed him briefly before taking in another spoonful. “It was easy to learn. I’ve lived near gajos my whole life, trading with them, telling fortunes.”

  “I see.” He brought another portion to her lips. “Since you’re being so forthcoming, may I ask why you suggested apple cider in the saline wash? It puzzles me.”

  She swallowed. “Apple cider works better in a compress.”

  A blond brow arched. “Then you are a healer?”

  “It is my destiny.”

  “And why do you think that?”

  “Because I was marked at birth.” When his brows stitched together in confusion, she elaborated, “I have a mark on my shoulder in the shape of a crescent moon. The council of elders always believed I was intended for some great purpose, and then, five years ago, when I cured my father of sickness, the council agreed it was my talent, that I should be trained as a future healer.”

  He nodded. “Then I must ask Ashley to scrounge up some apple cider.” He set the tray aside and rinsed the linen in the saline wash before spreading the moist cloth back over her forehead. “Until tomorrow, though, this compress will have to suffice. Now try and get some sleep.”

  “And…ah…where will you be sleeping?”

  “Over there.” He indicated with a nod toward the hearth, where the plush, cinnamon-brown sofa was positioned. “Goodnight, Sabrina.”

  He rose to his feet, tray in hand.

  She hoped it really would be a good night; she certainly longed for it. And on that wishful thought, she promptly gave way to the dreams already looming in her mind.

  Chapter 6

  A nthony slumped a shoulder against the bedpost, his eyes tightly fixed on a still sleeping Sabrina. She appeared blissfully content, her slumbering features tranquil, her breathing deep and steady. Quite a contrast from the outbursts that had plagued her the night before.

  Over the course of the evening, she’d muttered, cursed, prattled in some foreign language, and even wept. It had been the sound of her sobs that had finally prompted him to disturb her rest, but she’d soon drifted back into the realm of illusions, the dark images following suit, allowing her little, if any, peace.

  In truth, his own sleep hadn’t fared much better. For much of the night, he did little else than refresh the compress over her brow and listen to her incoherent ramblings, finding it bloody maddening that her assailants still pursued her in her dreams and he had no way of saving her this time. It wasn’t until dawn broke that her nightmares had come to an end and she’d quieted, her remaining repose without further incident.

  His gaze skipped over her to glance at the time. It was nearing ten o’clock. Breakfast was now being served below, and he was again conspicuously absent, though Ashley had assured him, when she’d come to deliver the morning meal, that she would tend to any concerns regarding his missing presence.

  His sister might fuss too much—about everything—but he was greatly obliged to her for all her assistance. He could not have concealed Sabrina thus far without Ashley’s help, and as soon as he was able to, he would demonstrate his gratitude by convincing her husband to take her on that trip to Paris she’d been longing for. Ashley certainly deserved the recuperation. And, with any luck, a holiday on the mainland might lessen her harried disposition and bring him some brotherly peace as well.

  With recuperation still on his mind, his thoughtful gaze returned to Sabrina, and he debated internally over whether or not he should wake her. She needed her rest after a grueling evening overwhelmed with nightmares, but she also needed her strength, and he felt it best that she eat while the tea, eggs, and ham were still warm.

  Having determined to rouse her, he pushed away from the bedpost. So as not to sta
rtle her by looming like some imposing titan, he dropped to one knee and gently nudged her arm.

  It was a few more shakes before those midnight-black lashes fluttered, and dried lips parted to murmur unintelligibly. She burrowed her fists into her eyes and yawned. Sluggish lids half concealed those beautiful blue eyes that now pinned on him.

  He smiled. “Good morning. How do you feel?”

  “A little better,” was her drowsy reply. “But my head still hurts.”

  “You need more time to recover.” He removed the compress and dropped it into the saline wash to saturate. “Breakfast is waiting.”

  She sniffed, the air filled with the scent of freshly cooked fare. “I have to get up first.”

  “Why?”

  “I had a bowl of soup for supper last night. Why do you think?”

  His eyes rounded in comprehension. “Yes, of course, I should have anticipated…Do you need assistance? I can summon Ashley if—”

  “I need my clothes,” she cut in before he rambled on any further. “I can do this on my own.”

  “Let me fetch your chemise.”

  Anthony swiftly collected her undergarment from the privy. He should have considered such sensitivities, he rebuked himself. Why hadn’t Ashley reminded him? But with so much hectic energy already coursing through the household, certain details in Sabrina’s recovery were bound to be overlooked.

  He laid the chemise atop her blanketed legs. “Can you sit up?”

  “I think so.”

  With the bed sheets pressed tight to her chest, she struggled to raise her head, and he slipped a supportive hand behind her neck to aid in her efforts.

  Ah, the feel of her warm skin cradled against his palm, damp from pressing up against his pillow. She was so soft. He would bet his legacy she was just as soft in other places too…maybe even softer.

  The lascivious image of his fingers trailing over the full swell of a magnificent breast invaded his mind with startling intensity. He could just feel the supple flesh cupped in his hand, his fingers kneading and caressing, his thumb swirling over the silky smooth patch of her rosy nipple, fast hardening under his solicitous touch.

  He shuddered faintly, banishing the erotic fantasy before the slow stirrings of his cock grew more rampant.

  Sabrina closed her eyes and heaved a deep sigh. His fingers were still entangled in the unruly locks of her ebony hair, holding her upright, so she didn’t tip to any side in a bout of faintness.

  “I’m not dizzy anymore.” She lifted her lashes. “I can dress myself.”

  He didn’t voice his doubts over her conviction. Rather, he put them to the test, and withdrew his hand from her neck. When she didn’t topple over, he stepped away from the bed.

  “I’ll be by the window should you need my assistance.”

  As she reached for her chemise, he turned on his heels and made his way over to one of the tall panes of glass, giving her his back and subsequently her privacy.

  He too needed some time, but to regain his scattered wits. How had lust overtaken him so swiftly just a moment ago? He had never experienced anything like it before, where the mere touch of a woman had kindled his desire. And it was unnerving to think it took so little effort to stir his blood, especially where Sabrina was concerned, for she just happened to be the one woman in the world whom he could never be with. He may be a degenerate, with a propensity for lifting a wanton woman’s skirt, but he was not wholly without a sense of honor. Having Sabrina under his protection meant he had to guard her against all danger—including the danger of his predatory self.

  Anthony didn’t notice any of the estate through the draped sheers, his mind too engrossed with detecting Sabrina’s movements. There were a few sighs and muttered remarks as she grappled with her garment, but so long as he could hear her, then he knew she was all right. And it was after a few combatant moments that her apparel seemed to be in place, for he next heard the rustle of bed sheets and the mattress shifting under her weight.

  “May I turn around now?” he asked.

  At the sound of her gasp, he pivoted, and found her clutching the bedpost for support. He was at her side in an instant, arms circling around her shoulders to keep her from slumping onto the floor. She sagged into his chest, and he sensed the shudder rip through her limbs, vibrating against his own.

  “Are you cold?”

  “I’m fine,” her words clipped. “You’re holding me too tight.” And she braced her palms flat against his chest to push him back.

  The pressure of her fingers digging into his body had the most disarming effect on him. The blood quickened through his veins. His heart thumped with awakened vigor. His grip tightened around her in possessive instinct.

  There was a heavenly weight pushing against him in the form of a bountiful pair of breasts. Each deep breath she inhaled thrust those mounds harder into him, leaving his muscles stiffening, his body aching to feel more of her, aching to know her without the frustrating barrier of clothing between them.

  Anthony released his hold before he took a leave of his senses—if he hadn’t already. She was in no further danger of fainting if she could wriggle so soundly in his arms. But there was still a good thirty feet to cross before she reached the privy, and he wouldn’t risk another vertigo brush over her and send her face down into the carpet.

  He cupped her elbow, and insisted, though in a slightly flustered voice, “I’ll escort you.”

  “I can walk just fine,” she muttered all the way to the privy, and once there, promptly shut the door in his face.

  The wooden obstruction snapped him from his bemusement. He sighed. Headstrong and distrustful. An ideal combination of character traits indeed.

  So curtly denied the opportunity to explain where the water closet was located, he hoped she’d figure that out on her own. But living out of doors, as was gypsy custom, he had to wonder if she had ever even seen a water closet.

  He took to restless pacing in the minutes that followed, another conundrum occupying his thoughts. Could he really stay in the same room with Sabrina and not be able to touch her? It had never really occurred to him before, that abstinence could be so…painful. He was still trying to tamp the stiffening in his groin, but it was proving rather difficult. He had never refrained from anything in his life, was wont to doing as he pleased, with whomever he pleased. And now he wanted Sabrina. Never mind that he couldn’t have her. His body was quite insistent that he take her. Bloody hell. Being a caregiver and a protector had an unforeseen, and rather agonizing, side effect.

  Engrossed with his bewildering thoughts, he didn’t realize how much time had passed, that his gypsy had yet to emerge from the privy. What if she had fainted, and in his absentminded state, he’d simply not heard her body collide with the floor?

  “Sabrina, are you all right?”

  He knocked again when there was no response. A brusque reply of perfect well-being followed this time around and he eased his twining muscles.

  Pacing before the door, he offered her a few more moments of privacy, when he realized what must have her so preoccupied. He smiled at the thought. If the girl had never seen a water closet before, then it stood to reason she was unlikely to comprehend the nuances of the contraption.

  With a light shake of his head, he reminded himself not to take anything for granted when it came to his gypsy.

  He rapped on the door once more. “Pull the valve.”

  A muffled “What?” came through the barrier.

  “The valve. Pull it.”

  Soon thereafter, the door creaked open. He was careful to do away with his grin before she took heed.

  “Shall we have breakfast?”

  He extended his elbow to guide her back to the bed, but she declined the invitation, and, tight-lipped, traversed the chamber on her own. He maintained a close proximity, to catch her should she fall, but his assistance was unnecessary. She didn’t flounder once.

  He realized then, there was something more than her beauty, somethi
ng beneath those willful blue eyes, that relentless independence, that had him so intrigued. But thoughts of what that something was were put aside the moment Sabrina reached the bed and crawled over the covers, thrusting her posterior into the air.

  An admiring, if not somewhat wolfish, grin touched his lips at the charming sight. Was she a virgin? He wondered. He had never found the despoiling of maids particularly appealing. They were far too abashed for his taste. He much preferred the allure of an experienced woman—and gypsies weren’t known for being chaste. His gypsy certainly had no qualms about parading around in his bedchamber in only her chemise, and it was his understanding that a woman who found her body comfortable was very much accustomed to using it in a variety of ways.

  The tempting thought took root. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to be with this particular gypsy? And if the girl was willing, it’d be a marvelous match.

  He closed his eyes, willing the yearnings into submission. He had a code of conduct to adhere to. He couldn’t play the scoundrel and seduce his vulnerable ward. Honor demanded the utmost of gentlemanly behavior—though the sight of that tight derrière could certainly shake a man’s sense of honor.

  He quickly banished the thought.

  Sabrina fumbled with the covers and at last slipped beneath them. She closed her eyes, sighing heavily, the short walk across the room having sapped some of her tenuous energy.

  He took that moment in which to pour her a rejuvenating cup of tea and gather a few goods on a plate. He then set the food on the nightstand next to the basin.

  Accepting the cup he offered with a nod of thanks, she sipped her tea without much effort, now able to sit up more comfortably than she had the previous night. And since he had already indulged in some eggs and ham this morning, he merely dispensed with another cup of tea for himself and hauled an armchair over to the bed.