A Forbidden Love (11 page)

She hastily snatched her hand away, but before she could think to move again, his lips were over hers.

Soft, warm lips caressed her mouth, slowly at first, and then the kiss deepened. His lips parted and with rough urgency his mouth moved over hers. The strong scent of him filled her nostrils. The moist heat from his naked torso swathed her skin. The hungry movements of his mouth had her quivering right down to her toes.

She didn’t know how to react to the kiss. She felt inept, gawky in her response. No man’s lips had ever touched hers before. Forbidden to taint her gift of healing, such intimacy was denied her, so she was naïve when it came to the art of lovemaking. Not ignorant of the act itself, for the women in her caravan spoke candidly on the matter, but she lacked all personal experience. Her instincts didn’t seem to be functioning. She didn’t know what to do, how to hold him, how to return the intense feelings of pleasure he was giving her.

It was in that very moment she understood why a man’s touch had been denied her for so many years. Anthony had the power to disorient her sense of being, to disrupt the very center of who she was and toss her amid a whirlwind of unique sensations.

His large, powerful hand slipped down her cheek, stroking her skin, beckoning goosebumps to erupt all over her body. Those long fingers scraped toward her midriff, caressing the wool crepe of her undergarment, teasing her sensitive skin, sending shudders of tickled delight throughout her weakened limbs.

“So sweet,” he whispered thickly against her mouth. “So beautiful.”

She blushed at his words. His touch, the sound of his deep and rich voice was doing things to her she had never felt before. Wonderful things. Things she had never even dreamed of. Emotions were all moving inside her, swirling together, colliding, erupting. It was like a dream. An intense, soul-wringing dream.

Wide-spread fingers rubbed up and down her ribs, massaging her sides, the pressure building against her skin. She shuddered in response. Her heart throbbed. A profound impulse to touch him in return eclipsed her, and she timidly reached for the firm muscles of his upper arms, gripping the taut biceps in inexplicable urgency.

At her hesitant touch, his hand began to move. Up and up it went, slowly, until his thumb and forefinger wedged under her breast and he cradled the swollen mound.

She inhaled sharply. What sweet pleasure it was to feel Anthony’s hand caress such an intimate part of her. The heat in her belly was churning. A spark seemed to flare, as his thumb darted over her thrusting nipple, and he pressed down hard on the tightening bud.

There was an intense explosion of sensations. A startled cry escaped from the depth of her throat. He quickly slipped his hand back down to her waist, stroking her hip, soothing her skittish passions.

Something was happening inside her. A fluttering in her belly, more intense than anything she’d ever felt before. So great was the disruption to her being, that she took no heed of the falling world around her. Not until her head bumped into the wooden headboard, and she yelped in pain at the timely throbbing in her skull.

It was then the magical moment was shattered. Guilt and fear came rushing forward. Guilt at the pleasure she had found in another man’s arms. And fear of what her father would say if he ever discovered her indulgence in such a wicked kiss.

The noise of the tempest must have muffled her common sense, she thought in alarm, or she would never have done such a thing. Hands trembling, she braced her palms flat against a pair of wide, muscular shoulders and shoved.

A breathless Anthony broke away from her lips. His eyes burned under the misty yellow candle glow. His chest, heaving, pushed against her breasts with each draft of air he inhaled.

Confusion descended. The look in his eyes altered to that of a man who had just awakened from a dream, bewildered and befuddled by his surroundings.

His hands slowly slipped away from her waist, the last caress sending one final, sensuous tremor vibrating throughout her limbs. When his warm body shifted upright, a distinct chill gripped her. The heat they shared was gone. The closeness severed.

The deafening drum of her heart filled the silent void, and she was sure Anthony could hear every erratic beat.

“I’m sorry if I offended you,” he said hoarsely. “I didn’t mean to be so bold.”

He withdrew from the bed, running a quivering hand through his tawny hair to comb back the curls.

She needed another moment to steady her own irregular breathing. “Why did you kiss me?”

He hesitated before admitting, “It must have been the dream. I was not entirely awake when I, ah…I apologize. It will never happen again.”

She sunk back against her pillow, pulling the bed linen up to her chin, and closely watched his tall, wiry frame make its way over to the sofa, where he sat down for a moment before spreading out along the furniture’s length.

Those tender words he’d whispered, those soft caresses, had all been part of a waking dream? He’d meant nothing he’d said or done?

A single pearled tear pooled in the corner of her eye and she wiped the moist nuisance away, determined not to succumb to sobs. What a ridiculous state to be reduced to. Just what did she find so upsetting? That the man
hadn’t
been trying to seduce her? She should be grateful to hear it was all just a mistake. One that would never happen again.

But the ache welled in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. She’d never felt so inadequate, so demoralized. The kiss may have been wrong, but it had been her first kiss, opening a whole new world of emotions for her, and that she’d shared it with Anthony was unexpected, but not worthy of an apology.

Yet there was no concealing the remorse in his voice. He was sorry to have opened his eyes to find his lips on hers…a gypsy’s.

It looked as though Ashley’s concerns were misplaced, for her brother did know his place in world, and it was not to consort with the likes of her.

She leaned over and blew out the candle. For a long time, she just stared into the darkness. The clattering panes of glass and shuddering earth faded into oblivion, as the ramble of her thoughts raved greater than the spring storm drenching the countryside beyond.

Chapter 11

W
hat a ghastly old man.

Anthony studied the unsightly subject matter looming above the fireplace in the main salon. Great-great-grandfather Kennington, he presumed. He had always hated the image staring back at him from the canvas, but with such a prominent position in the room, one could hardly ignore the macabre figure. He tried to, though, slowly twirling the glass of brandy between his fingers, shifting through his muddled thoughts.

And what a muddle they were. There wasn’t a moment in the day when he wasn’t rapt with the memory of what had happened the night before. He had vowed, to both Sabrina and himself, not to inflict any harm on her. He had even offered the girl his palm to prove there was no reason to mistrust him. And then look what he had done? Aggrieved his gypsy by prowling about the bedchamber bestowing unwelcome kisses.

Those baffled blue eyes stared at him still. That flustered voice, demanding a reason for the kiss, revolved over and over again in his mind. He had made a sheer ass of himself. And there was no easy way to rectify his blunder. All he could do was keep his distance from the girl, hoping the estrangement would bring her some mild comfort.

He sighed. What had possessed him to resort to such scoundrel intentions? The answer eluded him. But a remote part of his being was obliged to admit his reasons might not be so obscure as he preferred to think. That his actions, though veiled in a light mist of drowsiness, were more deliberate than inadvertent.

To think that he lacked such control! It was difficult to accept. Whatever desire he felt for his gypsy, his gentleman’s duty preceded it—or so he tried to convince himself.

It was all a bloody mess. He needed to redirect his energy, his thoughts. He needed a conduit to do away with his mounting lust so he could focus wholly on his duty.

And then in rushed the perfect solution to his frustrating predicament.

His Mary—Meg!

Polishing cloth in hand, the young maid set to work on the wood furnishings, buffing first a small side table to an illustrious sheen before she moved on to a larger piece.

She had yet to notice him in the room, so engrossed was she with her task. The salon had been designated a ladies’ parlor for the evening and his Mary-Meg was clearly eager to brighten the room and thus please her mistress.

Anthony’s smile was slow to form. He knew firsthand the merry maid would be eager in other ways, as well, and he slowly sensed his sullen mood dissipate in anticipation of the release he would soon have. Once rid of his distracting lust, his mind would be at peace, and there would be no more grueling battles between his duty and desire.

He set his brandy aside. The young parlor maid shuffled past him in her haste, and he reached out to grasp her wrist. She gave a startled gasp, her cheeks turning a bright sunset pink when their eyes met.

“I beg your pardon, your lordship.”

“Not at all, my dear.” His voice was thick, deliberately so, in his attempts to woo the pretty little maid. She was petite, blonde, with a soft set of pouting lips guaranteed to ease his suffering.

And the more he admired her well-rounded figure, the less inclined he was for words. He pulled the little creature down into his lap and curled his arms around her. She let out a bubbly squeak, and he brought his lips together to whisper a soothing “shhhh” before his mouth captured hers in long-suppressed hunger.

It felt so good to be with a woman again. He needed his merry maid and the energy gained from a passionate tussle. He needed it as much as he needed food or water to survive.

Giggling and wiggling in his lap, the maid fumbled with her skirt until it was hiked up over her knees and she straddled him with a familiarity he found invigorating.

Her derrière undulated against his groin in slow, sensuous motions, her fingers groping beneath her petticoat to unfasten his trousers. “What if someone sees us?” she breathed excitedly.

“Devil take them if they do.” He slipped his hands beneath her livery to grip the naked flesh of her posterior.

Their kiss intensified. His cock hardened, ready to plunge inside the merry maid…And then the most appalling thing occurred to distract him from the coupling. An image of Sabrina flashed through his mind, followed by an intense feeling of pain in his chest. A pain he could only assume was guilt. And since he had little experience with the emotion, he found it all the more baffling.

But he had no time to dwell on his puzzling guilt. Footsteps and cheerful whistling were coming down the hall.

Anthony hoisted his Mary-Meg off his lap. Muttering every vile word he knew, he shakily refastened his trousers, while the distraught maid skittishly smoothed her black skirt into its proper position. Her cheeks were a blooming pink blush, her lips swollen and red. She was a perfectly appealing sight—and he damn well didn’t understand why he found it so hard to be with her.

Guilt?

What rubbish! What did he have to feel guilty about? Certainly not some daft notion that he was betraying Sabrina in some way. Why, the gypsy wasn’t even his. And he definitely didn’t belong to her. So where was there a betrayal?

Nowhere. He was just being ridiculous. He didn’t get very much sleep last night, so no wonder he was such a mess.

With a quick curtsy, the merry maid scurried from the room, almost colliding with the strolling figure of Lord Winthrop. She gave an abrupt and mumbled apology before she hastened away, Daniel casting an odd look after her. But once he noticed his brother-in-law wedged in an armchair, Daniel’s features brightened with mischievous amusement.

“Recuperating again are you, old boy?” Daniel strode into the salon with a jovial grin and settled into a cushioned seat opposite his brooding brother-in-law. “Hope I wasn’t interrupting anything.”

That got him a dark scowl, as Anthony tried to fight back the heat that still twisted and raged in his groin.

With an unrepentant chuckle, Daniel crossed his legs and removed his white gloves, slapping the pair over his bent knee. “Well, shift your attention for a moment. I’ve a piece of
on-dit
for you.” He gave a roguish wink. “A little bird just whispered into my ear that an unexpected guest will be in attendance at the ball.”

Since Anthony didn’t give a fig for any of the soon-to-be-arriving guests, his frustrated passion making him sorely uncomfortable, his words were rather sharp and biting. “And this guest would be?”

“A marchioness.”

“Am I to find this report engaging?”

“Well, you should,” Daniel asserted, ignoring the viscount’s darkening glower. “She’s to be your next mistress, after all.”

Anthony groaned and cupped his head in his hand. What ill-rotten timing! With a blasted ball to get through
and
ensuring Sabrina was safe
and
battling with his own swelling desire for the girl, he did not need the added distraction that this particular marchioness would impose upon him.

“It seems her ladyship is officially out of mourning,” Daniel resumed. “And our dear Cecelia’s début will be her first public presentation since the marquess’s death. Word also has it that you and this particular marchioness are an intended lover’s item.” And then with his hand to his cheek, he whispered, “There’s a discreet bet at White’s over how many months the affair will last, or so I’ve been told.”