A Forbidden Love (29 page)

“It’s the main!” she cried with glee.

A dismayed Vincent could do naught but stare as the last of his coins were cheerfully scooped up by his more fortunate opponent. “Bloody hell,” he muttered.

“Shall we play again?”

“Lord, no!” He shook his head passionately. “You’ve reduced me to a pauper.”

With a smile, she clumped her winnings together in her hand, and opened the beaded leather pouch tied at her waistband, dropping in her spoils. It was a pity the game couldn’t go on. It had been fun to play—for her anyway. And she’d learned a lot about her appointed guardian during the course of the evening.

Readily willing to spill forth his life’s troubles to a sympathetic ear, Vincent had revealed much about himself through idle chitchat, and she’d soon discovered he was no more than a harmless, somewhat misguided, wastrel.

A wastrel who happened to be in a similar bind as herself. It seems they were
both
in hiding from Gillingham, though for different reasons, but Vincent didn’t know that. While he was content to gush about his recent plight, she was content to just listen to him. In so doing, she realized a lot. For instance, it was through helping Vincent that Anthony had come across Gillingham—and the doxy. The viscount hadn’t been scouring London’s brothels for amusement like she’d first thought, and for some inexplicable reason, she was relieved to hear that.

There was a quick rap at the door.

The two occupants of the room exchanged anxious glances.

“Who is it?” wondered Vincent, slowly approaching the door.

“Who do you think?” came back the muffled, yet terse, retort.

“Oh, God,” Vincent gave a soft, but nonetheless desperate, cry. “Hurry!” He motioned to Sabrina. “Put the chairs back.”

She scrambled to her feet in obedience, wondering what was wrong. Anthony was back. Surely that wasn’t cause for alarm? They’d been awaiting his return after all.

The chairs were pushed back to their former places. The dice disappeared into Vincent’s pocket.

But he still didn’t unlock the door.

Vincent gave her a pleading look. “You mustn’t tell Anthony that we were gambling.”

“Why not?”

“You simply mustn’t,” he beseeched. “Promise me.”

“I promise,” she said in haste, the rapping at the door growing louder and more determined. “Now open the door before he makes any more noise.”

Vincent let loose a quick sigh of relief and turned the key. He had to leap aside to avoid the swinging door from clobbering him in the face.

“What the devil’s going on?” demanded Anthony, striding into the bedchamber, his eyes searching for Sabrina. The moment he spotted her in the room, he scanned her from head to foot in a thorough assessment, his heated gaze leaving her feeling ravished. “What took so long to open the door?”

“Nothing, old chum,” Vincent was quick to dismiss the notion. “It took a few seconds to reach the door, is all. Don’t be in such a tizzy.”

Anthony’s smoldering gaze moved from Sabrina over to Vincent. “Everything went well, then?”

“Perfectly delightful,” chimed his friend, who then shifted his uncomfortable gaze away from the viscount’s penetrating one. “You have a very charming ward. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’ll retire to bed.” He swiveled on his heels. “I have an early start in the morning.”

“And just where do you think you’re going in the morning?” demanded Anthony, bringing his comrade to a dead halt.

“Why home, of course.” The man spun about. “The deed is done. The girl is in prime health. What else am I to do here?”

“You’re not leaving until I say so. I still need you to look after Sabrina.”

“But—”

“Goodnight, Vincent.”

The man gave a weary sigh. “Goodnight, then.”

At the sound of the key rotating in the lock, Sabrina knitted her arms under her breasts, pinning her fiery gaze on Anthony

He turned to confront her, a single blond brow arching. “Is something the matter?”

“Just how long do you intend to keep me locked away in here?”

“Not too long,” he said in assurance.

But she wasn’t mollified. “
How
long? I’m not going to sit in this room night after night, while you go off to dally with some doxy at Gillingham’s club.”

A vision of Anthony doing to another woman what he had done to her—the very vision she had tried to forget all about by indulging in a distracting game of Hazard with Vincent—came back to haunt her now.

“I’m not dallying with any doxy,” he insisted.

But she could smell the untruth. The air was filled with the fragrance of lavender, and unless he’d spent the evening picking flowers, it was perfume she sensed. And Sabrina didn’t wear any perfume.

“I can smell her all over you.” Her heart throbbed as she made the accusation. She had no right to feel territorial over Anthony. He didn’t belonged to her. He could do as he pleased, with whomever he pleased. She knew that. So why did she feel so betrayed?

He moved toward a nearby chair and shrugged off his coat, draping it over the head rest. “You may be able to smell the doxy all over me, but she wasn’t
under
me.”

The tight ache in her heart convinced her it was time to change the subject. The current one was just too painful. Anthony would only persist in his lies and she’d have to fight even harder to get the truth from him. Trouble was, she didn’t deserve the truth, not about this matter. It was his business what had happened at the Lion’s Gate. And although she felt like screeching and hurling something at him, she also realized her desire to do so was irrational. It was his body. And
he
got to decide who touched it, not her. Better if she worried about her own body—particularly her neck.

“What did you learn about Gillingham?”

Anthony reached for his collar to fumble with the cravat. “That the man is a first-rate scoundrel and blackmailer.”

Her black brows lifted in surprise.

“It seems Mr. Gillingham uses his club as a front to wring out his patrons’ darkest secrets before he exploits that knowledge for his own financial gain.”

“Emma told you this?” She couldn’t hide the incredulity in her voice. Just how infectious were Anthony’s charms if he could get the doxy to betray her employer in just one night?…On second thought, considering her own predicament, did she really have to ask herself that?

“Emma, no.” He loosened the cravat before sliding it off his neck. “The staff is fiercely loyal to Gillingham, evading any personal questions regarding their employer.”

Now
she was really confused. “So how do you know about the blackmail?”

“Observation, my dear.” His vest was next to go, dropped into the lap of the chair. “Gillingham is no one of any political or social importance, and yet, once inside the club, I witnessed how the mighty lords cowed at his feet. Evidently, the villain holds great sins over his lofty patrons’ heads.”

“And the locket?”

“A means of communication. All the doxies wear one. I assume, once a gent has been thoroughly doused in spirits, a lucrative secret is coaxed from the besotted fool, scribbled down on a piece of paper, and then stuffed into a locket before being passed on to Gillingham. I witnessed the exchange of such a locket between Gillingham and one of his wenches just as I was leaving.”

“So what was so important about the address in
my
locket?”

He reached for the buttons at his collar. “I’m not entirely sure of that, but it stands to reason that the resident of the mysterious address owes Gillingham a great sum of money. In such a case, it’s understandable why he desperately wants the paper back.”

“And it took you hours to observe all this?”

The skepticism in her voice had him guessing—accurately—what she truly wanted to know. “I already told you, I didn’t indulge in any pleasures with the doxy.”

Sabrina gawked at the discarded shirt, now crumpled on the floor. Her eyes were transfixed at the movement of his hands, reaching for the buttons of his trousers.

“S-so why were you at the club for so long?” she stammered.

His trousers were undone, revealing a patch of sandy brown curls all clustered at the opening. He went to tug on his boots next. Thud went one boot onto the carpet. The second followed soon thereafter. She just watched him, mesmerized. She couldn’t even remember what they were talking about.

He reached for the waistline of his tight-fitting trousers and jerked them down his hips. She gasped. The engorged sight of him caused her heart to miss a beat and her thighs to ache with unabashed longing. If he had been with another woman that night, he certainly hadn’t had his fill of her.

Anthony came dangerously near. Close to her body, but more unsettlingly, close to her soul. She retreated a step, hoping the distance was enough to sever the powerful connection that had forged between them. It was not, however. The bond only strengthened. Dark green eyes, rough and turbulent, beckoned her near. She felt as if she had no control over her own movements, as if she was floating on air toward the formidable rogue. No, it was the other way around. He was advancing on her.

Thick arms slipped around her, pushing her up against a hard chest—and another hard part of him. She stifled a second gasp when she felt the sturdy tip of him poking into her abdomen, demanding her attention. Which she readily gave. How could she ignore
that
part of him?

“I haven’t been with another woman since the day I met you.” His voice was as rough as the look in his eyes. “I went to the club, intent on doing whatever it took to learn Gillingham’s secrets, even if it meant sharing the doxy’s bed. But once I got there I couldn’t be with her. I didn’t want to be with anyone else but you.”

Those words were making her shake, with desire or with love, she wasn’t even sure. All she was sure of was that she wanted him deep inside her. Now.

Oh, she was a fool. Aching for something that would only bring her more heartache in the future. But she didn’t care right then. Right then, the urge to be with Anthony was stronger than any voice of protest or risk of regret.

“I spent the evening playing cards, the doxy draped over my arm,” he went on to explain. “When I lost every pound I had with me, I made the excuse that I was penniless, that I would have to come back to see her some other night. But I don’t intend to return. I don’t intend to spend my nights with anyone else but you.”

His lips came down on hers in a thoroughly possessive, thoroughly demanding, thoroughly thrilling kiss. She teetered on her toes to better meet the hot thrusts of his tongue, stabbing into her mouth with a vigor that so aroused her, she could feel the moisture already pooling between her legs.

He moved over her mouth in deft and eager strokes. All the while, it seemed as though they were levitating toward the bed. When she felt the feathers press into her backside, she didn’t care to think how she got there. All that she cared about was what Anthony was making her feel.

Her heart ticking faster than the seconds of a clock, she let go of all her fears, of all her doubts that they shouldn’t be doing this again, that it was wrong. But it felt so right. And that was enough for now. Regrets could come at dawn. She already had a lifetime of regrets to nurse. What was one more?

His hand fisted around the hem of her skirt. Slowly, he pushed the garment up her legs, the fabric slithering along her thighs, leaving her trembling in the wake of the steady ascent.

When she was bare from the waist down, he broke away from the kiss and repositioned himself. Parting her knees, he kneeled between her splayed thighs.

In the candlelit room, she was wholly exposed to him. A sudden tickle of embarrassment encouraged her to bring her legs back together, but his hands clamped over her inner thighs, the heat from his palms branding her, stopping her retraction.

Slowly, he spread her legs wide again. “Don’t hide yourself from me.”

She was almost giddy with the emotions bubbling inside her. She was shaking for sure, her heart shuddering, her breaths coming out in quick and raspy pants.

“Let me look at you,” he said with a gruff edge, his piercing gaze devouring her, making her sweat and her body ache.

“Let me touch you.” His fingers combed through the dark and curly patch of hair between her legs, exposing more and more of her moist and quivering flesh to his searching green eyes.

And then, with a dark twinkle in those lustful eyes, he whispered, “Let me taste you.”

He bowed forward. She gasped and tightened every muscle in anticipation. But he didn’t touch her with his lips. Fingers still entwined in the thick curls of her apex, he only blew over the exposed flesh. A soft whistle of cool air, followed by a short puff of warm air.

She shivered violently at the shifts in temperature. Cold and hot bursts of air breezed over her damp and sensitive skin. Gone was any thought of modesty. She felt nothing but a throbbing want.

The tension eased in her muscles. Eyes closed, she dipped her head back against the pillow, and released a half sigh, half moan of pleasure when he finally dropped his head to kiss the dewy mound between her legs.

He was tender and gentle at first with his kisses. Soon, though, his mouth parted, opened wide to unleash the eager thrust of his tongue, which stabbed and stroked at the most sensitive part of her, leaving her gasping and digging her fingers into his hair to hold him firm against her pulsing flesh.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded. It was a breathless request, yanked from her lips in a moment of desperate urgency. She didn’t want the erotic moment to end. She felt a sense of panic at the thought that it would. But he couldn’t stop. Not now. Not when every nerve in her body was tingling. And to make sure he didn’t abandon her, she held him fast, giving him very little room to move.

She was burning inside. She was shaking. Nothing had ever felt so good…but she was wrong. He guided her thighs upward until she hooked them over his broad shoulders, giving him more access to her supple flesh.

Her stark cries of delirious pleasure provoked his tongue to swirl and dart with greater passion. The louder she grew, the more ardent he became with his thrusts, giving her what she demanded.

He licked and he kissed, whipping her into a state of pulsating arousal. Her fingers tightly knotted in his hair. Oh, sweet heaven, it was pure ecstasy.

“Anthony,” she cried. She wanted release from the pressure building at her junction. Her innards twisted with the demand for that relief. And he gave it to her. His tongue laved over the quivering bud pulsing between the folds of her flesh, and she shuddered with unbridled relief, the strain and the throbbing draining from her loins. She felt so peaceful, so content when it was over.

“That was wonderful,” she praised weakly, eyes still closed, breathing hard and fast.

He chuckled with a deep sound of masculine satisfaction. “You’ll feel it again in a moment.”

Unclenching her fists from his hair, she opened her eyes to look down at him. “I will?”

“Oh, yes, my dear, you will.”

He kissed the insides of her thighs, and straightened to his kneeling position once more. It was then she saw his rigid shaft, still swollen with arousal. He had yet to have his own release.

Timid, but determined, she wanted to give him back the same pleasure he had given her. She wanted to be familiar with every curve and ripple of his body. She wanted to feel the heat of his skin burning under her palms. She wanted to hear him groan again and again, knowing all the while it was her touch that was evoking his candid responses.

But how? How to touch a man as jaded as Anthony and make him ache inside the way she ached for him?

She kneeled in front of him.

His questioning gaze, dark and intense, glazed over her. “What are you doing?”

She could hear the stress in his voice, sense the great need he had of her. Her answer was to lay a hesitant hand on his magnificent chest, her splayed fingers stroking the gnarled muscles that twitched and capered under her every caress.

He closed his eyes with a groan. “Oh, yes, Sabrina, touch me. Touch me anywhere you like.”

She’d like to touch him everywhere, she thought with a sudden wanton impulse. “Show me,” she said. “Show me how you like to be touched.”

His lids opened, heavy with desire, an unmistakable hunger reflecting in the dark green pools of his eyes.

“Like this.” He rested his palm over her fingers and guided her hand down the moist, sleek expanse of his midriff.

Sabrina watched in fascination as her hand moved lower and lower. Her fingers trembled softly when he brought her palm to the base of his shaft, and folded her fingers over his throbbing erection, bidding her to cradle the warm, hard length of him.

It was such an odd sensation, to feel the power of his manhood surging through her fingertips. She looked into his handsome face to find his eyes were closed again, his expression tight, as though he were concentrating hard to keep his lust under control.

She kissed his neck. He inhaled sharply. She nuzzled his jaw line with her nose, kissing him softly, her fingers still gripping his turgid flesh.

The noises he made, low moans and grunts of passion, mirrored the ones she had made earlier. She liked hearing those noises coming from him. She liked even more knowing she was the cause of them.

“Move your hand over me,” he said. And to demonstrate what he meant, he steered her fingers up the length of his shaft and then back down again, stroking and rubbing at a swift and steady pace.

Sabrina could feel him growing larger in her palm. She studied his features, hypnotized by the expression of joy and need and pain she saw intermingling in each shift of his lips and brows. She wanted this man with all her heart. She hurt inside to have him. He made her feel alive. He made her feel happy.

She kissed his lips. A hard and passionate kiss. One she had never given him before. He stiffened when she pressed her body against his, a brief moment of surprise, but then he kissed her back with an urgency that matched her own.

“Sabrina,” he broke away from the kiss, his voice a half groan, half growl. “I can’t hold it in anymore.”

She released him, trailing her fingers up his sweating back and twisting her arms around his neck. Lightly, she pressed her lips to his. “So don’t hold it in anymore.”

She could feel him shudder against her. “Take off your clothes,” he bade in a hoarse whisper. “All of your clothes.”

With only a brief hesitation, she rocked back on her heels, unfastening the buttons of her blouse.

Anthony didn’t touch her. His smoky eyes followed her every move, though, and it felt as if his hands were roaming all over her, his gaze was so intense.

She slipped the blouse off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor.

“Now the skirt,” he commanded.

Fumbling with the laces, she unfastened the ties and pulled the skirt down her hips, yanking the garment over her knees until she was free of it.

“Take off the chemise,” came the next order.

She was anxious all of a sudden. Anxious to feel Anthony moving inside her. And knowing he would soon be buried deep within her, had her quivering with pleasure. Quivering so hard, in fact, her fingers kept groping at the laces of her undergarment with ill success. The knot wasn’t coming undone.

“Allow me,” he offered gallantly, brushing her fingers away. A few quick turns of his wrists, and the laces were loose. “Now take it off.”

Her heart was pumping in her ears. She peeled back the shoulder straps, nudging the wool fabric down her arms and over the full swell of her breasts.

“Oh, yes, Sabrina, don’t stop now.” He narrowed his spicy gaze to her exposed breasts, her nipples tightening under the lazy caress of his eyes. “Let me see all of you.”

She shoved the undergarment down her hips and wiggled out of it. She was bare before him. And he before her.

In an intimate and possessive gesture, one that sent a shudder down her spine, he raked his smoldering gaze over her. “Lie down.”

She fell back against the bed. He nestled between her legs, the cusp of his swollen shaft nudging the portal of her womanhood.

“I’ve dreamed of you all evening,” he said in a husky whisper. “Of touching you. Of tasting you.” He thrust hard into her and she gasped. “Of being inside you.”

The length and thickness of him filled her, her insides throbbing with want. He moved in swift and steady plunges. She clung to him in a desperate hold, and he to her, as if they could never get enough of each other.

The tension gathered between her legs, twisting and twining, just as Anthony had promised. She could feel the ache mounting in her thighs once more. It was magical, to feel the same intense explosion of sensations so close together. She cried out in release, Anthony surrendering to his desire moments later with a roar of his own.

The candles burned low around the room. One flickering dot of light in particular caused shadows to dance across the wall. The little flame puffed and puffed, as though gasping for air. Choked at last, the glowing light vanished.

Now only three candles burned in the room. Anthony noted the changes in the shadows as each light grew weary and died. The shadows became larger and darker, slowly embracing the bed.

He tightened his hold around Sabrina. She was asleep in his arms, so still and quiet. He felt protective of her, even against the shadows, as if they were trying to snatch her away from him.

What rubbish! No one was going to take her away, least of all the shadows. She was safe with him. And he intended to keep it that way.

For how long, though? he wondered.

Forever,
answered a voice.

Forever?

Yes, forever.

Anthony rubbed his cheek across the crown of her hair and kissed her head softly. Forever it would be.

Chapter 24

T
he procession of fine-crafted Town Coaches, each emblazoned with a noble family’s crest, jammed the street for more than half a mile. It would take the rest of the morning just to reach the front steps of St. James’s Palace, and caged with three restless women, Anthony did his utmost to refrain from scowling.

There were yards of flowing silk all around him, and the constant cries that he should not move an inch or he risked creasing the meticulously pressed gowns. Plumes were perched in tightly coiled coiffures: long, crooked plumes, so whenever a lady bobbed her head near a window to criticize the manner in which so-and-so descended from her carriage, Anthony had his nose tickled, or his ear jabbed, or his eye poked.

Struggling against the urge to yank those blasted feathers from everyone’s hair, Anthony’s frayed patience was further stretched by the wails of his youngest sister, insisting his sword’s sheath was tearing into the hemline of her gown. The blade happened to be nowhere near her precious apparel, but to keep peace in the angst-ridden coach, he pressed his sword hilt more firmly to his thigh after each holler of protest, until he was sure he had marked his own flesh.

Despite his best efforts, Anthony wasn’t able to keep that scowl from forming across his brow. But this was his penance, he reminded himself, for unsettling Cecelia’s début ball, and he’d have to suffer it in silence.

By the time their vehicle had reached the palace entrance an hour later, Anthony’s teeth were gnashed, his fingers were cramped around his sword hilt, the muscles in his neck and shoulders were knotted, and his face had been thoroughly whipped with feathers.

He was bloody grateful at that point to have no more siblings, for this would be his last presentation at court.

The viscount was first to descend amidst the fanfare of curious spectators on one side of the street, and anxious debutantes and chaperones on the other. His mother was next to step out in a resplendent gown of cinnamon-brown silk, with deep white ruffs around the neck, and long net gloves that went above the elbow. Ashley made her graceful appearance in sequence, her gown a demure shade of green, the sleeves slightly puffed, her shoulders wrapped in a diaphanous, mist-green shawl of fine silk. And then came Cecelia, adorned in dove white, her heelless slipper shoes peeking out from under the cascading fabric of her empire frock. All three ladies were a stunning sight, with perfected countenances of womanly grace, offering no testament to the farrago that had raged within their coach not too long ago.

And so the whirlwind ceremony had begun. The four of them passed under the ornately carved lintel, above them the balcony perched with chattering young ladies, all scanning the arriving
ton
below. Ushered into the long gallery, they crossed the Great Hall and made their way up the grand staircase and into the corridor, where they were met by a gentleman-at-arms. His mother presented the family card and they were escorted through antechamber after antechamber after antechamber.

Anthony ground his teeth in frustration. The palace had
not
been this large when he was last here for his own presentation, he was sure of it. The regent must have added another wing in all that time.

Maintaining his brisk and steady strides, Anthony trailed after his family, paying little heed to his surroundings, anxious only to get the whole blasted affair over and done with. So engrossed was he with his apathy, he didn’t bother to glance sidelong when a bright green gem flashed in the corner of his eye. But when he heard the voice—that irritating, condescending voice—his gaze snapped up to peer sharply into one of the branching corridors.