A Forbidden Love

by Alexandra Benedict

  Anthony didn’t doubt that. Matrimony was a foreseeable damper to his own lustful disposition. The very reason Ashley was positively fixed on converting her brother from renowned bounder to loyal, straitlaced, faithful-to-the-core husband and father.

  Now there was an image difficult to conjure. Him a reformed reprobate! Not for another twenty years at least. By then, he should have his fill of rollicking dalliances and be ripe to the point where the responsibility of a wife and children would be a welcome retreat.

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you, Ash, but I’ve no intention of marrying for a good number of years.”

  She made a moue of annoyance. “Honestly, I don’t know where you find the stamina to engage in such dissolute ways.”

  “Why all the censure? You’re supposed to be my sister, remember? Kindly recall where your loyalty should lie.”

  “My loyalty is above reproach. Do you know the number of tales that have reached my ears concerning my rake of a brother? Had I mentioned even a fraction of them, I assure you, our parents would have had an apoplexy by now.”

  A skeptical look came her way.

  “All right,” Ashley amended with a shrug of her slender shoulders. “Only Mama would have had an apoplexy. But loyalty does not mean compliance, and I’ll rebuke your sordid past whenever I get the chance.”

  But she didn’t get the chance, much to Anthony’s relief. The door burst open then, and in hopped Edith with her father and baby Myra following closely behind.

  “So here you all are,” Daniel Winthrop called out in his usual jovial spirit. He handed his gurgling daughter over to her mother and planted his lips to his wife’s cheek. “How abominable of all of you to be hiding at such a merry time.”

  “Who said anything about hiding?” Ashley rested a fussing Myra over her shoulder and lightly tapped the infant’s back. “We were only recuperating.”

  Daniel cracked a wide grin at his wife’s response and dropped into a nearby chair. “Recuperating, eh?”

  In the meantime, a rambunctious Edith had squirmed her way into her uncle’s lap and shoved a hyacinth right under his nose. “Smell this,” the four-year-old instructed.

  Anthony set his tea aside and did as ordered, inhaling deeply. “Smells divine.”

  Smiling, Edith tucked the white bloom into his breast pocket, then patted his coat. “There, that looks better.”

  “I have one, too.” Daniel pointed to his own blossom, veering out of his jacket pocket. “It adds a certain air of refinement, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Most definitely,” Anthony harmonized. “Brings out the gentleman in us all.”

  Ashley only grinned at the two indulgent men before asking her eldest daughter how her walk in the garden fared.

  “It was dull,” Edith said baldly. “Look at my shoes.” She shot her small foot out from under her dress so her uncle and mother could inspect its virtually spotless appearances. “Papa wouldn’t let me go near a bit of dirt.” And then she buried her face in the crook of Anthony’s neck and sighed.

  “You poor thing,” her uncle consoled, wrapping his burly arms tightly around the little creature and stroking her blond ringlets.

  Daniel lifted his hands in defeat. “There is no possible solution to this predicament. If my daughter sets foot in the house with a single smudge on her clothes or person, my wife is upset. And if I don’t allow my daughter to get a single smudge on her clothes or person, then she is upset. What is a man to do?”

  “The dilemma you face, my dear,” his wife remarked in mock pathos, still tapping a fidgety Myra.

  “It most certainly is,” Daniel affirmed, “since the affections of one of my girls will always be alien to me.”

  The solitude Anthony and Ashley had initially come in search of was eradicated by a door hurling open and an anxious Cecilia bounding into the parlor. “What are all of you doing in here?”

  “Recuperating,” Daniel supplied, only to receive a scolding look from his wife for his facetious remark.

  Averting his eyes from his brother-in-law to suppress his mirth, Anthony slowly rose, allowing a giggling Edith to slide down the length of his arms, and then moved over to greet his youngest sister.

  “Good afternoon, Cecilia.”

  Anthony bent down and gave her a kiss on her flushed cheek. Since arriving on the estate a few days past, he’d seen Cecilia on no more than two occasions, she being utterly preoccupied with the arrangements to her début ball, which happened to coincide with her seventeenth birthday. But the estrangement benefited both siblings. Seven years apart, Anthony and Cecilia had never been close and had very little to say to one another. Ashley, too, had never developed a strong rapport with her baby sister, who was their mother’s pride and joy.

  A rather unexpected pregnancy, Cecilia had entered all their lives when no one believed the countess could have another child, and since that time she had become the shining star of their mother’s world. Both women just loved pomp and ostentatious displays, not to mention being the center of attention, and a grand ball would be the perfect combination of both their lifelong passions.

  The stunning young woman returned her brother’s greeting, and then marched right up to her elder sister, her blond curls bouncing with each sprinted step. “The ballroom is in ruins!”

  “What!?” a startled Ashley entreated.

  Planting her slender arms akimbo, Cecilia compressed her rosy lips and lifted her button nose a notch. Her leaf-green eyes shone with accusation. “I asked you to oversee the arrangements to the ballroom.”

  “But Lady Hawthorn assured me she would tend to all the remaining details.”

  “Well, Lady Hawthorn has made a mess of everything. The floors aren’t sufficiently polished; I can scarce see my face in them. There aren’t nearly enough candles around the room. And do you know, Lady Hawthorn instructed the dark blue curtains to be hung instead of the pale yellow ones? It looks horrid.”

  Ashley rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed. “All right, I’ll go and see what I can do.”

  “Cecilia!” resounded the bellowed name from the corridor.

  “I’m in here, Mama,” Cecilia called back.

  At which point baby Myra belted out a loud wail of protest at all the commotion, and a desperate Ashley was left trying to calm the unsettled child.

  Belinda, countess of Wenhem, scurried into the room. Her shoulders pulled back, her spine rigid, she poised her small, plump figure as though she were a member of the royal family, and demanded, projecting her voice so as to be heard over the crying child’s: “Cecilia, did you call Lady Hawthorn a featherhead?”

  “She ruined the ballroom, Mama,” the young girl defended her choice of insult.

  “That is no excuse for your behavior. Lady Hawthorn is your elder and my best friend. She is in a furious state and is threatening to leave the estate.”

  “Let her.” Cecilia waved her hand to brush away the nuisance of Lady Hawthorn from her mind. “I have more important matters to worry over.”

  “Cecelia, you will march right back into the ballroom and apologize to Lady Hawthorn. You will also explain that your nerves are in a fragile state or the woman will think you daft for your insolence.”

  “I’ll apologize only if Ashley can repair the damage done to the ballroom and make it presentable.”

  A still-bawling Myra left Ashley at a loss for words—and wits. Her husband leapt to his feet and unburdened his wife from the chore of tending to two whining infants by taking the fussing Myra into his arms.

  Yet another botched family reunion, Anthony mused. With his arrival from London, and Ashley’s from Northampton, the Kennington clan was together again on their ancestral estate in the county of Sussex. Such gatherings were growing more and more scarce. Once Ashley had married and he had set up residence in London, the encounters with their parents and Cecilia had been reduced to a yearly call at Christmas and a few dinner engagements during the London season. This break in their normal family routine
had proven to be far more disruptive than any of them had initially imagined.

  The clamoring voices jostled Anthony from his mind’s retreat. His mother continued to pursue the impropriety of Cecilia’s behavior, Cecilia continued to berate Ashley, Myra’s cries only escalated in volume, and Edith finally clamped her tiny hands to the sides of her head to drown out all the racket.

  Sensing the rhythmic thumping at his temples, Anthony furtively backed out of the room and made a dash for his life.

  Chapter 2

  A nthony stood alone, meditating on the secluded arched bridge, shadowed by the budding vines of weeping willows. He propped his elbows against the wide stone ledge and gazed below at the pristine waters, prattling in compliment to the lively twitter of nature’s most vocal creatures.

  An ash-blond curl slipped over his eye and he brushed the wayward lock aside. With the house in an abhorrent state of uproar, he had taken to the shelter of the trees for repose. But it appeared as though the whole of the property was abuzz with his sister’s upcoming ball, for even the woodland critters seemed uncommonly garrulous.

  Anthony was beginning to suspect that there was shrinking space in this world where a man could seek refuge from a throng of marriage-minded ladies. His sister’s spectacular event was going to beckon to the fore every eligible miss in the county. Every aspiring maid in search of a mate was going to come calling—and casting nets. But Anthony was determined no woman would snare him as her husband just yet. Marriage was such a sorry state to be reduced to. One had the added burden of a family to attend to, and then there was the whole problematic arrangement of an affair, which could no longer be pursued under one’s own roof with a wife fussing about. It was all one miserable business, and were he not in need of an heir, he’d never succumb to such a suffocating fate.

  Cecelia’s extravaganza was a sour reminder of just how horrid his fate would be. Really, what mayhem! It was all nonsensical, the hoopla and dramatics to snag oneself a husband. But, then again, it was likely the mayhem that first attracted young ladies to the idea of matrimony, rather than the thought of an actual husband. He was apt to think that was the case with Cecelia at least. Anthony already pitied the poor bloke his baby sister was going to set her cap on, and he was thankful to be spared from a similar fate for another decade or two—though when his time to be leg-shackled finally rolled around, he thought with a slow-forming smile, he was greatly going to enjoy giving in to all the flirtatious charms of the female sex.

  His musings interrupted, Anthony noticed a kerchief float by, decked in an array of lively colors.

  He quirked a brow, and walked over to the other side of the bridge, in time to catch the brightly dyed cloth pass under the arched structure and continue to be washed away downstream.

  A little out of the ordinary, to be sure, but nothing abnormal, or so he tried to convince himself. Despite that sound assessment, curiosity took root, and with a brisk walk in mind, he traversed the bridge and meandered along the shoreline, traveling against the current.

  Minutes passed. Ducking the occasional straggling branch, clawing at his hair and clothes, he followed the windings of the stream until untamed waters morphed into a tender prattle, no more than a few inches deep. Climbing up a slight embankment, he turned the bend and paused.

  Poised on a rock, her bare feet immersed in the icy stream, her willowy fingers combing through the long, wet strands of her ebony hair, sat a legendary nymph.

  A raffish grin tugged at the corners of Anthony’s lips. Here was the very reason why he had such a feeble disposition toward the fairer sex. Who in their right mind could resist such an unearthly being?

  Folding his arms, he slumped a large shoulder against a tree, and with an admiring glint in his eye, studied the bathing creature in idle appraisal. The nymph’s goose-fleshed skin glistened with dewy moisture. She wore only a pale ivory chemise, the hem yanked up over her knees and wedged firmly between her thighs, exposing the soft contours of well-rounded calves. But those were not the only curves to draw his attention. Shapely hips tapered to a narrow waist before his eyes rested upon a pair of supple breasts tucked snugly between the tight confines of bodice lace.

  Delightful thoughts scampered through his mind. Randy images made more vivid by the lovely display of bountiful breasts and dark, puckering nipples jutting through the thin, damp fabric of her chemise. Despite the warm zephyr ruffling through the blossoming branches, the chill of the water had provoked her body’s sensual response. And he couldn’t help but mull over the enticing image of a plump breast cradled in his hand, his lips hemming round the chilled areola in soft, feathery kisses, smoothing away the wrinkles of the tightening bud before he welcomed the generous mound of flesh into his mouth.

  Anthony dropped his lashes, taking in the sounds of the gurgling stream and loquacious birds, and inhaling the rich scent of birch wafting through the spring breeze.

  Satisfied the blood was flowing more steadily through his veins, he opened his eyes. The twinkle of a gold locket, nestled between the cleft of her swollen breasts, caught his attention next, and when she moved to stroke her moist fingers along her neck and bust, her gold hoop earrings glinted under the random shafts of sunlight penetrating the forest canopy.

  A more winsome sight he had never beheld.

  Her hands welded to form a cup and she scooped the shimmering water into her crooked palms. As she bowed forward, he noted the birthmark etched on her right shoulder blade in the shape of a crescent moon, and his smile broadened. He couldn’t resist wondering what other alluring secrets she had concealed beneath her wear.

  The water splashed across her sun-bathed features, the residue raining back into the stream. Pearled globules dripped off high rounded cheekbones, dusted with a radiant shade of wind-whipped rose. Into the partially opened crevice of her mouth seeped some of nature’s juice, and she licked her full lips to take in all the moisture.

  Anthony’s heart jounced, lurched right out of the confines of his chest, or so it seemed, at the tune drifting over the languid waters. He perked his ears to better hear the faint hum of her bewitching voice. The medley was foreign to him, but soothing, striking a vibrant chord in his heart, so each blood-pounding beat was a muffled thud. Hypnotized, he allowed her celestial voice to seep into his soul, to stir and rummage through the emotions buried deep within.

  But the enchantment was not to last. As if sensing a penetrating gaze, the nymph’s eyes soon shifted and suspiciously scanned her surroundings until settling on the intruder regarding her from the sanctuary of the woods.

  It was those glistening eyes that lodged his breath in his throat: a brilliant shade of cobalt blue, fringed by thick, sooty lashes, flicking in wariness. Those eyes harbored a myriad of emotions, experiences, dreams, trials…secrets.

  She was up, scrambling to the opposite bank, and dashed for the shelter of the trees. Only the distant hail of her footfalls, stomping over moldering leaves and twigs, permeated the deserted terrain.

  Anthony sighed longingly. A pity to have lost such a whimsical vision so soon. And yet, he was delighted to have had the chance to witness such a charming diversion. Vivid memory of his water nymph would keep his thoughts pleasantly engaged for the next little while, and that was certainly agreeable.

  The motley patch of colors flitted by his wandering gaze, and he narrowed his eyes on the assortment of clothes, boots, and a bag, all piled on his side of the shoreline.

  Was the girl really so startled by his intrusion that she’d leave all her belongings behind and run barefoot and half naked through the woods? He couldn’t let her go like that, all frightened and undressed. God only knew what would become of her in such an indecent state, and with a gallant grin, he decided to set out after the skittish creature, the bundle of garments secured in his arms.

  She was a quick nymph, deft in ducking straggling branches and leaping over rotting logs. But his legs were longer, his strides wider, and he swiftly closed the gap between them. He reached
for her.

  “Let me go!” Swinging round, she pounded on his arm, then yanked one of her boots from his hold and struck him soundly in the shoulder.

  His good humor steadily dwindled as he averred between hits, “I mean you no harm.”

  The hurdling boot halted in mid-air—for a second. She nailed her captor in the upper arm once more, and he was forced to dislodge the boot from her grip and toss it to the ground before she smashed his face in with the heel.

  “I only wish to return your possessions.” He quickly shoved the paraphernalia into her chest, expecting an apology and perhaps a little gratitude. He got neither.

  The girl slammed her foot against his shin, her one liberated fist connecting with his jaw, and sprinted back into the bush.

  Bewildered, Anthony stared at the quivering branches, all that was left of his impudent little nymph, and slowly reached for his tingling chin. Now prudence would dictate he leave the matter alone, but the viscount had none of that at the moment. Pure indignation compelled him to give chase, though he took no more than a step forward before he noticed his quarry cautiously backtracking hers. A brief glimpse over her head enlightened him with the reason for her sudden retreat.

  Two men were approaching, their rapiers drawn.

  “Wonderful,” muttered Anthony, still fingering his chin.

  Confronted with the nymph’s envenomed glare, he was met with the accusation, “You meant no harm, did you?”

  And he was forced to defend himself with a curt, “I most certainly did not.”

  Then to prove to her he was not a member of the villains’ circle, Anthony took a step forward, with every intention of protecting her from the advancing fiends—only he wasn’t swift enough.

  The men lunged for their intended target. The girl’s scream pierced through the rattle of twittering birds, and all three went crashing to the ground.

  Blindly grabbing the first collar in his reach, Anthony yanked the brute into the air. A sound crack to the face followed, and the man collapsed in an unconscious heap.