A Forbidden Love

by Alexandra Benedict

  Her voice quivered. “And what will your family think with you gone?”

  He was back by the door, peeking into the corridor, determining if it was deserted, she assumed.

  “Don’t trouble yourself with my family. I will explain everything to them once I return to London.”

  “Everything?”

  He closed the door and faced her. “A reasonable account of some sort.”

  “So you’ll lie.”

  “Most definitely. Now fetch your things.”

  Anthony scrambled through his chamber, gathering together a few articles of clothing and stuffing them into a small carrying case of some sort. His methodic movements rattled her senses. He seemed intent on accompanying her, regardless of anything she said to discourage him.

  “But you have a ball to attend,” she tried desperately to reason with him.

  “The ball will go on without me. My obligation is to your safety.”

  “But a gypsy walking alongside a gent?”

  “Walking? I’m afraid not. You’re in no condition to travel on foot.”

  “Well, then, riding alongside—”

  “Riding together,” he corrected and stuffed another garment into his bag. “I can’t manage two horses once you’re gone.”

  Her palms were sweating at the thought of the two of them riding snugly together for days. “We’ll only draw attention to ourselves. I’d be safer on my own. Those men are still out there—”

  “Which is exactly why I’m accompanying you.”

  It was decisive and absolute. He was leaving—with her in tow—no matter what she had to say on the matter.

  Anthony went over to his writing desk and shuffled through the parchments. With a frantic sigh, she did a little scrambling of her own, trying to locate her bag of belongings, which she’d tossed aimlessly aside when she’d last come into the room. She found the bundle wedged partly under the bed and yanked it out.

  She had to get out of the house fast, and since Anthony was determined to come with her, she didn’t think it wise to mulishly stand there, hoping he’d change his mind. For all she knew, a horde of guests were already mounting the steps and would be thundering at the door any moment now, intent on carting her out of the house and directly over to the magistrate’s on a charge of trespassing. And if she had to choose between Anthony and the jail, she supposed the viscount was indeed the better option, though that logic did nothing to quiet her jangling nerves.

  When she looked up again, it was to notice Anthony’s arm moving swiftly, quill in hand.

  “You’re writing another letter now?”

  “It’s only a brief note for Ashley, to have the rest of my belongings packed and shipped back to London.”

  “And how will you deliver the note?”

  “I won’t,” he returned simply. “I know my twin. She’ll soon come in search of me and find the instructions on my desk.”

  He finished scribbling the message and propped the parchment upright against the inkwell to ensure his sister noticed it.

  “Let’s go.” Anthony blew out the candle and cradled her hand.

  At the touch of his warm palm, her heart jumped, smacked right against her ribs with a resounding thump. She tried to snatch her hand away, but he maintained a firm grip all the way to the door and into the deserted corridor.

  She needed something other than his closeness to dwell upon, and blurted out the first thought that came to mind. “It’s bad luck to start a journey on Friday.”

  He cast her a brief look over his shoulder. “My dear, I assure you it would be bad luck if we did not start our journey tonight.”

  He was right, of course, not that she cared, what with the endearment he’d just uttered still fluttering about in her head.

  “Do you hear that?”

  Sabrina gathered her wits about her and tried to focus on the situation at hand. Her ears caught sound of the muffled thuds of closing doors. “What’s going on?”

  “The servants believe there’s an intruder in the house, and they’re searching all the upper rooms.”

  “So where do we go?”

  “I don’t know. If we descend the servant stairwell, we’ll end up in the kitchen amidst a throng of scullery maids. But if we use the main staircase, we’ll come to within yards of the ballroom door and three hundred very questioning guests.”

  Another dilemma. She wasn’t the least bit surprised. “Is there another way down?”

  “Only the stairway in the east wing, but it’s located at the other end of the house.”

  “So?”

  “With so many bodies shuffling about, we’re bound to come across one or more of them as we traipse through the winding halls.”

  “Then what do we do?”

  Those large shoulders lifted and plummeted as he sighed. “We have no other choice, I suppose, but to risk the route to the east wing.”

  And risk it they did. Whenever a servant was heard coming their way, they ducked into one of the unoccupied rooms, waited until the maid or footman had entered a neighboring chamber to search through, and then bolted from the room and down the corridor.

  It had been one of the more climactic moments of her life to finally reach the staircase without detection. And seeing as the eastern wing of the house was enshrouded in darkness, it provided the perfect camouflage for their escape.

  Chapter 13

  “A re you sure you don’t want to ride up front?”

  Sabrina didn’t answer him. Probably because he’d already asked her the same question twice before and she’d already declined the offer both times. But aware of how sore her muscles must be, positioned on Shadow’s rump for hours, where all the baggage was fastened, he couldn’t help but repeat the question occasionally. And though he certainly didn’t mind the feel of her warm body pressed snugly against his back, he did take issue with her physical discomfort throughout the long journey that lay ahead.

  But there was not much he could do on the matter. Sabrina staunchly refused the more comfortable seat of his lap, and since her skirt wasn’t wide enough for her to ride astride, she was obliged to travel sidesaddle behind him.

  Anthony had to admit, if she was to change her mind and settle amid his legs, he’d likely lose all sense of direction and end up somewhere in Scotland. He was already having a difficult time keeping his steed in line, continually reflecting on the pair of slender arms coiled firmly around his waist, and he didn’t need the added distraction of her soft, feminine posterior undulating against his groin.

  He groaned mentally at the image he’d just evoked of her round hips rocking gracefully between his hard thighs. Damn, but it was growing harder and harder to control his responses to his gypsy’s touch.

  And Sabrina was apparently aware of his internal struggle. Before leaving the stables, she’d given him every conceivable reason why they shouldn’t ride together, including that she got nauseous whenever she sat on a horse. Though she’d made no further reference to any sickness in the last hour of their leisurely journey, she’d also clammed up entirely.

  He supposed he should get acquainted with her silence, for he sensed it was going to be his additional companion throughout the long ride back to Sabrina’s camp. And it was going to be a long ride. Since she was situated so inelegantly, any increase in their speed would only jar her bones unnecessarily.

  Anthony looked up at the sky. The moon was almost full. The stars danced like ebullient faeries at a midsummer night’s soirée. There wasn’t a cloud in the heavens, nor a gentle wind to breathe life into the slumbering earth. The night was perfectly still. Perfectly peaceful. So unlike the welter gushing about in his soul.

  He closed his eyes and sighed. It was too much, the mishmash of conflicting feelings all battling inside him. There was his duty to contend with on the one hand and a preoccupation with his winsome gypsy on the other. It was even harder knowing Sabrina wasn’t as against his kisses as he’d previously thought, that after a moment of surprise had pas
sed, she was as keen and urgent with her lips as he was with his. And how those lips fascinated him. How much he yearned to taste them even now. Did she have the same yearning? He wondered. His gypsy had already proven how passionate she could be when coaxed from her shy and reserved shell. Could all her distance and agitation be no more than unfulfilled longing?

  The rogue within him took an immediate liking to that idea. Sabrina had falsely believed he’d wanted nothing to do with her because of her gypsy blood, but now she knew the truth. Now she knew how much he truly wanted her. And he knew that deep down she wanted him as well. There was nothing keeping them apart. Nothing save that blasted gentleman’s code of conduct he had to adhere to…

  Oh, to hell with it! He was a rake. The whole world knew it. And if the girl was willing, and he was willing, why shouldn’t they have a delightful tussle in bed? Why should he deny them both their passions and be frustrated? He had seen to Sabrina’s recovery and he was now escorting her home. She was safe, protected, and healthy. He had done his gentleman’s duty. Whatever else might pass between them would in no way be a breach of honor on his part.

  He opened his eyes, his soul a little more at peace. The answer was clear to him now. He would tend to both his duty and desire, having concluded that one was in no way an infringement upon the other.

  But first, he had to cap the heat still rising in his blood. A neutral discussion seemed the best option, and he broke through the silence with the first chaste thought to grace his mind—though it took him about a minute to come up with one.

  “We should be there shortly,” he said.

  “Where?”

  “The township. We’ll stop at the local inn for the night.”

  “Why in town? What’s wrong with out here?”

  Anthony cast his eyes over the desolate country terrain. “Out here? On the ground? I prefer a comfortable bed in town.”

  The implication escaped his lips before he could catch it. He sensed her body stiffen.

  Bloody hell.

  It was going to take a subtle seduction to draw his passionate gypsy out of her shell, not a blatant invitation to bed.

  This night just wasn’t going smoothly for him.

  Sabrina lifted the candle high to ward off the darkness.

  She stared at the bed. Though large enough to accommodate two bodies, there was only one in the room Anthony had rented for the night.

  This won’t do.

  She set the candle aside, along with her bag, and grabbed a pillow and a blanket off the musty mattress, dropping the articles onto the scuffed, hardwood floor.

  Much better.

  A hard bed was nothing uncommon for her, and since Anthony had paid for the room, he could sleep on the feathers.

  Truthfully, she’d much prefer to spend the night somewhere—anywhere—else. But her escort had insisted they share quarters so he could “maintain her safety.”

  Anthony had followed her into the chamber long enough to drop off his carrying case before returning outside to tend to his horse, leaving her in the darkness to fret at her will.

  The bouncing light from the candle flame snagged her attention, and she narrowed her eyes to the mirror on the wall. Something had changed. Something in her reflection she wasn’t able to pinpoint. And it wasn’t just the distress of the last few days that had appeared in her features, it was something more.

  She brushed the wind-whipped strands of her ebony hair behind her ears, and skimmed her fingertips over her flushed cheeks. She did look almost wild, didn’t she? Her hair was rumpled and her face all pink from the brisk spring air.

  Running her fingers through the long, knotted tresses, she wondered what Anthony saw in her. She didn’t possess the striking beauty of Cassandra or the regal manner of any of the ladies who’d been in attendance at the ball. She didn’t have any brilliant gowns or sparkling jewels to adorn her. She didn’t have much of anything a man like Anthony would find enticing. So what did he want with a gypsy?

  It was a few anxious minutes later that the door swung open, Anthony’s large frame filling the doorway.

  His eyes immediately narrowed to the pillow and blanket at his feet. “What are you doing?”

  “Getting ready for sleep.”

  Slowly, his piercing gaze lifted to meet hers. “On the floor?”

  He sounded so incredulous that she began to suspect he earnestly believed she’d spend the night somewhere else—like in his arms. The thought of finding herself under the covers with him, sharing in his heat, sensing his every turn, feeling the touch of his body, convinced her she’d never make it through the night with her wits intact.

  Somewhat flustered, she pointed out, “You asked for only one room. Where else am I to sleep?”

  He studied her intently for a long while, his eyes mesmerizing under the soft candle glow, before he closed the door and leaned against it. “I’ll take the floor. You can have the bed.”

  She shook her head. “You paid for the room, so the bed is yours.”

  “I paid for the room, so I decide who gets the bed, and I choose you.”

  “I don’t want the bed,” she said flatly.

  “Then I suppose we’ll both have to share that space on the floor.”

  She bristled. He wouldn’t dare join her! On second thought, why risk it? This particular aristocrat never did anything the way he was supposed to. He might just be stubborn enough to forsake the comfortable bed and take the floor beside her.

  “Fine,” she said, and headed over to the bed. She scooped up all the remaining blankets, dropping them onto the floor, then crouched and began to arrange the linen to form a makeshift bed.

  Anthony remained stationed by the door throughout the preparation, his arms folded across his chest.

  Finally, he asked, “What are you doing?”

  “Making your bed. I don’t need your broken back on my conscience.”

  “Pardon?”

  She straightened when she was satisfied with the comfortable pile she had arranged. “You’ll twist your back on the hard ground. You’re not used to sleeping on anything but feathers.”

  She glanced up to determine if he was insulted by her suggestion that he was, in essence, a dandy and could never withstand a night on the floor. But his features remained unreadable, though the dark kindle in his eye didn’t foretell of good tidings.

  Sabrina yanked off her black boots and tossed them into a corner before heading over to the window and pushing open the pane of glass. A fresh country breeze bathed her body in the aromatic scents of wild flowers and bales of hay. Energetic crickets chirped in the distance, providing a vocal concert to help carry her off to sleep.

  She took a moment to absorb the sounds and fragrances of the night, and closed her eyes, inhaling deeply. After a brief pause, she went straight over to the bed, with no intention of disrobing, and collapsed onto the mattress. She curled into a ball, wedged her fist under the pillow, and dearly hoped her dreams would come soon to take her away from all her troubles.

  It was a few moments later she detected the soft click of boot heels striking the hardwood floor.

  She kept her eyes shut tight, her back to Anthony, and heard him mutter something about a “stubborn minx” before she opened her eyes in time to see one of the blankets descend over her body. He then headed back over to the other side of the room.

  Scrunching the corner of the woolly fabric between her fingers, she pulled the cover up to her nose.

  He was doing it again. Playing the part of the gallant gentleman. The only trouble was she wasn’t a noble lady. Their relationship, such as it was, would be so much simpler if he treated her with the same contempt the rest of his kind so effortlessly bestowed. There would be no fluttering heartbeats then, no desire…and no feelings of guilt for that desire.

  Moonlight filled the room, the candle extinguished. Anthony settled onto the floor.

  “Goodnight, Sabrina,” he said softly.

  Muffled against the blanket, she re
turned, “Goodnight.”

  It would not come, sleep that is. She opened her eyes to gawk at the window. The guilt was gnawing at her. Just how was she supposed to sleep with the knowledge that Anthony was lying on the floor, not used to the rigid planks beneath his back, prone to the aches and pains he’d undoubtedly feel in the morning?

  The man’s pride, or chivalry, or sense of duty, or whatever it was that had sent him to the ground in the first place, would also prevent him from taking the bed, unless she did something to change that.

  Seeing as her guilt already prevented her from getting any sleep, Sabrina quietly slipped off the mattress.

  “What are you doing?” came the quizzical demand from the darkness.

  Wrapped in her pillow and blanket, she curled up onto the floor. “Take the bed! I’m fine right here on the ground.”

  Silence. Only the crickets chirped in the distance. Then she heard his big body shift. Finally, she thought, the man would listen to reason. But she should have known better.

  Sabrina shrieked. Scooped up off the floor and into Anthony’s arms, she found herself dropped back onto the feathers with a stern warning.

  “Stay in the bed until morning. I don’t want to see you on the floor again.”

  With that, he sauntered back over to his side of the room.

  “But your back—”

  “Will be perfectly fine,” he cut in impatiently, and settled onto the floor for the second time that night.

  But they both knew that wasn’t true, that his back would be crooked come dawn.

  “All right,” she grit through her teeth. “We’ll share the bed.”

  His shadowed head slowly peeked over the mattress to gaze at her. He shrugged at last. “Have it your way.”

  Oh, charming. Have it her way? If things went her way, he’d be in the bed—alone. Better yet, he’d be sleeping in his bed, in his house, and not in here with her at all.