A Forbidden Love

by Alexandra Benedict

  She was as beautiful as ever. Her cheeks were aglow from the exertion of the dance, her eyes bright and glistening like sapphires. When she moved close to the fire, her ebony locks were streaked with orange highlights, but when she moved away, and the moonlight broke through a pocket in the clouds, her hair seemed to glow the darkest shade of cobalt. She was like a chameleon changing her colors, and he was enraptured by her every movement and transformation.

  He had missed her. He hadn’t realized how much until he saw her now. He’d certainly missed her more than he should. And for some inexplicable reason, he ached at the sight of her so content.

  The loud barking behind his ear had Anthony whirling around and narrowing his eyes on a whelp of a mutt no larger than his boot.

  “Bloody hell,” he grumbled, and then hissed for the irritating canine to be silent. But the mutt refused to halt his high-pitched assault, and Anthony grew worried that someone was eventually going to come along to see what all the commotion was about. Even with the mighty din going on all around him, a passing gypsy would soon hear the little whelp’s cries and come to investigate.

  Having no other recourse, Anthony decided to try his hand at charming the incorrigible ball of fluff. He sunk down to his knees, his voice soft, his hand opened in a friendly manner.

  “Come now, that’s a good whelp. Don’t cause a stir. I’m not here to hurt you, or anyone else for that matter.”

  When he saw the flash of tiny white teeth, he realized he was going to have to be a bit more forceful with his charms, and reached out for the canine, intent on muffling his snout.

  But the whelp scurried off in a panic before Anthony had a chance to tackle it, and he cursed under his breath as he watched the little mongrel dance about and bark hysterically at a young girl, who must have been his mistress.

  The girl put her finger to her lips, ordering the mutt to be quiet, and then ignored the rest of his antics. Once the whelp realized he would get no more attention, he stoutly pranced back over to the bright red wagon and a thoroughly exasperated Anthony.

  “Damnation, what do you want?” Anthony whispered sternly. “I have no bones for you. There is all the food.” And he pointed in the direction of the roasting pits for good measure.

  But the whelp wasn’t interested in the roasting pits—or perhaps he was just interested in seeing Anthony roasting over the pits.

  The viscount readied his hands, prepared to make another attempt at muffling the animated mutt, when he heard a voice calling—a male’s voice, and an older male by the sound of it. He was speaking in some foreign tongue, but his tone was openly scolding.

  Anthony peeked past the wagon to see a big, burly gypsy approaching. “Bloody hell. Now look what you’ve done.” He pinned his flashing eyes on the triumphant whelp before he desperately searched the terrain for somewhere to hide. But the valley was deserted of trees or shrubs, at least any that were close enough for him to duck behind. So Anthony was left with only one option. And he dearly hoped no gypsy had been left uninvited to the wedding.

  Without giving it another thought, he sprung open the back door of the wagon and jumped inside the darkness. He crashed into something, God only knew what it was, and then steadied his vigorous breathing, listening for any signs of movement.

  The whelp continued his tirade, now barking at the closed wagon door, and Anthony irately wondered if the curse Sabrina had once put on him would work on a dog.

  There were a few loud commands, again in a foreign tongue, and Anthony only hoped the gypsy didn’t think to look inside the wagon. If he did, Anthony would be left with no other recourse but to send a fist hurling into the man’s face, and then to drag both him and the little dog into the wagon. Anthony simply couldn’t allow anyone but Sabrina to see him. He could not devastate her life further by revealing to her caravan that he knew her. As mistrustful as her people were of gajos, they would invariably shun her for her association with him. And he couldn’t let that happen to her.

  Anthony held his breath when he no longer heard the whelp’s cries. He waited to see if the door to the wagon would open. It was silent for a time, though he still heard some movement from the other side of the door. And then, moonlight peeked into the wagon.

  He stifled a curse. He’d really hoped to avoid hurting one of Sabrina’s kinsmen, but he was left with no other choice.

  The door drew back.

  Anthony curled his fingers into a fist.

  But the woman’s cry of alarm startled him, and then the door slammed shut in his face.

  His heart was pounding. He listened to the swift and lively chatter at the other end of the wooden barrier, but he was unable to understand a word. It wasn’t long before the male voice withdrew and all was quiet again.

  He curled his hand into a fist once more, not knowing what to expect, and then the wagon was flooded with pale moonlight, and Sabrina was standing before him, fury flashing in those spirited blue eyes of hers.

  The relief that came over him was instant and all-consuming. He grabbed her and pulled her inside the wagon, and though she gasped in surprise at his sudden movements, she didn’t protest.

  It wasn’t until the door was closed, and they were both huddled inside the pitch darkness, that she released her fury. “What the hell are you doing inside my wagon?”

  The space inside was so cramped, she was virtually in his lap when she’d made the demand, though he hadn’t heard her, so overcome by the feelings of bliss and passion that welled up inside him. He wrapped his arms around her and drew her near. It was instinct, the need to hold her close to him. And before he realized what he was doing, he took her lips in his with a savage possession he didn’t know he was capable of.

  She stiffened, then squirmed, then her arms went tight around his neck in a desperate hold, and Anthony thought he was going to die before he could have his fill of her. He had never missed nor wanted a woman as badly as Sabrina, and the desire to be with her overtook all his senses. He was consumed with the sweet taste of her, invigorated by her energy. The harder she clung to him, the hotter his blood became and the more fierce his kiss grew. He couldn’t get enough of her. It was as if he’d been starved, and it was only when a bountiful feast was presented before him that he realized just how hungry he had truly been.

  His hands locked in her hair, his tongue thrusting with desperate strokes into the hot, moist cavern of her mouth. God, she felt so good. She tasted of wine and he was utterly intoxicated.

  Sabrina suddenly grabbed a fistful of his hair and jerked him back. She held his head at bay.

  “Why are you here?” she demanded breathlessly.

  In the darkness, he could see nothing of her. And yet it was such an intimate moment. He could hear her deep breathing; feel her heart thundering under her breast.

  “I had to see you again.” His own voice was low and gruff. “I had to warn you. I didn’t mean to ruin your wedding.” And then he thought to ask and clarify, “Are you married?”

  He heard her take in a breath, about to answer, but the sudden pain in his heart prompted him to silence her with another hard kiss. “No, don’t answer that. It doesn’t matter. I’ve come to warn you that you’re still in danger.”

  She was holding his head back again, her warm, sultry breaths bathing his face. “Danger? From what?”

  “From whom,” he corrected. “There is a man in London, Luther Gillingham. He runs a gambling hall and employs a number of high-end doxies to work in his club. Sabrina, one of those women wears the very same locket as you.”

  He waited to hear her reaction. He was not prepared for her scalding tone. “And just what were you doing with the doxy?”

  “Never mind that,” he almost growled, but then the agreeable thought hit him, and his tone dramatically altered. “Are you jealous?”

  “Of course not,” she insisted indignantly, if in a somewhat shaky tone. “But don’t tell me you’ve gone about London, spending your time with doxies, all with the purpose of help
ing me.”

  He grinned. She was jealous. And it delighted him to the very core of his being. He was fortunate the wagon was so dark inside that she couldn’t see his victorious smile, or she might have clobbered him with something just then.

  “Sabrina, it doesn’t matter how I came across the knowledge. What matters is that you’re still in danger. The men chasing after you want the locket.”

  And to emphasize his point, he reached between them to grasp the locket around her neck, only his hand grazed the full swell of her breast in the process, and she shivered at his touch, leaving his own body in painful pangs of want.

  “This is what Gillingham wants,” he whispered and tugged on the locket. “And he is a dangerous man. He will do anything to get this locket. You have to stop wearing it. You have to go away for a time, so Gillingham will lose all trace of you.”

  “I will,” she promised, and Anthony felt his body stiffen at the vulnerable sound of her voice. Cursed damnation, he wanted to be the one to protect her. And it was going to take great fortitude indeed for him to let her go a second time.

  But he wouldn’t release her just yet. “Where did you get the locket?”

  “I found it, five years ago, by the seashore. I’ve worn it ever since. I thought it would bring me good fortune.”

  Her voice cracked. His grip tightened around her in soothing comfort. “It will be all right.” He kissed her lips tenderly. “No one will hurt you, I—”

  He was about to promise he would always take care of her, but he realized that was not his place—it was her husband’s.

  “Sabrina, you have to get away from here as soon as you can. Gillingham’s men are still searching for you, I’m sure of it.”

  The grip on his hair loosened. “You should go before anyone sees you.”

  He would go—soon. His mouth touched hers in a passionate kiss. “Have you forgiven me?” he breathed against her lips, desperate to know whether his previous words of contrition had had any effect on her at all.

  But she didn’t get the chance to answer him. He should have gone when she had asked him to. But now it was too late.

  The door to the wagon swung wide open.

  Chapter 19

  S abrina stifled a horrified scream and swung her head over her shoulder. “Father!” she gasped in her native Romany, the tears already swimming in her eyes.

  The man was livid. His fingers shook at a frightening pace. His whole body quaked with unmistakable rage and horror and disgrace.

  She scrambled out of Anthony’s lap, the tears now streaking her hot cheeks. “Father, please, let me—”

  She got no further. The man grabbed her roughly by the arm and jerked her clear out of the wagon. She ended up sprawled on the ground.

  Anthony jumped out after her, yelling, “Get away from her!”

  “Anthony, please!” she cried. “He’s my father. Don’t hurt him.”

  That gave the viscount pause, but it only enraged her father more to hear her use the gajo’s given name, betraying further their already obvious level of intimacy.

  Everything happened so quickly then. The commotion by her wagon attracted more curious gypsies to investigate, and soon a small crowd had gathered around her.

  “This is all my fault,” said Anthony. “Please, let me explain.”

  Vardar ordered for Anthony to be seized, and two men stepped forward to grab him by the arms. Anthony didn’t protest, for her sake. Her pleading eyes were begging with him not to hurt her kinsmen.

  Nobody knew who Anthony was yet. His attire consisted of simple riding gear. Her father would never accost a peer of the realm, fearing any legal retribution, but in his current state of wrath, he wouldn’t hesitate to offend a mere country gent.

  Sabrina intended to reveal Anthony’s true identity, to save the viscount from any real harm, but confessions on her part would have to hold off for a while.

  She was suddenly being dragged by her father to the very center of the festivities, and was tossed back onto her knees before the great bonfire.

  The music stopped. The alarmed gypsies staggered back in fear and dismay. Anthony was dragged out into the light alongside her, but he was kept at a slight distance, so all eyes were on Sabrina and her father for the moment.

  Istvan made his way through the crowd, demanding to know what had happened.

  “She is a disgrace,” came the ragged, tortured words from her father. And each word pierced her heart like a slashing sword. “She tells me she is tired and wishes to rest, and I find her in the arms of an outsider.”

  The last word was uttered with such vehemence, it was hissed. And Sabrina felt it sear her ears. Tears drenched her soul. Her whole life was falling to pieces, fading into oblivion, and she could do nothing to stop the spiraled descent. There was nothing she could grab hold of to save herself.

  Istvan looked between her and Anthony, disbelief in his eyes. “Is this true?”

  Sobs wracked her lungs, strangling her words. She could scarcely breathe, her fear and humiliation were so great.

  “How could you do this?” Istvan whispered, heartbroken, shame burning in his eyes that she had been found in the arms of another man.

  “Nothing happened,” she vowed between sobs, trying to explain she had not lost herself completely to another man, but her words were of no help to her now.

  “Nothing happened!” roared her father, and dropped to his knees, grabbing a fistful of her hair. She could see the alabaster white of his eyes fill with tiny red veins. Tears pooled to the corners of his eyes, his voice crackling with suppressed agony. “I find you, in the darkness of my wagon, in the embrace of another man, and you tell me nothing happened? You disgrace me, child.” His teeth were clenched, his tears now flowing freely. “You are not my daughter anymore.”

  It was like ice, gradually splintering, a crack here, a fissure there, and then the whole sheet broke apart, devastated beyond recognition. She felt cold, shattering pain. “Father, please, I made a mistake. Forgive me.”

  He gnashed his teeth to keep his composure from crumbling. “How can I forgive you? You have dishonored me.” And then quietly, so no one else could hear, “How could you do this to me, Sabrina?”

  She could feel a wrenching ache in her chest. “I’m so sorry, Father,” she whispered, trembling all over.

  The pain that flashed through his dark blue eyes was replaced with rage. Black, simmering rage.

  Vardar rose to his feet and looked at Anthony with unveiled, consuming hate before he returned his gaze to his daughter. “You are banished from this tribe.”

  A great murmur arose. Weeping was heard all around her. Sabrina couldn’t believe it. She shook her head fervently in denial. “No, you cannot mean that. I love you, Father. I don’t want to leave.”

  His composure cracked ever so slightly at her words, but hardened again in the next instance. “You know the laws of our people. You have shamed me. You cannot make amends.”

  “But where will I go?”

  He took a brisk step toward her and wove his fingers through her hair, blasting: “You have chosen the bed of an outsider and now you will sleep in it!”

  “But I haven’t chosen him!” she cried.

  “Do not lie to me!”

  “Please, listen. He helped me when I was in trouble—”

  “And you have chosen to repay him with your body.”

  “No!”

  He let go of her hair. “Get out of my sight.”

  “Father—”

  “I am not your father!” Again he snatched her by the arm and dragged her back to their wagon. He started to stuff her clothes into a bag, mindlessly grabbing whatever was in his reach. “Now leave,” he ordered and threw the bag at her.

  “Please, do not send me away,” she begged, panicking, the tears blearing her vision.

  “Get out of my sight,” he whispered harshly and stalked away from her.

  Sabrina flew after her father in a desperate attempt to change his mi
nd, but he shrugged off her grip, and gave her a sound smack across the cheek.

  Instant regret filled his eyes, then pain, then fury. “I said leave!” he bellowed.

  Anthony struggled against his captors, enraged by the brutal sight, and received a solid punch in the gut for his trouble.

  “Let him go,” bade Vardar, and Anthony was instantly released.

  The strike had dazzled Sabrina’s senses. She touched her wet, stinging face in shock. Her father had never hit her before. She couldn’t believe what was happening. Her distressed eyes roamed over the hushed crowd, and she saw the astonished, weeping face of Gulseren, of a devastated Istvan, of her heartbroken father, and of all the horrified gypsies gaping at her.

  She turned on her heels and fled, ran through the darkness, blinded by her tears. She staggered up the hillside, stumbled, then pushed on. She floundered again, but forced herself to continue. Coming down the hill, she dropped to her knees a third time, and remained where she was. She felt all the strength drain from her limbs.

  The racket in her head was unbearable. Weeping voices meshed with sharp, jarring sounds of reproof. Sadness poured through her veins like cold, numbing water. She had lost everything. Her family, her home, her life in an instant. It was all gone—forever.

  What an impenetrable word. Forever. She couldn’t grasp the meaning. It sounded like a very long time, but she couldn’t really go on for the rest of her days without ever hearing the voice of her father. She couldn’t really go about the world alone. One day she would be forgiven. One day the anger would pass. It had to. Her father loved her. She knew it. He was angry now, but he wouldn’t be always. She would come home again when a little time had passed, and ask for forgiveness. Her father wouldn’t be able to stay furious with her forever. He simply couldn’t. She would die alone in the harsh world. He wouldn’t let her die. Would he?

  She was shaking so hard her teeth were striking in swift, loud successions. She felt cold. Lost. The grief was so great, she didn’t think she could stomach it.