A Forbidden Love

by Alexandra Benedict

  But it was a delightful thought to have her as his paramour. And he hoped that thought would one day come to fruition. He saw no reason why their liaison should come to an abrupt end, not when they both found such comfort and pleasure in one another’s arms.

  Sabrina stirred and murmured unintelligibly. He could feel her lashes whisking across his skin in rhythmic blinking.

  Rousing her somnolent head, her midnight blue eyes lifted to meet his and he gave her a lazy smile. “Good morning.”

  She offered him a shy, half smile in return, and he chuckled softly at her newfound bashfulness. “You slept well. I didn’t feel you stir in my arms all night.”

  A soft pink blush adorned her cheeks. She was delightfully whimsical in her temperament. So candid and passionate in one moment and so quiet and reserved in another.

  She wiggled in his arms, trying to pull away from him, but the movement of her grinding body sparked new life into his own drowsy limbs.

  “Anthony!” she gasped, as she found herself tumbling across the bed, her hands pinned high above her head.

  He positioned himself on top of her and grinned roguishly. “I like it when you cry out my name.”

  Hot pigment darkened her cheeks even more, and he couldn’t resist kissing her when she was so charmingly chagrined. Ah, but what a sweet mistake that was, for one taste of her enticing lips and he had to taste even more of her—all of her. His mouth sought out an adorable earlobe.

  “Anthony,” she clipped out, an anxious tinge to her voice, “we have to get up.”

  “Not at all, my dear,” he said in a husky drawl, nibbling her ear. “We can stay in bed all morning if we choose.” He moved on to nip at her neck.

  She flinched, and he soothed the innocent bite with a languorous caress of his tongue. She shuddered beneath him. He liked the feel of her excitement rippling against his every muscle. With her hands stretched taut above her head, her breasts were pressed hard into his chest, and he liked the feel of that even more. The only thing he didn’t like were the fibers of her wool chemise rubbing up against his skin instead of her own silken flesh. But he took care of that minor irritant with a quick flick of his wrists.

  Her hands released, he tugged at the straps of her garment and yanked them down to her waist.

  “That’s much better,” he rasped with carnal hunger, staring down at the two beautiful mounds of her exposed breasts. God, they were even more stunning in the daylight when he could see every magnificent inch of them.

  She gave a brief, startled cry of protest at being disrobed with such speed, but when his ravenous lips took a plump breast into his mouth, her protests turned to moans of pleasure.

  He chuckled at the feel of her anxious fingers weaving through his hair, holding him tight to her breast. He loved it when she gave him an uninhibited response. Her honest and so powerful desire made his all the more intense.

  He thoroughly tended to both her breasts, caressing them, kissing them, suckling them, bringing her to such a state of arousal, her grip tightened on his hair until his scalp pinched.

  To relieve the building pressure in both his head and his groin, he slipped between her warm legs. He was already naked, his trousers discarded during the course of the night. He had only to adjust her chemise, so it was crumpled up around her hips, and then he dove into her in one swift and steady stroke.

  She was hot and wet inside. It was pure ecstasy to join with her. His body tight and ready, he began to move in slow undulations.

  Her face was a lovely mixture of need and pleasure, and he watched her expression intently, aroused even more by the patent feelings of lust he was able to incite in her.

  Lush lips parted and panting, she let out a soft, aching moan, and he lost all intention of a deliberate coupling, his hips rocking with greater urgency against her own. He thrust into her over and over again, his muscles flexed and straining, as he held his own climax in check. When he heard her cry of release and sensed her body spasm around him, he let go of his own restraint, driving into her in swift successions, letting out a loud, guttural cry of pure physical fulfillment.

  His breaths were quick and heavy, his heart a thundering drum beating. He took a moment to steady the thudding organ before he slowly pulled out of her comforting heat.

  “We can’t keep doing this,” she said in a quiet voice, her own breathing swift and raspy.

  “Ah, but we can, my dear.” His lips went to her forehead and he could feel the hot flush of her skin. “We can do this for as long and as often as we like.” When he sensed her brow furrow beneath his lips, he gave her another quick kiss on the mouth. “But now is not the time to talk about it.” Now was definitely not the time to ask her to be his mistress. “We have another important matter to deal with.”

  With another kiss on her lips, he left the bed and went to gather his discarded trousers from the floor. Sabrina scrambled to cover herself, wiggling back into her chemise, and a light smile touched his lips at her sudden modesty after the intimacy they had just shared. His smiled only broadened when she finished fiddling with her chemise and happened to look up to find him still in his natural state.

  Her eyes quickly averted to the bed, her cheeks a blooming pink blush.

  He chuckled softly and said in jest, “Now you are ashamed to look at me?”

  “I’m not ashamed. I’m just not used to seeing you, well, any man—” Flustered, she paused for a moment and took a deep breath. “I’m not used to looking at anyone unclothed.”

  He dropped the pants on the floor again and sauntered back over to the bed.

  Sabrina’s eyes widened at his approach. “What are you doing?” she demanded in alarm, scooting across the bed.

  But he caught her ankles and yanked her forward. “Perhaps you should get accustomed to looking at a nude man—especially this man.”

  He lifted her to her feet, so she stood opposite him, enough distance between them to reveal every male part of him to her innocent gaze. But she kept those heavenly blue eyes pinned fixedly on his face.

  He grinned down at her, his fingers cupping her chin. “You can look at the rest of me, too,” he said in a teasing manner. And when her hesitant eyes did just as he suggested, and combed over his frame in a long and curious assessment, stirring the heat in his groin, he added in a more critical tone, “And you can touch any part of me that you desire.”

  Her lingering gaze snapped up to connect with his eyes. His whispered words brought another disconcerting flush to her cheeks, telling him she had been thinking of doing that very thing.

  His lips brushed hers lightly. “Really,” he said gruffly, “I won’t mind if your hands roam all over me.”

  “I believe you,” she was quick to respond, albeit a little dryly, and he chuckled softly at her terse tone. But it was no great secret to her that he adored the pleasures of a woman.

  He turned around to retrieve his trousers yet again, slipping into them, giving her the gained security of his covered torso which she so obviously needed.

  What a capricious creature she was. So candid and willful, even violent at times, and so frightened and meek when it came to the pleasures of the body. A true bashful maid in the one sense, though she had none of the other timid qualities of a genteel bred miss. He liked that about her. And if she consented to being his mistress, he intended to do away with her penchant for blushing at all things lustful.

  They both busied themselves getting dressed.

  When they were in a state of near-decent attire, Sabrina ventured to ask, “What are you going to do about the locket?”

  “Nothing, I’m afraid.” He sat down to pull on one of his leather riding boots. “I can’t make any sense of the address we found in it, so I’ll have to resort to another means of investigation.”

  “Such as?”

  “I’m going back to see Gillingham.”

  Fumbling with the last button of her blouse, she froze upon hearing his confession. “Alone?”

  “Did y
ou expect to come along?”

  Her eyes narrowed sharply on him. “I expect you to be careful.”

  “I intend to be.”

  “Then why go to Gillingham?”

  He pulled on his other boot. “I have to learn more about the man. How else am I to understand why he’s chasing after you?”

  “But he’s not chasing me,” she pointed out with some unease. “He’s chasing after the locket.”

  “Yes, but he thinks you have the locket, and he’s determined to get you both.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Gillingham isn’t a man to be crossed injudiciously.” He stood up and fastened his green vest over his crisp white shirt. “If he believes he’s been wronged, he will seek vengeance. And he likely believes you’ve wronged him by stealing the locket.”

  “But I found it!” she objected hastily and struggled to put on her own boots.

  “I know that, but Gillingham does not. He’s still looking for you and the locket. And I have to find out why.”

  “What are you going to do, ask him?”

  He smiled at her dry wit. “Nothing quite so forward, I assure you.”

  Anthony headed for the door. But he never reached it, his path blocked by one very determined-looking gypsy.

  A finger poked into his chest. “You’re not leaving this room.”

  He arched an intrigued golden brow. He realized she thought he’d meant to leave and see Gillingham this very instant, but that hadn’t been his intent. Having arrived home late the other night, he’d missed the opportunity to announce his return to the staff. He was about to rectify that, when the striking face staring up at him, glowing with a mixture of alarm and anger, changed his mind.

  “I’m not leaving, am I?” he inquired coyly, playing into her misconnection.

  She shoved him back a few paces. “No, you’re not.”

  He stepped forward again. “Really?”

  “Really,” she reiterated tightly, her palms smacking flat against his chest. “You’re not going anywhere ’til you tell me what you intend to do with Gillingham.”

  His voice dropped to a husky whisper. “And just how do you intend to stop me from leaving?”

  She pushed hard on his chest. He grabbed her wrists and crossed her hands behind her back, dragging her snuggly up against his chest. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

  Fire sparked in her cobalt blue eyes. She clenched her teeth and grit out, “Fine.” In one swift movement, she wedged her foot behind his ankle and twisted her body so her shoulder jabbed him in the chest, shoving him back toward the bed.

  He lost his balance at the unanticipated assault and went crashing down to the mattress, bringing a struggling Sabrina along with him.

  She gave a shriek of surprise as they both landed on the feathered comforter, and Anthony let out a deep and rumbling laugh. “Now this will definitely detain me from an encounter with Gillingham.”

  She wriggled on top of him. “Let me go, Anthony.”

  He gave her a wolfish grin. “I’d rather not.”

  “Anthony!”

  With a disappointed sigh, he released her, and she scrambled back to her feet, her eyes as inclement as ever. “Now tell me what you intend to do.”

  “I intend to inform my staff that I’m home.” He lazily got up off the bed. “I’m not going to see Gillingham at this very moment, though your concern for me is touching,” he added with a wink.

  Her lips pursed in obvious annoyance of his trickery, but before she could assuage herself of that annoyance with some cutting remark, he quickly instructed, “Now wait in here for me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He reached the door in three long strides and looked over his shoulder. “And remember to—”

  “Lock the door behind you,” she cut in succinctly, her arms crossed under her breasts in a magnificent display of pique. “Yes, I know the routine.”

  He gave her another smile and then dashed from the room.

  But Anthony was prepared to dash right back up into his room when he reached the bottom of the staircase and heard the squabbling voices coming from the main hall.

  “I demand to see him this instant,” rattled a familiar female voice.

  “But your ladyship,” was heard the earnest entreat of his butler, “Lord Hastings isn’t here.”

  “Rubbish. He’s hiding from me. I know it. And I won’t stand for it a moment longer.”

  A patter of hasty footsteps approached.

  Anthony wavered, considering his options: to take the staircase again or to confront the wrath of one very cantankerous female. He made the indecorous decision to mount the steps. He couldn’t deal with the irascible woman just yet. He had so many other duties to attend.

  But alas, his escape was belatedly orchestrated. He wasn’t even halfway up the stairs when the incisive remark arrested him to the spot. “Going somewhere, Lord Hastings?”

  Apparently not. He turned around and flashed his sister a placating smile. “Good morning, Ashley.”

  “It’s anything but a good morning,” she clipped out.

  “Lord Hastings!” The butler sounded alarmed. “You’re home. I would never have attempted to bar her ladyship entrance had I known—”

  “It’s quite all right, Dobbs,” drawled a dispassionate Anthony, as he made his way back down the steps. “I returned late last night. Please inform the rest of the staff that I have arrived.”

  “Very good, my lord.”

  With a curt nod, Anthony dismissed the servant, and then advanced toward his sister, pausing just short of her arms’ reach, for the woman looked ready to clobber him.

  “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” came the biting reproof.

  “Not out here, Ash,” he warned in a low voice, and risked that clobbering by cupping her elbow and escorting her into the nearby study.

  She didn’t clout him, but once safely ensconced inside the room, she let loose her tirade.

  “I’ve come to demand an accounting from you, Anthony.”

  “Yes, I would imagine so.”

  “How can you sound so blasé?” she dropped her reticule and parasol onto his desk so her hands were free to brandish in his face. “Do you realize what you’ve done? And after all that ranting and raving about duty. I just knew you couldn’t resist the gypsy.”

  So the slighted Marchioness Livingston had had her revenge, he thought with scorn. “How did you hear?”

  “From Lady Flemming, who’d heard it from Lady Camelford, who’d heard it from—”

  “Yes, yes, I have the picture,” he interrupted dryly. “The tale’s gone round the ton.”

  “How could you do this to Cecelia? How could you tarnish her début in such a vile manner? Rumors are flying of your latest torrid affair with some unseemly wench.”

  Unseemly! He scoffed. Anthony headed over to the window to survey the morning traffic parading by.

  His sister resumed her rant. “Gossip dictates you were so enamored by some peasant girl, that you stalked off the middle of the dance floor for a tussle. Cecelia is livid. She won’t have you come near the townhouse.”

  “Well, perhaps this whole fiasco has a bright side to it after all,” he drawled.

  Ashley gasped. “If you disgraced your own sister just to get out of your obligation—”

  “Don’t be absurd,” he chastised and turned away from the window, locking his hands behind his rigid back. “What’s done is done. But I had no intention of ruining Cecelia’s evening.”

  “Your intention is irrelevant. Cecelia’s perfectly planned evening had a blemish. And that blemish is the talk of the ton rather than her ball.”

  He let out a deep, frustrated sigh. “I’ll make it up to Cecelia.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll buy her a piece of jewelry.”

  “A trinket will hardly make amends for the girl’s disastrous début.”

  “Then I’ll make sure to give her sapphires or diamonds,�
� he said in exasperation. “That should nicely exonerate me.”

  “Why did you do it in the first place?”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he countered sharply.

  She scoffed. “You wouldn’t have gone into hiding if you truly believed you’d done nothing wrong.”

  “I wasn’t hiding, damn it!” he snapped, both in guilt and frustration. “I had to escort Sabrina home, remember?” Though he purposefully failed to mention that his gypsy was again securely locked away in his bedchamber. He could just imagine his twin sister’s reaction to that tidbit of news.

  “I knew you couldn’t keep your hands off the gypsy,” she rebuked. “And after all the mortification I went through to try and avert this very fiasco.”

  At her unexpected revelation, his voice dropped a notch, his eyes narrowing with intent. “What mortification?”

  “Oh, never mind.”

  Her sudden sheepish look had him demanding in a dire tone, “Out with it, Ash.”

  “Well, I had no other choice,” she was quick to defend herself. “I had to try to avoid a scandal.”

  “Just what did you do?”

  “Nothing too distasteful. I only cautioned the gypsy to keep her wits about her.” Then, in disapproval, “Every other woman tends to lose hers when around you.”

  His guilt vanished as his anger simmered. “You what?”

  “You didn’t leave me much choice,” she insisted, flustered.

  “And how is that?”

  “You have a disreputable nature. There was no point in confronting you about the essence of propriety. But I had to say something to the girl. I couldn’t very well have it known that Lord Hastings diddles his time away with a gypsy!”

  “I trusted you,” he said, and not without a hint of hurt in his voice at his sister’s betrayal of confidence. He thought back to the time when Ashley had watched over his gypsy while he’d dined with the rest of the family. He remembered returning to his room and finding Sabrina mute and apprehensive. He remembered thinking how odd it was that she still considered him a threat after all he’d done for her.

  But now he understood the girl’s timid disposition. She had spent her time with Ashley, listening to heaps of ghastly tales concerning his character. She had been censured and warned to keep her gypsy hands off him. Was it a wonder she’d been rendered speechless by the time he’d come back into the room?