Sabrina detected his smile under the candle flame. She didn’t understand how he had the ability to smooth away her worry with the quirk of his lips. Considering who he was and where he had brought her, she should be more cautious about when she allowed her guard to fall, but right then, suffering from a headache and sore muscles, a friendly smile was all it took to quiet her nerves.
Anthony walked to the other side of the room and collected one of the armchairs. He positioned the seat next to the bed and sat down.
“For a Gypsy,” he said, “you have a very interesting name.”
“I was named after the river Sabrina.”
“In Wales?”
“Yes, it’s where I was born.”
He nodded. “I was named after my grandfather.”
“Do you have a large family?”
“It’s growing,” he admitted with another grin. “Ashley and I are twins. She married some years ago and now has two children of her own. We have a younger sister, Cecilia, who is about to enter the marriage market. The household is preparing for a ball, introducing her to the rest of society.”
“When?”
“The day after tomorrow.”
Her heart thumped faster. She quickly skimmed through the many catastrophes awaiting her on the day of the celebration, should she still find herself laid up in the viscount’s bedchamber. Foremost on her mind was being discovered by one of the hundreds of guests no doubt invited to attend. She was no fool when it came to such spectacles, having often heard the tale of her cousin Gulseren’s vicious treatment by the nobility.
It was last spring when her cousin had traveled through the countryside, offering her fortune telling services to the ladies in the country houses. Gulseren had unfortunately happened upon a dwelling the morning of a similar festivity, and was runoff the estate by the mistress, who summoned stablehand and footman alike to see the “filthy Gypsy” off her land.
Sabrina shuddered at the prospect of a similar fate. “I have to leave before the ball begins.”
“You’ll do no such thing. And please don’t worry,” he added in reassurance. “You’re safe here. The servants won’t trouble you the day of ball; they’ll have too much to do elsewhere. And the bedroom door will be locked at all times.”
He spoke with authority, as if it was an absolute truth she would be left in peace, but she’d had far too many negative experiences with his people to blindly accept his promise.
“No harm will come to you,” he said. “Trust me.”
Trust him? She didn’t even know him. He wasn’t even part of her blood. The man had no real obligation toward her. He wouldn’t standby to protect her from a group of angry aristocrats—his fellow aristocrats. He would set a compress over her brow and feed her and perhaps even escort her home, but beyond that, he would not side with her against his own kind.
His warm hand clamped over hers, her heart missing a beat when he gently applied pressure.
“Trust me,” he said again, more forcefully than before.
She didn’t understand why she was responding in such an odd way to such a simple gesture. The flips of her belly, the hammering of her pulse? She must be hungry.
A knock on the door diverted Sabrina’s attention, and she immediately sharpened her gaze on the entrance.
Anthony unlocked the barrier, allowing Ashley to slip inside the room.
“It’s almost seven,” she said, handing the server over to her brother. “Will you be joining the family for supper?”
“I think not.”
Ashley wrung her fingers. “What if Mama suspects you’re ill and comes looking for you?”
Sabrina bristled at the dreadful possibility.
“Please assure Mother I’m in perfect health. Tell her I’m . . . immersed in a matter of business, that’s it. I’ll dine at a later hour, preferably when all have retired to bed.”
Sabrina relaxed her braided muscles.
“Very well. I’ll make your excuses. But don’t stalk down the corridors in the dead of night. I’ll deliver your meal after supper.” Then muttering as she turned to leave the room, “What will Daniel think when he sees me sneaking off with a tray of food?”
“Just don’t let your husband see you,” was her brother’s sage advice.
A sigh and Ashley was out the door, Anthony drawing the bolt behind her as he balanced the tray on one knee.
At the aromatic whiff of hot soup, Sabrina’s belly pained in hunger.
Anthony settled back into the armchair, the tray in his lap. “Are you hungry?”
“A little,” she admitted, though her stomach almost reeled up to interject “a lot.”
He took the spoon and dipped it into the bowl, sliding the utensil’s underbelly along the porcelain rim to wipe away the drops.
She furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?”
“Feeding you. I’m not blind to the look of discomfort on your face whenever you try to sit up. It’s best this way.”
She protested the feeding, claiming she wasn’t a helpless babe, but seeing as the spoon was already hovering near her mouth, and the strong scent of pheasant was ever so scrumptious, she surrendered with a sigh of annoyance and pried her lips apart. Her eyes closed in delight as she savored the rich flavor. The soup tasted even better than she’d imagined.
And so the feeding went on for a while, with Anthony occasionally dabbing at her chin with a kerchief when a few drops strayed.
As the bowl’s belly grew empty and hers grew full, he said, “You know, your English is very good. Your people speak Romany, no?”
She eyed him briefly before taking in another spoonful. “It was easy to learn English. I’ve lived near gadjas my whole life, trading with them, telling fortunes.”
“I see.” He brought another portion to her lips. “Since you’re being so forthcoming, may I ask why you suggested apple cider in the saline wash? It puzzles me.”
She swallowed. “Apple cider works better in a compress.”
“Are you a healer?”
“It is my destiny.”
“And why do you think that?”
“Because I was marked at birth.” When his brows stitched together in confusion, she elaborated, “I have a mark on my shoulder in the shape of a crescent moon. It was always believed I was intended for some great purpose, and then, five years ago, when I cured my father of sickness, the council of elders agreed it was my talent, that I should be trained as a future healer.”
He nodded. “Then I must ask Ashley to scrounge up some apple cider.” He set the tray aside and rinsed the linen in the saline wash before spreading the moist cloth back over her forehead. “Until tomorrow, though, this compress will have to suffice. Now try and get some sleep.”
“And, ah, where will you be sleeping?”
“Over there.” He inclined his head toward the fireplace, where a long brown divan was positioned. “Goodnight, Sabrina.”
He stood, tray in hand.
She hoped it really would be a good night; she certainly longed for it. And on that wishful thought, she promptly gave in to the dreams already looming in her mind.