What a ghastly old man.
Anthony studied the unsightly subject matter hanging above the fireplace in the parlor. Great, great grandfather Kennington, he presumed. He had always hated the image staring back at him from the canvas, but with such a prominent position in the room, one could hardly ignore the macabre figure. He tried to, though, slowly twirling a glass of port between his fingers, sorting through his muddled thoughts.
And what a muddle they were. There wasn’t a moment in the day when he wasn’t thinking about what had happened last night in his bedroom. He had vowed, to both Sabrina and himself, not to harm her. He had even presented her his palm to prove there was no reason to distrust him. And then look what he had done? Upset the girl by offering her unwelcome kisses.
Her baffled blue eyes stared at him still. Her flustered voice, demanding a reason for the kiss, turned over and over again in his mind. He had made a sheer ass of himself. And there was no easy way to rectify his blunder. All he could do was keep his distance from Sabrina, hope the estrangement would bring her some comfort and assurance.
He sighed. What had possessed him to resort to such scoundrel-like ways? But he had to admit his reason might not be so incomprehensible, that his action, though veiled in drowsiness, was not wholly unintentional.
To think that he lacked such self-control! Whatever desire he felt for Sabrina, his gentleman’s duty superseded it—or so he tried to convince himself. It was all a bloody mess. What he really needed was to redirect his lust so he could focus entirely on his duty.
Anthony heard footsteps and cheerful whistling coming down the hall. Daniel Winthrop entered the room, features bright with mischievous amusement.
“Recuperating again are you, old boy?” Daniel settled into an armchair opposite his brooding brother-in-law. He crossed his legs and removed his white gloves, slapping the pair over his bent knee. “I’ve a piece of on-dit for you. A little bird just whispered into my ear that an unexpected guest will be attending the ball.”
Since Anthony didn’t give a fig for any of the soon-to-be-arriving guests, his words were rather sharp. “And this guest would be?”
“A marchioness.”
“Am I to find this report engaging?”
“Certainly. She’s to be your next mistress, after all.”
Anthony groaned and cupped his head in his hand. What ill-rotten timing! With a blasted ball to get through and ensure Sabrina was safe and battle his own mounting desire for the girl, he did not need the distraction this particular marchioness would impose upon him.
“It seems her ladyship is officially out of mourning.” A roguish wink. “And our dear Cecelia’s début will be her first public presentation since the marquess’s death. Word also has it that you and this particular marchioness are an intended lover’s item.” And then with his hand to his cheek, he whispered, “There’s a discrete bet at Whites over how many months the affair will last, or so I’ve been told.”
“Not very discrete, is it?” he nearly growled.
“Come now, why the long face?”
“I’m not inclined to take a new mistress, is all—not yet anyway.”
A disbelieving snort. “You not inclined? Become a monk, have you?”
In no mood to engage in a badinage, Anthony glared at his brother-in-law. “Dare I tell my sister how supportive you’ve been about my dalliances?”
Daniel’s humor dwindled at that. “No need for threats, old boy. You know very well I’ll not hear the end of it from Ashley if she suspects I’ve encouraged her brother in his philandering ways.”
“So why are you encouraging me?” he wondered dryly.
The man’s grin returned. “Well, you see, I have it from another little bird—”
“You should get your head examined,” he cut in tersely. “You have too many little birds in there.”
“That may be, but they do keep me thoroughly informed and entertained. Now, as I was saying, word is the marchioness is intent on having you for her next lover and this ball might prove to be the perfect forum to achieve her objective. Of course, your mother will have your head on a pike if you embark on a scandalous liaison at such a pinnacle time in our dear Cecelia’s life.”
“And you intend to watch me lose my head, is that it? A little retaliation for coercing you into that trip to Paris?”
“Consider it a parting gift before I set sail for the continent.”
“How very kind of you.”
Daniel’s smile broadened. “Think nothing of it, old boy.”
“We had best put this subject to rest.”
“And why’s that?”
“Your wife is on her way.”
“How the devil do you know that?”
Ashley hastened into the room just then, her brisk steps so faint, her gold silk gown barely made a rustle.
Daniel shifted his bewildered gaze to his brother-in-law, but Anthony remained silent about the reflective windows to his side, which allowed him a full view of the corridor and his approaching sister.
“Mama bids us all to the front hall,” she said. “The guests are arriving, and we are to stand in the receiving line with the rest of the family.”
A still mystified Daniel slipped out of his chair. “Very well, my dear. Duty calls.”
Anthony also hoisted himself from his seat. “Let us see this monstrosity to an end.”
They all sighed in acquiesce before making final adjustments to their accouterments. The trio then stepped out into the passageway and proceeded toward the front hall to greet the arriving ton.
Anthony, his mood still dark, straggled a short distance behind the couple, mulling over the possibility that he had rejected only moments ago.
A fling with the marchioness?
The lady was reportedly willing. His body was certainly willing. But could he cope with the demands of a mistress now? Could he afford to go without one might be the better question?
If he didn’t find a way to rid himself of his lust, Sabrina would be the recipient of all his ungentlemanly attentions. And he wasn’t going to make that mistake again.
A mistress it would have to be.
***
The sun slipped behind the distant canopy of trees, the sky streaked with shades of pink and magenta, like flaming arrows shot through the heavens.
Sabrina was curled in an armchair, a blanket around her shoulders. She skimmed her fingers over the drapes, a walnut brown, tucked in swags and tied with golden cords The fabric was warm after basking in the afternoon sun. She peeked through the ivory sheers at the arriving guests. Almost three hundred were expected to attend, according to Anthony, and there was certainly a crowd at the front entrance as carriage after carriage dropped off brightly attired ladies and dashing gentlemen.
Sabrina glanced over her shoulder to see the clock dials pointed to half past six. The ball was scheduled to begin at precisely seven o’clock with supper to be served very late in the night. She heard the hum of instruments as the orchestra rehearsed somewhere in the house, and the patter of feet in the corridors as servants tended to last minute details.
She’d been alone for much of the day. The solitude shouldn’t have bothered her. She knew Anthony was needed elsewhere in the house, but still, a part of her suspected it wasn’t brotherly duty keeping him away, rather his desire to avoid her.
It was that damn kiss!
It was, wasn’t it? The kiss? The root of all her upset? If it’d been a horrible experience, a slobbering mess, she wouldn’t think about it again, but it had been nothing of the sort, quite the opposite, leaving her tense . . . and wanting.
So many of her people had come to her throughout the years in search of love potions, but she’d never really understood what she was brewing. The herbal mixtures were intended to create emotions she could not fathom—until now that is.
Now there was such an abundance of sensations inside her, she almost wished there was a potion to do away with them—almost. The feelings weren’t all that unpleasant. Her cousin Istvan certainly never incited such feelings. Though, truthfully, he’d never touched her in any romantic way. But she knew, deep down in her gut, when he did press his lips to hers, he would never be able to make her feel what Anthony had.
And that troubled her. She hated to admit what the viscount could do to her with just one kiss. She hated that the kiss had meant so much to her and nothing to him. She hated even more that he’d ignored her for most of the day.
Three swift raps on the door startled her from her meditation. There was a pause, followed by another two taps.
Sabrina sighed and glanced again at the time. Twenty minutes left in the hour. Anthony had promised to return before the ball commenced, both to check in on her and to deliver her evening meal. To avoid calling out to her, he’d devised a series of knocks to let her know it was him at the door.
With the blanket still firmly wrapped around her body, Sabrina rose from the chair, her dizzy spells growing fewer and far less intense as time progressed. She shuffled over to the door, careful not to trip over the blanket’s dangling ends, and unlocked the barrier, allowing Anthony inside the room before she fastened the bolt once more.
His long legs strode toward a small round table, centered between a gathering of armchairs, where he deposited the meal.
“I apologize for my tardiness, but there was an endless procession of guests I had to greet before I could sneak away.”
He glanced at the isolated chair positioned beside the window, then turned to face her. She observed that the green silk of his waistcoat matched the hue of his eyes, and that his black, well tailored coat emphasized his height and broadness of chest. She had seen him dressed like this earlier in the afternoon, but hadn’t taken a good look at him then, because he’d rushed from the room the moment he was ready. Now she studied him, from the slicked curls of his tawny-gold hair to the shiny tips of his booted toes. He was stunning, all decked out in his finery.
“You should be resting in bed, Sabrina.”
She returned quietly, “I prefer the chair.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then gestured toward the window. “And what do you think of this extravaganza?”
“It seems orderly.”
“The ruckus is about to start and I must be getting back to it. I will return in the early hours of the morning, after the last guest has departed or retired to bed.”
She nodded in understanding and stepped aside when he moved toward the door. He paused at the barrier, his fingers on the handle, as though he’d forgotten to say something, but then he pulled the bolt and slipped into the passageway.
Sabrina locked the door behind him again and settled back into the armchair, ignoring her supper for the time being. She parted the sheers to better view the grounds, the regal parade of guests, then slumped back into her chair with another sigh.
It was some hours later, and the buzz of the ball still filled the entire house. Sabrina found herself cocooned under the bedcovers, a single candle burning on the night table. For most of the night, she had listened to the clash of voices and music as the guests celebrated and the orchestra performed dance after dance. As it was impossible to sleep, she imagined what was happening below stairs, but she couldn’t create a vivid picture in her head because she had never witnessed a gadja spectacle.
Her imagination wanting, she wandered elsewhere in her thoughts, suddenly aware that her end of the house was relatively quiet. The servants were probably in the kitchen, preparing for the midnight supper, and that meant the house was deserted in some areas.
It was a few seconds later that the blankets landed on the floor at the foot of the bed. She slowly sat up to avoid any dizziness. How perfect, she thought, the darkness outside, the many bodies downstairs, densely packed in one large room. No one will see her leave. She would move carefully through the countryside, resting often, and rejoin her caravan in a couple of days.
Her excitement and energy level grew at the prospect of leaving the viscount and avoiding a heart-aching confrontation. Quickly she located her belongings in the room and pulled her green dress out of her bag and over her underclothes. When her boots were on, she tied her hair back with a green kerchief.
After a glance around the room to make sure she’d forgotten nothing, she patted her ears to feel that the gold hoops were still there and touched the locket at her breast. With a deep breath, she blew out the candle. Only moonlight spilt into the room. Her bag in her hands, she headed for the door.
Wait!
Anthony had saved her life, nursed her back to health. Was she really going to sneak out of the house like a coward without a word of gratitude?
She leaned against the door, her heartbeats loud in her ears. To spend more time with Anthony, thinking about the kiss and how awkward their relationship had become, required strength she simply did not posses. She wanted to go home. She wanted to be far away from all the conflicting feelings consuming her . . . that he inspired in her.
It’s better this way.
Sabrina pushed away from the door and stepped toward the bed. She untied her scarf, her hair fanning free, and laid the square fabric over his pillow. She hoped he would understand.
She then unlocked the door and poked her head into the long causeway. It was deserted. Tiptoeing out of the room, she closed the door behind her. It felt strange, entering the hallway, like stepping out of her skin. She was in a mysterious new world, filled with unknown dangers, the sanctuary of Anthony’s room forgotten. Skulking through the unfamiliar passages, her hand skimmed the candlelit walls. She ducked into a narrow alcove, hoping a brief rest in the secluded corner would ease her rampant heartbeat. The music was loud, she thought, realizing the ballroom was near, that she was moving in the exact opposite direction she wanted to go in.
Well, Anthony hadn’t offered her a map of the house’s interior. She had no idea where she was going. Each hallway looked the same. For all she knew, she was traveling in circles. Where were the stairs?!
She took a deep breath and stuck her head back into the main corridor before easing out of the shadows—and froze. Voices advanced, about to turn the corner.
Her back hit the wall. She slipped into the darkened passageway once more. She moved quickly to the aisle’s end, listening to the thrumming instruments, the bubbling laughter that escaped a set of looming double doors at the end of her narrow hideaway.
Though her steps seemed deprived of strength, she crossed the inlet with every intention of hiding until the corridor was clear. Her fingers quivering, she caressed one of the luminous brass handles before opening the door.
The fanfare blasted her the moment she stepped over the balcony’s threshold and into a world of privilege and pomp. She closed the door behind her. Instinct had her crouching on the floor, so only her eyes veered over the balcony’s ledge to the gala below.
It was overwhelming. Nothing could have prepared her for the remarkable mixture of colors as skirts and jewels twirled across the glossy dance floor. The music filled her ears until she felt the melody vibrating in her chest. A strong scent of melted candle wax invaded her nostrils. And the gleam from the crystal chandeliers almost blinded her.
The din took her breath away—and almost her senses—as the heat from the ballroom came over her, making her dizzy. Soon the vertigo passed and she narrowed her gaze on one particular pair, standing off to the side, watching the celebration with little interest, more focused on one another instead.
The woman on Anthony’s arm was laughing, her head tipped back so a few cinnamon-brown curls bobbed beside her ears. Her gown, a deep purple, hugged her midriff and exposed her long sloping shoulders. Her hair, twisted in a hive of fashionable curls, was trimmed with elegant plumes, while a brilliant gem was nestled between the cleft of her large breasts.
The sight was like a blow to the gut. Perhaps the woman was just a relation to Anthony? Or perhaps not. Anthony’s family was blond.
Sabrina turned away from the beautiful couple, her back against the balcony ledge, her bottom secured to the floor. What had she expected? Ashley had warned her her brother was a rake. And what did it matter whom Anthony flirted with? It shouldn’t, of that she was sure. That it bothered her, even a trifle, troubled her beyond words.
The music stopped. Sabrina gathered her valor and rolled onto her knees, casting her gaze over the celebration again.
“Your attention, honored guests,” said an old man with a cane.
She found something very familiar about his countenance.
“A toast,” he resumed and lifted a glass into the air. “To my daughter, Cecelia. May she have many happy and peaceful years ahead her.”
There was a hearty laugh from the crowd. “Hear, hear,” chimed the guests in a concordant wish of contentment for the debutant.
So the elder man was Anthony’s father. No wonder she had found him so familiar. Upon the lord’s signal, the orchestra reclaimed their instruments and struck up another dance. Her gaze passed indifferently over the crowd and returned to Anthony and the same well-endowed lady, who was laughing again, this time over a remark the viscount was whispering into her bejeweled ear.
Sabrina saw red.