An unusually warm wind weaved through the meadow grasses and carried the fragrance of wild flowers and acacia shrubs. Nighttime critters chirped, hummed, or croaked their evening concertos. Not that Anthony noticed any of it.
He stared at the setting sun. Twenty minutes had gone by, he estimated, since Sabrina had made her way down to the creek for her bath. It being such a pleasant evening, she had insisted upon one, and after promising to stay within a reasonable distance of him, she had meandered off into the bushes. He’d reckoned it was safe for her to do so, that no dangers lurked behind any shrubs, but still, he wouldn’t leave her unattended for too long. He would give her another five minutes and then he would go in search of her. Though why the girl preferred to bathe in the wild, rather than in the privacy of an inn, was beyond his comprehension. Perhaps habit was just too hard to break.
He imagined Sabrina submerged in the creek, her smooth skin textured with tiny goose bumps, her full breasts growing cold in the nippy water. He pictured himself warming her with his hands, kissing away the chill.
He shuddered at the erotic vision. How he wanted Sabrina. His whole body ached for her. And he knew she wanted him in return. Her response to him the other night took care of any lingering doubts on the matter.
So why had their night of passion come to such a swift end?
It baffled him. The girl knew he wanted her regardless of her bloodline, so that wasn’t the root of her reservation. Perhaps she was accustomed to making love outdoors? No, she wasn’t the kind to be so finicky. Besides, one word from her and he’d have taken her out onto the nearest hilltop.
So what was it then? It occurred to him, perhaps it was her first time with a gadjo. Was she nervous about being with an outsider? It was beginning to make sense. She wanted him, and yet she didn’t trust him enough to be with him. And if that was the case, he would have to put an end to her misgivings once and for all.
His gaze went back to the dusky horizon. Five minutes had gone by and still Sabrina had not returned. Checking to see his horse was still securely tethered to the tree, Anthony set out after a tardy Sabrina to make sure she was all right.
The prattle of the water guided him toward the shoreline, where he followed the winding bank, scanning the terrain for any sign of her. Searching for movement in the water, he almost ended up strolling right passed Sabrina. She was seated in a ball with her knees tucked under her chin and her arms hooked around her legs. In the hovering darkness he had mistaken her for a boulder. On closer inspection, though, he noted the faint ripples in the water where her toes skimmed over the surface in lambent strokes. Apart from those graceful movements, she was perfectly still, rapt with such intense thoughts she didn’t even notice his approach.
A twig crunched beneath his booted heel, and the meditating water nymph scrambled to her feet in alarm.
“It’s only me,” he said in assurance. “I was worried when you didn’t return to the meadow.”
Taut-limbed and flustered at her interrupted solitude, she wondered, “How long have I been gone?”
“Half an hour or so.”
Her damp underclothes formed a second skin. One strap slumped down her arm, slightly exposing the top of her swelling breast.
It stirred his blood, to see her in such wanton attire, where every delicious curve was clearly outlined. He reached out and hooked his forefinger around the straggling wet strap, sliding it back over her shoulder.
“You’ll catch cold,” he murmured, feeling her shiver under his lazy caress.
She wrapped her hands around her arms. “I’ll heal myself.”
He grinned at her retort, but then he heard her teeth chattering. His grin vanished.
He shrugged off his riding coat. “You foolish girl. You’re frozen.”
He blanketed her in his coat before he folded her into his arms Ah, what a feeling! Perfection was all that came to mind. She was still shivering, and he tightened his embrace, his cheek brushing across her damp and icy brow.
“Anthony!”
“Protest all you want, my dear. I’m not letting go ‘til you stop shaking.”
And to prove it, he rubbed his hands up and down her back. The friction was causing him some heat as well, and he was gripped with a powerful need to taste her. He always had that urge in truth, but now it was even more consuming.
His lips went to her brow, then to the icy tip of her nose.
“I want you,” he said softly.
She gasped. His mouth closed tightly over hers. She wriggled in his arms for all of two seconds before she sighed, the tension draining from her limbs, her body sagging forward into his chest.
She shuddered and he felt every delicious tremor.
“I need you, Sabrina. Let me love you tonight.”
She whimpered. A whimper of defeat. The sweetest sound he had ever heard. He wanted to cry out with joy at her surrender. It was about bloody time they both gave in to their overriding passions. He was certainly at his wits end with desire.
“Anthony, please,” she whispered.
“Am I really such a scoundrel for finding you so beautiful?” he breathed against her skin, kissing her between words. “Am I really such a blackguard for wanting to taste those sweet lips of yours?”
“I can’t.” Her voice quivered. “My father—”
“Will never know,” he cut in quickly.
“But my future husband will!”
“Devil take your future husband! . . . How will the man know? You don’t intend on telling him, do you?”
“He’ll know,” she insisted. “On our wedding night, he’ll know. Oh, can’t you men tell when a woman is a . . . a . . .”
Anthony abruptly released her and she staggered backwards, flustered. She was so striking, the silver moonlight bouncing off her glossy wet hair.
“You’re a virgin? But you can’t be. You’re a Gypsy.”
She bristled. “What does that have to do with anything?”
“Well, I mean, the way you paraded around my room in only your undergarment. You just never acted as though you were chaste.”
“Gypsies don’t find shame in their bodies. So long as my legs are covered, I am being modest.”
He ran his fingers roughly through his hair. He hadn’t counted on a clash of cultures to pollute all his notions about her. Suddenly, he didn’t know what to think. He felt as if he didn’t know her at all.
“Why are you saving yourself for a man you care nothing about?” he asked, at a complete loss to understand her motives.
“I have my father’s honor to think of.”
“And why would your father care?”
“It would disgrace my entire family if I were not a . . .”
“Virgin?”
“On my wedding night,” she finished hastily. “Why do you sound so surprised? Doesn’t your future wife have to be chaste?”
“Well, naturally, but issues of rank and reputation, wealth and heirs are at stake.”
She stuck her arms through the sleeves of his coat and crossed them under her breasts. “And I suppose my father’s honor is less valuable than that of a gadjo’s?”
“I did not mean—”
“I know what you meant,” she snapped. “Because I have no fortune, my father shouldn’t care whom I bed.”
All right, perhaps that was what he meant. But in his defense, a gentleman had to be selective in his choice of a bride. One couldn’t risk ignominy by marrying anything less than perfect breeding. But a Gypsy being so particular? Did it really matter all that much whom she bedded? She had no social standing to protect or noble family name to dishonor.
He was at a loss for words. Sabrina, on the other hand, had no such difficulty in finding her voice. Chanting an unintelligible phrase, she spit at his feet.
He looked at his boots, then back up to her, and demanded, “What did you just do?”
Her lips trembled. “I put a curse on you.”
“You cursed me?” Incredulous, he suddenly thundered, “What the hell for?!”
“Because you thought me a whore!” she cried back. “You wanted nothing more than to bed me. You didn’t even care that it might ruin the rest of my life!” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I thought I meant something more to you, but I’m nothing but a worthless Gypsy in your eyes.”
“That isn’t true.”
“Yes, it is. It’s all you see in me. You’re just like all the others.”
His anger vanished at the sight of those tear-filled eyes. He realized then the girl had trusted him. At some point in time, she’d stopped looking upon him with suspicion, but he’d been too self-absorbed with his lust to notice. And now, he’d shattered her confidence in him.
He’d never done that before: devastated a woman’s trust. Come to think of it, no one except Sabrina had ever placed such faith in him to begin with, but now her disillusioned face stained with tears—tears he had caused—pierced his soul.
She spit at his feet once more.
“There. I took off the curse. I shouldn’t be angry with you anyway. I’m the fool.” She pointed to her chest. “I thought you were different from other gadjos. But you’re not. You care only about yourself.”
Something unpleasant formed in his gut at her cutting words. He quickly closed the space between them and grabbed her arms. “Sabrina, listen to me.”
“Get away from me.” She broke free of his hold. “I don’t want anything to do with you.”
It wasn’t in his nature to leave a woman irate with him. A smile or charming remark usually did away with any feminine pout or frown. But Sabrina wasn’t wounded because he was tardy for a ball or absentminded in complimenting her dress, and he sensed such a trivial reparation wouldn’t suffice in this instance.
“Sabrina, I . . .”
She stalked away. Her ragged breathing became faint as her silhouette disappeared into the shadows.
That wretched feeling in his gut grew worse. It consumed him. He felt the overwhelming need to make amends. But how?
And then an alarming thought intruded, that they would part company on such ghastly terms. He couldn’t bear the thought of his atrocious conduct haunting him for the rest of his days. He certainly couldn’t bear the thought of Sabrina always hating him. She had been the only one to ever see in him something other than a rogue. To believe he was honorable. To place her very safety in his hands. He wouldn’t let her go home thinking she had been a fool to ever trust him. He would set things right between them somehow. He swore to himself she would have no regrets in having met him.