Raven black locks rested over his midriff, blanketing him in a fleece of silken strands.
Anthony gazed down at the beautiful nymph in his arms. He was propped up against a pillow, his knees bent like two mountainous peaks, shielding a slumbering Sabrina between them. Her smooth cheek rested over his bare belly, and he could feel her soft, warm breath stir and tickle the fine hairs on his abdomen.
He had never seen her sleep so soundly. Nor had he ever been so at peace as when she was curled in his arms. He twisted a lock of her hair around his finger, thinking about the little cottage he was going to buy for her, and how he would come to visit her and continue to share her bed. It was nice to imagine she would remain an intimate part of his life for years to come. He didn’t like the thought of losing her. He was content to have her as his mistress.
Mistress. Would she consent to such an arrangement? He wasn’t sure. He had poor judgment when it came to this particular female’s thoughts. All he knew was that she felt an obligation toward her father to honor her arranged marriage. But according to Sabrina, she had neither a father nor a marriage anymore. Did she now consider her obligation void? Would she be willing to engage in an affair with him?
He’d have to broach the matter carefully with her. The timing had to be exact or he risked the proposition coming across as an insult. It might appear he was offering his help in exchange for her favors, and he didn’t want her to think him so callous. He was her protector. And he would take care of her regardless of her answer to his offer.
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 at her newfound bashfulness. “You slept well. I didn’t feel you stir in my arms all night.”
A soft pink blush dusted 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 chagrin. 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, a tinge of anxiety in her voice, “we have to get up.”
“Not at all, my dear,” he drawled, 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 was the fibers of her 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, exposed breasts. 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 potent.
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 tossed aside 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 breathing was quick and heavy, his heart a thundering drum beating. He took a moment to steady the rampant 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 buss on her lips, he left the bed and gathered his 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 gaze 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 in such a state of undress.”
He dropped the trousers 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 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 she hesitantly 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. 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. “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 at her terseness. 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 legs 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 be 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 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 you 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.” He stood up and fastened a 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 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 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.”
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 features 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 before he left the room. He was prepared to return to his room the moment 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, considered 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, and 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, 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 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 a Gypsy 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 exonerate me nicely.”
“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 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 Sabrina 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 wicked 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?
“You can still trust me,” Ashley insisted defiantly. “I did what I thought was best.”
“You made me look like a liar,” he said in a tight voice. “I’d promised Sabrina she would be safe with you and you attacked her the moment I left the room.”
“I would hardly call a prudent caution an attack. But it doesn’t matter now, does it? The whole of London is whispering about your tryst on the night of your sister’s début ball, so my advice to the Gypsy obviously went unheeded.”
He stiffened. “I’ll have you know I never bedded Sabrina the night of the ball.”
Too angry with his sister’s perfidy, he hadn’t realized how awkward his assertion sounded, implying he had bedded Sabrina on some other night instead. But, thankfully, Ashley was too wound up to notice his little faux pas.
She pressed on with her complaint. “Oh, what difference does that triviality make? The whole of London thinks you bedded a Gypsy on the night of the ball. And now we have to salvage this Season for Cecelia.”
He sighed again, shelving his anger for the moment. “What do you propose we do?”
“You are to come to Papa’s townhouse tomorrow morning.”
His brow crinkled. “But I thought Cecelia didn’t want me anywhere near it?”
“She doesn’t, but Mama insists.” Ashley headed over to his desk to recover her reticule and parasol. “Mama isn’t about to cause a greater stir by letting everyone think her son has been banished because of his transgression. She wants the rumors squelched, and so she intends to go on with Cecelia’s come-out as scheduled. You’re expected in the West End at ten o’clock sharp.”
Her peremptory tone made it clear the issue was not negotiable, and he mentally cursed that conniving witch of a marchioness for spreading the whole sordid tale of his “transgression” across London. Now he had to appease his angry kin, and see to it that his sister married well, despite the shaky ground on which her début had been launched. Though he was curious. “Just why am I expected in the morning?”
“Cecelia is to be presented at Court.”
He groaned and brought his fingers to his temples.
“You’re not wiggling out of this, Anthony,” she said and touched the curls at her temples to ensure nothing had been disturbed during their heated exchange. “Nor can you avoid the other obligation you’re expected to perform later that very same day.”
“Which is?” he all but growled, dreading to hear what else she was going to stack upon his shoulders.
“We are both to escort Cecelia to Vauxhall.”
Bloody hell. A visit to St. James’ Palace and a night out at the pleasure garden. He had never had the urge to do a woman harm before, but throttling the conniving Marchioness Livingston was suddenly an appealing thought.
“Fine,” he relented with total ill-grace. “I’ll be there.” But where would he keep Sabrina while he was off gallivanting the whole day? And when would he get the chance to visit with Gillingham and learn more about that cursed locket? He was going to have to do some quick thinking.
Ashley gave him a swift nod of approval and headed for the door. He escorted her to the front entrance.
“I will see you tomorrow, Anthony.” Then sternly, “Don’t be late.”
He let loose an exasperated sigh when his officious sister finally departed. He headed for the sanctum of his study, pondering what he was going to do about Sabrina. He couldn’t return to his room and confess the mess he was in without also confessing a handy solution to that mess.
If only he could go to see Gillingham tonight, then tomorrow’s gadding about wouldn’t matter all that much. But what would he do with Sabrina for the few hours that he would be gone? Should he inform the butler that he had her concealed in his room? Or should he just give the order that his bedchamber was not to be disturbed for the night? The servants might think the command a little odd, but then again, he was a wealthy bachelor, and they just might conclude his peculiar request was nothing more than the whim of pampered lord. He could always hope.
Anthony would be able to think with a clearer head if it wasn’t for the blasted whistling ringing in his ears. He was about to castigate whichever fool servant was making the racket, when his eyes rounded in surprise at the approaching figure. “Vincent?”
The whistling stopped and his best friend gave him a jovial grin, apparently well recovered from his previous degenerate state. “Ah, there you are, old chum. Missed you these last few days. Where have you been?”
He was incredulous. “Vincent, are you still living here?”
“And where else would I be?”
“Where indeed?” The sarcasm was unmasked. “Why aren’t you back in your apartment?”
“Well, I couldn’t go home,” he said with resolve. “Not yet anyway.”
“And why ever not?”
“Hadn’t heard from you, old chum.”
Anthony doubted his ears. “I told you I would pay your gambling debt.”
“Yes, and then I never saw you again. How was I supposed to know that everything had gone as planned and it was safe for me to go home? I wasn’t going to risk my neck again. Besides the food here is so much more delicious than the meager rations I’m accustomed to.”
“Out, Vincent!” he order in a perspicuous tone. “Your hide cost him five thousand pounds and is perfectly safe—at least from Gillingham.”
“All right, all right.” The man whirled around and ambled back in the direction he had come from, grumbling all the while, “What has you in a tizzy?”
Anthony studied his comrade’s retreating figure, mulling over the sheer audacity of the man, when the thought suddenly struck him. “Vincent, come back here!”
The flummoxed man spun around and walked over to the viscount. “What is it now?”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
Vincent sighed heavily. “Do make up your mind, old chum.”