The viscount prowled his bedchamber in search of his cravat. Sabrina knew that was what he was looking for because he kept muttering about it under his breath.
Apparently, his lordship was accustomed to being dressed, and the task of dressing himself was proving irksome. Compelled to dismiss the servants from his room, for her sake, he had to do much for himself. She just sat in the middle of the large bed, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped around her legs, watching his every movement.
He was a handsome sight. Tight fitting trousers, a walnut brown in hue, cupped his muscular curves. The bone white of his shirt contrasted with the deep forest green of his waistcoat, bejeweled with shiny gold buttons. Tipped off with high black leather boots, and the dark green coat he had draped over the back of a chair, he would make a fine vision as soon as he was all put together.
She found pleasure in just admiring him without worry of reproof for her shameless conduct. Not that Anthony would think her admiration of his body shameless. Certainly not. The man would be honored, thrilled, excited to have her looking at him in such a wondrous way.
But no one else would approve. Not on his side of the family and definitely not on hers. Though she didn’t have to fret anymore about what her people would think. She needn’t concern herself with censure from her father or the tribal elders. Ever again.
A tight knot formed in her belly. She was alone. The wretched truth of her predicament, forgotten for a moment, came back to strike her with stinging force. She had no one to care for her anymore. Anthony had vowed to protect her, but she knew better. She had seen the magnificent ladies of his world. Such splendor would entice any man. And Anthony was no different. Her comely ways had no hold over him. At least, no lasting hold. He would forget all about her in time. He would stick her in some cottage in the middle of nowhere and leave her there. All alone. And she would feel the pain of that loss greatly, now that she had grown so close to him.
She gulped in a deep breath, blinking back the moisture pooling in her eyes. She had to come to terms with the ghastly truth. There was no one left in her life to guide her. No elders to steer her down the path of her destiny. No father to instruct her in the old ways. No husband to comfort and protect her. No friends to offer her advice and confidence. For the first time, she had to look to herself for all her needs.
“Found it. Blasted nuisance.”
Sabrina glanced over to the mirrored dresser to find Anthony, cravat in hand, fastening the scrap of cloth around his neck.
It was dark outside. Soon he would be off to the Lion’s Gate. She’d been told that was the name of Gillingham’s club, though what Anthony intended to do once he arrived at the club was still a mystery to her. And she intended to solve it before he set foot out of doors.
She eased off the bed and approached him from behind, their eyes meeting in the reflection of the glass. “What do you plan to do at the club?”
Still fumbling with his cravat, he returned, “I plan to learn all that I can about Gillingham.”
“How? He isn’t likely to tell you anything about himself.”
“True. Which is why I don’t intend to ask him.”
She frowned. “So who will you ask?”
“Emma Kingsley.”
Sabrina had no idea who the woman was, but just the mention of her name had her palms fisting. “And who is Emma Kingsley?”
He gave the cravat a few finishing tweaks. “One of the doxies working at the Lion’s Gate.”
“The same doxy you visited before?”
She regretted her harsh tone the moment she saw the dark look in his eyes.
“Is that a streak of jealousy I hear in your voice, my dear?”
Yes!
“No,” she bit out mulishly.
A blond brow arched. “Really?” He turned around to face her. “I had hoped it was jealousy.”
Since he was taking a step toward her, Sabrina thought it wise if she took one back. And to keep from thinking about the giddy panic storming her breast, she demanded, “Why ever for?”
“If you were jealous, then I’d know you care for me.”
Her back bumped into one of the bedposts, and she looked up at the towering figure of masculine energy, undaunted. “Why would it matter to you if I cared?”
Her question seemed to give him pause before a faint, and roguish, smile touched his beautiful lips. “It’d just be nice to know.”
“I’m not jealous,” she insisted, belatedly, and a little breathlessly. Heavens, the man was stunning under lamplight, glowing like a faerie king surrounded by sparkling faerie dust. “I’m upset,” she went on to clarify. “While you’re hopping into Emma’s bed again, I’ll be all alone--”
His voice was low and a little rough, making her shiver, as he cut in, “I never hopped into Emma’s bed the first time I met her.”
“So how did you find out about the locket she wears?”
Like a magical spell, he entranced her to the spot with his heated gaze. He grazed a knuckle across her cheek, sending more tremors of delight down her weakening limbs.
“I only saw Emma wearing the locket,” he drawled, his lips so close to hers, she could feel his warm breath on her skin.
“Then what were you doing in Gillingham’s club if not chasing after skirts?”
He chuckled softly, his voice thick. “I don’t spend all my time chasing after skirts.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
She gasped at the hot feel of his palm cupping her breast, his splayed fingers kneading the supple flesh.
He murmured roughly, with false injury in his tone, “It’s rather unjust to have such an undeserving reputation.”
Undeserving indeed! But the feelings brewing inside her overshadowed her cynicism just then.
Taking his face in her hands, she guided him down to her lips, opening her mouth to the aggressive thrust of his tongue.
It was a hard, steamy kiss. And with Anthony grinding against the front of her, and the wooden bedpost digging into the back of her, she was being rubbed and stroked and caressed into a dizzying frenzy.
An abrupt knock at the door.
She gasped. Anthony plunged his tongue deeper into her mouth before he broke away from the kiss with a growled oath.
She clutched the bedpost for support, dazed. Heavens, would she ever get used to the man’s kisses?
After a brief, piercing survey of her figure, he sauntered over to the door and opened it. “For once, Vincent, I wish you’d arrived late.”
At Anthony’s curt words, Sabrina’s gaze flitted to the clock to see that it was half past seven. Just who was Anthony expecting?
“What the devil is wrong with you, old chum? First you mysteriously summon me to your room, then you go into a dander when I arrive. You’ve been acting rather . . .”
The man’s scowl morphed into a lazy smile as soon as he spotted the third occupant in the room.
“Well, well.” Vincent swept an assessing eye over a thoroughly flustered Sabrina. “No wonder you’ve been so distracted, old chum. Been hiding a ladybird—”
A sound punch to the shoulder diverted Vincent’s attention. He grabbed his arm, massaging the muscle, glaring back at Anthony. “Haven’t I suffered enough bruises at your hands?”
“Apparently not,” the viscount said sternly.
“Well, then, why don’t you tell me what’s going on?” He looked back at Sabrina and added with a dashing grin, “And explain who this lovely creature is.”
“Sabrina’s no ladybird,” Anthony rectified, closing the door. “She’s staying in my room, under my protection. So behave yourself and tell no one that she is here.”
“A damsel in distress?” Vincent’s gaze reverted to the viscount. “Why do you always have such good fortune?”
Sabrina almost choked on that. Her life was ruined and it was Anthony’s good fortune? She refrained from making any comment.
Moving deeper into the room, Anthony gestured toward the other man. “This is Vincent,” he completed the introductions. “He’s a good friend of mine and he’s going to watch over you while I’m away.”
Sabrina’s eyes flew back to the miscreant in alarm. “He will?”
“I will?” said Vincent, a devilish smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I say, old chum, are you sure you want me looking after her?”
Anthony spun about. “You, Vincent, owe me a rather large sum of money, if I remember correctly.”
The other man winced.
“And you will begin paying off the debt by keeping Sabrina safe,” the viscount continued in a firm tone. “Tell no one that she is here. I should be back in a few hours.”
Anthony took his coat from the chair and slipped into the garment.
The sight of him preparing to leave caused Sabrina’s heart to knock frantically against her breast. By the time he made his way over to her, her heart was making so much racket, she could scarce hear her own desperate pleading.
“Anthony, you can’t leave me alone with this man.”
“It’ll be all right.” He gathered her into his arms, pressing a kiss to her brow. “I know he seems a bit of a scoundrel. But I trust him. You’ll be safe, I promise.”
And with those few whispered words, he was striding for the door, shooting Vincent one last, admonishing look in the process. “Take good care of her.”
Vincent nodded. “Right, old chum.”
The door closed with a soft thud, leaving the two occupants in the room to stare at one another in dismal uncertainty.
* * *
Anthony stood in the entrance to the gaming hall. He had been escorted to the opulent arena by one of the club’s hostesses, and now, on the threshold, he listened to the gusty laughter of male carousers and witnessed the hedonistic revelry first hand.
At each of the gaming tables, adoring doxies entertained their patrons with bawdy humor and sensual caresses. Drinks and wealth drained from glasses and pockets respectively. And a piano in a corner provided the already animated atmosphere with a bubbly jig, inducing some of the more besotted patrons to belt out a rather slurred chorus in accompaniment.
It was a glorious display of debauchery—and for once in his life, Anthony wasn’t tempted to immerse himself in it.
Tacking on an engaging smile, he sauntered into the room. He scanned the arena for any sign of Gillingham, but the man was nowhere to be seen. An advantage to Anthony. He wasn’t interested in speaking with the club owner directly. Quite simply, he needed a woman. His charms weren’t likely to coax any answers from a reticent male employee standing guard in the club. He needed a more malleable target for all his smiles. He needed Emma Kingsley in all preference.
He glanced around the room again, this time in search of a particular doxy. But as chance would have it, a particular doxy was in search of him.
Slender fingers rounded his shoulder in a lascivious caress. He looked down at his side to find the stunning Emma Kingsley circling him, a broad and amorous grin hooked on her rosy lips.
“Good evening, Lord Hastings,” the seductive creature purred.
“Good evening,” he returned in the same throaty vein. Gillingham was sure to hear of his return to the Lion’s Gate and would naturally wonder why the viscount had come back after so thoroughly expressing a desire to never do so. If Anthony could convince Emma he had returned because of her, there was no cause for Gillingham to think anything was amiss. A lustful viscount was hardly a menace.
He pried Emma’s fingers off his shoulder and brought the back of her hand to his lips in a playful display of gallant behavior. “You are a dangerous temptress, madam.”
A slender blond brow cocked ever so slightly. “Am I?”
“I vowed never to return after forfeiting a great sum of money to your employer, and yet here I am, unable to endure another night without gazing into your lovely eyes.”
She gave a husky and spirited laugh, slipped her hand through his arm, and steered him through the room. “Lord Hastings, I do believe you are mistaken. If memory serves, it was not my eyes that captivated your attention during our last encounter.”
“I stand corrected, madam.” His gaze went to the decadent display of her abundant breasts—and narrowed on the familiar gold locket engraved with the face of a lion. He resumed his roguish manner with a downright wicked grin. “It was another lovely pair that captivated my attention.”
Emma ushered him to one of the cushioned love seats along the outskirt of the arena. Collecting two glasses of wine from an attentive server, she then snuggled next to him in the seat, her fine lavender fragrance drifting all around him.
She handed him the glass. Even with a drink in hand, a firm body pressed close to him, and a soft scent tickling his senses, Anthony wasn’t lulled by the deftly orchestrated seduction. He knew the game well. It was all intended to loosen a patron’s purse strings. But he wasn’t there to get his pockets bled. He was there to get some answers.
“And what is your desire, Lord Hastings?” Emma inclined her head toward the gaming tables. “To try your luck at cards?”
Anthony followed her gaze to the center arena and the cluster of men at each table. He examined the faces, some familiar, some not. He recognized Lord Fielding, third Marquess of Winbourne: a renowned rake and wastrel in his own right. And then there was Major-General Archibald Adington, whose exemplary service during the Battle of Waterloo had gained him laurels galore. There was also Lord Bradford Derwent, a political man in the House of Lords, and a known thorn to the House for some of his radical views on reform. All in all, it was a rather eclectic mix of patrons.
And then Anthony’s gaze narrowed to the doxies hanging over the men’s arms. His muscles stiffened at the sight. The women all wore the very same locket as Emma Kingsley! He couldn’t believe it. Was Gillingham marking his whores? If so, why?
To quell the sudden apprehension rising in his chest, Anthony flashed Emma a dashing smile. “You are much more alluring than a game of cards.”
“Am I?” she quipped coyly.
“Most definitely, madam.” He couldn’t play this flirtatious game indefinitely. It was time he steered their discourse in a more useful direction. In a daring gesture, he fingered the locket cushioned between her breasts, his voice a lazy drawl. “My, what a simple ornament for such a striking creature.”
Emma’s fingers came up to intertwine with his. “I have always believed, if the ornament glittered and sparkled too greatly, it might detract attention from my lovely eyes.”
He chuckled at her double-entendre. But in his gut, frustration was slowly forming. Emma wasn’t being very forthcoming. And he couldn’t continue asking questions about the locket, not when he was supposedly there to dote on her “lovely eyes.” He would end up arousing the woman’s suspicion if he continued with any interrogation.
Anthony dismissed all further mention of the locket for the time being, and pressed on. “And what will it cost me to gaze into your ‘lovely eyes’ at my leisure?”
She leaned even closer to him, her breasts pushing up against his arm. “One hundred pounds.”
Anthony gave her a look of genuine incredulity. He had never heard of such an exorbitant rate. And to spend one night with a whore?!
“One night with you must rival an eternity in heaven,” he said.
Her smile was enigmatic. “You shall have to forfeit the figure to find out, my lord.”
He gave a soft grunt. He would have to forfeit the figure indeed. And he wasn’t the least bit looking forward to it. Imagine dropping another small fortune into Gillingham’s pockets, just so he could ask the woman a few questions in private.
And then another thorny thought took root in his mind Once he and Emma were alone, and he had a few answers from her, could he just leave the room, offering the excuse of a forgotten engagement? Or would that appear too suspicious? Would he have to spend a few hours in bed with the woman? And why the devil was he even fretting over the dilemma? Better yet, why did he consider it a dilemma a’tall? He may be here to learn more about Gillingham, but he couldn’t go about his investigation in haste. He wanted to convince Emma he had returned to the club because of her. If he had to have a tussle with the coquette to prove it, then so be it.
And yet dread or guilt or apprehension stalked him. He wasn’t sure which of the three it was. It might even be a combination of the trio. He only knew he had never felt this way before. So nervous about being with a woman.
What the deuces was wrong with him? He didn’t often pass up an opportunity to sleep with a beautiful wench, especially since he had to pay a hundred bloody pounds to be with her!
But that unpleasant sensation in his gut continued to scrape at his insides, despite his sound attempts to reason it away.
With some discomfort, he forced a roguish grin to his lips. “I accept your price, madam.”