A Forbidden Love (20 page)

Anthony didn’t press him to partake in any of the offerings. He allowed Vincent some much-needed time to recover. He only watched his friend from across the room, wondering what the devil had happened to the man in such a short period of time.

“Vincent, what’s going on?”

The man rubbed his tired eyes. “I explained so much in my letter.”

“Just recount what you wrote, as best you can.”

He sighed. “The whole thing happened a fortnight ago. I was issued an invitation to an exclusive gaming club, in a well-respected part of the city, where I met a woman, Emma Kingsley.”

“Ah, the ladybird,” said Anthony. “One of the few words I managed to decipher from your letter.”

“The very one. I fell head over heels for Emma.”

“You fall head over heels for every woman you meet.” A tendency Anthony himself was prone to.

“Yes, but Emma was different,” Vincent insisted. “She was incredibly beautiful and witty and clever.”

“Are you
still
infatuated with this woman?”

His friend’s chagrined shrug was answer enough.

Anthony shook his head. “So what did Emma do to you?”

“She inspired me.”

“Pardon?”

“Emma was like lady luck herself. With her at my side, I couldn’t lose a hand. I was so sure I’d win my fortune that very night and never have to worry about money again.”

The loud groan that stemmed from Anthony halted the flow of the story for a moment. The viscount slumped his face in his palm and mumbled, “I think I know how this story ends.”

“I wish I had your foresight. But at the time, I was just too eager to amass my wealth, and I just, well…”

“Didn’t know when to quit.” Anthony sighed. “Just how much did you lose?”

“Anthony, you must understand. I couldn’t forsake the money I had already invested, and then I got this winning hand and I was sure I’d recoup everything, but—”

“How much, Vincent?” he demanded again, his tone none too approving.

“Five.”

“Hundred?”

“Thousand.”

“
What?!
” Anthony sprang to his feet and stalked over to the hearth. He paced briskly before the fire, his long, ominous shadow crossing over Vincent again and again. “Are you mad?!”

“I told you, I had to try to win back my money.”

“But five thousand pounds!”

“I was sure my good fortune would eventually return if I just stuck it out long enough,” bemoaned Vincent. “But it never did. At the end of the game, the club wanted its money. I promised to pay off the debt in a few days, but I had no real idea where the blunt would come from. And then, three days later, there was a knock at my door. I ducked out the back and went for a stroll.”

“You thought to avoid payment?”

“For a little while. Just until I could gather the required sum. But when I returned, the bloke was still standing across the street, watching the entrance. I went out again and returned, and
still
he remained standing just outside my apartment. Anthony, there is
always
someone watching my home.”

“So where have you been staying all this time?”

“I’ve been forced to hide in a miserable little flat. I sold my watch, gold-tipped cane and ring, everything I had on me when I first left my apartment for a walk. I’ve been living off the few pounds those items have brought me, but the money’s run out. I finally caught word of your pending return and have been waiting for you these last two days.”

“What? In the streets?”

“Where else could I go?”

“What about your father?”

“I could never ask my father for help. He would sooner shoot me than offer a saving hand.”

“I’m sorely tempted to do the same,” the viscount growled.

There was a pleading look in his friend’s eyes. “Anthony, they want their money—all of it—in one sum. No installments. I can’t pay such an exorbitant amount. What am I going to do?”

“
You
are going to do nothing.
I
am going to that club tomorrow to pay off your debt.”

Vincent gave a long-winded sigh of relief. “I don’t know how to thank you for this, old chum. I swear, I’ll pay you back every shilling.”

And Anthony predicted the debt would be fulfilled by his eightieth year, though he refrained from making the prediction aloud.

Instead, he stalked over to his comrade until he towered above him, and in a hard tone, advised, “As part of your debt to me, you will also swear to give up gambling—for good.”

The man nodded in quick accord. “I swear.”

That was one small consolation, Anthony supposed. “Come along, Vincent,” he grumbled. “I’ll see you to one of the guestrooms. We’ll get this whole mess sorted out in the morning.”

213 Cullen Lane.

Anthony glanced up from the scrap of paper he held in his hand to the ironcast numbers nailed above the door.

This must be it, he thought to himself, and shoved the paper into his pocket. He mounted the steps of the regal apartment and was met by a high, well-polished mahogany entrance. He knocked on the door of the Lion’s Gate establishment. No response. He knocked again, and when his admittance was still denied, he pounded on the wood with his fist. He’d be damned before he’d stand there all morning, requesting the attention of some lowly gaming hell owner.

At last, he heard the latch lift on the other side of the door. The entrance creaked open.

“May I help you?” came the stiff offer from a rather pale, ornery old man, who was not the least bit intimidated by the grave gentleman hovering above him.

“I am here to see Luther Gillingham,” Anthony said tightly.

“Mr. Gillingham is not available. The club opens at eight o’clock every evening. You may come back to see him then.”

Anthony’s fist landed on the closing door. “Mr. Gillingham will either see me right now or he will forfeit the five thousand pounds owed to him by Mr. Longhurst.”

That
got the old guard dog’s attention, and he stepped aside with a sweeping gesture, extending his arm into the main hall. “This way, your lordship.”

It was a few minutes later that Anthony found himself in the manager’s opulent study. The room was filled with the highest standard of goods. Leatherbound books lined the one shelved wall. Pale yellow drapes, satin by the sheen of them, adorned the tall arched windows. And only the softest, most comfortable silk upholstered the armchairs. It was a chamber fit for a noble—which Luther Gillingham was unquestionably not.

“Here you are, my good lord.”

Anthony accepted the offered drink, though the man’s condescending civility was prickling his ire.

Gillingham settled behind his large desk and puffed on his cigar. A gold ring, embedded with a brilliant emerald, winked when his hand twisted and caught the light. “How is Mr. Longhurst? I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“Mr. Longhurst is well,” Anthony returned in feigned propriety, then tasted the brandy. He recognized the vintage. The very best, no less.

“We enjoyed his company greatly.” Another deep intake of smoke before he released it slowly. “I do hope to see the good fellow again. Our tables are always open to him.”

Anthony ignored the invitation. “I am here to pay off Mr. Longhurst’s debt.”

“A man who likes to get right down to business.” Gillingham came forward in his chair and placed his elbows on the desk. “I admire that. No sense chitchatting when there’s money involved.”

Reaching into his breast pocket, Anthony pulled out the bank draft. “Five thousand pounds.”

The folded paper landed in front of Gillingham. He eyed the funds for a moment, picked up the draft, then tucked it away in his desk drawer.

“You won’t even read the draft?” said Anthony.

“My good viscount, I would never insult you in such a way.” Then adding in a devilish grin, “I trust you implicitly.”

Anthony restrained his urge to wipe that abrasive grin off the scoundrel’s face. “The debt is paid. You will call off your hounds.”

“But, of course. Business is business, you understand. I had nothing personally against Mr. Longhurst.”

Setting his empty glass aside, Anthony rose from his chair. “Mr. Longhurst has retired from gambling. You will not see him in here again.”

Gillingham also stood in a mock show of courteous respect. “Pity. A delightful chap to the core. We shall miss him.” He came around the desk and extended his hand. “Good day to you, Lord Hastings. I hope to see you again one day, if not your friend.”

Anthony bit back his growl and grabbed the fustian scoundrel’s hand in a firm, brief handshake. “I think not.”

“A great pity indeed. But I extend the invitation to you nonetheless.”

On opening the door for his guest, Gillingham beckoned a beautiful young woman to approach. “Emma is one of our finest hostesses. She will show you to the door, my lord.” Then, with a wink, “Perhaps she will tempt you to return after all.”

Anthony bristled at the mere mention of the woman’s name: the very temptress who had “inspired” Vincent to squander five thousand pounds—
his
five thousand pounds. Though he had to admit, with one look at the finely dressed whore, he was beginning to understand how his best friend had been lulled into losing the hefty sum in the first place.

But Emma’s ringlets of gold and pouty lips were soon dismissed from Anthony’s mind, his attention snagged elsewhere. It was the glimmering jewel cushioned snuggly between the two bountiful mounds of her breasts that caught his eye. A jewel that looked strikingly familiar.

The memory struck him soundly. It was the very same gold locket that Sabrina always wore, complete with a lion’s head engraved in the oval face.

Anthony was baffled. How could Sabrina have the exact same necklace as Emma Kingsley? It made no sense.

But he had lingered too long on the locket, he realized, and promptly composed himself. Gillingham was watching him with avid curiosity, so he made a quick reference to his moment of pause.

“Very tempting indeed,” said Anthony, indicating to the woman’s breasts, hoping Gillingham would accept the aloof explanation at face value. “Good day to you.”

He promptly turned on his heels, and in long, arrogant strides, trailed after Emma’s swinging hips, all the while mulling over what he had just seen. It wasn’t until the temptress had shown him to the door, and he’d glanced once more at her locket and then to the brass knocker in the shape of a lion’s head, that he made the connection.

Anthony smothered the sprouting fear inside him, and with a few parting words to Emma, to throw off any suspicions he might have aroused, he ducked into his waiting carriage and ordered the driver to take him home directly, though he didn’t intend to remain there for very long.

It was clear to him now. Those two scoundrels in the woods really
had
been chasing after the locket. That meant they worked for Gillingham. It also meant Sabrina was still in danger, for a ruthless man like Luther Gillingham would never give up his search for a prize he greatly valued.

Anthony had to go back to the gypsy camp.

He had to warn Sabrina.

Back inside the Lion’s Gate, at the far end of the corridor, an inquisitive Luther Gillingham remained standing, regarding the tall silhouette of Lord Hastings disappear from view.

When Emma eventually made her way back down the hall, he grabbed her by the arm, demanding harshly, “What did the viscount say to you?”

She jerked her arm free. “He only asked how much it would cost to spend the night with me. But I don’t think he is of any great value to us.”

She flounced off, Gillingham glaring after her. But he was no longer convinced it was Emma’s breasts that the viscount had found so enticing.

Chapter 18

“Y
ou’ll beat the skirt to shreds.”

So startled by the interruption to her solitude, Sabrina released said skirt, and then clambered after it before it drifted away downstream. By the time she made her way back to her washing spot, she was met with a fit of giggles.

“You frightened me,” Sabrina accused.

“Did I?” chuckled Gulseren, as she came to squat beside her cousin. “You are too sensitive. What is the matter?”

Sabrina went on with her work, smacking the skirt against the rock, trying to break up the stubborn mud clustered around the hem. “Nothing’s the matter. I’m distracted, is all.”

“Hmm. I wonder what’s distracting you.” Gulseren tapped a finger against her chin. “Did an elf scurry by, flooding your ears with tales of hidden gold? No? Let me think. I know! A dancing bear was just entertaining you! Not that either? Well, what else could it be…?”

“Don’t tease me, cousin. You know the wedding is on my mind.”

“Ah, the wedding.” There was a giggle by her ear before Sabrina felt a pair of slender arms coil around her neck. “I forgot all about the wedding. The very wedding that will soon make us sisters.”

Sabrina looked over her shoulder at her cousin with a helpless smile. She already loved Gulseren like a sister, but becoming a wife would bring the two of them even closer together, and not just in terms of kinship, but in friendship as well.

Gulseren was already married, and Sabrina had never really understood what life was like for her cousin, her existence being one of lonely freedom. Now she would. In three days time, she too would become a wife. No more would she sit idly by and listen to the women talk about things she knew nothing about. Soon she would join in those talks herself, finally able to understand a sacred part of gypsy life.

“Your father is worried about you, Sabrina. He thinks you’re not behaving as a proper bride should.”

There was a sudden pang in her heart. Her nerves threaded to form a taut knot in her belly. “Why does he think that?”

“Because you have been very quiet of late.”

“I’m always quiet.”

“Yes, but you are also a bride, and brides are never quiet.”

The knot in Sabrina’s belly tightened. She had tried, she really had, to mask her gloomy mood from her father. She’d stayed away from the man as best she could, so he wouldn’t notice her sullen features. But he could always tell when something was troubling her. Now he’d sent her cousin to investigate what that something was, and Sabrina didn’t know what to say. How could she explain the feelings of turmoil inside her without revealing
who
had triggered them? How could she admit that a man haunted her dreams—a man not her betrothed?

“Is something bothering you, Sabrina?”

“No,” she was quick to refute, and gave her head a firm shake for good measure. “I’m just nervous about the wedding.”

That got her a kiss on the cheek. “I was nervous too. But don’t worry. Everything will be all right.”

Sabrina dearly hoped so. As her wedding day approached, foreboding shadowed her thoughts. She was sure she would betray her encounter with Anthony in some careless way, and then she would be shunned and scorned by her people.

Sabrina kept her fingers busy, wringing the water from her skirt, and her thoughts away from doom. “I’ll speak with my father when I return to the camp.”

“Good. Saves me the trouble of being a messenger.” Gulseren unhooked her arms from around her cousin’s neck and moved to crouch beside her again. “I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?”

“An early wedding gift.”

Eyes filling with appreciation, Sabrina looked down to the beautifully beaded leather pouch, perfect for storing all her charms and herbs.

She dried her wet hands against her skirt before she accepted the gift. “Thank you,” Sabrina said softly, and fastened the pouch around her waist. “I’ll wear it always.”

“See that you do. I didn’t spend weeks fiddling with the beads to have all my hard effort hidden away.”

With a grin, Sabrina reached for another piece of clothing and dipped it into the stream.

“Do you need any help with your wedding clothes?” her cousin asked.

She gave her head a brisk shake. “I’m almost finished. There are only a few more coins to sew into the hemline of the skirt.”

With a sly smile, Gulseren replied, “Don’t forget to sew a few coins into the wedding sheets, too. It will bring your future children good luck.”

Cheeks brightening at the mention of such a thing, Sabrina immersed herself in her laundry, trying to ignore the spirited laughter coming from her cousin.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t look behind you,” Gulseren chuckled. “Your cheeks might darken even more.”

But, of course, Sabrina now had to look, and her eyes pinned on the slowly approaching figure of her betrothed. Her blush deepened.

Istvan was heading toward the two young women with a timid smile on his face. He was tall, like his father and her father and all Kallos men in general, with the same dark brown hair and soft blue eyes. He was also slender for his height, but then, so too had her father been at his age, and he’d eventually developed into a strong and robust man—though Anthony was already strong and robust.