She felt the heat of his body, the strength of the arm that he draped so casually over her shoulders. Such nearness alarmed her, as did his attempt to charm her. “I don’t wish to cry pax.”
“You would rather fight? If so, we may do so in private. Indeed, love,” he murmured as if they were alone in a bedchamber, or alone in a bed, “it might prove enjoyable.”
Sabrina stiffened. “I am not your love.”
A semi-grin, more devastating than its whole counterpart, sauntered across his mouth. “’Tis a figure of speech, merely that.”
She was not proof against such sensual charisma. It made her ache with longing.
Sabrina closed her eyes, damning herself for the wanting. Her desire for him dismayed her. It was imperative that she build up her resistance to that sinfully easy charm. She didn’t want to fall for this man, only to have him betray her.
And yet…she was but human. She wanted desperately to know what it was like to be held in Niall’s arms.
Marshaling her defenses, Sabrina gazed up at him defiantly. “If you expect me to fall at your feet like all your other adoring admirers, you are much mistaken.”
Niall laughed with an easy sensuality, as if he knew very well she would succumb to him eventually. “If you continue imbibing, you will fall at my feet out of sheer inebriation.” He took the glass from her hand. “Come, madam. I believe it is time to take our leave, before you’re entirely foxed.”
“I am not foxed! I have never been foxed in my life.”
“Perhaps that is part of the trouble, mouse. It might help you to shed some of your inhibitions were you to become soused now and then. For now, however, you will accompany me home like an obedient wife.”
Despite his light tone, Sabrina felt herself bristle. “I was not born to take your orders, sir. I am accustomed to being my own mistress.”
“So I ken. But I have no intention of arguing. If you refuse to accompany me, I shall simply toss you over my shoulder and carry you off. As you are now the Countess of Strathearn, I presume you would prefer a more dignified exit.”
“You wouldn’t…” She bit off the word “dare.”
His smile dawned slow and bright, as if he were anticipating the challenge.
Sabrina clenched her teeth, determined not to be provoked. The wretch had a talent for drawing intense reactions from her. A single word from him managed to touch off the fighting spirit in her. But she would not give him the satisfaction.
She shivered, however, when Niall bent and pressed his lips against the sensitive flesh just behind her left ear. “The bedding will be a pleasant experience, I assure you,” he whispered, the words like velvet on her skin. “I promise you a night you will long remember.”
Chapter
Eight
Quite unwillingly, Sabrina took leave of her kin in the most public manner possible. The afternoon was well advanced when the guests gathered to bid the bridal couple farewell. When Niall very deliberately drew her into his arms, Sabrina gasped to find herself crushed against unyielding male strength. Before she could protest, his lips boldly captured hers for a lusty, rousing kiss.
She might have struggled if not for the way Niall’s devastating expertise turned her knees to jelly.
“Go to it, lad. Give the wench a taste ’o yer blade!” a drunken Highlander called out.
“Dip into her honey pot!”
“Give her a wee bairn to do the McLarens proud!”
It was a long moment before Niall released her. Flushed and breathless and trembling with outrage, Sabrina lifted her head regally, but gave her husband a glare that promised a full accounting later.
With the crowd roaring approval, Niall lifted his bride upon his horse and swung up behind her.
“And just what was that spectacle in honor of?” Sabrina demanded the moment they were out of sight. She could still feel the warm imprint of his mouth on hers, the strength of his hard body at her back, though she told herself the fierce beating of her heart was due solely to anger and alarm.
Behind her, Niall smiled. The tartness of her tone held a telltale quiver that suggested she was more affected by his sudden display of passion than she pretended.
“Everyone present will remark my devotion to you,” he replied calmly. “If our enemies see that I have claimed you as my own, they will think twice before attacking Clan Duncan again. That was the prime purpose of our holy union, was it not?”
“I see nothing holy about it. I consented for expediencies’ sake, nothing more. And there was no reason for you to drag me away from the celebration.”
“Ah, but there was. The consummation, remember?”
“It could have waited.”
“Perhaps, but your grandfather was eager for us to get on with it so there would be no doubt we are wed. In fact, he advised me to beget an heir directly.”
Sabrina stiffened abruptly at his levity, but when she tried to draw away, Niall’s arm circled her waist and hauled her back into position.
He gave a soft chuckle. “Settle down, mouse. You are as prickly as a hedgehog.”
“I cannot be both animals!” she snapped.
Aye, she could, he thought ruefully. She was a lass to test the mettle of a saint, and he certainly was no saint. But he was certain he would easily conquer this infuriating, challenging wench—as soon as he could get her in his bed.
By mutual consent, they both fell silent for the remainder of the journey. A brisk Highland breeze bore the perfume of sweet-scented gorse, but Sabrina scarcely noticed. Her trepidation increased moment by moment as the false courage of the whisky ebbed. She felt like a prize of war, a helpless prisoner being carried off to her conqueror’s ancient castle.
As they approached the imposing stone edifice, she felt her heart begin to pound. Only a few clansmen had been left to guard against attack, so the castle seemed nearly deserted when they rode into the courtyard. Niall dismounted without a word and reached up for her.
Reluctantly Sabrina placed her hands on the hard width of his shoulders and felt the smooth muscles contract beneath her fingers. Her palms tingled with warmth as he grasped her waist and swung her to the ground.
To her further dismay, Niall deliberately took her hand and pulled her along behind him. The house was silent, their footsteps echoing on the stone flags. They met no one as they climbed the stairs, but Sabrina’s pulse beat faster when she realized his intent.
She held back when he led her directly to his bedchamber, but he drew her gently, relentlessly inside.
“My lord…it is still broad daylight,” Sabrina protested uneasily as he shut the door softly behind them.
“My name is Niall, sweeting. And it is late afternoon, an excellent time for a tryst.” He shed his plaid and tossed it carelessly in a chair.
Nervously Sabrina glanced around her. His bedchamber seemed appropriate for the man—beautiful and decadent. A giant four-poster bed curtained with burgundy hangings dominated the room, while a thick woven carpet embellished the floor. The covers of the huge bed had been turned down invitingly, and a fire glowed in the grate, taking the chill from the air. Even so, she shivered.
“Don’t be afraid, sweet mouse. I predict that by the morrow you will be sighing sweetly with delight and imploring me not to leave you.”
She went rigid with indignity. “Has anyone ever mentioned what an insufferable, arrogant braggart you are?”
“I am merely being truthful.” A grin that could only be called exquisitely decadent curved his beautiful mouth. “Seduction has been my avocation since adolescence. And I pride myself in a certain competence.”
He was enjoying himself, the beast. Sabrina clenched her fingers, fighting the urge to march across the chamber and box his ears. “A consummation should be a solemn occasion. You view it as a mere exercise in lechery.”
“I see no reason it cannot be both solemn and pleasurable. Be assured, I shall fully arouse you first so that you might enjoy it as well as I.”
�
�You’ll arouse nothing in me save my temper!”
Niall gazed at her measuringly. Her eyes were dark with wariness, but the spirit that flashed there suggested his deliberate provocation was having an effect. She was nervous at the coming union, he knew, but sparring with her brought forth the defiant vixen, which was the only lass he wanted in his bed. One who was unafraid and eager to match him in passion.
When he glimpsed her tongue as it flickered over dewy lips, his voice softened. “You’ve never feared me before, tiger. Don’t begin now.”
“I…I am not afraid. I simply have no desire to submit to a rutting beast.”
His smile was pained. “You wound me grievously. I am hardly a beast. I am your husband.” Niall hesitated, his eyes searching. “Did it not occur to you that this situation might be new to me as well? Despite your much exaggerated account of my debauchery, I have never before deflowered a maiden.”
“Then how do you know if you can manage it?”
He wanted to laugh, and yet…The question was not as absurd as he might have thought. For all his nonchalance, he had never known such innocence, and the prospect disquieted him. He wanted her first experience with lovemaking to be pleasurable and memorable. “I shall give you nothing you don’t ask for voluntarily.”
The words were rich in promise, his voice a husky caress. He turned away then, to permit her to weigh his reassurances.
Taking his time, he drew the velvet drapes across the windows, shutting out the late afternoon sunlight, enveloping them in soft darkness. Then leisurely, he lit a dozen candles in a candelabra, at once transforming the chamber to an intimate haven for lovers, suffused with a quiet golden glow.
His gaze found Sabrina, where she stood riveted to the floor. Slowly he moved toward her, till he was a scant few inches away. Reaching up, he framed her face with his palms, disarming her with his tenderness.
“I want very much for your first time to be good for you…special and fulfilling. I shall be gentle and considerate, I swear it. I will do nothing you are not fully prepared for. Will you trust me, sweetheart?”
His voice was soft and warm, his eyes compelling. Sabrina felt her fear melting.
She nodded slowly.
“Tell me,” he urged.
“I…will trust you.”
The intimate smile he gave her made her feel as if the sun had burst from behind the clouds.
“Your hair…I like it this way.”
The arrangement fell to one side in thick curls. Catching the ends, Niall rubbed it between his fingertips, as if savoring the feel. “Such rich color…texture. But I would like it better flowing free.”
When Sabrina reached up to remove the pins, he gently stilled her hands. “No, allow me the pleasure.”
Her heart beat unevenly as his fingers searched and found his targets. Loosening the heavy mass, he let it fall down her back. Smoothing a stray wisp back from her face, he gently tangled his fingers in the rich fullness.
“You are bonny with your hair down,” he murmured as he bent to brush her mouth with his.
It was a butterfly kiss that seemed to draw her soul from her body. Sabrina stood dazed when Niall drew back and smiled.
“With your permission, I shall play lady’s maid.”
To her startlement then, he sank down to kneel at her feet. One by one he slipped off her shoes, caressing each ankle almost reverently. To maintain her balance, Sabrina had to grasp his shoulder with one hand, but she froze when he reached beneath her petticoats to find the garter that held up her stocking.
Her breath caught as he brushed her bare calf. A frisson of fiery sensation sparked from his fingertips to her skin, yet he seemed too intent on his task to notice. She endured the delicate torment in silence, biting her lip until at last it was over and she stood barefoot.
Then he rose. “And now your gown, sweeting.”
Sabrina’s breath seemed to stop once more.
She tried to pretend indifference as he took her hand and drew her farther into the room, toward the warmth of the fire, but it took every ounce of fortitude she possessed to stand there quietly and submit to his skillful ministrations.
He first removed the stomacher, then the heavy skirt, and carefully draped them both over a chair. The embroidered petticoat-underskirt came next, and finally the beautiful bodice.
He seemed so casual about the whole process, Sabrina thought despondently. As if he had undressed countless ladies before her. It was only when he saw the bandage on her arm that he showed any emotion. His eyes darkened.
“I would that I could have spared you this,” he murmured as he bent to press a light kiss on her arm, just above the bandage.
She flinched a little, but not in pain. Rather it was the sensual sensations streaking through her like fire at his tender gesture.
She went rigid when, with a forefinger, he touched the neckline of her shift. A vibrant shiver ran though her as he brushed the rising swell of her breast, feeling the ridge the tight bodice had made in her flesh.
“’Tis criminal, how the whalebone has marked your lovely skin. Let me soothe it.”
Bending, he pressed a succession of fleeting kisses on the side of her throat…her white shoulder…the swell of her breast…He left her hot and shivering when he drew back.
“You don’t need this, do you, love?” The warm resonance of his voice bathed her with sensation.
Catching the hem of her shift, he drew the garment over her head and let it drop to the floor.
Entirely nude, Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a flash of panic. She felt small and vulnerable, unprepossessing in the face of his masculine beauty.
“You have a lovely body.”
Her gaze flickered up to meet his, disbelieving. The unexpected dark intensity in his eyes filled her with a strange excitement.
“I…I’m rather plain.”
“You’re perfect.”
“I’m not like your other…like the Widow Graham. I expect you are disappointed.”
The comparison was inevitable, Niall supposed; Sabrina was different from Eve Graham. Yet he had stopped thinking of her as plain long ago. And disappointment was the last thing he felt just now as he studied her slender, long-legged body. He wanted her.
Sabrina was prim and shy and stubbornly defiant…. And yet she was magnificent in her own quiet way…with flawless satin skin the color of ivory; breasts high and firm, tipped with distended, rosy nipples; legs that were long, slim, curvaceous; and a fire in her eyes that called to him.
He had known many lovely women, but this lass’s appeal went beyond skin deep. There was a bold spirit within her, an unexplored passion that cried out for release. By him. He wanted very much to be the one to draw her from her imprisoning shell, to awaken her sexually.
“Every lass has her own special beauty, and yours is very appealing.” He reached up to cradle her cheek. “You are Sabrina…Sweet, fiery Sabrina…”
An ache rose unbidden in her throat as she gazed at him. What was the matter with her that his words should bring hot, hidden tears to the inside of her eyelids?
He turned away then, eliciting a swift surge of disappointment in her. But a moment later, she felt the brush of silk at her back as he slipped a garment around her shoulders. He had fetched a dressing robe from the wardrobe, Sabrina realized. How grateful she was to him for putting her at ease, and yet…she didn’t recognize this particular robe. Her clothing had been delivered that morning, but she owned nothing like this filmy crimson confection trimmed with swansdown.
Slipping it on, she fumbled with the hooks that fastened at the waist. She would have much preferred her white night smock, whose modest construction would completely cover her limbs and torso, toes to neck. This garment seemed too small, for the lapels would not close fully, displaying bare skin nearly to her waist and exposing far too much of her bosom to view. Worse, if she moved at all, her naked legs would show.
“Where did this come from? It’s not mine,” she sa
id stiffly.
Niall looked up as he untied his cravat. “No. I had it made up specifically for you.”
“For…me? Then you mistook my measurements. It does not fit properly.”
“It fits precisely as I wished it to.”
She glanced at him in bewilderment. “But…it is so…brazen.”
“What if it is?” His smile was meltingly warm, lavishly sensual, his voice warm with intimacy. “In the privacy of our bedchamber, you may be as brazen as you like.”
To her surprise, he then went to the washstand and poured a measure of water into the basin. Sabrina watched curiously as he wet and soaped one corner of a cloth, then returned to her. She gave a start when he raised the dampened cloth to her face.
He hesitated, one eyebrow cocked. “You aren’t afraid of soap, are you?”
When she shook her head warily, he smiled. “Good. It is one of the rare failings of we Highlanders, I fear. We cherish too close an acquaintance with dirt.”
“I am not dirty—”
“No, of course not.” He began to wash her face to remove the ceruse that Eve Graham’s dresser had applied so liberally that morning. “But it is a crime to bury such flawless skin under layers of paint. It smothers the natural roses in your cheeks. You are lovelier without cosmetics.”
Shy and uncertain, she gazed up at him, and Niall found himself distracted from his task. Those haunting eyes of hers captivated him; the color of rich coffee, flecked with soft, sherry-colored lights.
He felt a shaft of desire that surprised him. He wanted to take her to bed right then, but he wanted more to reassure her.
“There is no need for shyness between us,” he murmured, his husky voice echoing through her like the memory of a caress.
Sabrina felt herself fighting the pull of his magnetism. The need to protect herself from this man was strong. She had vowed she would not succumb to his legendary charm, yet she had no weapons to aid her in halting his sweet seduction. She wanted him, the part of her that was woman, the part that was lonely and desperate for love. And her defenses were slipping, moment by moment.
The Lover Page 15