by Jackie Ivie
That’s when the duke’s words filtered through. The door wasn’t fully closed behind him. He must not realize he was ruining the act he’d just put on.
“You heard me, Mason. I need whiskey! Right now! Double-shot. Why? Because I’ve damn-well earned it, that’s why!”
Beth hurriedly shut the door. Too late, though. Nobody said anything. They didn’t have to.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Whiskey didn’t work.
But he’d already known that.
The liquor still had its uses. The shot he’d downed earlier cleared his head, braced him momentarily, but then it had dissipated, leaving him as shaky and frustrated as before. Neal could have tried stepping out onto the stone balcony again. The Chieftain’s chamber had a large balcony on the seaward side. He’d looked over the edge. Considered things. If a man was desperate, he could conceivably drop onto the rock ledge beneath, work his way along the cliff, and with a great deal of luck, escape. Should any attackers actually make it that far into the structure.
The balcony was as sturdily built as the rest of Castle Straith. A balustrade ran the edge, waist-high at the center, but rising significantly on both sides. That had created two dark, three-sided enclosures. One contained a rain barrel for his use as it caught the stream of water sluicing from the roof. Neal shoved the rain barrel to one side and found that he had a unique, but credible shower.
A really cold one.
The effects of that had long worn off, too.
Neal gave a short sigh, glanced down at his problem – the woman holding onto his arm, and then he quickly darted his gaze back to the hall they traversed. Ainslee walked beside him, taking two quick steps to his one, which just made the amount of cleavage she’d put on display bounce. This was his fault. He didn’t have to escort her the entire way. He could’ve met up with her at the landing above the great hall. Or used the foyer beneath the stairs. Heck, he could have even arranged to catch up with her outside the grand salon with adjacent dining room, with minimum contact.
But.
No.
Mason had arranged this, but Neal hadn’t fought it, either. At a subconscious level, he must want this contact. Which made no sense. Zero. Zilch. Nada. He was already dealing with an incomprehensible level of testosterone-fueled need. He had to go and add to it?
He forced his mind to go over the reasons it was a bad idea to pursue any thoughts of bedding Ainslee. Again.
Mind over matter, buddy.
Focus.
This wasn’t his life. It wasn’t his body. Ainslee was not his wife. The only thing that Neal Straithmore could claim was his intellect. He hadn’t been reborn here. He’d traveled backward through time and usurped another guy’s body. There had to be a reason for it. He’d been dropped into the dawn of the nineteenth century. He didn’t think it was so he could hijack somebody else’s life.
And make wild, passionate love to—
A jolt of electricity shot down both legs as he yanked his mind from the instant vision. Neal stopped. Ainslee followed suit. A glance in her direction showed the shadow of her dark lashes on her cheeks. She didn’t look up to see what the matter might be. That was no surprise. He’d been an absolute ass last night in her chamber, but at least they’d been alone. This time, when he’d acted like a rutting beast, he’d had witnesses.
Argh.
Mason hadn’t acted like Neal’s foray into the duchess’s chamber was of much import. The valet had been whistling that same stinkin’, off-key Highland tune as he assisted Neal with the topaz studs that secured his cuffs. And then Mason had brought up his belief again about the new duchess and her gift. The man truly believed Ainslee was fey. She could work magic with any creature. He was certain Neal had noted it by now. How could her own husband miss it?
Bullshit.
Neal kept his opinion unvoiced. The valet was free to think as he wanted, and use what information he had. But Mason was dealing with things from an early nineteenth-century perspective. With limited knowledge to draw from. Neal was a world-traveler who’d had every available benefit of education and technology from the twenty-first century. He’d heard it all; practically seen it as well. Almost everything had a root cause that had already been discovered. Catalogued. Discussed. Had documentaries filmed.
Magic had been disproven time and time again.
That wasn’t proof that unexplained things didn’t happen. Hell. Neal had experienced one. Didn’t make it magical. The only thing his presence here right now proved was that forces existed in the physics arena that hadn’t been scientifically explained.
Yet.
He’d heard of people like Ainslee, however. They used the title ‘Whisperer’ for publicity purposes. Made money with it. Titled their reality shows the same way. It was inserted after the name of the animal they specialized in. Didn’t make anything magical.
Or fairylike.
Or enchanted.
Despite the internal warnings rocketing through his skull, Neal tipped his head toward the mass of her braided hair situated at his shoulder level and inhaled. She smelled so sweet. Clean. Fresh. Like a wildflower, bravely struggling for life…blooming where nothing else could. Warm. Alive. Utterly female...
Desirable.
Damn it.
Neal stiffened. Blinked rapidly. Swallowed. And began walking again. Ainslee started up her double-step beside him. Mason was off a bit. Ainslee wasn’t fey, but she was a magnet for all sorts of warm and loving emotions and sensations. With the exception of his cousins and their mother, the entire household seemed genuinely fond of the new duchess. Neal looked away from the shining crown of hair they’d created atop her head, and barely avoided hitting a suit of armor by the merest span of space.
And she giggled over it.
Neal’s entire frame seized up. This was the problem cold showers didn’t correct. Whiskey didn’t even dent. He moved again before anything else happened. They passed a hall that branched off. Went straight. Started up a flight of steps. Turned to the left at the top. The castle was a maze. Ainslee had stopped him at his first almost-wrong turn. Gestured wordlessly to the correct hall. After that, she used slight turns of her body to direct him. Good thing. Neal was lost. And his mind wasn’t assisting with much. The woman had too much allure, and it was displayed way too well. He hadn’t thought she possessed much bosom, but what she had was shoved up so a massive topaz necklace could rest atop her cleavage. She probably owed her new curves to a corset. A black lace one. One of the really sexy ones...from the past.
Well. Of course she would, Neal. That was the only kind they made.
Neal tripped, and caught it with a couple of danced steps. Ainslee actually kept step beside him, although her hand tightened on his arm throughout the maneuver. He was in luck they weren’t on a staircase. His clumsiness could have sent them both flying.
Great.
Just great.
Neal looked heavenward. Took a deep breath. Exhaled. This wasn’t going well, and he had an entire room full of people awaiting them. He needed vigilance. Wariness. His observation skills at their most keen. Garrick would need watching. Lachlan, a bit of monitoring. Their mother was probably the spider in a proverbial parlor, awaiting a fly.
“Uh. Sorry about that,” he finally said.
“The rugs should be weighted at the edges. Secured better.”
“What?”
“Before someone takes a nasty spill. Forgive me. I’ll speak...with the staff.”
Neal smiled. If she hadn’t trembled through most of that she would have sounded like a gracious hostess of advanced years. Helping him save face as she took the blame for his near-disaster. It was still a good try.
“You’re really cute. You know that?”
He made the mistake not only of saying it, but of looking down at her while speaking. His ears stared buzzing. She had her brows drawn together, a puzzled look on her face.
“You call me bow-legged?”
“What? That’s not what cute
means. Um. Nowadays.”
“What does it mean?”
“Well...uh. It means...something like...pretty. And darling. And endearing. A few more things like that. I think I’ll just shut up now before my mouth gets me into even more trouble. All right with you?”
Well.
He’d cured her frown. Her eyes had gone wide, her mouth had the same affliction, and a blush colored her cheeks as she quickly looked down. She appeared to focus on the topaz stud Mason had pinned into Neal’s lace jabot at the space right between his pecs. Or thereabouts.
“Oh.”
Oh? That’s all she had to say?
“Um. Niall?”
She said his name. Well. The other guy’s name. It meant the same thing. Neal’s heart caught at the fact she’d used it, and the hesitant way she’d done it. He almost thumped his free fist against his chest until his heart restarted on its own.
“Yes?”
“I...need to be thanking you.”
“For what? Not falling? And dragging you with me?”
She snorted. And then she looked up at him and stole his next breath. His heartbeat again. She damn near took every wit he possessed, too.
“For...not deserting me.”
“What?”
“I ken...you wished to...leave.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“It’s raining cats and dogs outside.”
“It is?”
Neal almost rolled his eyes. “It’s an expression, Ainslee. It doesn’t mean real cats and dogs—forget it. I couldn’t go. The roads are a mess. A carriage would be stuck within a half mile.”
“You could have taken Huntsmen’s Dale.”
“That would require riding a horse. And that’s not likely to happen, babe.”
“Babe?”
“Uh. That’s another...bit of slang. Means the same as cute. Sort of.”
“Well...I still wish to thank you. Especially since...you do na’ wish to be anywhere near...me.”
“Where did you get that idea?”
“From you. Last night. In my room.”
Her voice had lowered to the slightest whisper. He had to bend to hear it.
“Oh. That. Well, darling. That may have been what I said. But it is light-years away from what I meant. Trust me.”
Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked away. And the fingers atop his arm tightened.
“What is it now?” he asked.
“You just…called me darling.”
Neal straightened. He called himself every kind of fool. Her reaction was the same she’d given him last night when he’d offered to stay in her bed chamber with her. She was exhibiting something close to panic. Or fright. Or...what did he know? Could easily be dislike. He looked over her head at the wall. Tried ignoring the solid knot of ache overtaking his chest. There was a large rendition of a seascape opposite where they stood. With a lot of stitches to it. Somebody had taken a lot of time putting a lot of thread into it. It went out of focus as he stared. Neal blinked his eyes rapidly to clear them.
“And I—well...I just want to thank you,” she continued.
Neal cleared his throat. Tried for a non-committal tone. Completely unemotional. He should have waited. It sounded like he was chewing on gravel. “No need.”
“But...the Lady Margaret. She’ll....attend?”
“My aunt?”
She nodded.
“Well...the woman can’t feign illness forever.”
Ainslee was quick. She had a conspiratorial smile on her face as she looked up at him. And damn him for seeing that much! Her glance darted away again.
“She is na’ verra fond of me.”
“I don’t think I’m in her good graces, either,” he replied. “You ready to proceed, then?”
She nodded. He moved automatically. One foot before the next. Whatever he was feeling for Ainslee had to cease. And, if he couldn’t stop it, he needed to at least put the emotions on a back burner. He had unknown people to face. Problematic social codes to follow – some he might not even be aware of. A lot of unspoken tensions to alleviate. Hidden agendas to discover and abort. Potential hostilities to decipher and nullify.
And a massive woman problem.
You can do this, Neal. This is your forte.
They reached the landing outside the grand salon without further mishap. Neal waited for a moment before approaching. He could hear sounds of a crowd through the opened doors. Sounded festive. Large. He sucked in a deep breath.
“We’re about to gird the lions in their den, Ainslee. You ready for this?”
She gave him a quick grin and squeezed his arm. Nodded. They were spotted. And then announced.
“Their graces, the Duke and Duchess of Straithcairn!”
Applause erupted at the end of the announcement. Neal barely heard it. He walked into a room ablaze with candlelight and filled with people. He didn’t hear or see much of it.
Because of the woman on his arm.
CHAPTER TWENTY
She knew Niall was just pretending. But it was getting more and more difficult to resist. Every single time he acted in love with her, it sent a sharp, insistent, fire-like pain lancing through her breast. Ainslee didn’t dare analyze it. She was leery of what it might be. She hadn’t ever wanted to be female, and now she was fancying something worse? Something she was afraid of feeling, but might blurt out if she wasn’t careful? She couldn’t pretend the way he was able to, and if he didn’t cease, she didn’t know what might happen. She wasn’t an actor like him. She didn’t think any other man was.
And what a man...
Niall Straith was so manly. Well beyond her scope of experience and imagination, and she’d been around males most of her life. The duke was just so different. Every bit of him exhibited fully mature male. Massive. Heated. Solid. Virile...
It was at that exact moment, she realized she’d been wrong her entire life. She was grateful to be a woman.
She only wished she was his woman.
Ainslee trembled and her cheeks warmed. She was being absurd now. Over-reaching. He’d done everything she begged him to do. He’d made her his duchess! She hadn’t thought through what she’d asked. She’d never dreamt of achieving such a grand status. Or what gaining such a husband might mean. All she’d focused on was saving her sister. Lileth should be here, standing beside the duke at this very moment, graciously acknowledging the guests. Not Ainslee.
Ainslee had toyed with the duke’s future without one thought to what it meant. She needed to stop anything else from happening. It was bad enough she’d forced him, becoming a wife he didn’t want. There was no excuse for adding unrequited love to this. None. Ainslee’s feet stopped. The duke stopped. He looked down at her. She didn’t check. She felt him waiting as she watched the parquet flooring waver with unblinking eyes.
Oh, dearest God!
She hadn’t just admitted she was falling in love with him. Had she? Oh, no. No. It couldn’t be. This was terrible. The consequences beyond imaging.
“Oh, my. How…ghastly.”
Ainslee looked up as Lady Blair approached, skirts of some blue gauzy material fluttering about her. The material was made see-through by the firelight behind it. Ainslee could easily see lower limbs…and even garters atop plump knees that held the woman’s stockings in place. Ainslee held her breath and blinked rapidly on the shock. The view didn’t change. Good heavens! The woman looked almost naked.
Ainslee looked up higher. The bodice might have been double-layered with material, but it wasn’t sufficient for coverage there, either. Lady Blair possessed an enormous bosom. Large, dark nipples.
Higher, Ainslee.
She forced her eyes to the woman’s face. Niall’s aunt colored her hair with a preparation that contained soot as its base. As it wore off, the gray hairs at the roots became more and more apparent, giving her the look of a skunk. She must have recently applied it, for no tell-tale white line was in evidence. The woman also covered her complexio
n with a liberal application of face powder atop a cream base that contained arsenic. Ainslee knew all that from listening to the servants over the years.
That gave Ainslee a start. Hadn’t Niall said something about how the employment of servants equaled loss of privacy? She’d never had a high position in society, but at that moment realized how right he was. Ainslee already knew Niall Straith’s assets were vast. They just kept increasing. He was beyond handsome. Fit. Manly. Charming. Educated. Intelligent. Now, she knew he had insight, as well.
And he was wed to her.
The thought brought such pleasure, her knees went weak. She swayed against him. The duke glanced down. She couldn’t meet his eyes, but gave him what was probably a sickly-looking smile. He brought his free hand across his chest to place it atop where hers rested. And then he just held it there. Ainslee was cocooned in an instant sensation of warmth. Comfort. Solidness.
She looked quickly back to Lady Blair before any of that reflected anywhere on her features for anyone to see. Niall’s aunt had the height of a Straith, placing her well above Ainslee. From that vantage, it was easy to see a distinct line between real skin color, which was mottled with light brown and pink spots, and where the powdered paint had been applied. The woman fancied herself a beauty, and she might have been. Some years past. But she wasn’t admitting defeat. Gossip was the woman was desperate to hang onto her youth, and punished any lady’s maid who failed to achieve it.
The effort was wasted, especially with her expression at the moment. She looked all the way down to Ainslee’s hem and then back. She had her nose wrinkled as if smelling something vile. That expression put a lot of lines into prominence throughout her face. Ainslee subconsciously stiffened and stepped nearer to the duke. That was nonsensical. She had to face the woman sooner or later. She was just grateful Lady Blair’s sons weren’t accompanying their mother at the moment.
Something in the duke’s forearm tightened beneath her fingers. When he spoke, he sounded as shocked as Ainslee felt. And twice as disgusted. He also separated the words, making them even more dramatic. She rather liked that affectation of his.