Sabrina raised her eyebrows. “My proposal?”
“Is that not why you sought an audience with me this morn?”
Her mouth dropped open. “Wedding you was not my idea, I assure you!”
“Nor was it mine.” Niall favored her with a wintry smile. “’Tis solely your grandfather’s wish.”
“But I…” She frowned in confusion. “Angus spoke as if the decision was settled. He told me that you concurred.”
“I concur that Angus needs the connection between our clans, that is all.”
Dropping her gaze, Sabrina stared down at the floor, her heart squeezing with a strange pain. Niall McLaren didn’t wish to marry her. She should have known.
“I have no desire to be forced upon any man,” Sabrina replied stiffly. “Certainly not you. I was only willing to consider marriage to you for the good of my kinsmen. For some reason, my grandfather believes that you offer the best chance to ensure our clan’s survival.”
“I know what Angus believes. But if I might indulge in some plain speaking?”
“Let us be frank, by all means,” she agreed acerbically.
“You would do far better to find yourself another husband.”
Sabrina glanced up at him, her half smile scornful. “And just why is that?”
“Because you and I are ill-suited.”
That she could agree with wholeheartedly; it was no more than she had concluded herself.
When she did not dispute him, Niall’s tone softened a degree. “You don’t wish to marry a philanderer, Mistress Duncan, I assure you. I would make you a deplorable husband. I cherish the lasses too much to give up my freedom and settle down with a wife. I wouldn’t be faithful to any woman. It isn’t in me.”
No, Sabrina thought somberly. She couldn’t expect such a man to be faithful to her. He was a man of passion without promises. He wouldn’t want her love, or any other tender feelings. But then she didn’t want his love, either. She only wanted him to protect her clan.
“You need not fear on that score. I’d not deprive you of your pleasures. Ours would be a marriage of convenience, nothing more. However, I…” She took a deep breath, uncomfortable discussing such private issues in so intimate a manner. “I…would like children eventually. And I should think you would as well. A man in your position needs heirs.”
Niall was a long time in answering. “I expect I could comply in that regard.”
“I have little doubt,” she observed, her tone wry. “I imagine Scotland and France are littered with your by-blows.”
“Then you imagine wrongly. I have two children to my knowledge, and both are well provided for.”
“Then that should prove no problem, should it?”
“I think perhaps you underestimate the difficulties you will face as my bride. We Highlanders are a rough and tumble lot, and our existence a hard one, particularly in winter. I warn you, you should have no expectations of a life of luxury.”
Sabrina stiffened at his implication. He made her sound so frail and useless. “I expect nothing of the sort. I may have lived in Edinburgh for much of my life, but I am unaccustomed to a life of ease. I should think the dowry I bring would compensate you for any inconvenience, in any case. However”—she started to turn away—“if you refuse the marriage, then there is no further point in discussion.”
“Did I say I refuse?” A muscle worked in Niall’s jaw as resentment flared in him. He could not honorably reject the betrothal, not with the debt his father owed her grandfather. He could not, would not, shirk his obligations. On the other hand…he would not object if Mistress Duncan chose to call off the betrothal herself.
He crossed his arms over his bare chest. “I am prepared to be convinced.”
She hesitated. “Convinced? What…do you mean?”
“Perhaps I wish to be courted.”
“You wish me to court you?” His audacity knew no bounds! “If you expect me to flirt and banter idiotically and fawn over you merely for your amusement,” she snapped, “your wits have gone begging.”
“Please yourself, mouse. ’Tis you who needs a husband.”
His words slashed at her pride. “I do not need a husband! My clan needs a laird—there is a world of difference. I desire a union between us even less than you do, I assure you.”
“Then call off the betrothal.”
“Call it off?” Her brow furrowed as she stared at him. A long moment later, Sabrina shook her head. “I have no intention of abandoning my clan and disappointing my grandfather. My kinsmen have pledged to follow you, and I’ll not gainsay their choice. As disagreeable as I would find marriage to you, I am prepared to make the best of it. If you are so set against it, sir, you may have the honor of withdrawing.”
She saw Niall’s jaw harden briefly. But then he smiled—slowly, wickedly, and not at all pleasantly. “As I said, I can be convinced to accept your suit. But you will have to persuade me.”
He was taunting her, she realized with renewed fury.
“Am I to understand,” she enunciated, her ire ringing in the tartness of her voice, “that I must extol my worth, like a prize heifer at a cattle fair? I must audition for the position of your bride?”
“I am suggesting that there are certain virtues I require in a wife and the mistress of my clan.”
And she didn’t possess them, Sabrina was certain he was saying. She could assess her attributes well enough. Physically she was no match for a man whose lovemaking prowess with the most beautiful women of Europe was legend, whose exploits in the glittering ballrooms and bedrooms of the aristocracy were unrivaled.
“I make no claim to beauty—or fashion, either, for that matter.”
Niall shrugged his powerful shoulders. “Beauty is not so vital an attribute in a lass.”
She eyed him doubtfully, not crediting that a man of his notorious tastes would settle for plainness. “Then what is?”
His gaze made an unhurried journey from the tips of her toes to the slight swell of her breasts, hidden by her drab traveling cloak. “Suitability, for one. How can we be certain we are compatible unless we put it to the test?”
“What do you mean? Put what to the test?”
“You are inexperienced in matters carnal. You’ve never lain with a man.”
His blunt words sparked a flush of embarrassment within her. “How…can you be so certain?”
“That you’re a virgin?”
Again her cheeks flamed. “Y-Yes.”
“Any number of telltale signs. The innocence I tasted in your kiss some months ago. Your shock when I stroked your breast. The pulse that flutters at your throat just now. The blush that stains your cheeks…To an experienced connoisseur like myself, you are a mere babe.”
“I was under the opinion that gentlemen preferred innocence in their brides.”
“Many do, perhaps. But I like my lasses eager and willing, hungering with desire for me. Tell me, sweet mouse, does your pulse quicken at the thought of my bedding you? Do you feel a honeyed warmth between your thighs when you imagine yourself naked in my arms?”
Sabrina clamped her lips together as she tried to think of a suitable rejoinder, more unsettled by his talk about her body than she would ever divulge. He was making this as difficult as possible for her.
“It pains me to depress your inflated opinion of yourself, sir, but I do not waste time imagining myself in your arms, naked or otherwise,” she lied. “You flatter yourself if you think I want you.”
“Which is precisely my point, mouse. I wonder if you are even capable of being aroused. If I am to take a bed-partner for life, I prefer to know what I am getting. I have no desire to be saddled with a block of ice for a wife. I want a woman of passion—”
A soft tap sounded on the door, interrupting whatever response Sabrina might have made. When Niall bid entrance, Jean appeared, bearing a tray laden with wine and shortbread biscuits.
He favored the girl with an approving smile, an expression so sensual that it set
a sharp little pain twisting in the vicinity of Sabrina’s heart. “Thank you, lass. Set it down there on the table, if you please. Mistress Duncan will do the honors, I trust.”
Stifling a giggle, Jean cast a sly glance at Sabrina. “Aye, milord. As ye wish.”
She deposited her burden on the table adjacent to the hearth, curtsied, and walked out.
“Shall we drink a glass together, mouse?” Niall asked when the chambermaid at last had gone.
Sabrina drew a deep breath, reining in her frustration. “By all means. Perhaps it will serve to dampen your lechery a bit.”
As she poured the wine into two pewter goblets, Niall carefully studied Sabrina’s expression, trying to judge the effect his baiting was having on her. He had managed to fluster her, he was certain. In her eyes he’d caught the slightest glimmer of hurt, the smallest hint of vulnerability. Yet she had drawn blood herself with her sharp tongue.
It stung, knowing she held him in such low regard. Upon finding Jean inspecting his wound, Mistress Duncan had instantly assumed the worst. She thought him debauched and decadent, but despite his infamous past, he had never seduced one of his own servants, and was not about to start.
He’d been unable to persuade her, though, that he would make her a lamentable husband. And that she would make him a deplorable bride. A skittish virgin was no match for a man of his lusty passions. One embrace and he would doubtless frighten her out of her wits—
A hard smile touched Niall’s lips. Perhaps he should demonstrate to her just what sort of bargain she would be getting if she chose to wed him.
“Will you bring me my cup, mistress?” Niall asked, his voice as soft as a purring cat padding across satin.
Sabrina cast him a wary glance as he lounged on the cot, the McLaren plaid an alluring foil for his blatant masculinity. Under no circumstances did she intend to approach that bed.
“Then I shall come to you,” he said when she hesitated.
With lazy grace, he swung his long, sinewed legs to the floor. Sabrina’s heart gave a violent jolt as she realized his intent.
His blue gaze held her startled one as he rose, a slight smile hovering at his lips. For an instant the tartan cloth covering his loins slipped, giving her an alarming glimpse of a bare, corded flank. Casually then, Niall caught up the plaid and wound it around his waist, then flung one end over his shoulder. It served as an adequate loincloth but left most of his muscular thighs exposed.
Sabrina drew a sharp breath as he walked slowly toward her. He seemed oblivious to his nakedness, while she experienced an acute awareness of it, of him. He moved with a graceful freedom that was spellbinding, his muscled form like some pagan god…powerfully built, totally enchanting.
Faced with such masculine beauty, she found herself rooted where she stood. He seemed huge, all rippling bronze muscle and springy black hair. Her nerves were alive and acutely tuned to him, her senses assailed by his nearness.
She shivered as he took his goblet from her trembling fingers and raised it in the air. “May I propose a toast, mistress? To our experiment.”
“Exp-periment?”
“In lovemaking.”
“I w-won’t make love to you.”
“Ah, but you must, my sweet. As I said, I have a very lusty nature, and I intend to make quite certain it is reciprocated in my bride.”
Sabrina felt her breath catch in her throat as she watched Niall take a long draught of wine. His implied threat sent excitement and an intoxicating sense of peril scurrying across the tips of every nerve ending in her body.
“You…would ravish me?” she asked, her breath the merest whisper.
“I haven’t ravished anyone,” he replied softly, “lately.”
No, Sabrina thought dazedly, he would never have to resort to force when he could legitimately seduce any woman into willing compliance.
“But in this instance”—his voice dropped even lower…soft…husky—“I could make an exception. I mean to see if we are compatible, mouse.”
“I…I will not sacrifice my innocence simply to satisfy your curiosity.”
“There are ways of exploring your sensuality that don’t entail relinquishing your virginity.”
Curse that enchanting voice of his, she thought wretchedly. It was marked by a delicately sexual rasp that flooded her raw nerves in a warm bath of sensation.
She stood frozen as Niall took her wine cup and set it with his on the table. “Before we conclude any agreement, we need to establish if we would suit physically. To make certain you’ll be a douce wife and not find the demands of the marriage bed too distasteful.”
Her lips parted but no sound came out.
“You’re not afraid of me, are you, sweeting?”
Afraid? Whyever should she fear a rogue of legendary charm and passion with whom no woman was safe? Sabrina swallowed. She was indeed alarmed by the overwhelming maleness of him, by his dark beauty and power, yet she refused to allow herself to be intimidated. “I am not afraid, sir.”
She raised her eyes to meet his fearlessly. He liked that.
The air between them crackled with challenge as their eyes clashed wordlessly.
Silently Niall reached a hand toward her. “I think we should take off your cloak, mistress.”
The rhythm of her heart changing perceptively, she took a hasty step backward. “N-No.”
“Faintheart,” he murmured. “This is hardly the way to persuade me, fleeing at the first test.”
For a long moment Sabrina stared at him. He was goading her, she knew. Deliberately daring her to rise to his challenge.
Swallowing hard, she forced herself to gather her courage. “Very well…What must I do?”
“Perhaps you should start by kissing me.”
“You want me to kiss you?”
“For a start. Come closer.”
His smile was taunting as she hesitated. “If you quail at a simple kiss, mouse, you are unlikely to enjoy my attentions once we are wed.”
His infuriating air of supremacy roused her ire and made her determined to thwart him; to prove she wasn’t the meek creature he thought her. It was not as if he posed any real danger, Sabrina reminded herself. Rab was within call. And Geordie would rescue her if need be.
Reluctantly she did as she was bid, her eyes riveted on Niall’s handsome face. She had forgotten how tall he was. His nearness forced her to arch her neck to accommodate his height.
“Closer still.”
She took another step, halting barely a hand’s breadth away. She could feel his body heat envelop her, could smell his musky male scent, a faint, natural fragrance that was disturbingly arousing. His chest seemed very bare, and she had to control the urge to reach up and touch his skin. Her fingers tingled with warmth, her palms ached to explore that smooth, bronzed expanse.
“Now wet your lips, pet.”
She wanted to refuse, yet his gaze held her captive to his will. His eyes were vividly blue and deep enough to drown in, and what she saw in their heated depths alarmed and excited her at the same time.
Obediently she moistened her lips with her tongue. “Like…this?”
He was watching her lazily, the curve of his lowered lashes like ebony silk. “Precisely like that. Now…hold me.”
“I…I am not sure how.”
“Permit me to show you.”
His fingers encircling both her wrists, he drew her off balance and forced her hands to his bare chest. Sabrina knew a deliciously feminine sense of frailty, of helplessness against his strength, as she leaned into him.
“Can you not do better than that?” he prodded softly. “Use your imagination, sweeting. Put your arms around my neck.”
Stung by his criticism, she found new courage. Trembling, wary, she raised her hands to Niall’s naked shoulders, feeling the hard resilience in his powerful body, the intoxicating warmth radiating from his bare chest. This was the last place she wished to be, pressed against his solid, aroused form, and yet it felt so…right. She cou
ld feel the reckless hunger begin to stir within her, slow and insidious.
“That is better.” The caress of his voice was so enticing that she could almost taste its honey in her throat. “Tell me what you feel.”
How could she possibly confess the effect he had on her? The sweet tightening of her nipples. The pulse of pleasure shafting deep in her loins. The brazen heat uncoiling within her…Sabrina was dismayed, even horrified, by the depth of her response to him. Longing welled up in her, and she found herself struggling against the burning desire to press herself more tightly against him, to feel his entire sinewed length.
“I feel n-nothing,” she lied.
With a smoldering look from those sapphire eyes, Niall reached up to touch her mouth with a forefinger. Gently he brushed her lower lip, gliding the tip slowly along the wet surface. “Then why do you shiver when I do this?”
His caress roamed lower, along the delicate underside of her jaw…Before Sabrina could protest, he had unfastened the clasp of her cloak and was moving downward along her throat…stroking the slender column with those strong, calloused fingers…until all she could think about was what they felt like on her skin.
“Why does your breath catch when I touch you here, sweeting?” His thumb massaged the soft, vulnerable hollow of her throat, the only skin exposed above the high neckline of her bodice.
Not waiting for an answer, he slowly bent his head. His mouth hovered over hers, his breath warming her lips.
A heated rush of feeling assaulted Sabrina. The enormous power of his body engulfed her, aroused and tantalized and lured. He was sexuality incarnate. Shameless. Compelling.
She could feel his rock-hard thighs pressing against hers, feel the rigid muscle at his groin…It was impossible not to notice how enlarged he was. The awareness sent her pulse running wild.
Sabrina closed her eyes, whispering a sigh of mingled despair and need.
Niall heard the soft sound and hesitated, feeling the fluttering pulsebeat under the fine skin of her throat. He was a master at gauging a woman’s minute degrees of arousal, and this lass was aroused. He knew he could seduce her and bring her to the point where she begged for him to take her. He could make her hunger to do his bidding. And yet he didn’t want to arouse her desire, or his own. His purpose for embracing her had been exactly the opposite.
The Lover Page 7
