“Aye, I can.”
“But why?”
“Mayhap because I love you.”
Sabrina’s eyes widened in shock, while Niall went still.
He lowered his own gaze, his features shuttered, enigmatic, as he comprehended the strange words that had issued from his mouth. Yet his admission of love had come so naturally, so instinctively, he knew it for the truth.
Sweet saints, when had it happened? He loved Sabrina. The realization was frightening, exhilarating, unreal. His heart had been captured by her spirit.
He laughed raggedly. “I…love you…Sabrina.” He said the words slowly, as if testing the concept.
“Surely you jest.”
His dark-lashed eyes lifted. “No. ’Tis no jest. You’ve bewitched me, mouse. I think I’ve loved you since the moment you threw yourself into the fray against the Buchanans to save my skin.”
Stunned and disbelieving, Sabrina shook her head. Niall loved her? She had never dared hope he would come to that. Never.
No, she couldn’t credit it. Her mind reeling, she pressed a hand to her temple, trying to comprehend his intent. Why would he make such a patently false claim?
Perhaps he was simply vexed because she had defied him. Perhaps his vanity couldn’t bear to have any woman resist him, and he considered this the swiftest means of gaining her surrender. He was a practiced rake, accustomed to winning feminine devotion with blandishments and bold persuasions, so what was one more lie to him?
She stood staring at him, her arms bound tightly across her middle. “I can only guess what you’re about. You think me so besotted that I’ll fall at your feet in gratitude if you only throw me a crumb of your affection. So you lie and profess to love me.”
“’Tis no lie, Sabrina. I swear it.” Niall spread his hands in supplication. “Why do you suppose I was so infuriated when I thought you were dallying with Keith Buchanan?”
“Because you hate all Buchanans.”
“Aye, but not enough to have behaved like such a bloody fool. I was insanely jealous.”
“Is it any wonder I cannot believe you?” she whispered in a voice raw with bitterness. “You’re a wicked rogue who would say anything to suit your purpose.”
Muttering a curse, Niall regarded her narrowly. “By the saints, I vow to you, no lass has ever claimed my heart before.”
“Perhaps because you have none.”
“Sabrina…”
When he took a step toward her, alarm welled within her. She held up a hand to ward him off. She couldn’t permit him to touch her. She knew herself well enough to realize that if she allowed it, she would be lost.
“Sabrina, love—”
“Don’t call me that! I am not your love. You can’t even comprehend the meaning of the word.” Her voice trembled as she pointed to the door behind him. “You think you have only to snap your fingers and I will leap to do your bidding. Well, I won’t! And I won’t return to the Highlands with you, either. So go away. I bid you good day.”
“I am not leaving, Sabrina.”
“You are!”
When he wouldn’t move, she pressed her fist into his chest, thrusting Niall backward to drive him from the chamber.
“Sabrina…you’re distraught—”
“Aye, and you’re the one who made me so! Damn you, leave me be!”
With a final shove, she pushed him over the threshold and slammed the door in his face.
Shaking with anger and pain then, Sabrina turned and buried her face in her hands, releasing a sob that came from the deep grieving hollow of her heart.
Niall stared at the carved wooden panel with incomprehension, wanting to pound down the door. He had never failed so wretchedly with a lass.
He could insist that Sabrina return home with him. He had the right, since she was bound to him by marriage. But he wanted her to come with him freely. If he stormed back into her chamber, their conflict might elevate to violence, for he had every intention of making her see reason. He would do better to let his temper cool first.
Indeed, he needed to marshal his dazed senses and attempt to fathom what had happened to him. For weeks he had denied his own heart, but he could escape the truth no longer. He loved Sabrina.
The realization stunned him.
Turning, Niall made his way down the steep stairway and quit the house, his thoughts in turmoil. He needed time to grow accustomed to the notion.
As he wandered the narrow streets haphazardly, losing himself in the maze of closes and wynds of the old city, he tried to recall precisely when the incredulous change had come over him. From the first he had been attracted to Sabrina beyond reason, but what had begun as a rake’s game to free her of her prim inhibitions had ended in a devastating complication. He had fallen in love.
Niall’s mouth twisted. Love. Use the word, man. It won’t burn your tongue off.
He had never believed in love, never been stricken by the disease that made helpless victims of mighty men. But there was no other word for the sorcery that enthralled him now. The emotion storming his body was strong enough to bring him to his knees. He was awed by the possessive feelings Sabrina engendered—tenderness, joy, hunger…the most powerful turmoil he had ever experienced.
It was a revelation to know his heart was not invincible. I love her. I love Sabrina.
Niall shook his head with mingled humor and disgust. The Darling of Edinburgh had been felled by a tart-tongued spinster heiress. His own wife, no less.
Oh, he’d claimed undying devotion before this. He’d said the beguiling words to countless women; it was what they wished to hear, and one of the cardinal rules of dalliance. But he hadn’t truly loved any of the soft, willing beauties in his bed. Love for him had always been a sumptuous sport. No lass had ever touched the deepest part of him, that hidden core Sabrina had discovered without even trying.
Niall’s eyes grew soft and distant with remembrance—Sabrina challenging him, Sabrina laughing with him, Sabrina shyly offering her body to him in willing surrender, Sabrina matching him in passion…Each memory provoked a fresh swelling of awareness and wonder within him. How could he have been so blind?
All his previous dalliances now seemed nothing but meaningless games, a restless search to satisfy an unnamed hunger. He wanted more than games in his future. He wanted more than a beautiful feminine body sharing his bed, his life. There had been women past counting, but none so rare as Sabrina, with her wit and spirit and warmth and courage.
She had possessed him. She made him feel oddly complete. With her he’d found a fulfillment that he treasured beyond measure. Only with her had he ever known this fever, this desperate hunger.
His heart had been well and truly caught. He was powerless to stop needing her. He might as well deprive himself of a limb.
He lusted after the lovely woman she had become, yet it was no longer just pleasure he wanted, or even conquest. He would not be satisfied until he had all of her. He wanted to protect her from everything and everyone but himself. He wanted whatever would give her happiness. He wanted a future with her, wanted to give her children….
Yet…what did she want?
Niall came to an abrupt halt. Sabrina desired him, he was certain, but did she love him? Could she love him? Had she lashed out at him just now because he had inexcusably hurt her, or because she truly wanted nothing more to do with him?
He’d done little in the past weeks to secure her affection or respect. He’d seen the bleak pain in her eyes moments ago when he’d confessed his love for her. She hadn’t believed him.
But then, was not he to blame for her doubts?
He had never wooed Sabrina as she deserved. On the contrary, in the beginning at least, he’d deliberately endeavored to make her feel unwanted. And then he’d violated her trust in an insane attempt to deny his own feelings.
Upon his honor, he intended to be completely faithful to Sabrina in future. Yet given his licentious past, it would be difficult to convince her of his change of heart. Harder stil
l to win her love. But he would win it.
He was a changed man, but he had to show her. He understood what true love was now, but he had to prove to her how deep and steadfast his feelings were. Most of all, he had to prove that he was worthy of her trust.
Perhaps though…he needed an ally in his fight.
Finding himself in a narrow alleyway, Niall turned and strode swiftly toward the busy docks of Edinburgh. Sabrina’s stepfather had offices there. Perhaps a wiser head would stand him in good stead.
Even the worst pain eventually lessened, Sabrina told herself as she oversaw the preparations for supper that evening. She had soaked her eyes with a cool compress after her confrontation with Niall, but they were still red from a foolish bout of weeping, and she was unable to hide her emotional turmoil from the housekeeper or scullery maid. She hoped to do better with her stepfather. Charles Cameron was expected home at any moment.
When she heard a disturbance at the front entrance, she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and hurried upstairs from the kitchens. The sight that greeted her made her halt abruptly. The gentleman with her stepfather was the same intruder she had ordered from the house barely hours ago. The same bold, enchanting rogue who had savaged her heart so recklessly with his betrayal.
Her husband.
He had shaved the stubble from his jaw, Sabrina noted with despair. His clean chiseled features were more beautiful than ever—and made him nearly impossible to resist.
“We have a guest, lass,” Charles said pleasantly.
“Guest?” she repeated witlessly, her gaze locked unwillingly with intense blue eyes.
“Aye, Laird McLaren is to sup with us.”
Niall bowed politely, appearing not to notice her appalled expression. “I am obliged for the invitation. Fortunately, Charles agrees with me—that a wife’s place is with her husband. And since you will not come to me, my love, I must do the honors.”
Sabrina’s despairing gaze turned to her stepfather. How could he have betrayed her this way? Charles had not questioned her when she’d fled the Highlands and taken refuge here, nor had she expected him to. She’d thought—mistakenly, it seemed now—he would be disinclined to interfere in a feud between husband and wife. This, however, was no simple misunderstanding. This was a rift of irreparable magnitude.
“Have you no proper greeting for your husband?” Niall queried lightly.
Sabrina stiffened. How could he behave as if nothing was wrong between them? “Papa Charles, might I have a word with you in private?”
“Can it not wait till after our meal, my dear? I trow I am famished.”
When he met her gaze, the gray eyes in his gaunt face were kind but resolute. He meant for her to welcome her husband, and she would not sway him.
She bit back an oath, accepting defeat for the moment. In any event, this was his home. She had no right to turn away his invited guest. “Very well. Supper is nearly ready.”
Just then Rab came bounding down the stairs from her rooms. Whining joyously, he rubbed his great body against Niall’s legs with enough force to fell a less powerful man.
“Traitor,” Sabrina muttered under her breath.
Niall looked up from stroking the dog, the brilliance of his smile taking her breath away. “What can I say? Animals find me appealing.”
Her heart turned over at that wickedly beguiling smile, and it was all she could do to keep from throwing herself at Niall the way her misguided dog had done.
Charles turned to lead the way to the dining room then, but when Sabrina would have followed, Niall caught her arm, staying her a moment.
“I am not leaving Edinburgh without you, mouse,” he said in a quiet undervoice. “If you will not accompany me home, I shall have to remain here—even though my clan needs me, and yours needs you.”
She pulled away, unable to bear his tender touch. He would not make her feel guilty for abandoning her clan. She had more than fulfilled any obligations toward them.
Sabrina scarcely knew what she ate at supper; the herring-broth soup tasted much like the second course of spit-roasted pigeons and stuffed breast of veal, which tasted like the dessert of pear tarts wrapped in marzipan. She was torn between the need to weep and the need to satisfy the rise of desire she felt just looking at Niall.
The congenial conversation ebbed and flowed around her, but she took no part in it. Instead, she sat stiffly across the table from him, wishing fervently that he would go. It would prove impossible to shield her wounded heart if she couldn’t even avoid his company.
It startled her when, at the close of supper, Charles stood.
“I shall take my port in my study, my dear, and leave the two of you to settle your differences in private.”
“Papa Charles—” Sabrina murmured, but he shook his head and withdrew before she could finish her plea.
In the resulting silence, she kept her gaze trained on her wineglass, refusing to look at her husband. The tension drew out unbearably, until she was at last moved to speak. “I desire you to go.”
“I know, sweeting,” Niall returned gently, “but I wish to stay. Charles has invited me to remain the night.”
She was certain she would find him grinning smugly, but when she raised her gaze, the tenderness in his eyes startled her.
“How did you coerce him to agree?”
“The truth? I humbled myself and threw myself on his mercy. I told him I do not deserve a lass as remarkable as you, but that I would do my best to prove myself worthy of you.”
“In fact, you used that golden charm of yours to deceive him.”
Niall held her gaze intently. “It was no deception. I told him I was in love with my wife.”
Her lips parting, Sabrina stared at him in frustration. “He could not possibly believe you.”
Niall smiled. “That has always been your trouble, mouse. You gravely underestimate yourself. Just as you underestimate me if you expect me to give you up without a fight.” He leaned back in his chair. “Besides, how would it look, with both of us in town yet not living together as man and wife? I would be accused of abandoning my bride.”
“It will only be expected of you,” she replied. “Society will assume you are up to your usual pursuits, seducing anything in skirts.”
“Society would be wrong. My days of seduction are over forever.” He saw her doubt and all mirth vanished from his expression. “Sabrina…I know I’ve done nothing whatever to deserve your trust, but I mean to change that.”
She looked away, unable to put much faith in his vow of faithfulness. Perhaps for now he intended to cleave only unto her, but her lusty husband would doubtlessly yield to temptation sooner or later. And she couldn’t bear to see it.
“I ask you to let us begin anew, Sabrina. I ask for the chance to earn your trust.”
Her throat suddenly aching, she shook her head. She would never desire any man but Niall. Never love any man but him. But she could not act as if his betrayal had never happened. Someday she might possibly be able to trust his avowals, but for now the pain in her heart was like an open wound.
Sabrina stood abruptly. “I intend to retire for the evening. Since you refuse to leave, perhaps you would care to join my stepfather in his study.”
She started to turn away, but Niall’s quiet voice prevented her. “Of course, there is the matter of marital rights.”
“What…do you mean?”
“You are my wife, Sabrina, bound to me before man and God.” He toyed with his wineglass, his finger moving slowly along the rim, reminding her vividly of the sensual power of his touch. How many countless times had Niall stroked her delicately like that, arousing her with the lightest of caresses? “I could seize you from this house now, and no law would gainsay me.”
“M-My stepfather would stop you.”
“Would he?” Niall smiled, his head bent, his jeweled eyes hidden by a fall of thick dark lashes. Softly, he said, “I give you fair warning, mouse. This is a battle I intend to win.”
&nbs
p; His brilliant gaze lifted and locked with hers.
She stood transfixed, paralyzed by the bold intent in his eyes, by the seductive promise in his magical voice. Even when Niall rose with easy grace, she remained helplessly immobile—until he moved around the table to her side.
Sabrina stepped back in alarm, but Niall caught her hand and raised her fingers to his lips, pressing with exquisite sensuality. Desire spread with downy softness through her body at his erotic touch. It was all she could do to utter a breathless plea: “Do not…”
“As you wish,” he said in that dark velvet voice that never failed to arouse her and set all her nerve endings trembling.
He released her hand, which incredibly filled her with disappointment. Her vanity felt slightly bruised that he had abandoned his pursuit so easily—an undeniably absurd response. She most certainly didn’t wish him to pursue her.
She took the opportunity, nonetheless, to flee to her bedchamber.
Her heart pounding erratically, Sabrina carefully locked the door behind her and spent the next quarter hour glancing over her shoulder as she made her toilet and drew on her nightshift.
In bed, she attempted to read, but her restless mind refused to concentrate. Her thoughts kept wandering to the Highland devil on the floor below. When finally she blew out the candle, she lay there in the darkness, staring at the canopy overhead, tense and unsettled.
It was perhaps an hour later when she heard a key turn in the lock. Wide awake, Sabrina sat up abruptly. The door swung open, letting in a golden flood of light from an oil lamp.
At her gasp, Niall stepped into the room and shut the door softly behind him.
“How did you…?”
“Your stepfather gave me a key,” he answered congenially.
“Get out!” Sabrina exclaimed.
Ignoring her demand, Niall let his interested gaze roam around the chamber, coming to rest on the narrow bed with its blue damask curtains. “So this is where you sleep.”
“Are you simpleminded? Or merely thick-witted? You are not welcome here!”
“I am only claiming my rights as your husband.”
The Lover Page 30
