The Lover

“Ah, yes…I recall your father married against Angus’s wishes during a visit to Edinburgh.”

“For which he was never wholly forgiven. Papa was expected to marry a Highlander to uphold our clan honor. A lowland Scotswoman was not good enough.”

“Ranald died in his prime, did he not?”

“Yes, a tragic mishap—a fall from his horse.”

A grim frown claimed Niall’s features. “’Twas no mere mishap. It transpired during a raid by the bloody Buchanans, if memory serves.”

“So I understand. I have little recollection of him, or the Highlands, though I’ve heard tales. I left when I was quite young. After Papa’s death, my mother returned with me to her family here in Edinburgh, and remarried some years later. My stepfather is a merchant who trades successfully in wool and fine cloth.”

“You must return to the Highlands someday, mistress,” he commented in a tone of polite boredom.

“I doubt that will be possible,” she replied, a bit vexed by his apparent dismissal of her. “My stepfather has need of me. He holds little faith in clerks, and with his failing eyesight, he relies on me to check his accounts each evening.”

“Brains in a woman. How fascinating.”

His languid tone held a hint of teasing and made her stiffen.

“I have found it just as unusual to discover brains in a man,” Sabrina retorted.

His half smile was indulgent. “Reviewing accounts is a rather odd occupation for a lass, you must admit.”

“Perhaps,” she said a little too sharply. “But I have a head for figures—and I’ll not apologize for it.”

“Apparently you also have a temper that is easily provoked,” Niall said, sounding amused.

That wasn’t quite the case, Sabrina reflected. Normally she was remarkably even-tempered. Yet tonight she was feeling defiant, reckless, rash. Definitely not herself. This man seemed to bring out the worst in her.

“My temper is usually considered quite serene.”

“I confess surprise. For a wallflower you lack a decided meekness.”

“For a hedonist, you possess an amazing degree of frankness. I expected more subtlety.”

His slow smile was wickedly disarming. “Is that what you think me? A hedonist?”

“Hedonist, pleasure-seeker, libertine…Rumor paints you in rather unflattering terms.”

He laughed with careless amusement. “Rumor claims that I regularly engage in perversions and bacchanalian orgies as well, but not every tale you hear is true.”

“I’m not aware of any specific perversions. Merely that you seduce every woman you meet.”

“Now that is a bald untruth. I only seduce the ones who interest me, I assure you.” He paused, gazing down at her, a speculative gleam in his deep blue eyes. “I wager I could seduce you, little mouse.”

Sabrina caught her breath. She cou

ld not possibly interest a man such as he. He was merely amusing himself at her expense. “I sincerely doubt it. I have a great regard for my virtue.”

“How tiresome.”

She wanted to laugh, but she forced it back.

Lazily he adjusted the froth of lace at his cuff. “’Tis just as well, I warrant. Despite my vaunted reputation, I have yet to be accused of deflowering prudish maidens.”

Strangely Sabrina felt disappointed. “I own relief to know I am safe.”

“Did I say ‘safe’?”