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.