The Lover

She could see the corner of Niall’s mouth curve sardonically. “My bride has had full warning on that score.”

He gave both ladies an elaborate bow that held a hint of mockery. When he had gone in search of the dowager, Sabrina forced herself to smile. She would have preferred to avoid the widow altogether, yet her being seen conversing amicably with Eve would help still the gossips’ tongues.

Eve apparently shared her reasoning, for she slipped her arm through Sabrina’s.

“I meant what I said,” the lady remarked kindly. “It will be difficult being wed to so practiced a cavalier.”

Sabrina nodded. She feared she was in store for a vast deal of loneliness and heartache.

“But I must confess,” Eve added with a wistful sigh, “I do envy you.”

Sabrina saw little of her husband for a space, for he was in great demand with the female guests. After his obligatory dance with the dowager, he favored a half dozen fortunate damsels with his attentions, making them flush with pride at being chosen.

Sabrina supposed she could not blame him for his conquests. Niall McLaren was recklessly amorous and irresistible to women, his flirtation as natural and effortless as breathing.

Fortunately she was given little time to dwell on her abandonment. First she was claimed by her stepfather and then several of her clansmen in various Scotch reels that left her breathless and parched. When Geordie offered her another whisky, she accepted gladly.

It was midafternoon before Niall returned to her side. Sabrina felt her heart thrum and her nerves dance at his nearness. Why did she have this overwhelming feeling her life had begun again? She would prefer to attribute her weakness to the potent drink she’d consumed. She’d been sipping on the whisky, and although it made her light-headed, she was glad for the courage it gave her. She could face her new husband stoically.

To her dismay, though, Niall smiled at her in apology, a devastatingly attractive expression that made her pulse race. “Forgive me for deserting you, sweeting. I could not excuse myself sooner.”

Sabrina took a deep breath in an effort at calm. “Far be it from me to interfere with your pleasures,” she said, striving for indifference.

“It was not as great a pleasure as you credit.”

“Oh, yes, I recall. You prefer more active sport. Perhaps I should remove myself from the company so that you might proceed with seducing the ladies present.”

Niall eyed her sharply, but Sabrina forged bravely ahead, although her senses seemed to be swimming. “There is no need for you to remain at my side, my lord.”

“It would be wiser for me to do so, for appearances sake.”

“Ah, of course,” she retorted with an irrepressible hint of bitterness. “You would not wish these good people to learn of the travesty of our courtship, or realize that you were forced to wed me.”

“I told you, mouse, I am resigned to our marriage.”

Her spirits plummeted further. Resigned was not what she wished her husband to feel for her.

Before she could answer, Niall placed a finger under her chin, scrutinizing her intently. “It seems you have little head for whisky after all.”

“My head is perfectly clear, thank you.” Sabrina lifted her chin regally, but spoiled the effect by raising a hand to her temple. “It is my vision which troubles me.”

He chuckled, which vexed her profoundly. She was amusing him again.

“You needn’t worry, sir. I am resigned as well. My expectations of our union are meager. This is to be a marriage of convenience, only. I won’t require you to dance attendance on me.”

She could see one jet-black eyebrow winging upward. “You seem eager to be rid of me.”

“I simply wish to spell out the terms of our relationship. You made it perfectly clear that you desire your freedom. Well”—she took a deep breath—“I wish to make clear that you are free to take your lust elsewhere. I shall raise no objections.”

Niall regarded her soberly, trying to judge her sincerity. His new bride seemed to be giving him permission to seek his carnal pleasures in other beds.

Her generosity relieved him, yet strangely piqued him at the same time. He wanted no fits of temper or tearful pleas to deal with in a wife, no clinging limpet who fancied herself in love and expected vows of undying devotion in return.

It should delight him to find her so agreeable; this was precisely what he wanted, was it not? Sabrina was an inexperienced virgin. He doubted she could satisfy a man of his lusty nature, or that she would even wish to try. He should be pleased that she would not complain if he were forced to fulfill his sexual needs outside the marriage bed.

“Perhaps in future,” he replied, his voice liquid and smooth, “I will ‘take my lusts elsewhere,’ as you put it. But not this night. On the eve of a wedding, it is usual to consummate the marriage vows. Or have you forgotten?”

“No,” Sabrina said in a suddenly small voice, unable to meet his eyes. “I have not. But I…I thought perhaps you might prefer a marriage in name only.”