The Lover

“I would that I could have spared you this,” he murmured as he bent to press a light kiss on her arm, just above the bandage.

She flinched a little, but not in pain. Rather it was the sensual sensations streaking through her like fire at his tender gesture.

She went rigid when, with a forefinger, he touched the neckline of her shift. A vibrant shiver ran though her as he brushed the rising swell of her breast, feeling the ridge the tight bodice had made in her flesh.

“’Tis criminal, how the whalebone has marked your lovely skin. Let me soothe it.”

Bending, he pressed a succession of fleeting kisses on the side of her throat…her white shoulder…the swell of her breast…He left her hot and shivering when he drew back.

“You don’t need this, do you, love?” The warm resonance of his voice bathed her with sensation.

Catching the hem of her shift, he drew the garment over her head and let it drop to the floor.

Entirely nude, Sabrina squeezed her eyes shut, fighting a flash of panic. She felt small and vulnerable, unprepossessing in the face of his masculine beauty.

“You have a lovely body.”

Her gaze flickered up to meet his, disbelieving. The unexpected dark intensity in his eyes filled her with a strange excitement.

“I…I’m rather plain.”

“You’re perfect.”

“I’m not like your other…like the Widow Graham. I expect you are disappointed.”

The comparison was inevitable, Niall supposed; Sabrina was different from Eve Graham. Yet he had stopped thinking of her as plain long ago. And disappointment was the last thing he felt just now as he studied her slender, long-legged body. He wanted her.

Sabrina was prim and shy and stubbornly defiant…. And yet she was magnificent in her own quiet way…with flawless satin skin the color of ivory; breasts high and firm, tipped with distended, rosy nipples; legs that were long, slim, curvaceous; and a fire in her eyes that called to him.

He had known many lovely women, but this lass’s appeal went beyond skin deep. There was a bold spirit within her, an unexplored passion that cried out for release. By him. He wanted very much to be the one to draw her from her imprisoning shell, to awaken her sexually.

“Every lass has her own special beauty, and yours is very appealing.” He reached up to cradle her cheek. “You are Sabrina…Sweet, fiery Sabrina…”

An ache rose unbidden in her throat as she gazed at him. What was the matter with her that his words should bring hot, hidden tears to the inside of her eyelids?

He turned away then, eliciting a swift surge of disappointment in her. But a moment later, she felt the brush of silk at her back as he slipped a garment around her shoulders. He had fetched a dressing robe from the wardrobe, Sabrina realized. How grateful she was to him for putting her at ease, and yet…she didn’t recognize this particular robe. Her clothing had been delivered that morning, but she owned nothing like this filmy crimson confection trimmed with swansdown.

Slipping it on, she fumbled with the hooks that fastened at the waist. She would have much preferred her white night smock, whose modest construction would completely cover her limbs and torso, toes to neck. This garment seemed too small, for the lapels would not close fully, displaying bare skin nearly to her waist and exposing far too much of her bosom to view. Worse, if she moved at all, her naked legs would show.

“Where did this come from? It’s not mine,” she sa

id stiffly.

Niall looked up as he untied his cravat. “No. I had it made up specifically for you.”

“For…me? Then you mistook my measurements. It does not fit properly.”

“It fits precisely as I wished it to.”

She glanced at him in bewilderment. “But…it is so…brazen.”

“What if it is?” His smile was meltingly warm, lavishly sensual, his voice warm with intimacy. “In the privacy of our bedchamber, you may be as brazen as you like.”

To her surprise, he then went to the washstand and poured a measure of water into the basin. Sabrina watched curiously as he wet and soaped one corner of a cloth, then returned to her. She gave a start when he raised the dampened cloth to her face.

He hesitated, one eyebrow cocked. “You aren’t afraid of soap, are you?”

When she shook her head warily, he smiled. “Good. It is one of the rare failings of we Highlanders, I fear. We cherish too close an acquaintance with dirt.”