The Lover

How close she’d come to confessing her love for him, to baring all the secret longings of her soul. The remembrance made her ill with craven self-knowledge. She had only been deluding herself to think her libertine husband would ever come to care for her. That he might be faithful to his vows.

Sabrina raised a hand to her eyes, fighting the tears, the raw ache in her throat. In truth, she shouldn’t be so devastated. She’d always known she was wed to a notorious rake. Niall had been entirely honest with her from the first. He’d told her—indeed, on more than one occasion—that he would never be faithful to her. She couldn’t complain if he sought his pleasures outside the marriage bed.

She dashed a hand roughly across her eyes. She would not die, no matter how searing the pain was at just this moment. She was strong enough to endure it. Indeed, she would have to develop thick calluses around her heart if she was to survive this mockery of a marriage.

Her head came up. She would not be relegated to so pitiful a role as the spurned wife. She would never let Niall know how deeply he had wounded her.

Yet she couldn’t wait for him to return. She couldn’t face him just now. Not until she had regained some measure of composure and gathered the remnants of her shattered pride.

Her spine stiffening, Sabrina returned to the barn, where she called for her horse. As she rode away, she drew her cloak around her, almost grateful for the coldness that had crept through her body. Lead lay where her heart belonged, numbing the pain.

She was unsure at first where she was headed, but she found herself riding in the direction of the Buchanans’ land. Remembering her earlier confrontation with her grandfather, then, she set her jaw and spurred her horse onward.

To her relief she came across Keith Buchanan on his way home. She had no desire to face his father alone.

When she explained her purpose, Keith willingly escorted her back to the castle. They found Owen about to sit down to dinner in the great hall.

The moment he saw her, he leapt to his feet, bristling with indignation that she would dare show her face to him. Before she could say a word edgewise, he launched into a verbal attack.

“I dinna ken what deep game yer playing, lass, but I’ll no’ abide any more of yer Duncan treachery.”

“’Tis no treachery,” Sabrina said, forcing a smile. “I’ve come to offer apologies for my clan. I can explain about the raids, if you will allow me. And perhaps afterward…you might listen to my proposal.”

The pleasure was missing, Niall thought, frowning as he returned the beautiful widow’s fervent kiss. His loins were aroused, yet he felt strangely…dispassionate.

He knew that physically Eve could satisfy the needs of his body. Her voluptuous, perfumed flesh was no different now than the scores of other occasions when he’d taken her to their mutual delight. Yet somehow he no longer found his former mistress quite as desirable as in the past.

Worse, he found it difficult to summon even a semblance of enthusiasm for his task. To his dismay, while he was kissing Eve’s lush lips, stroking her splendid breasts, his thoughts kept straying to another woman, another lover, this one a slender, defiant lass with lustrous dark eyes that could spark with fire or soften with passion.

His own wife.

Niall’s jaw hardened in annoyance.

Faith, he’d intended to purge himself of his craving for Sabrina, to vanquish his ridiculous obsession by losing himself in some other female’s silken flesh, but it wasn’t working the way he’d intended. Th

e pleasure he normally experienced with lovemaking was dismayingly absent.

Inexplicably he felt dissatisfied.

Eve was too perceptive not to sense his lack of ardor. Her eager caresses tempered, then ceased altogether. When she lifted her head to study him, her lips were still wet and red from their kisses.

“Never tell me I have lost my touch,” she said lightly.

Solicitously Niall reached up to run his thumb across her cheekbone, delicately tinted with paint and rouge. “Never, sweeting. You’re as delectable as ever.”

“Now why do I find that difficult to credit?” She managed an arch smile. “You would not, perhaps, be experiencing a twinge of guilt due to your recent married state, would you now?”

Niall frowned and refrained from replying. Incomprehensibly he did feel guilt—and anger because of it.

Eve gave a musical laugh as she stared at him. “How droll. I never would have suspected it of you, the Darling of Edinburgh. You must have indulged in countless affairs with married ladies. I confess astonishment that you should balk now that the shoe is on the other foot, so to speak.”

Niall’s gaze narrowed. “Don’t presume too far, witch. My temper is not the sweetest at the moment.”

Smiling archly, she shook her head. “Truly you should not let a minor breach of your vows concern you, Niall. After our long acquaintance, it cannot be said that you and I are strangers. And you know I can be discreet. Sabrina never need know.”

“Sabrina’s a canny lass.”

Eve’s sigh was heavy with despair. “I suppose this means you intend to cast me aside.”