The Lover

Niall’s mouth twisted. Love. Use the word, man. It won’t burn your tongue off.

He had never believed in love, never been stricken by the disease that made helpless victims of mighty men. But there was no other word for the sorcery that enthralled him now. The emotion storming his body was strong enough to bring him to his knees. He was awed by the possessive feelings Sabrina engendered—tenderness, joy, hunger…the most powerful turmoil he had ever experienced.

It was a revelation to know his heart was not invincible. I love her. I love Sabrina.

Niall shook his head with mingled humor and disgust. The Darling of Edinburgh had been felled by a tart-tongued spinster heiress. His own wife, no less.

Oh, he’d claimed undying devotion before this. He’d said the beguiling words to countless women; it was what they wished to hear, and one of the cardinal rules of dalliance. But he hadn’t truly loved any of the soft, willing beauties in his bed. Love for him had always been a sumptuous sport. No lass had ever touched the deepest part of him, that hidden core Sabrina had discovered without even trying.

Niall’s eyes grew soft and distant with remembrance—Sabrina challenging him, Sabrina laughing with him, Sabrina shyly offering her body to him in willing surrender, Sabrina matching him in passion…Each memory provoked a fresh swelling of awareness and wonder within him. How could he have been so blind?

All his previous dalliances now seemed nothing but meaningless games, a restless search to satisfy an unnamed hunger. He wanted more than games in his future. He wanted more than a beautiful feminine body sharing his bed, his life. There had been women past counting, but none so rare as Sabrina, with her wit and spirit and warmth and courage.

She had possessed him. She made him feel oddly complete. With her he’d found a fulfillment that he treasured beyond measure. Only with her had he ever known this fever, this desperate hunger.

His heart had been well and truly caught. He was powerless to stop needing her. He might as well deprive himself of a limb.

He lusted after the lovely woman she had become, yet it was no longer just pleasure he wanted, or even conquest. He would not be satisfied until he had all of her. He wanted to protect her from everything and everyone but himself. He wanted whatever would give her happiness. He wanted a future with her, wanted to give her children….

Yet…what did she want?

Niall came to an abrupt halt. Sabrina desired him, he was certain, but did she love him? Could she love him? Had she lashed out at him just now because he had inexcusably hurt her, or because she truly wanted nothing more to do with him?

He’d done little in the past weeks to secure her affection or respect. He’d seen the bleak pain in her eyes moments ago when he’d confessed his love for her. She hadn’t believed him.

But then, was not he to blame for her doubts?

He had never wooed Sabrina as she deserved. On the contrary, in the beginning at least, he’d deliberately endeavored to make her feel unwanted. And then he’d violated her trust in an insane attempt to deny his own feelings.

Upon his honor, he intended to be completely faithful to Sabrina in future. Yet given his licentious past, it would be difficult to convince her of his change of heart. Harder stil

l to win her love. But he would win it.

He was a changed man, but he had to show her. He understood what true love was now, but he had to prove to her how deep and steadfast his feelings were. Most of all, he had to prove that he was worthy of her trust.

Perhaps though…he needed an ally in his fight.

Finding himself in a narrow alleyway, Niall turned and strode swiftly toward the busy docks of Edinburgh. Sabrina’s stepfather had offices there. Perhaps a wiser head would stand him in good stead.

Even the worst pain eventually lessened, Sabrina told herself as she oversaw the preparations for supper that evening. She had soaked her eyes with a cool compress after her confrontation with Niall, but they were still red from a foolish bout of weeping, and she was unable to hide her emotional turmoil from the housekeeper or scullery maid. She hoped to do better with her stepfather. Charles Cameron was expected home at any moment.

When she heard a disturbance at the front entrance, she wiped her hands on a dishtowel and hurried upstairs from the kitchens. The sight that greeted her made her halt abruptly. The gentleman with her stepfather was the same intruder she had ordered from the house barely hours ago. The same bold, enchanting rogue who had savaged her heart so recklessly with his betrayal.

Her husband.

He had shaved the stubble from his jaw, Sabrina noted with despair. His clean chiseled features were more beautiful than ever—and made him nearly impossible to resist.

“We have a guest, lass,” Charles said pleasantly.

“Guest?” she repeated witlessly, her gaze locked unwillingly with intense blue eyes.

“Aye, Laird McLaren is to sup with us.”

Niall bowed politely, appearing not to notice her appalled expression. “I am obliged for the invitation. Fortunately, Charles agrees with me—that a wife’s place is with her husband. And since you will not come to me, my love, I must do the honors.”

Sabrina’s despairing gaze turned to her stepfather. How could he have betrayed her this way? Charles had not questioned her when she’d fled the Highlands and taken refuge here, nor had she expected him to. She’d thought—mistakenly, it seemed now—he would be disinclined to interfere in a feud between husband and wife. This, however, was no simple misunderstanding. This was a rift of irreparable magnitude.

“Have you no proper greeting for your husband?” Niall queried lightly.