The Lover

Sabrina stood abruptly. “I intend to retire for the evening. Since you refuse to leave, perhaps you would care to join my stepfather in his study.”

She started to turn away, but Niall’s quiet voice prevented her. “Of course, there is the matter of marital rights.”

“What…do you mean?”

“You are my wife, Sabrina, bound to me before man and God.” He toyed with his wineglass, his finger moving slowly along the rim, reminding her vividly of the sensual power of his touch. How many countless times had Niall stroked her delicately like that, arousing her with the lightest of caresses? “I could seize you from this house now, and no law would gainsay me.”

“M-My stepfather would stop you.”

“Would he?” Niall smiled, his head bent, his jeweled eyes hidden by a fall of thick dark lashes. Softly, he said, “I give you fair warning, mouse. This is a battle I intend to win.”

&nbs

p; His brilliant gaze lifted and locked with hers.

She stood transfixed, paralyzed by the bold intent in his eyes, by the seductive promise in his magical voice. Even when Niall rose with easy grace, she remained helplessly immobile—until he moved around the table to her side.

Sabrina stepped back in alarm, but Niall caught her hand and raised her fingers to his lips, pressing with exquisite sensuality. Desire spread with downy softness through her body at his erotic touch. It was all she could do to utter a breathless plea: “Do not…”

“As you wish,” he said in that dark velvet voice that never failed to arouse her and set all her nerve endings trembling.

He released her hand, which incredibly filled her with disappointment. Her vanity felt slightly bruised that he had abandoned his pursuit so easily—an undeniably absurd response. She most certainly didn’t wish him to pursue her.

She took the opportunity, nonetheless, to flee to her bedchamber.

Her heart pounding erratically, Sabrina carefully locked the door behind her and spent the next quarter hour glancing over her shoulder as she made her toilet and drew on her nightshift.

In bed, she attempted to read, but her restless mind refused to concentrate. Her thoughts kept wandering to the Highland devil on the floor below. When finally she blew out the candle, she lay there in the darkness, staring at the canopy overhead, tense and unsettled.

It was perhaps an hour later when she heard a key turn in the lock. Wide awake, Sabrina sat up abruptly. The door swung open, letting in a golden flood of light from an oil lamp.

At her gasp, Niall stepped into the room and shut the door softly behind him.

“How did you…?”

“Your stepfather gave me a key,” he answered congenially.

“Get out!” Sabrina exclaimed.

Ignoring her demand, Niall let his interested gaze roam around the chamber, coming to rest on the narrow bed with its blue damask curtains. “So this is where you sleep.”

“Are you simpleminded? Or merely thick-witted? You are not welcome here!”

“I am only claiming my rights as your husband.”

Sabrina took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm. “I tell you, sir,” she enunciated as though he could not understand the King’s English, “I will not share my bed with you.”

Niall’s gaze surveyed her white night smock, sweeping over her dark, rich hair, which hung loose and unbound. “Do you ken how sweetly virginal you look?” His mouth softened in a smile. “Yet I know better. I’ve seen the fire you hide from the rest of the world.”

Depositing the lamp on the dressing table, Niall strode across the chamber and, despite her look of outraged alarm, settled beside Sabrina on the narrow bed. His eyes lingered on her nightshift, where her nipples strained darkly against the white linen. She felt them grow taut beneath his probing gaze.

When he leaned closer, Sabrina pushed futilely at his chest. “Don’t! You can indulge your lust elsewhere. Doubtless there are countless women who would swoon with ecstasy at the chance to welcome the renowned Niall McLaren into their beds.”

Niall contemplated his defiant bride calmly. He wanted no other woman. He only wanted the flashing-eyed lass who aroused such a fierce passion in him.

His hands moved lightly over her hair, rearranging it so that her tresses fell in deep, rich ripples over her shoulders.

“I want no other woman, Sabrina. I want a wife, not countless lovers. I want you.” Niall’s smile faded, leaving only the hungry look in his eyes. “I can’t remember ever wanting like this.”