The Lover

Her eyebrow rose at the implied accusation. “Simply because you are incapable of fidelity does not mean you must impugn others.”

His gaze narrowed on her sharply. “I am not incapable of fidelity. I’ve simply never had good enough reason to exercise it before you.”

“I imagine the first beauty who comes along will divert you.”

“No.” Niall reached up to stroke her cheek. “How can I look at another lass when you’re my only love?”

Realizing the jeweler was regarding them curiously then, he grasped Sabrina by the elbow and drew her into a darkened corner of the shop.

His voice turned quiet, deep. “I love you, Sabrina. So much that I ache with it. I only wish I could make you understand how much…”

He bent his head then and kissed her. With beguiling tenderness, his mouth settled on hers, soft flesh to soft flesh.

Sabrina felt her heart pounding at his warmth, felt the heavy rise of his desire even through her layers of skirts and petticoats. Alarmed, she pressed her palms against his chest and made a soft sound of distress.

Yet she wanted to cry out when he obeyed.

He broke off his kiss but stood rigid, his forehead pressed against hers, his breath uneven. He seemed to be waging some internal battle with himself.

His better instincts must have won, for he finally exhaled a soft gust of mirthless laughter. When he lifted his head, his smile was forced and held a hint of pain. “I suppose this is my punishment for past sins. For years I searched for a woman I could love, one with courage and honor, who could make me shake with fury or passion. Yet when I find her at last, she refuses me.”

Releasing her unwillingly then, Niall turned away.

Bereft, Sabrina watched as he returned to the counter, her fingers moving to her tingling mouth. How could he walk away and leave her like that, aching, empty, starving for his touch?

How could she continue to resist him when resistance hurt her more than it did him?

Chapter

Eighteen

It was a dance of seduction, one that neither of them seemed able to win.

After a sennight, Niall’s deliber

ate and highly public campaign was taking a severe toll on Sabrina’s heart. It required every ounce of fortitude she possessed to continue withstanding his calculated, sensual assault.

He was quick to take advantage of every opportunity to bedevil her. Though Niall kept his promise not to charm his way into her bed, he relied upon subtler methods to remind her of what she was missing…a tender glance, a beguiling caress, a devastating smile.

She in turn employed all the feminine weapons at her disposal, personifying a female version of him. She charmed Niall just as he charmed her. She laughed and flirted just as intensely, making teasing promises and leading him on an elusive chase.

It was only fitting punishment, Sabrina told herself. In the course of his licentious career, Niall had made countless women fall in love with him. Now, for the first time in his life, the legendary rogue was experiencing the same turmoil he’d engendered in all those unfortunate women: the despair of loving someone who professed not to love him in return. The pain of wondering if she would remain faithful.

And yet, Sabrina knew, they could not go on like this much longer. They were at an impasse, an impasse she desperately wanted to end.

The opportunity came at the Duke of Kintail’s ball, although in a manner she never expected.

Sabrina had not truly wished to attend the event, but her stepfather swept aside her objections. All of Edinburgh society would be there, Charles claimed, and though he did not feel well enough to accompany her, he wanted his daughter to enjoy the admiration she so richly deserved.

Niall insisted on helping her dress for the ball, against Sabrina’s will.

“Dear heart,” he murmured, his sapphire eyes full of amusement and affection, “you may as well give in with good grace. You know in the end I will have my wicked way with you.”

“That is precisely what concerns me,” she retorted wryly.

He turned the simple art of dressing into an exercise in pleasure. Sabrina refused to allow him into her bedchamber until she was bathed and perfumed and safely garbed in a lounging robe, but when her persistent husband rapped on her door for the second time, she could delay no longer.

He was already partially attired for the ball, looking impossibly handsome in a fine lawn shirt and satin breeches and silver-buckled shoes. Niall immediately lit a dozen more candles for the task ahead, and went to work supervising her transformation.